#Activated charcoal canister

[pharmadesiccants]

Activated Carbon Canister

Activated carbon is the best odour-controlling desiccant, which is generally preferred for pharma tablets and capsule bottles. The desiccant canister can be dropped in through any smallest bottle opening. https://www.pharmadesiccants.com/moisture-protection-solution/activated-carbon-canister

[dragonsaltartales]

I thought I would make a list of possible things to donate to NC and TN if you’d rather donate goods instead of funds.

I would like to note that most stores lost power and a LOT of goods are either sold out or were destroyed for obvious reasons. It’s a disaster in the stores, and my area wasn’t hit as hard as others. Most people don’t have the means to get to a store or, even if they could, the store will likely be out of what they need. Goods are being air dropped and distributed within these places. (This is not to say that financial donations are not needed. BOTH are necessary.)

Here’s a list of needed donations;

Dry, shelf stable, ready to eat foods (crackers, bread, jams, fruits, vegetables, snack foods; anything will be helpful) Canned goods are a maybe. Pull tab is best as a lot of people don’t have manual can openers or know how to use one.

Water. Bottled water. Jugs. Anything. Water is absolutely VITAL right now as we have a shortage of clean water and plenty of broken water lines

Power banks, while they might not be able to charge them at home, many community places such as churches are offering for people to charge their devices. This can help keep them in touch with help and loved ones longer.

Children activities (coloring books and crayons/pencils, non electronic toys, etc) Many kids are left without their devices and need things to help them through these terrifying times.

Pet foods of any kind

Gasoline canisters; for those that have access to getting more gasoline and powering generators

Charcoal and matches; this can help with making sure people are able to cook and have a heat source

Toiletries; toilet paper, personal hygiene goods, wet wipes, pads and tampons

Clothing and towels (please keep in mind sizes in XL and higher. These sizes can be scarce even without disaster)

Flashlights and batteries

Newborn needs (formula, diapers, wipes, jarred baby foods)

List of NC donation places

List of TN donation places

Please share around to help reach as much as possible. Thank you 🙏

Feel free to add to this post. The more information and donations lists available, the better.

[operation-priority]

Tankiste on Gas Alert - ARS

This is an impression of a French tank crewman on gas alert, equipped with an ARS gas mask. One may see this style of uniform on tankiste in a sector that has had threats of gas attack, or in their tank if a gas attack has begun.

The Appareil Respiratoire Spécial Modèle 1917, or ARS, was a canister style gas mask issued out to the French Army in late 1918. It would become the primary gas mask of the French Army with the M2 gas mask continuing to serve in a secondary role. Often tankiste would be seen wearing both the M2 gas mask and ARS gas mask in their respective tins. The rectangular M2 tin would be worn on the front left side of the belt while the cylindrical ARS tin was worn bandolier style on either side of the shoulder depending on user preference. The ARS was fairly advanced for its time taking inspiration and lessons learned from previous French gas masks as well as captured German canister gas masks. The faceblank is made primarily of rubberized cloth backed with a sheet of cloth boiled in linseed oil. The lens assembly consists of a rubber panel sewn onto the faceblank with the two celluloid lenses placed on it. On the interior of the gas mask is a near revolutionary component with variants and derivatives of the concept still seen on contemporary gas masks - the Tissot Deflector. This piece was primarily made of rubberized cloth and when the user inhales, air passes through the canister into the Tissot Deflectors which is aimed upwards onto the inside of the celluloid lenses, acting as an active lens anti-fog system. When the user exhales, the air passes through a hole in the center of the assembly and through the exhale valve. All seams on the faceblank are reinforced and made airtight with rubber cement and the peripheral seal is made from a roll of the facepiece's fabric sewn in place.

The head harness is similar to the one seen on the M2B, with the top and neck straps made in elastic. Like the M2 gas mask, the ARS was produced in three sizes. The canister itself is a triple layered 42 mm threaded example featuring, from thread to filter, charcoal and soda ash, charcoal, and impregnated gauze pads, respectively.

The ARS was carried in a cylindrical reinforced tin. Instructions for using the mask can be found on the inside of the can's lid. This ARS example specifically is a refurbished hodge-podge consisting of both original WW1 and WW2 components. The faceblank and harness system is from a WW1 ARS while the canister components are from a WW2 example. Likewise, the tin itself is a WW2 tin with original paint and round instruction panel while the straps and horizon blue cover are WW1 pattern. WW1 tins had octagonal instruction panels. Unfortunately it is quite rare to find a Great War dated ARS in wearable condition and remaining examples shouldn't be worn and instead preserved for the sake of history.

[universalinfo]

Safeguarding Your Home's Air Quality with Radon Detector

While many potential dangers in the home are visible or at least detectable by our senses, radon operates in stealth mode. It doesn't give off a scent or show any visual sign, making it easy to overlook. This sneaky nature is what makes it particularly dangerous. By the time its adverse effects are felt health-wise, one might have already been exposed for an extended period. That's why a proactive approach, using a radon detector for home safety, becomes indispensable.

The Science Behind Radon

Radon is not just any ordinary gas; it is a byproduct of a natural process. Uranium is commonly found beneath our feet, in the soil, and in rocks that make up the Earth's crust. As uranium undergoes radioactive decay, radon is produced. The problem arises when this gas, which is meant to dissipate harmlessly into the atmosphere, finds its way into our living spaces.

The same qualities that make our homes comfortable, like insulation and sealed windows, can trap radon, allowing it to build up. With a radon detector for home use, homeowners can become aware of the unseen rise in radon levels and take the necessary precautions.

Why Traditional Detection Methods Fail

For most potential threats or issues around the home, our senses play a pivotal role. A burnt fuse often results in a peculiar smell. Mold presents visible patches on walls or ceilings. But radon sidesteps these conventional detection methods. Its colorless, odorless, and tasteless nature makes it a silent invader of our homes.

Therefore, relying on our senses won't suffice. This emphasizes the importance of having a specialized radon detector for home spaces. Such detectors are tailored to pick up on radon's specific attributes and warn homeowners long before the gas reaches dangerous levels.

Making the Choice: Active Versus Passive Detection

When considering radon detectors, it's essential to understand the differences in the types available. Passive detectors, such as charcoal canisters, absorb radon over a specified period, after which they are sent to a lab for analysis. Active detectors, on the other hand, continuously monitor radon levels and usually provide digital readings.

Regardless of the type, ensuring you have a radon detector for home safety is paramount. After all, when it comes to the well-being of our families, it's always better to be in the know and prepared to act.

Choosing the Right Detector

There are various models and types of radon detectors in the market. When searching for a radon detector for home use, it’s vital to find one that's reliable and easy to use. Digital detectors offer quick and precise readings, while passive detectors might need to be sent to a lab for results. Reading product reviews and consulting with experts can aid in making an informed decision.

Placement Matters: Where to Install Your Detector

The location of your radon detector is critical. Radon often enters homes through cracks in floors, walls, or foundations. As a result, the ideal spot for a radon detector for home safety is the lowest living area of the house, like a basement. It’s also recommended to avoid placing it near windows or doors, as outside air can interfere with the readings.

Regular Checks and Maintenance

Just like any other household equipment, a radon detector requires regular check-ups. Batteries need to be changed, and the device should be recalibrated from time to time. Ensuring that your radon detector for home safety is in optimal working condition will give you peace of mind, knowing that you're actively protecting your home with Luft.

What If Radon Levels Are High?

Discovering elevated radon levels can be concerning. But there’s no need to panic. Having a radon detector for home use means you're already ahead, as you're aware of the problem. The next step would be to consult with a professional who can guide you on mitigation measures. Often, improving ventilation can help reduce radon levels in the home.

Making a Radon-Free Home

Keeping our homes radon-free is more than just about installing a detector. It’s also about understanding where radon comes from and how it affects our living spaces. By sealing cracks and ensuring proper ventilation, we can reduce the risk. And of course, having a reliable radon detector for home use in place ensures that we’re always a step ahead.

Conclusion

While the threats that radon presents are undeniable, they're also manageable. With knowledge and the right tools in hand, we can ensure that our living spaces remain safe and free from harmful radon gas. A radon detector for home use is not just a device; it's a commitment to the well-being of those we care about. As homeowners, it's our responsibility to stay informed and take proactive measures. After all, the air we breathe in our homes should be nothing short of clean and safe.

Read More:

Air Quality Testing

[worldsfromhoney]

To Fall and Fall to Rise FINALE

Prev | Masterlist

tw: emotional manipulation, body horror, child abuse

Val comes back ‘home’ for the first time in three years and it shows.

The house is a right mess. The shoe rack by the door was the first victim of whatever storm (he knew what) had passed here. It’s been upended, and he reckons the only reason it’s still upright is because it’d been in Narine’s way.

She obviously did nothing else to fix the mess. It’s always been her principle not to interfere in her sister’s life and she upholds it even now when—

Val cleans up. He gathers the scattering of quilts that’s been thrown as far as they could to the corners of the room. He rights the throw pillows and couch cushions that’s met the same fate. Even the carpet that’s been upended to reveal the cold, marble floors, he straightened back out.

The scorch marks from heat even marble can’t handle are a little too much for him right now.

It’s easy to imagine Amala doing all this. For her, in the moments when she discovered she was burning out, to seek any sort of cold that would stop it from happening. Judging from the delivery boxes littering the entryway, she was apparently desperate enough to order many contraptions; cooling patches, ice rollers, and evapolar devices.

Val tries not to think what was racing through his mum’s head then. He tries not to think (hope, hope, he hopes—) if she’d been looking for—

Val continues cleaning up. The dishes are clean and recently placed on the drying rack—courtesy of Narine, perhaps. There’s only soup in the fridge, all filled with ice cubes bigger than the regular kind.

When he gets to the cabinets, he stops.

His tea canisters and coffee beans are still there. Obviously expired, but they’re still there and not a speck of dust on them.

Val slams his cabinet close. A little too loud and he shouldn’t have let such a small (petty, petty, no, no, no—) thing get to him. It’s nothing. Nothing for Amala to have kept them—

“Don’t let her get to you again, boy.”

Narine’s coming down the stairs, a bowl of melted icepacks in hand, and a penetrating gaze on him and the cabinet. She walks into the kitchen and shoves the ice packs in the freezer, still talking.

“Amala didn’t keep those out of sentiment,” She says. “She kept them knowing what it’d do to your head. Don’t let her be right, boy.”

