#Funeral In Berlin

[spyboy2000]

"I'm the original bourgeois nightmare; a Cockney with intelligence and a million dollars."

- ᴍɪᴄʜᴀᴇʟ ᴄᴀɪɴᴇ

[loremori]

Martin Freeman (179/366)

Sir Michael Caine and Martin Freeman attend the Raindance Film Festival opening night gala party at The Dorchester (2021). PHOTO 📸 by David M. Benett/Dave Benett.

Special mention to these two films starring Sir Michael Caine: "Funeral in Berlin" (1966) by Guy Hamilton and "Sleuth" (1972) by Joseph L. Mankiewicz.

[spockvarietyhour]

[theblackestofsuns]

[rabidhiss]

Retails $1,500.000 Original by RAYMOND HAWKEY

[spryfilm]

Blu-ray review: “Funeral in Berlin” (1966)

“Funeral in Berlin” (1966) Drama Running Time: 102 minutes Written by: Evan Jones Directed by: Guy Hamilton Featuring: Michael Caine, Paul Hubschmid, Oskar Homolka, Eva Renzi, Guy Doleman and Hugh Burden Samantha Steel: “My name is Samantha Steel. Some people call me Sam.” Harry Palmer: “Edmund Dorf. Some people call me Edna.” Critical Commentary “Funeral in Berlin” is a 1966 British spy…

[shy-girl04]

Blue Skies

Blue days

All of them gone

Nothing but blue skies

From now on

I never saw the sun shining so bright

Never saw things going oh-so right

Noticing the days hurrying by

When you're in love, my how they fly

Lyrics - Irving Berlin

Singer - Ella Fitzgerald

[dream-wav]

This heart of mine

Goes out of time

Blue skies turn black

Behind our back

Don’t let me go

[sigalrm]

In memoriam of Alexei Navalny by Pascal Volk

[ty-loves]

Briarwood Mortuary🕊️🪦

The Briarwood Mortuary is owned & operated by the Briar Family of Brindleton Bay. This longstanding mortuary & cemetery is the resting place of many of Brindleton Bay's most coveted citizens. This lot can be used to lay your sims to rest peacefully, host a funeral service, or even have a wedding in the cemetery.  

Gallery ID: ty_loves415 (✅include custom content to find builds)

Information: 

30x30 lot

$319,543

 Functions as: Generic, Wedding Venue, or Museum lot

CC Used:

Asabinsims | Real Trees for build mode (1) 

Alf-si | Birch Trees (1),

Magnoliidae | Leafy Ground Cover plant recolor (1)

TheJim07 | Gravestone & Mortuary ts3 (1), Mater Dolorosa (1), Winged Victory of Samothrace (1)

Felixandre | Estate (2), (1), (3), Paris (2), (1), Chateau (2), (5), (6), Berlin (2), (1), London (1), Gothic Revival (2), (1), Grove (4), Fayun (2), (1), Florence (2), (1), Soho (1)

Pinkbox AnYe | Venice (1), Summer Garden (1), (2), Bayfront Powder room (1),  Miranda (1), Cozy Corner (1), Magnolia (1), Ashwood Dining (1)

SYB | Ratatouille Kitchen (1), Hotel (1), Piano (1)

Valia | Mediterranean columns (1)

Lilis Palace | Folklore Skanzen (5), Intarsia Enfilade (1)

Plush Pixels | Parisian Apartment (1), Summer in the Hamptons (2)

Max20 | Garden at Home (1)

Pierisim | Domaine du Clos (2), (1), Auntie Vera’s Bathroom Toilet (1), Winter Garden (1), Woodland Ranch Old Rug (1)

Harrie | Coastal (2), (8), Copenhagen (1), Brutalist Bathroom Tiles (1)

PsychicPeanutKitty | Ghost w/ a Lantern (1)

KHD | Noor Set (1), Ghibli (2), Liberty (1), Countess Desk & Chair (1)

Severinka | Halloween 2018 (1)

Sims4Luxury | Fall 2023 Pumpkins (1)

Myshunosun | Herbalist Clutter (1)

Natalia-Auditore | Baron Samedi Coffins (1)

CWB | Anapolis Wall Light (1), October 2022 (1)

HYDRA | Heart Vanity (1)

Sooky88 | Vertical Oil Paintings (1)

PandoraSimBox | Get to Church Stuff Pack Pulpit (1) LittleDica | Countryside Cabin Roof Trim (1)

*Packs Used: Lovestruck (benches), Cottage Living, City Living, Get Together, Jungle Adventure GP, Romantic Garden Stuff, Paranormal Stuff Extras & TOU: 

Please do not reupload or claim my build as your own

Please do feel free to tag me if you use this build <3

Always use bb.moveobjects when placing

Reshade by YoursTrulySims

Leave a comment here if you have any issues

Thank you all cc creators <3

All trees used in this build are CC, not defaults.  