Val’s listening. He is. He understands the string of letters into words, into sentences, into the explanation Narine’s giving him. Val even knows what she’s trying to tell him in a way that wouldn’t be like betraying her sister.

But she had. So had Val when he ran away three years ago from clutches he thought had long let him go.

“She’s your sister,” Val hisses and pleads in one breath because they both know what Amala is. He’s always known.

Narine faces him, expression unmoved. But a flicker of fear, regret, and pity is there long enough for Val to see her emotions for the first time.

“And she’s your mother,” She says, spitting out the offending word. “Being either or did not give her the right to treat you like a dog on a leash, boy.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? Why Val never stopped Narine from calling her boy because at least someone in this family sees him as human. Why he had asked for Mrs Sorge’s help before because he didn’t want to be with mum anymore.

Narine sees all this and says nothing else but, “Go home, Val.”

He laughs. He cries. The screams tear from him make him weak enough to cling to a woman who’d never allowed him to call her his aunt. He sobs and crystals litter the floor. He’ll end up throwing them because—

“I can’t,” He says, final and sad. “She called.”

Amala Von Brandt, being beautiful, is a fact Val understood early on. Love makes a person beautiful, and she is the prime example of it.

Anyone else standing in the doorway to her room right now would say otherwise. They would recoil at the burnt patches, the peeling skin actively burning, and the putrid smell of burning charcoal.

Amala’s bare to the world—to Val, and he sees everything. He sees how only a thin layer of skin is left around his mum’s neck, every swallow, and breath seen through a transparent film of burning blood. Her pubic hair is all burned off and her pulsing organs are ready to pop through the thin surviving layer. Her shoulders and armpits are already a lost cause—the bone’s revealed to the air and even that is getting charred by the onset of burnout.

Anyone else who’d see Amala Von Brandt would call her damned. They would and Val would have them by the throat, his cold overpowering their warmth. They would and Val would, too. He’d watch them as they felt a different burn and look towards his mum, waiting and waiting for praise.

Amala smiles at him. She’s propped on pillows wrapped in the glittering grey of fireproof covers. Everything on the bed is wrapped with the stuff. The walls have an added covering too, fireproof silver replacing the blood red. Val reckons Amala hates all this. Red’s her favourite colour and every little thing he’s endeavoured to forget about this house and this person rushes back in subtle trickles.

He reckons even before he takes a step inside, he would’ve remembered the number of freckles on Amala’s face.

He stays in the doorway, taking neither step forward nor back.

She’s still smiling despite his indecision. Val’s never been an artist but he could—he would break his own fingernails to scratch out her lovely face on the doorframe. His mother always liked his drawings. She’d always pin them all on the fridge until it got so full she bought a whole binder for them and—

Val stumbles back but only by an inch. He grasps for the doorframe, clutching at it like a lifeline. It is. It’s hot to the touch and he could feel his own flesh warring with it.

He wins.

Amala’s been watching the entire ordeal, and she knows (always, always, please come home—) when he wins. Her smile gets wider. It always does when she’s reminded of what he is—of what she plucked from the streets.

“Darling,” She says so breathlessly like the sight of me can do her in just like that. “You’re home.”

Val’s still at the doorway. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Narine at the top of the stairs. Even from here, he can see how tight his aunt’s hold on the bannister is.

Go home, she had said just moments before. I’m it, Kea had said, sobbing into his ear. Why are you back, Mrs Sorge had said while crying for him.

They’re all different. The same. Everyone telling him—reminding him of what he had and what he had a right to clutch to his chest and protect. They were right. He knows that. He had always known it even before anyone uttered a single word of command, sorrow, and love.

Yes. He’d always known ‘home’ had only ever had one meaning for him.

Val let go of the doorframe and steps into the room. Amala’s smile widens, her eyes greedy and hands already reaching for the relief he’ll give—just like always. Just like every time she overheats and is on the verge of a burnout and needs her beloved son and tool.

“Yeah,” Val says, letting every memory of Amala’s twisted love come drown him. “I’m home.”

Taglist

@wildthingsandmagic @starbuds-and-rosedust @alexsidereus @adorable-bookworm @th3-scr3ens-ar3-watching

[radonserv879]

Radon Services

Understanding Radon Services: Protecting Your Home and Health

Radon, a colorless and odorless gas, is a natural radioactive element that poses a significant health risk when it accumulates in indoor spaces. With its harmful effects on human health, it's crucial for homeowners to be aware of radon levels in their homes and take necessary measures to mitigate its presence. This is where radon services come into play, offering testing, detection, and mitigation solutions. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into the importance of radon services, the risks associated with radon exposure, and the various ways in which homeowners can protect themselves and their families.

Radon Testing:

The first step in addressing the radon issue in your home is to conduct a radon test. Radon testing services are designed to measure the concentration of radon gas within a specific space, typically the home. Short-term and long-term testing methods are available, with short-term tests providing a quick snapshot of radon levels and long-term tests offering a more accurate representation over an extended period.

Several types of radon testing devices are available, including passive devices like charcoal canisters and alpha-track detectors, as well as active devices such as continuous radon monitors. Professionals in radon services are equipped with the knowledge and tools to accurately measure radon levels in your home, providing you with crucial information to make informed decisions about mitigation.

Understanding Radon Levels and Health Risks:

Radon is a known carcinogen, and prolonged exposure can lead to severe health issues, especially lung cancer. The Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) has set an action level of 4 picocuries per liter (pCi/L) as the threshold for taking corrective action. Radon levels exceeding this threshold require immediate attention to reduce the risk of adverse health effects.

It's essential for homeowners to understand the health risks associated with radon exposure. Prolonged inhalation of radon gas can damage lung tissue and increase the risk of lung cancer, particularly in individuals who smoke. Radon-induced lung cancer is estimated to cause thousands of deaths each year, making it a significant public health concern.

Radon Mitigation:

Radon mitigation services are crucial for reducing elevated radon levels in homes. These services employ various techniques to prevent radon from entering indoor spaces or to remove it if already present. The most common mitigation methods include:

Soil Depressurization: This technique involves creating a pressure difference between the soil and the indoor space, preventing radon from entering the home. Sub-slab depressurization and sub-membrane depressurization are common approaches in this category.

Ventilation Systems: Radon ventilation systems use fans to increase air circulation and reduce radon concentration within a home. These systems are especially effective in areas with poor ventilation.

Sealing Entry Points: Radon can enter homes through cracks and gaps in the foundation. Radon services often include sealing these entry points to prevent the gas from infiltrating indoor spaces.

Crawl Space Encapsulation: In homes with crawl spaces, encapsulation involves sealing the area to prevent radon infiltration. This method also helps control moisture, improving overall indoor air quality.

Professional radon mitigation services are recommended to ensure the effectiveness of these techniques. Certified radon professionals have the expertise to assess your home's specific conditions and implement the most suitable mitigation strategy.

Importance of Regular Radon Testing and Mitigation:

Radon levels can fluctuate over time, influenced by factors such as changes in weather, soil composition, and home ventilation. Therefore, regular radon testing is essential to monitor and address any changes in radon concentration. Periodic testing, especially in regions known for elevated radon levels, helps homeowners maintain a safe indoor environment for themselves and their families.

Even if previous tests have indicated acceptable radon levels, it's advisable to retest periodically and especially before significant home renovations. Renovations can alter the home's structure and ventilation, potentially impacting radon levels.

Radon services play a vital role in safeguarding the health of homeowners and their families by addressing the dangers posed by radon gas. From initial testing to the implementation of effective mitigation strategies, these services provide comprehensive solutions to ensure indoor spaces remain free from harmful radon concentrations. As awareness of radon-related health risks grows, the demand for professional radon services continues to rise. Homeowners are encouraged to take proactive measures, including regular testing and mitigation efforts, to create a healthier living environment. By understanding the importance of radon services and prioritizing the well-being of their households, individuals can contribute to a safer and healthier future for themselves and their communities.

[shopatwhitneyscloset]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Damp Rid Moisture Absorber w/ Activated Charcoal X 4 Factory Sealed Containers.

[hayeseuropean]

Mercedes Check Engine Light Goes On and Off Randomly? Here's What You Need To Know

It can be distressing to see an illuminated check engine light—especially if it comes on and off at random. This unusual behavior of the check engine light has all sorts of causes; some of which may be minor and easily fixable, while others may indicate a more serious issue.

Furthermore, driving a vehicle whose engine warning light behaves strangely can be very dangerous. That's why it's important for you to understand what the check engine light means and what to do when it comes to ensure the safety and reliability of your vehicle.

Check Engine Light Comes On and Off At Random: Here's Why

Often referred to as a "malfunction indicator lamp", the check engine light is yellow or orange in color and shaped like that of an engine. The onboard computer of a vehicle will typically display this indicator if an engine or emissions problem has been detected.

So, the ultimate goal of this blog post is to help you understand what a flashing check engine light could mean.  

Potential Reason No. 1- Bad sensor

We don't know whether you are aware of it or not, but your car is equipped with a network of sensors such as an oxygen sensor, MAF sensor, knock sensor, coolant temperature sensor, throttle position sensor, crank/cam position sensor et cetera.

Would you like to know what all these sensors do? All of these sensors enable the engine control unit or ECU to monitor and regulate engine operation in various ways. If one of these sensors malfunctions, the engine will have problems and the check engine light will illuminate. In fact, a faulty sensor if not replaced in time, can give rise to numerous engine problems like misfiring and stalling.

Potential Reason No.2- Emissions control system is at fault

As an internal combustion engine operates, it releases tons of harmful gases into the environment. To reduce the emission of these noxious substances modern-day cars come fitted with emission control systems. These systems employ many components to reduce crankcase, evaporative, and tailpipe exhaust emissions.

To deal with crankcase emissions, modern cars come fitted with a positive crankcase ventilation system and exhaust gas re-circulation system. The vapor liquid separator, vent valve, purge control valve and charcoal canister are some of the key components responsible for minimizing evaporative emissions. Whereas, the catalytic converter deals with tailpipe emissions.

If the onboard computer detects a problem with any of the above-said components, the check engine light will be promptly displayed. If you want to reset the check engine light and make your vehicle friendly to the environment, ensure the upkeep of the emission control systems of your car.

Potential Reason No.3- Something wrong with the ignition system

The ignition system serves to convert electrical energy from the battery into high-voltage sparks required for the ignition of the air-fuel mixture within the cylinder. Some of the major parts that make up a vehicle's ignition system are the battery, ignition switch, rotor, distributor, ignition coil, and spark plugs.

So, how exactly does the ignition system work? Let’s find out. When the ignition switch is turned on, electrical current is sent to the rotor, which spins and sends electrical current through the distributor to the spark plugs. The spark plug then generates electric sparks.

If there is an issue somewhere in the ignition system, the engine's operation will be negatively impacted which may prompt the onboard computer to activate the check engine light.

Potential Reason No.4- Lean/rich air-fuel mixture

The check engine light may also appear if the engine is running lean or rich. After all, a supply of the right amount of air and fuel mixture (about 15 parts of air to 1 part of fuel) is essential for a car engine to run smoothly and efficiently.

If for some reason air-to-fuel ratio within the cylinder deviates beyond the permissible range, the engine will run lean/rich and may even misfire- which is more than enough reason for the computer to turn on the malfunction indicator lamp.

Summing Up

The gist of this article is that an illuminated check engine light is almost always a sign of a serious engine problem. That's why if your Mercedes' engine warning light is behaving in an unusual way, take it to a reputable car mechanic to check if everything is in order.

[softwater3452]

Flowpur Rv And Marine Water Filtration Systems

For us, that made the Berkey greater than worth the initial expense. Another profit is that you can take these drinking water filters with you if you're renting an RV or traveling outside your personal camper. There are fairly a number of options in relation to RV canister water filters. Many of them have comparable lifespan as an inline RV water filter, but have replaceable filter parts. It’s good apply to make observe of the micron score and average capacity of the water filter.

It has a large-capacity filter that lasts round 3 months on common, however that’s with common use. If you’re only utilizing it sporadically, it will final much longer than that. The filter makes use of granular-activated carbon to weed out chlorine, sediment, and odors, leaving only pure, nearly-tasteless water. Carbon water filters use charcoal and other materials to absorb marine and rv water treatment systems chemical substances. They additionally use filtering limitations which have openings right down to the tiniest micron that lets the water move by way of unencumbered, gating most everything else. But as they age these varieties of water filters can reduce water stress.

A cursory review of carbon manufacturer design tables made it clear that it takes at least a couple of minutes of publicity to carbon for the chlorine to be removed from the water. At a flow fee of seven.6 gpm, the publicity is only about 0.8 seconds. It takes time for the contaminants to diffuse over to the carbon, plus more time to diffuse into the pores; lower than a second isn't almost enough. If you worry about getting recent, clean, protected water at the RV dump station or campsite hookup, you’re not alone. I even have a small truck camper with the tank stuffed from a locking detachable cap like an auto fuel tank. Thinking about the water within the tank, if the chlorine is eliminated when getting into how does the tank stay pure.

You’ll get all of the perks of a regular canister, however the lifespan and move fee of the filter is normally higher. You additionally probably won’t should cope with as many cartridge modifications, which is a profit marine and rv water treatment systems to anyone who’s on the highway on an everyday basis. I have been using Clear2O RV Inline Water Filter for over a yr and completely satisfied. Our campground water move is good and it removes the sulfur odor.

RV UV water purification systems don’t reduce water stress. One of the design necessities engineers are at all times conscious of is keeping the strain as unrestricted as attainable. The ArrowMax 1.0L is right for weekenders and part-timers that use the system for his or her kitchen and loo sinks. The water purifier is absolutely able to sterilizing a few of the most contaminated water you’ll come throughout. Realistically, you’re hooked up to the campground’s water supply and occasionally use your freshwater tank.

Unlike some filters, this product also includes a fluoride removing function to assist defend your enamel and bones too. The filter complies with all federal rules, and it’s able to removing particles higher marine and rv water treatment systems than twenty microns. Husband, father of 7, and new co-owner of Ditching Suburbia. Lived life within the suburbs of Salt Lake City, UT until moving the household full time right into a 5th wheel RV in January 2019.

The more we all truth verify and share info, the more informed we all are. Buying bottled water is a severe environmental issue. We see a disturbing quantity of plastic floating past us every day…and we all know we’re part of the problem. This alkaline antioxidant filter supplies ample energetic hydrogen.

The RO system works by forcing water by way of a semipermeable membrane of very tiny pores. These pores strip every little thing out of your water that isn’t H2O. They embody a sediment pre-filter to tug out larger debris before the water flows by way of the membrane, and a carbon post-filter finishes off the process by bettering style. Another benefit to UV systems is that they don’t affect circulate rate. That means you don’t have to sit down patiently and wait for your water glass to slowly fill.

When you get your RV able to sell, there’s more to contemplate than the asking worth. Follow these tricks to get the best return on investment. With revolutionary push-to-connect fittings, the entire installation process takes less than 3 minutes.

[coreymichaelsmithson]

Things That Happened This Year

2022 was, for the most part, a challenging year … one marked by some crushing disappointments, a few deep heartbreaks, and a great deal of hard work. But, in looking back at the big picture, I’m seeing now that it was also a period of significant artistic achievement and spiritual growth.

I spent the first few minutes of 2022 making a pot of shitty coffee for an AA meeting in Dickson, Tennessee. Perhaps this wasn’t the most glamorous of activities I could have chosen for ringing in the New Year, but it seemed to portend a year of searching for significance in ordinary moments. I was there to support my partner Daniel and our mutual friends in recovery, all of whom had done more than their share of partying in the past. Many of the folks gathered there had already survived the worst kind of personal disasters … incarcerations, incinerated family trees, homelessness, ruined holidays, domestic violence, illness, car crashes, custody battles … and now they were gathered together in a somber room, reflecting upon the choices they had made and the sundry crises that had brought them there, expressing thankfulness and a renewed resolve in this season of fellowship.

In the first few days of January, my two-year-old computer bit the dust. This machine, which had cost a pretty penny, had barely passed out of warranty, and it died in such a way that repairs would run nearly as much as a new computer. By the end of the year, my backup laptop had also become unusable, and my phone crapped out. My debit card number got stolen, and I scrambled to refute a bunch of fraudulent charges. I suffered a painful attack of gout, and a weird bout of food poisoning while traveling through South Carolina. I caught COVID for the third and fourth time. Both infections were nearly non-symptomatic, revealed only by rapid testing … but the latter event led to Daniel and I spending an unexpectedly romantic week together in quarantine.

St. Augustine got slammed by two hurricanes, Ian and Nicole. The first storm was a nerve-wracking game of “wait and see” … my housemate and I feared the possible eruption of the faulty sewage lifting station across from our home … but we got through it unscathed. Luckily, I’d already left town before the latter event, which caused significant damage to the dunes that protected our island from the wrath of the Atlantic. In the face of such implacable monsters, human civilization feels so fragile, and our many vulnerabilities are suddenly revealed.

Pamela and I celebrated our fifth anniversary and crossed our 98,000th mile as a team. She was mysteriously, but harmlessly, vandalized when somebody threw a bucket of a chalky white substance, something like diluted drywall mud, across her windshield. Her fuel system went tits-up, right as we started a road trip. She received a new thermostat (her third) rear shocks, front brakes, driver’s door window motor, hood struts, charcoal canister, exhaust gas recirculation valve, purge valve solenoid, an engine coil, and six spark plugs. We also had to replace her rear window, after a misunderstanding with a tree in a tight parking lot. During one of our voyages, Pamela lost a tire to a rusty scrap of metal left on the road. The mechanic who replaced it discovered, to his horror, that she was within a few miles of her wheel flying off altogether, due to an improperly secured axle nut. In other words, a flat tire may have saved my life.

I turned 48 getting lost in rural Alabama. I visited a number of small historical museums, where I saw Napoleon’s hairbrushes, Hitler’s tea service, some outlandish spy gear (including a .22 hidden in a flute), and two mummies. In Cullman, Alabama, I encountered one of the most stirring examples of outsider art in America … seven acres of sprawling architectural miniatures by the Benedictine monk Brother Joe, who dedicated nearly five decades to his wonky little assemblages of oyster shells, concrete, pumice, tiles, pottery shards, chicken wire, bottle punts, cold cream jars, costume jewelry, flashlight casings, compote dishes, beads, beach glass, and plastic toys.

I maintained my daily practice of strolling along the beach of Anastasia Island at sunset. I came upon two dead loons half-buried in the sand, as well as a mortally injured cormorant, I watched a pod of dolphins splash in the pink waters of dusk, and saw a shark slicing between the breakers. I witnessed a waterspout, walked through windblown foam as it piled upon the shore, and caught two rocket launches. I continued to study the Russian language, though with less fervor than before … the black-hearted prince who stole (and then discarded) my heart in 2021 also drained some of the oomph out of practicing this difficult, grumpy-sounding, maddeningly unspecific tongue. I beefed up my Instagram game, and made three bonfires to destroy old artworks. I also dipped my toe into the stock market, but quickly withdrew after I got a sense of its volatility. I visited the Torture Museum, the Shipwreck Museum, the Anniston History Museum, the Berman Museum, the Cummer Museum, and climbed once again to the top of St. Augustine’s famous lighthouse.

One of my closest friends and I underwent three psychedelic sessions on the beach, using sub-threshold doses of “Golden Teacher” psilocybin. The most memorable of these took place on Easter Sunday … we started our journeys at dawn, watching the sun rise over the Atlantic, and spent much of our day wading in the surf or exercising on the sand. I have rarely known such serenity, orderliness, and lucidity as I felt that morning.

This same buddy and I executed a pair of massive abstract paintings in his large but structurally unsound studio. From there, I helped him move into two subsequent spaces … first an unsuitable open-air washout and then an old-school office in Jacksonville’s coolest commercial building, the kind of joint where they gild your name on the door glass. We attended an art fair at West Palm Beach, and hobnobbed with a few gallerists, though this yielded no immediate results.

Professionally speaking, it was a densely-packed year. I cut several short-form documentaries for the Bank of America, including videos on Georgia O’Keeffe, Georges de La Tour, Remedios Varo, Berthe Morisot, Sandro Botticelli, George Caleb Bingham, Henri Matisse, Gustav Klimt, and the Farnese Sarcophagus. I designed a book about the role of hormones in women’s health for a naturopathic doctor, and gained some new clients in the energy sector, writing whitepapers and other copy for companies in the hydrogen, oil, and natural gas industries. I continued the paralegal work I began last year, conducting interviews and writing essays for accident victims and their families. I edited two music videos for musicians … a photo/footage collage for the protest anthem “RISE” by Neycha, which won “Best Music Video” at a film festival, and a highly complicated 2.5-D animation for “INFINITE STARS” by Daniel Cartier Loves You.