@asabinsims @felixandresims @pinkbox-anye @alf-si @sooky88 @pierisim @lilis-palace @myshunosun @kerriganhouse @harrie-cc @sims4luxury @psychicpeanutkitty @valiasims @maxsus @littledica @hydrangeachainsaw @nataliaauditore-blog @syboubou @thejim07 @magnoliidae @plushpixelssims

[di-42]

Unfortunately once again I've only had time and mental energy for very short fictions that could fit in a commute or two this month. But, as it's always the case, there are a few wonderful gems among these! 

Please don't be fooled by the number of Kudos! Ao3 is not Amazon! 

As always I'll tag the writers whose tumblr usernames I know. If you're a writer and you want your story removed from this list please let me know.

And now, without further ado, let me tell you about the wonderful stories I've read this month, and the things I loved about them! ♥️

November’s Notable Fictions

WIPs:

Wavelengths & Frequencies, by @shadesofecclescakes and imposterssyndrome @maaikeatthefullmoon Rated E, chapters 15/?

This story is such a warm, cozy, comfort blanket. Enemies-to-lovers human AU where Aziraphale and Crowley work as DJ for the same media corporation. They have a history, but we don't know what it is at the beginning. Great story, great humour, great characterisation, great fuzzies, absolutely great banter! I look forward to every update and do a little joyful dance every time I get an update notification. This fiction is becoming one of my all time favourites.

You're The Bad Guys, by Nebz_AlphaCentauri @alphacentaurinebula Rated E, chapters 20/?

Cold war human AU in which Aziraphale is an MI6 agent and Crowley is a KGB agent. Each of them is assigned to a mission in Berlin, from opposite sides of course. Great characterisation, suspense and references to canon.

My own WIP, And I Did, rated E, chapters 14/15 (nearly there!)

In my not-a-summary I say that this is a story about faith, about love, and about choices. Which is true. But I have come to think of it also as my apology dance to Crowley. My headcanon about Aziraphale has always been clear, but at first I wasn't sure about what Crowley would do after the final 15. I didn't see Crowley drinking himself oblivious or taking a road of self destruction. But I didn't know what he would do. Then it hit me, and that was when I started writing And I Did. I knew what Crowley would do. Crowley would do what Crowley does. And what does Crowley do best? This is a story about faith, about love, and about choices. Aziraphale is Supreme Archangel, Crowley is Grand Duke Of Hell, and they have to bring about the Second Coming. And of course they're not talking.

Complete stories:

The Small Ad by ladydragona and SylWritesStuff, rated E, 32k.

To overcome boredom, Crowley offers his services as a hired partner. Aziraphale is need of someone to pretend to be his partner. The rest is history. This is a lovely, hot, and sweet fake relationship fiction. Very interestingly, the POV changes at every paragraph, and because the story has two authors it left me wondering whether one wrote Crowley and one wrote Aziraphale, but kind of in real time.

The Angel’s Gambit, by Augenblickglotte, @dragonfire42 , rated T, 9k.

Aziraphale has been playing chess with the angel of Death for over 1500 years. You'll have to read it to find out why. I loved the banter between Aziraphale and Azrael. 

Percy, by Jackie Thomas (Jakie_Thomas), not rated, 10k.

This is the story that touched me the most this month. It's set 100 years in the future. Aziraphale leads a quiet existence in a cottage. When Adam Young dies of very old age, Crowley picks up Aziraphale to go to his funeral. He doesn't stay after that, and you'll have to read it to find out why. The story does have a (kind of) happy ending. Or a hopeful one, at least. But it digs deep in some of my very real, very human fears. Fear for the planet, fear of growing old, fear of growing apart, fear of everything ending without us ever getting a second chance of fixing things. I really loved this story and will go back to it again. It also gets extra points for reversing the roles of how the fandom usually see Aziraphale and Crowley! Top marks! 

Caramel Delight, by AJ_Constantine, rated E, 16k.

Lovely neighbours to lovers human AU. Crowley is instantly attracted to the new neighbour and his -oh, lord- forearms (and, I mean, who wouldn't?). But he's determined not to make things awkward, they are just friendly neighbours. That's why Aziraphale keeps knocking on his door for more of that caramel sauce Crowley makes so well. One of the tags in this fiction is: Aziraphale is bad at flirting. I very much beg to differ.

One shots and short stories: 

Can I Have Your Number? by AppleSeeds, rated G, 1.8k.