Unfortunately, by mid-autumn my client work began to dry up. Financial difficulties cancelled out many plans … I missed a wedding (one that I really should have attended), I had to forgo my second ayahuasca journey, and I was unable to do any stormchasing.

I made good use of the downtime, though. I published two novels (“THE BROTHER OF MAGGIE BROOD” and “THE NOVA IN THE ATTIC”), and three memoirs (“THE PAMELA DIARIES”, “LOST AMONG THE MARIGOLDS”, and “RELISHED VICES”). Sent two of my books to the hosts of my favorite podcast, and didn’t receive a response. Pushed the needle forward on my fourth novel, “THE FABULOUS MEDICINE SHOW”, started my fourth memoir, “HORSESHIT AND GLITTER”, and continued collaborating with a dear friend on our screenplay, “THE LAST BONANZA”.

I spent more time painting at my easel this year than I have during any other period of my career. I’m now on the final stretch of an ongoing project, which has been underway for four years: a suite of 100 black and white 12”x12” canvases. Most of them are done. I completed several abstract pieces, including “TARGETS”, “BONE DANCE”, and “LYRICAL I & II”. I started work on “FROST KING I & II”, “BIG TOP”, and kept going on the “BLUE ANGEL” series. I finished three commissions this year (“THE PEARL”, “NORMAN”, and “BLACK BELT”), and began two more (“CARDINALS” and “WARRIORS”).

Of these commissions, “NORMAN” proved to be the most surprising. The subject was a man who had died earlier in the year. He and his husband had built an expansive family of devoted friends, and his death came as a devastating shock to the entire community. With only a single photograph to go by, I started working … and all through the process, I felt as if the man himself was gently nudging me to add things, specific additions that were definitely not my own ideas. Eventually, the finished painting depicted a warmly smiling Norman against a saffron-colored ground, surrounded by a floral frame of grape leaves, vines, lilies, and roses. The recently widowed Bill, a wonderfully kind man, flew me out to California for an unveiling ceremony. He put me up for three days in their comfortable home in Davis, and graciously allowed me a full day’s use of his car. I drove around the Napa Valley, where I gazed at vineyards that had become a patchwork of autumnal splendor. On the eve of the unveiling, Bill and I stood before the shrouded painting, among forty of their dearest loved ones. He spoke at length about Norman’s legacy, and I read a quote about death by the Austrian poet Rainer Maria Rilke. When the veil came down, and the portrait stood bare on its easel, a gasp of recognition rose among the crowd. Several attendees burst into tears. I don’t think I have ever been so humbled and grateful for an artwork’s reception. One by one, Norman’s friends came up and talked about what an incredible human being he was. One of his neighbors tearfully informed me that he had just planted lilies in her yard. Another recalled a recent discussion they had shared about roses. By degrees, it became clear that Norman had been communicating with these people through my hands. This painting was not so much an artistic success as it was a séance … I had merely acted as a conduit for Norman’s enduring love. Aside from helping me complete his own posthumous portrait, Norman had also taught me a vital lesson: live in such a way that you’ll still be speaking to your friends long after you die.

Many friendships rose and fell within my year. Some bonds were strengthened, and others lost. I forged new loves, revived dormant ones, and accepted an invitation that will undoubtedly change the course of my life.

I ended a long-term professional relationship, the one that brought me to Florida in the first place, though the brotherhood beneath it is now stronger and healthier than ever. I had a virtual reunion with one of my earliest photo models, a woman who has lost none of her glamor and allure in the last three decades, and cherished a delightfully unexpected real-life afternoon in Suisan City with one of my dearest friends from early adulthood. I played host to two visitors from out of town … a talented activist from New Hampshire, and a beloved spiritual niece from Memphis. Being a tour guide is one of my favorite ways to share time with friends, and it’s always fun to be a tourist in your own town.

Three of my friends died in 2022. One of the brightest luminaries in the Boston arts scene, and a champion of digital media, passed after complications from a fall. Another friend, who to all outward appearances was a sunny and charismatic prayer warrior, lost his secret battle with depression and took his own life, sending a large wave of grief outwards among our many mutual friends. One of my favorite studio mates from the Memphis College of Art passed away in her sleep. For the three years that we shared a studio, I relished our chatty and warm rapport. We used to smoke cigarettes on the school’s balcony, gazing through the large plate glass windows at our canvases in progress and critiquing each other’s work. She was an extraordinarily talented painter and sculptor, and a great raconteur, one of those stylish older ladies who somehow made dentures and smoker’s wrinkles and a blonde shag-cut look sexy. She worked for Judy Garland’s agent in the early ‘60s, and she shared many personal recollections about the star’s mercurial attitudes. Coincidentally, Judy herself bowed out on my pal’s 38th birthday.

I finally sliced a toxic ex-boyfriend out of my life. After years of trying to maintain some semblance of a friendship with him, I eventually realized that there would be no restoration of the love, respect, and interest that had evaporated between us. It came as a tremendous relief to realize that I could be much healthier and happier if I just stopped all of my fruitless efforts to meet his approval. Some relationships should be allowed to wither away.

Speaking of forgoing unhealthy relationships … in November I celebrated ten years of total freedom from alcohol, nicotine, marijuana, and other recreational drugs. Aside from caffeine, the therapeutic use of psychedelics, and the occasional hit of isobutyl nitrite poppers during sexplay, I have lived an entirely sober life. The resulting clarity of mind and expansion of capacity have been invaluable, and I find myself deeply grateful for the decision I made in my late thirties, which allowed my forties be a much healthier and more productive decade.

Because of my busy studio life this year, I had to dial down my sexual and romantic adventures a little. I enjoyed a soulful and very sweet encounter with a silver-haired artist, who surprised me with his youthful vivacity and flexibility. Later that month, and without knowing the connection, I ended up screwing the daylights out of his accountant husband; it was then that I learned that both spouses had the same first name. I seduced a young architect on the beach, manhandled an elderly valet in his company car, and had a gleeful frolic with two friends in their lush backyard garden. I got busy with a soft-spoken railroad worker, a stunningly gorgeous line cook from Bangkok, and a boorish interior designer who wouldn’t shut up about his expensive (and, frankly, hideous) furniture. After a particularly sad day, I found comfort in the arms of a neighbor who had once starred in a porn movie, but now manages clinical research trials. I made several visits to the hotel room of an itinerant store merchandiser, one of the most angelically benevolent men I’ve ever met in my life, and we shared the kind of intimacy that can only emerge between kindred spirits. I spent one memorable evening with a horse rancher and his paralegal husband. The three of us chatted in the kitchen for an hour, and it seemed like they were perhaps a bit too nervous to take the plunge … but when we finally made it into their bedroom as a trio, I saw arranged on the credenza an astonishing array of adult toys and props and supplies, which sort of looked like a Brutalist nativity scene. I stared in slack-mouthed amazement at the display, pointed to one of the surreal objects standing there, and asked, “Uhhh … isn’t that supposed to go on top of the Christmas tree?”

Feeling starved of autumn’s vibrant colors, I took a spontaneous road trip up into Appalachia. I visited Asheville, Cumberland Mountain State Park, and Ozone Falls. I saw two historic bridges … Poinsett Bridge and Campbell’s Covered Bridge) and climbed to the top of Mt. Roosevelt’s fire road, where I found a spectacular scenic lookout. I shared a mellow moment on an old plantation porch with a cat named Cinnamon, the unofficial greeter of the Marble Springs Historic Site. I walked through three different cemeteries, and then wrote “THE GARDEN OF TIME” in response, an essay which contains perhaps the most forcible sentence I have ever written.

I visited Tennessee five more times … in February, April, June, October, and December. I helped Daniel set up his home studio, spending hours gluing Styrofoam panels into his closet in order to make an isolation booth. We snuggled up with four handicapped dogs and watched three Karen Black movies (“Burnt Offerings”, “Airport ’76,” and “Nashville”). I brought a little cheer to my honey by hiring his favorite comedian (Maria Bamford) and a legendary singer (Boy George) to send him some personalized video messages … it turns out that many celebrities will pimp themselves out to the hoi polloi for a quick buck, and it makes for a really nice surprise gift. We celebrated his birthday in style, with a grand backyard party hosted by one of his best friends, attended by his huge extended family of loved ones. This fête happened to fall on the same night as an impressive fireworks show, so we happily clung to one another as colorful explosions lit up the sky.

After we hit a rough patch near Thanksgiving, Daniel and I decided to temporarily put the brakes on our engagement, and took some time apart to reframe our relationship. We suffered independently of one another for a few weeks, each of us coping alone with our uncertainty and grief, before we realized that our bond was too rare and precious a thing to lose. So, caught up in the spirit of the holiday, and eager for a real reconciliation, I returned to Tennessee once again. I drove for thirteen hours straight, through freezing temperatures and slick roads, to spend the end of the year with my love. Pamela and I made it safely through the 700-mile journey, though at one point near the end we hit a solid sheet of ice and slid entirely off the road, squealing to a stop one inch away from the metal base of a road sign.

I showed up with several Christmas presents, all nicely wrapped with pink paper and ribbons. But Daniel gave me only one gift: a handwritten letter in which he invited me to come live in his house next spring, and share a home with him, and be his life partner. And I said, “Yes.”

So I’m writing this on a worn orange sofa in the tiny hamlet of McEwen, Tennessee, in a room that will someday become my next studio. My feet are resting against the belly of a deaf pit bull named Edison, who contentedly snores and farts while I peck at my laptop. My favorite tea, lapsang souchong, steams in a mug nearby. Over the next few days, Daniel and I will be going to more meetings, joining friends, comforting the lonely, hearing stories of people rebuilding their lives. If all goes according to plan, I will be spending the last few minutes of 2022 in exactly the same way I spent the first few minutes of it, brewing bad coffee with an ancient industrial percolator, surrounded by country folk in various stages of resurrection … a motley family of wrecks and revenants and survivors, phoenixes all. This New Year’s Eve, I’ll be casting my lot with the lucky ones, the ones who are doing their very best after doing their very worst, the ones who are already vowing to make next year better, the ones who are holding each other up, the ones who truly understand the meaning of gratitude.

[getfin]

Radon Gas - How it Affects You & How to Eliminate It!

Where Does Radon Gas Come From?

Radon is a normally happening radioactive gas. It comes from the normal breakdown (rot) of uranium which is tracked down in soil and rock all around the US. Radon goes through the dirt and enters structures through breaks and different openings in the establishment. At last, it rots into radioactive particles (rot items) that can become caught in your lungs when you relax. As these particles thusly rot, they discharge little explosions of radiation. Radon is somewhat is available in each home, and, extraordinarily, one out of each and every three homes tried in the US have raised levels above what the U.S. E.P.A. activity limit.

Radon gas is an undetectable, scentless gas that is radioactive, happening normally from rotting uranium underneath the world's surface. This radioactive gas known as "Radon" ordinarily escapes innocuously into the world's air. It goes up through the ground by the easy way out, frequently through your home's unfinished plumbing space. This may likewise be alluded to as the "get away from way". In the event that your house was worked over an "get away from way" or by recovering the unfinished plumbing space or cellar, making a new "get away from way, your home could have perilously elevated degrees of radon.

How Radon Gas can Effect You?

As Radon gas is breathed in, tiny particles are caught in the lungs, these particles separate after some time delivering an eruption of radiation into the lungs that harms the lung tissues ( as per the U.S. E.P.A., Radon is the main driving reason for cellular breakdown in the lungs in non-smokers ).

How to Prevent the Spread?

A 0 permability liner framework can forever pause and forestall radon gas from going through an uncovered unfinished plumbing space floor and entering your home's residing climate. Taking out the #1 source from which radon gas can enter your home establishes a better residing climate for yourself as well as your loved ones.

Protect Your Family From Radon Gas

Radon gas is an imperceptible, scentless gas transmitted by uranium rotting underground. Innocuous outside, radon can saturate your home through the ground and collect: at high focuses, this radiation can be incredibly perilous. Truth be told, radon gas is the main source of cellular breakdown in the lungs in nonsmokers and the subsequent driving reason in smokers. Safeguard your home and family from this inconspicuous hazard with radon testing and, if important, radon relief.

Radon Testing

Radon gas testing is a simple, clear interaction. A charcoal canister is utilized to gather radon gas from your home, as a rule throughout roughly 48 hours. During the testing time frame, it's vital to keep all entryways and windows shut for the most exact readings. At the finish of the testing time frame, the canister is shipped off a lab to quantify the gathered radon focus. Straightforward as that. DIY units are promptly accessible, in spite of the fact that you might need to consider having an expert oversee your test for ideal exactness. Since your experimental outcomes will be the premise of future activity (either none since levels seem protected or a costly radon relief) having the most ideal readings is significant. That way you'll have the option to settle on an educated conclusion about what the subsequent stages ought to be.

Radon Mitigation

Assuming that your test reports dangerous degrees of radon, you really want to resolve the issue quickly. You'll have to contact your nearby subject matter expert: They will actually want to plan and introduce the right radon decrease situation for your home. Contingent upon the development of your home, there are a few distinct choices. The most widely recognized are sub-chunk depressurization (for homes with storm cellars) and sub-layer depressurization (for homes with unfinished plumbing spaces).

Sub-chunk depressurization involves boring a little opening in the floor of the establishment section and uncovering a slight pit underneath. Then, at that point, a siphon is associated with the opening and the radon (and some other natural pollutants) is vacuumed out of the ground before it gets an opportunity to spill into your home. These gases are vented outside, where the radon can scatter innocuously. Sub-layer depressurization is like sub-piece depressurization, but since there is no section, a film is introduced over the floor of the unfinished plumbing space to trap the radon. The gas is extricated likewise and vented outside.

Since radon moderation is certainly not a one-size-fits-all interaction, this truly isn't a task for DIYers; from focusing on the passage highlight making a total seal, experts have the information, mastery, and expertise to guarantee your family will be protected.

Radon Resistant New Construction

In the event that you live in a space with a known radon issue and are building another home, you might need to think about radon safe development. These preplanned measures keep the radon from truly entering your home, halting the issue before it starts! The procedures are equivalent to for moderation, but since your house isn't being retrofitted the framework can be more productive as well as inconspicuous. For instance, vent stacks are introduced inside as the structure is built, concealing this likely blemish while still totally venting any radon gas. Converse with your worker for hire about whether radon safe new development is required for your home.

[mamavalcalaw]

Welcome to the Wasteland Ch22

"Preston," Blake's voice jarred the young commander out of his shock. "Grab my pack, I need to wrap this young man's arm, I don't think it's broken, but it needs to be wrapped."

Preston shook himself and moved to grab the bag, coming to help his fellow minutemen. As well as a few settlers, recognizing signs of radiation sickness in them all. Not too surprising as it was a common tactic for raiders to make captives sick, "They don't seem too far into radiation sickness."

"Not too much, but," Lana forced open one man's eyes, shining her light in his face and the eye. "They are definitely drugged with something, looks like a high dose of Med-X here."

"And here," Clare added, looking up from one of the younger women after cutting the rope knot for the bonds around the girl's feet and around one of the heavy desks. "Do we have room for them at the farm?"

"It'll be tight," Blake glanced at Lana, "But we have some room and safety available. On 'theme' so to say." The man snorted, finishing wrapping the arm of who he was helping, the joints likely spread but the smaller gash still needed covered.

"We'll have to improvise some more beds, but there should be enough mats I can harvest of the moss." Lana nodded, understanding what was meant, catching the capped canister marked as 'Addictol' that Preston tossed over from where he was checking the raider left supplies as well. "At least having a pillow for people. How do we get them all down in the bunker? The hatch would be hard to do even with Noel, Jack and Jackie helping."

Jacky hummed from where he was caring a young man out of the dark prisoner room, away from the fear stink and smell of uncontrolled bladder stained rugs. He had to shift to keep the young man's head from lulling and hitting the floor. "I would be worried about this happening. That drop and the ladder?"

"The hike to the main entrance would be too much for them." Lana fussed, getting one of her spare inhaler bases to use the pre-war drug suppressant. She made a mental note to somehow get some active charcoal for people to eat at this rate. "Even sobered up, they look as thin as you Preston."

Preston made a face, trying not to show how hard it was that he and Clare had to work together to carry one person out to the other room. Easier to see how to help in the upper lobby room, to see what needed done, let the people sober up and really rest for a bit. Preston was glad they almost all had canteens of water to help. Clare did pause to step into a bathroom to test and find the water still worked, but had to run a few minutes to get clear.

"I know how to do it." Jake spoke up, interrupting Preston realizing how pristine the inside of the bank really was. Dusty, with aging paint but it was still neat and intact. "We needed to get it out anyway."

"What do you mean?" Clare came back out, the three faucets still on behind her to flush out water into something clear. Her personal rad meter was in the middle sink to measure the levels.

Jake set down a blond hair man in the lobby, the minutemen Lana had been helping, Moving some of the desks farther aside with the woman and then paused, looking at her. "The wagon, Jacky and I can get it back together, and we just have to modify the pull…yoke thing."

"Yoke." Lana affirmed, thinking for a moment before brightening up. "I can get Buck and run back to get his harness. It's a bit different from his saddle and straps. Mary is out of town, waiting for the all clear sign. I taught her how to get up on Buck."

Posted on Ao3 Posted on FF.net

[painsandconfusion]

So. You asked for Oc asks.

I'm more than happy to comply.

1. Give us anything Nate, please. Seriously, one of the best dudes.

2. Everett head cannons (does it count as HCs if you're the author?) Favorite food? Movie genre?

3. Also. Sadistic whumper. Just curious, how do you imagine he looks like? Does he have a face in your mind?

Thank you

1. Hmm Nate. Nate likes to draw. We will get into that later in the story, but he keeps a sketchbook on his nightstand and does charcoal work when he can't sleep. He wears custom blue and white hightop converse and you can pry them out of his cold, dead fingers. He loves the smell of rain. For some reason he really likes Tuesdays and refuses to let any day be bad on Tuesday.

2. Ummmm Ev head cannons. Hmm. He shops at zero-waste grocery stores (like where you bring your own canisters and stuff in). He's very active in global warming and other environmental awareness areas and volunteers labor on the business side of things. His favorite food is probably ice cream. He doesn't watch TV a lot, but he would really like the cold case documentaries or medical shows as long as they were at least a little accurate.

3. Phobia Whumper, you mean? He has no face in my mind. I try to keep them pretty blank, but...like sandy brown hair? Fairly tall. Not sure what to say......Sorry I'm not a visual person. His full time job is as a manager at a tractor store (which he hates) if that suffices for information?

[toomuchponytail]

If you could do a 3rd part to #42, that would be amazing. Thank you!!!!

Oh absolutely! I like where this is going, so if you’d like a part four I’d be very open to continuing, (I might anyways, I’m selfish like that). 

I’m sorry for being an idiot! (And for, as always, taking a separate lifetime to actually deliver) 

I hope you like this! 

Even in the mad dash to get back to his base the antagonist took a moment to appreciate how much of an advantage they had in this moment. Sidekick had insisted that the antagonist drive--since they knew where their base was--and was now sitting in the back trying to keep hero conscious. 

The antagonist wasn’t really going to do anything, not now, even they had some semblance of standards--it’s what set them apart from one of the common criminals and/or thugs that ran rampant in the streets. 

That being said they did allow themselves a brief half-second of amusement at the situation, they had both of the people who stood in the way of their plans in the backseat pretty much defenseless. 

They couldn’t wait to brag about this to the other Villains in the city, after they found out what hero was dosed with and get them stable of course, they were enemies after all, not animals. 

“Are we almost there?! Sidekick shouted from the backseat, ripping the antagonist from their self-absorbed thoughts and setting them back on track. 

“I can’t get any sort of response from them at all!” 

The antagonist met sidekick’s wide terrified eyes in the rear view mirror, they tried to make their voice as calming as possible, “Are they still breathing?” 

There was a pause, the antagonist focused on the road, their eyes kept darting to the rear view mirror. 

“Yes, they’re breathing, but it’s really fast and shallow.” 

The antagonist swallowed, their throat was suddenly bone dry, “We’re here,” they said, ignoring sidekick’s question altogether, making a sharp turn around one of the supports for the bridge. 

For a moment sidekick thought they were going to smash into the wall, the old crumbly brick seemed to rush up to meet them, they yelped and jumped to cover hero’s body to try and minimize the damage from the crash. 

But there was no crash, and they passed through the wall like it was a crepe paper banner. 

The antagonist had the nerve to smirk at them in the mirror. 

Sidekick would have said something clever or even downright rude if they weren’t so worried about hero. 

All the normal questions and answers would have to wait, sidekick was ready to suspend their disbelief if the antagonist could help their friend. 

They looked down at them again, dreadfully pale, their eyes wide and dilated, their hair slicked down to their scalp with sweat. 

But the Antagonist was throwing open the door to the van, lifting hero and nodding to sidekick to follow them. 

Sidekick didn’t even think to try and gather Intel on the antagonist's lair as they rushed down tiled halls, passing rooms that glowed with electricity, empty boardrooms, and some rooms that must have been massive, their dark doorways stretching like open mouths. 

The antagonist didn’t stop, or even let up their frantic pace until they reached a door marked “lab” they motioned for sidekick to open it. 

Inside was pretty much what sidekick would have expected from a room marked lab, beakers and test tubes, a long metal table covered in documents and maps.

“Take them a moment,” the antagonist passed hero’s unresponsive form to sidekick, they swept everything off of the table in a few frantic gestures, they turned back to sidekick. 

“Lay them down,” they commanded distractedly, already beginning to rummage through a small refrigerator built under the table.

The antagonist's eyes were  shining, and for a moment sidekick felt a little bit afraid, a little bit like maybe they’d been a fool to trust a literal enemy and come with them to their own den. 

It had always been easy to dismiss this antagonist, they’d always been so flippant, seemingly more interested in witty dialog and complaining that the hero’s antics were boring than actually trying to create an empire, it now seemed to sidekick that this was more of a choice than a character flaw. 

“Give me that bag over there, the one marked charcoal,” the antagonist commanded, pointing to small shelf across the room full of silver canisters and small bags, they didn’t even bother looking at sidekick, they were busy drawing  blood from the hero’s arm into three small plastic vials. 

While sidekick was rummaging around in the shelves looking for the activated charcoal, the hero’s eyes suddenly snapped to meet the antagonists still leaning over them, filling the last of the vials, they took a deep shuddering breath and screamed, thrashing suddenly on the table. 

Sidekick was at their side in an instant, “It’s okay! Hero it’s me! You’re okay!” They tried to reassure desperately. 

Hero didn’t seem to hear them, they drew away from sidekick’s hands, flinching, the antagonist had to hold them to keep them from falling off of the table. 

Hero was sobbing now, reduced to animal fear shining like madness in their wide eyes, they clawed at the antagonist’s hands, shaking and trying to free themselves. 

“I’m sorry!” Hero sobbed brokenly, thrashing in the antagonist's and sidekick’s grip,  “leave me alone! I tried! I’m sorry I failed! Fuck! Get away from me!” 

Sidekick was still trying to talk to them, but the antagonist could see that hero was beyond talking, they didn’t want to give them anything else, they weren’t sure what they’d been given in the first place, and didn’t want to risk a potentially deadly reaction, but they did have something, a mix of their own invention, made to combat poisons, since the antagonist had believed briefly that that was how they were going to die. 

“Hold them down sidekick!” The antagonist hissed, making the decision to risk it, they quickly drew up some of their hopeful antidote into a syringe. 

They were expecting the worst, if hero had gotten this bad this quickly ...but never mind, they had to try something and hope that it worked on hero. 

Sometimes hope is a good sort of medicine, sometimes not, the antagonist didn’t like relying on it either way. 

They grabbed hero’s arm, exposing the crook and the vein they’d been drawing blood from, Hero was thrashing badly on the table, “Hold them!” The antagonist commanded sidekick. 

Sidekick looked shaken, possibly going into shock, but they redoubled their hold, nearly throwing themselves across hero to combat the thrashing. 

The antagonist administered the mixture, stepping out of range, pulling sidekick along with them as soon as the needle left hero’s flushed skin, they watched together in horrified silence as hero sobbed, cowering on the metal table from some imaginary threat. 

Eventually after what felt like hours but may have only been a few minutes, hero began to falter, they stopped their sobbed pleas, their eyes rolling wildly in their head. 

“Please,” they begged softly, “I can’t take it anymore... I just ...I can’t...” they went limp on the table, their head still covered by their arms. 

It took sidekick a moment to find their voice, “Is that...a good sign?” They croaked. 

“I don’t know,” the antagonist replied hollowly, sidekick noticed that their hands were trembling when they brushed some of their hair from their face. 

“What do we do now?” 

“We wait,” The antagonist said grimly, coming closer to falling than sitting at one of the chairs along the wall, “And I hope I suppose,” they added absently, chuckling softly without a touch of humor. 

Sidekick sat next to them, both of them watching hero for some sign of change, waiting being the worst, but sometimes most necessary form of medicine.

[firstwaterfilters]

The Truth About Water Filters

Next time when a young person asks what kind of adult you are, please say something like this: “Suddenly, you are worried that the water filter is dirty, you chose the wrong water filter, or you need to replace the water filter, but you don’t remember Where is it. This book tells you how to do it. You don’t remember where to put the replacement water filter, so you press the reset button and you will worry about it again a few months later.”

Most people have a good chance of having some kind of water filter in their homes, but this seemingly simple devices-they just filter water, right? -very complicated. There are many legal questions about water filters. You should ask them if you want to ensure the health of the whole family. Do you really need to use a water filter? Are they worth spending such crazy money? Do you really need to replace them? Do they really make your drinking water safer?

This is an interesting trivia-the water filter is not a modern invention.

According to Lenntech Water Treatment Solutions, the foundation of water purification can be traced back to 2,000 BC. Records from ancient Greece, Egypt, and India indicate that they knew the importance of clean water and usually boiled and filtered it through sand or gravel. In 500 BC, Hippocrates developed a water filter that we recognized. He called it the Hippocratic Sleeve, which is essentially a cloth bag into which water can be poured to filter out sediment.

Rome built a huge aqueduct and infrastructure system, but the fall of Rome destroyed most of them and left many things on hold. It was not until 1627 that Sir Francis Bacon tried to filter out salt from the water through sand.

By the 1700s, some houses were using filters made of sponge, charcoal, and wool. It was not until Scotland built the first water treatment plant in 1804 that filtration began on a municipal scale. In 1854, the cholera epidemic swept through London and found that even if the water seemed safe to drink, it was not necessarily clean. Australia’s water filter company said that Queen Victoria really increased the visibility of household water filters, especially the pottery forms made by Royal Dalton. The carbon filter came out in 1862, and all that is left is to perfect the ideas that people have worked on for hundreds of years.

There are several different filters, but most filters follow the same general principles. According to Explain That Stuff, most filters have two parts that work together to remove impurities from the water. First, there is a physical part-water is filtered through a fine mesh, which usually handles larger impurities.

Another method is chemical filtration, which sounds similar at first glance. However, here, water will flow through something (such as activated carbon), where a chemical reaction will occur, causing impurities to be pulled out of the water and into the filter.

Frigidaire said the activated carbon filter is the most common filter used in households. That’s because it has the best of both worlds. Larger particles will be captured on the surface of the charcoal, and the carbon will absorb some other unwanted pollutants in the water, especially lead and volatile organic compounds or VOCs. Then, a chemical reaction also took place here, and it was this kind of reaction that helped to remove the chlorine in the water.

This is a simple question: Why do you think most people choose to install a water filter in their house or choose a water filter?

According to data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, one of the most common reasons people start researching filters is that they don’t like the taste of water. Sometimes, when you drink tap water, you are tasting chemicals that make it safe. Since this is a popular complaint, many of the most popular refrigerator and jug filters are designed to improve this taste.

Another common reason for using water filters is that households may be concerned that lead can seep into the water from pipes. They may also worry that arsenic will enter the water source, although this is usually a bigger problem for those with private wells. Nitrate can also enter the water system of a well, and anyone dealing with a medical condition affecting their immune system should choose a water filter very carefully.

When choosing a water filtration system, there are many more options than you think, and CDC says that not all options are the same. It all depends on your needs and how much time and money you are willing to spend.

For example, look at those water filter tanks. Of course, they are easy to use and do not require any special requirements, but if you drink a lot of water or make a lot of lemonade, iced tea, or any kind of water-waiting for the water to flow through the filter, it becomes very, very boring.

Refrigerator filters are great, and most filters also filter the water used in the ice maker. But these edr1rxd1 water filters need to be replaced regularly, which may increase costs. If most of your water comes from a tap, you can also install a tap-installed filter. However, some installations require professional installation, and you may find that it greatly reduces the water flow. Some may even require modifications to your existing pipeline, so the first thing is to determine how far you are willing to go. The same is true for the filter under the sink, but if you want to save space and filter all the water, it might be worth it.

Then there are many options for the water treatment system throughout the house, which may be convenient for people who use wells or especially hard water. It will treat all incoming water, but it may require not only professional installation but also regular maintenance. Take the time to weigh the pros and cons!

The light in the refrigerator flashes again, which means the filter needs to be replaced. But the water flowing from it tastes good, so is it really necessary to replace the filter?

Home Revolution provides a useful analogy and says that you should think of the water filter as a lint tray in a clothes dryer. It will collect various variants, and if you don’t empty them, terrible things will happen. The same thing happens to your water filter, if you don’t make changes, its efficiency will be reduced, and you won’t even be able to use the water filter. The photo here shows a clean and dirty water filter-do you want to drink from dirty filtered water?

Different water filters have different service lives, so you must consult the accompanying literature to see how often the water filter needs to be replaced-usually, this is based on time or the amount of water filtered. To

According to Fresh Water Systems, if you do not replace the refrigerator filter, it is likely that all the contaminants captured so far will actually overflow and eventually return to the water. That will definitely make you sick.

If choosing a water filtration system seems overwhelming, then this is a way to help eliminate those systems that are not worth the time. According to the CDC, one of the best things you can do is to look for “NSF” marks. This means that the product has been evaluated by the independent research company NSF International, which tests various products to ensure they meet public health standards, and its label will inform you of the results.

NSF International regularly tests products and conducts on-site testing to ensure that they continue to meet the standards, and the health of your family is involved, which is exactly what you want.

NSF’s specific criteria for testing water treatment products include distillation, cyst reduction, reverse osmosis, and taste and odor-in other words, no matter what you want the water filter to do, NSF can tell you how good it the water is. If you don’t see their approval seal, please keep looking.

Water filters may filter out a lot of bad things, but this does not mean they are clean. According to a study by the University of Michigan (via Michigan NPR), the opposite is true.

The researchers studied the number of bacteria coming out of the water filter and said: “The number of bacteria coming out of the water filter has increased relative to the number of bacteria entering the water filter. We found that the number of these bacteria can increase at most 100 times. .”

Although they emphasize that not all bacteria are dangerous bacteria, there are some follow-up footnotes on this. If you choose an entire house filter to remove chlorine from the water, the CDC warns that you have a chance to eventually increase the number of bacteria and bacteria living in the pipeline. To

This is worth thinking about, and so is this important warning from the CDC: For those with compromised immune systems (such as those undergoing chemotherapy or other cancer treatments), water filters are essential. However, because bacteria accumulate in the water filter, those people should not replace the filter cartridge. Even healthy individuals should wear gloves when replacing ink cartridges and wash their hands thoroughly afterward.

The term “sticker impact” hasn’t even begun to explain how you feel when you buy those replacement filters. Whether they are canister filters or refrigerator filters, it seems that their prices are very unreasonable. What happened here?

Glacial Pure said in the now-deleted blog post that there are factors that make the cost of replacing the filter high, and the cost of the high-quality raw materials needed to ensure that the filter operates as expected are only part of the story. The production of water filters also requires a lot of research and development. Once completed, a lot of testing must be carried out before being put on the market. This is not just a test problem, but a series of test problems, including special tests for heavy metals, residual chlorine, particles, etc., etc. To

You would think that all these seem to be excused. This is forgivable. Consumer Reports has studied whether expensive water filters are really better. They found that they are absolutely, and there is only one aftermarket filter with legal credentials and test results (and a lower price tag), and that is Culligan. Even they did not get the same certification as the more expensive models, which shows that the water filter is definitely worth your money.

When you think of something that is often counterfeited, you may not think of a w10295370 water filter. But you should-Sharon said that the counterfeit water purifier industry poses a major health risk.

It turns out that this is a lucrative market. After all, water filters are expensive, and they are one of those things that people are willing to try to make cheaper. There are many such things that are difficult to study-which means there are many things on the market that have not been evaluated.

There is a bigger problem-not only can they not really improve the taste of water or remove pollutants, but they can actually leak pollutants into the water. According to the Association of Home Appliance Manufacturers, it was discovered that the forged filters could leak arsenic and other carcinogens.

It is estimated that there are millions of such fake water filters on the market, and the situation is so serious that the US Customs and Border Patrol have begun to capture them. Between 2016 and 2018, they grabbed more than 150,000 people before reaching the intended Amazon seller. They warned consumers to be vigilant. These fakes usually try to imitate legitimate companies, but if they don’t look right, they may be incorrect.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Scratch Marks

Genre: supernatural

Words: 4.3k

Summary: a mail carrier finds an unusual house on her route with junk out front and strange creatures scavenging through the trash.

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I was on my third cup of coffee that morning and kept readjusting my crooked rear view mirror with a jittery buzz. My daughter's new baby had been keeping the whole house awake for a week with his crying and sleep had not been much of an option. Julie and her husband were staying with me while they got back on their feet, but little baby Timone had teething pains. 

They were taking him to the doctor for a checkup that day while I did my normal route. I had been a mail carrier for almost twenty-three years at that point and I was also the only one making an income after my son-in-law lost his job.

I made it a point of pride to be timely and friendly as I went, because really there wasn’t anything else for it. My mom always said I had a sense of time like an atomic clock while my older brother’s said I was like a tiny bossy CEO of the household with that clock.

I was good at chatting and keeping a schedule, but that also sometimes meant a second or even third cup of coffee before the morning was through to keep up the same smile. I liked the drink strong and with extra shots if I could get away with it or simply black as sin and an added small dollop of cream.

I was enjoying a third black coffee my daughter made and put in a canister as I got the Westchester neighborhood. It was a semi-rural area with houses that barely touched one another for miles and long stretches of road where only yellow grasses and trees grew.

I wouldn’t call it poor, but maybe compact, subdued, weathered. People along the route were mechanics and waitresses and owned packs of duct tape to do repairs with instead of wrenches.

There were only five houses along the whole street and I knew every single one of them by name. I talked to Mrs. Thomas about her garden and delivered two separate envelopes to the pretty yellow house with both of their sons out on active duty.

It got to the middle of the stretch when I noticed that there was a new address on one of the letters: 1134 Westchester Road. I looked up to see that there were boxes out front one of the houses. That gave me pause to think, for as long as I had been delivering to the area there hadn’t been anyone living in the middle house with the weeds growing up and dusty blue sidings.

I hadn’t seen a for-sale sign in front either, but something must have happened as I now had a plain white letter addressed to it and heaps of rubbish stacked out by the curb. Good for them, I thought rather airily about the clean-up job and went up toward the mailbox by the road.

It was a one story house that was closer to the road than the others and had a short driveway and rocky garden out front. I noticed that the new owners had already bought frilly white curtains for the windows and cleaned up some of the plastic bags and metal cans left in the front yard.

I approached the grey tin mailbox and was going to be quick about the delivery. I had spent a little too much time talking to Mrs. Thomas earlier and I knew when I needed to keep myself on track.

As I rounded the house I noticed more and more garbage piled up: an old wooden dresser covered in scrapes, a squeaky metal chair, and boxes stuffed full left and right. There was junk wrapping all the way around the house and out back.

Moving into a new place is always tricky so I figured they must have made quick work of the clean-up job. It was all stacked high and had an abandoned feel to it, but I didn’t have time to really think too deeply about it.

I only stopped when I saw movement among the piles just besides the house. I was still slightly jittery from all the caffeine and the thing caught my eye as if my gaze was summoned to it.

It was furry, low to the ground, jet-black, and when I squinted ahead I saw a head with two pointed ears. I always had been an animal person, I enjoyed all the dogs and cats and even a parrot that I passed by on the regular. This one was standing on top of a box next to a spotted old mattress leaning against the side of the house with a spring sticking through the fabric.

The creature turned and it was as black as ink and almost wet looking. I only slowly recognized it as something like a cat. I say “something” because it waved it’s long elegant tail in the air and there were two of them.

Two twin tails that waved back and forth together. My eyebrows rose and the cat blinked back at me with jet black eyes that would have had me praying to God or the devil if I was the religious type. I shivered from the sight of the completely dark eyes and the two tails and took a staggering step back. I rubbed my eyes for a moment to get the image out of my head and luckily when I looked up again the cat was gone and there was nothing but a sunny home with new owners inside. I placed the letter quickly in their mailbox and hurried back to my van and was on my way. I limited myself to two cups of coffee a morning after that.

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I only mentioned the weird cat once to my family, but my daughter told me to get my eyes checked out and my son-in-law asked me if I was feeling alright. They were always worried about my health after I took a tumble a few years earlier and banged my head on a banister.

I reminded them that I wasn’t old enough to go senile just yet and then changed the subject to the baby and whether we needed to invest in earplugs already. I put thoughts of the house out of my head.

It was a week later when I got a second letter for 1134 Westchester Road. I couldn’t exactly place why my stomach dropped so thoroughly at the sight of it, but it did. The letter itself was a normal envelope with a classic American flag as the stamp and no return address in the corner.

I shook it, once, next to my ear and found nothing unusual about that either. Don’t be daft, I told myself and brushed off any odd feeling in my gut and drove up to Westchester Road determined to think about anything else.

I chatted with Mrs. Thomas about the birds returning, delivered the letters from the boys stationed in Germany and South Korea respectfully, and then went toward 1134. It was a dull blue color and just as quiet as the time before.

There were no cars in the driveway and no lights on inside, which made sense since it was a sunny day in early spring. I was out of my van and couldn’t help but stare when I saw the piles and piles of junk out front. Maybe they hadn’t gotten the trash collectors to to do a big pick-up yet or maybe they were setting up a yard sale.

Explanations raced through my thoughts, but I couldn’t shake the fact that as far as I could tell this was an all new set of junk. Instead of a wardrobe there was a busted brown couch and old blankets stacked high and a bruised stool and several old stained pillows. Every last piece of it looked different and when I examined them I could see scratch marks and indents in all of the furniture and boxes.

I quickly went to the mailbox and forced myself to not look at the mini-junkyard forming in the front yard of the otherwise tidy looking house. I turned to leave and there was a shuffling.

I couldn’t stop myself and turned to where there were two of them this time. Two jet-black cats with twin-tails and black velvet eyes. I almost swallowed my tongue though when both cats tilted their heads up and they didn’t just blink two eyes.

A third, completely charcoal dark eye was in the center of each of their foreheads and I was transfixed. I had heard of six-toed cats that lived in Florida and different mutations like extra heads and legs, but there was something about these strange sure-footed creatures that turned my blood cold.

They gave me a passing glance and then turned back to the junk and started hopping among it. I didn’t stick around to see what they did next as I turned and bolted for my car and kept my eyes on the road as I drove away.

I went back and forth on whether I should call animal control or a priest or something, but I looked back in my mirror and I couldn’t justify it. It was just another rural home with too much stuff out front, could I really report it? Would anyone care? I kept driving.

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I think the houses I delivered to could tell I was distracted. It had been two weeks since I delivered the letter to the house with the cats and I just received another letter for them. I noted the name at the top this time: Simon Wallis.

It wasn’t strange and I was starting to think maybe I should get my head checked out again for some sort of latent concussion symptoms. But I wasn’t there quite yet, and all I knew was that I was going back there that day and that made dread prickle across my skin.

I drank an extra coffee beforehand for the boost and called my daughter once on the phone as I started that day. “What’s up mom?” She asked before audibly yawning.

“Just wanted to hear your voice.” I knew it was an ominous thing to say and maybe even overreacting, but I the cold knot in my gut was hard to ignore. Everyone that day including Mrs. Sanchez and Mr. Harris asked me if something was wrong and I had to tell them it was nothing. Nothing at all.

I told myself to do my job and get it over with.

The house approached as it always did with square windows holding delicate white curtains and no sign of any people rummaging around outside. Mrs. Thomas wasn’t outside that day to talk to and there weren’t any letters from the brothers so I went straight to 1134.

It was like before: plastic bins and coffee tables and a broken lamp and armchair and even a dented old refrigerator out front. But it was all different and worn and nothing I recognized from before.

I took a deep breath in through my mouth and exited my vehicle to deliver the faceless white letter. I was quick on my feet and didn’t stop for a second until I reached the mailbox. There was something already inside when I opened the mailbox when I opened it and that made me wrinkle my brow.

I resisted the urge to open the folded piece of paper and look at it. There were rules and matters of privacy that you didn’t want to breach. I stood there deciding whether or not to give in and open it up when I heard a noise: skrtch, skrtch, skrtch.

I froze. A sound was coming from within the house. It was like something dragging across tiles or the long scraping of a knife against a pan.

Skrtch, skrtch, skrthch. 

It wasn’t particularly loud or abrasive, but it was incredibly clear and unmistakable. I stood there, numbed by it, and my eyes were drawn to the garden level windows, the place where the basement would be.

Skrtch, sktch, skrch. 

Some part of me knew this was the sort of thing you should run from or report or at the very least scream about. But I only stood and watched that garden level window as the scratching went on and on. Long and dragging with a dull force about it.

Something was down there.

I jumped violently when a sudden hiss came from an old tv box and I looked over to see one of the inky black cats hissing at the window. That broke me out of my revery enough to hustle back to my car and climb in. 

I turned the engine on and it was only when I was miles away did I notice that my apparent internal clock had failed me. Almost an hour had passed with me not moving or thinking very straight.

I decided not to mention the incident to my daughter and apologized profusely to work and all my next deliveries for being later. 

After that I asked for another route away from Westchester Road.

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It was about two weeks later when I first noticed the significant rise in the number of “Missing Cat” posters around town. A certain number of them were to be expected because of coyotes in the area and cars and general bad luck.

But there were posters up at the grocery store plastering the community board and littering the local poles and little girls sitting on the side of the road asking if they had seen Sasha. Sasha was an indoor cat she said and had never been outside a day in her life. And now she was gone.

This unnerved me deeply, but I had to admit I was also distracted by personal matters as Julie and Richard were fighting often now and the baby was still not getting a restful night's sleep. I kept having to intervene and watch the bills keep piling up for diapers and doctors visits.

It wasn’t until April that the house returned to the forefront of my mind and I was completely undone. There were a group of four mail carriers congregated outside the post office. We often stopped and exchanged stories before being on our way, but the group had their heads together were all whispering and exchanging swift glances.

“What’s going on?” I asked slowly and looked to one of the newer and more talkative members of the group.

“Well,” Tim swallowed visibly. “Have you heard about Bao?” He asked quickly and my eyebrows rose.

“Yes, I know Bao. Good guy, has two kids.” Bao was somewhat new to the area, a Chinese immigrant, and a fellow mail carrier that always had a joke or two about heavy packages and people with tiny yappy dogs.

He was older than me and while I didn’t know him well I was always happy to see him.

“He hasn’t been into work for a couple of days.” Whispered Kim as if speaking any louder might hurt their ears. “I heard his wife is thinking of filing a missing persons report.” I stopped and stared out into nothing. “Is.” My face went blank, “does anyone know if he took over the Westchester Route?” Someone confirmed that he had, but I already knew that. I already knew that he had taken my old route and how that now meant something.

I thought about Bao and the terrible scratching house for the rest of the day, but when I went to the police station I ended up leaving rather quickly. I didn’t have anything suspicious to report except for a bad feeling and they reassured me they were looking for Bao Wu everywhere.

But I realized as I walked out that they weren’t going to the house.

I went home that night and helped entertain the baby with nonsense sounds, made a Hamburger helper meal, and watched my son-in-laws favorite Law and Order episode before climbing into bed. I didn’t sleep though.

I stared at the ceiling and stared and counted my breaths and the thoughts churned and churned inside me like an upset ocean. Bao had a family. He had two young kids and a wife he said snored so loudly it woke the dead.

And I let him take my route.

I threw the blankets off and went to my drawer. My husband had been an avid hunter before passing away in early 2013 from a sudden heart attack. He left me everything in the will, but I ended up selling the house anyway and only keeping a handful of things we owned together.

I opened the drawer and took out one of the few presents from him I still kept. It was a switch army knife with a silver cross on it and insignia on it: For my Mountain Lion Warrior.

When I was a kid me and my dad and brothers had scared away a mountain lion from our house by beating pots and pans together and standing in each other’s shoulders. That was the first story that made Michael hoot and slap his knee and ask if I was seeing anyone.

I said no and I wasn’t about to start. That made him laugh too.

That had been decades ago and as I was looking at my pocket knife I knew what I was going to do. I got dressed, left a note on the table, and slipped into my tiny neeson explorer.The silver of the moon as bright as daylight that night and hung shimmery and bright above the stars.

I texted my daughter at a red light and it wasn’t anything important, I knew she didn’t need anything more to worry about. I wasn’t one to let things go though.

I was still the bossy CEO as far as I was concerned and I was going to do what I needed to do. I slowly crept up toward the house on Westchester Road.

It was dull and quiet and the only sounds were crickets in the distance and lonely coyotes out on the plains. Every house I passed had its lights off and there were no street lamps out this far.

I parked across the street from 1134 and stared at the piles of junk: the office chairs missing wheels, and large vanity with a broken mirror, and an umbrella with holes in the fabric. All scratched and marked-up.

I slowly, painstakingly made my way toward the yard. The second I stepped past the first chair I saw two cat-creatures jump down from perches up high and stare at me. Their eyes were missing iris’s looked off past me and then leisurely darted back among the trash.

I had to pick my way through the boxes and piles of stuff to try to get to the front door, but I stopped when I was almost half-way there. The door was quiet and unassuming, but something deep in my chest told me not to knock. Not to go there and confirm my worst suspicions.

Instead, I watched as several of the cats flicked their double-tails back and forth and then rounded the house. I frowned for a moment before deciding to follow them. I tried not to disturb any piles of stuff and passed chipped plates in boxes and a large oven giving off a greasy burnt smell.

I wove my way back and as I walked I noticed more and more cats along the way. They were all the same with damp looking black fur and two tails, but only a few of them had the third eye in the center of their head.

I tried not to look at that eye.

There must have been two dozen cats I passed and as the yard opened up I only saw more and more of them crouching on the ground and hiding behind chipped pots and all glancing in my direction. Their ears twitched and their tails swept back and forth, but besides that they just seemed to be loitering.

Some of them gave out soft meows that were slightly off, a cat’s mew but deeper and fringed with something like clanging metal rods being hit together. I went around the house and faced the back of the house.

The back was demure and had the same white curtains in the windows and blank blue wall, but there was a garden window at the base of the house that was propped open. It was a long window that was about as tall as one of the cat’s themselves and dark inside.

Just outside the window were torn scraps. I circled the scraps and tried to get a better look at them. They were brown and frayed and as far as I could tell were just pieces of discarded cloth cut into squares.

None of the cats went near the long dark window, but I watched as several of them darted forward, picked up a scrap, ran away with it, and then settled in to gobble it down. The cats hunched low and ate piece after piece of the cloth squares.

I frowned at this deeply for a long minute and then a noise erupted from the window.

Scrtch, scrtch, scrtch.

The scraping returned, heavy and tangible as something you could hold in your hands. The sound drew closer.

Scrtch, scrtch, scrtch.

I turned just in time to hear a chorus of hissing cats and a long tendril thin arm slowly emerged from the darkness of the window. My mouth fell open as the it extended outward.

It was too thin and too long and too perfectly white and almost soft looking and with delicate thin skin- like flower petals. Blue rope-like veins that popped out of the skin itself as it moved.

At the very end of the long grotesque white arm was a hand with at least seven fingers and long, ugly nails at the end. They were yellowing at the ended and sharpened into gnarled ends. I gaped at the display as it held a handful of those loose scraps of brown fabric that dropped freely to the ground.

The cats circled the squares with interest, but none of them dared to go any closer to the clawed thing. My mouth was dry and entire body empty of any thoughts as blood drained from my face. 

I couldn’t just leave there though. “Bao.” I called out weakly. “I’m looking for Bao Wu.”

I peered into the dark window and could make out nothing but the long arm that gently shook the pieces of fabric in the air as if offering it up. I shook slightly and all thoughts of heroics or investigation were draining away. 

This was far above my pay grade.

I turned and started to edge back toward the edge of the yard and hopefully freedom. I was about to bolt away when the hand extended and shook the scraps more insistently. And there was an outline of a face in the dark. And eyes. At least four eyes with a milky-white gleam to them and piercing through me.

The feeling that gripped me from those ivory eyes was indescribable, hot and loose and terrible. I opened my mouth to scream. Then the hand wrapped around my ankle with the force of a snapping turtle’s jaw and yanked.

“Ah!” I fell to the ground and disturbed a box of pots and pans that toppled to the ground and I was being dragged and dragged toward that open gaping window and strange horrible pale face. The nearest cats hissed violently and tore me out of my terror. I took out my pocket knife from pants pocket and twisted in place to hack wildly at the fingers latched around my ankle.

I ended up clipping myself and feeling the sting of my own blood dribble down, but I hacked at two of the fingers and they fell bloodlessly away with only dark holes in left in the place. The hand gripped harder, but made no sound. I cut faster and just as my toes dipped into the darkness I dislodged the last one and kicked and kicked until I was away from the hole in the wall.

I crawl and ran and screeched and pushed boxes down and ran into the side of the old fridge and blindly crashed into my car. I’m not sure if the thing tried to pursue me or not, but it didn’t matter. I was away.

I went to the police the night, hysterical, and while they didn’t believe me about the hand and the cats, they did go to the house.

I warned them over and over to get the military or a psychic or priest, but it didn’t matter. It was empty.

I didn’t go in with them, but according to reports and rumors they went inside and the house was packed wall to wall with junk. Old car bumpers and chairs and soiled mattresses and ovens that shouldn’t have been in the living room and piles of jeans and t-shirts that shouldn’t have been in the dishwasher.

I wasn’t proved to be completely crazy though, they went to the basement and it was the only place that was completely bare except for one sleeping middle-aged man. He was hog-tied in the corner and apparently drowsing in some deep slumber when they found him.

Bao Wu was rescued from the empty basement and reported that he was delivering the mail to 1134 one moment and then was waking up at the police station the next. The cats however were gone and so were the terrible brown pieces of cloth on the ground.

But I had to keep asking myself once Bao came back whether he always had six fingers on each hand.

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