Aaawww. Aziraphale goes to order drinks for him and Tracy, and writes down his number for bartender Crowley. Crowley asked for it, right? RIGHT?? All well that ends well, this story is brief and sweet. 

Angels Don't Blow Their Own Trumpets, by shaggydogstail, rated E, 8k.

This story had me cackle! Crowley poisons himself by accident (well, by trying to be cool, point is he didn't mean to) and there's only an antidote that can save him. Please DO READ the tags for this one. 

Anthony J. Crowley, Retired Demon And Airbnb Superhost, by TheOldAquarian, rated G, 3k.

A selection of reviews by guests who rented Crowley's flat on Airbnb. Very funny! 

Proving One’s Loyalty, by @indigovigilance , rated E, 4k.

Set towards the end of season 1, Aziraphale goes to heaven to speak with a higher authority only to find that Gabriel has taken Crowley prisoner. Aziraphale has to torture him in order to prove himself to heaven. Smut ensues. 

You Can't Un-See A Dog, by Dannye Chase (HolyCatsAndRabbits), HolyCatsAndRabbits @holycatsandrabbits rated T, 4k

This was one of the highlights of my month, fiction-wise! Crowley is summoned by two humans to be offered in sacrifice. Aziraphale knocks on their door within, like, 3 minutes. I just loved this story: The light banter and the interactions between Crowley and Aziraphale are chef's kiss; the adorable domesticity of their relationship shines through in a situation that really is not domestic at all; Aziraphale is being his incredibly brilliant self; AND there's a little mystery-solving thrown in for good measure! Top marks! 

Hold The Phone, by theRavenMuse, rated E, 1k.

Crowley listens in on Aziraphale having intimate moments by himself. But phones work two ways. Lovely and hot! 

Plausible Deniability, by GayDemonDisaster (scrapheapchallenge), rated E, 5k. 

This story was so, so lovely! Set before and after the first failed Armageddon and not season 2 complaint, but to me it really feels like it goes very well with my personal headcanon regarding season 2 in general and the final fifteen in particular: they do communicate and they don't need words. The story itself is about Aziraphale denying to himself that things are happening by pretending it's all a dream. The writer illustrates their deep connection and mutual understanding beautifully. 

The Co-Pilot, by beardo @e-rated-beardo rated E, 4k.

Incredibly hot human AU. Eh, I say human AU… incredibly hot AU. Tony is attracted to Az, but is afraid of acting on it because of what the author describes as an ‘overfamiliar demon’ who sometimes took the wheel for a minute. So he's content to just chat to Az at the pub. Yeah, like Az is ever going to shy away from an encounter with Crowley's inner demon.

Presque Vu, by NaroMoreau, rated E, 9k

Human AU. College student Aziraphale sees his ex Gabriel at a party he didn't want to go to to begin with, so of course he hides in the kitchen. Until his (and everybody's) impossible crush offers to pose as his boyfriend. This story is incredibly lovely and heartwarming!

Masturbation (Doesn't Count As Sex, Surely?), by Hellsgardener @hellsgardener01 (I think it's you?) rated E, 1.3k.

Very few fictions manage to convey such intense feelings of sweetness and hotness alike in such a short tale as this one! Aziraphale asks Crowley if he's ever had sex and reminisces about his own solo experiences.

To Bind Them, by LCwrites, rated E, 5k

Human AU with a lovely enchanted/supernatural/faerie element. Aziraphale is tipsy at Anathema’s Halloween party and when he overhears Crowley talking on the phone he wants to find out what he's up to. But that's not even the half of it.

Our Homeward Steps Were Just As Light, by On1OccasionFork, rated T, 7k.

I've seen this little gem recommended a lot recently, and with very good reason! Human AU where Pepper works in a nursing home. Anthony is a beloved guest prone to causing trouble, Aziraphale is a new guest. It's tender, deep, funny and original. Stirs things in you, a fiction like that. I loved it. Extra points for being in Pepper’s POV.

Hot Blood, Hot Thoughts, Hot Deeds, by Supergeek21, rated E, 3k.

This story was really up my street! Crowley is a vampire in search of a bride. Aziraphale should be scared, but he's too busy being aroused instead. Sweet, funny, and sexy.

A Newsworthy Affair, by @waitingtobebroken rated T, 1k.

A funny, adorable, fluffy fiction told through newspaper ads that the editors of the newspaper never authorised publishing. If you're in need of something to put a big smile on your face, this is it!

Merry Christmas, Hellspawn, by Libbyfay, rated G, 4k.

Beautiful Warlock’s POV fiction. It's the first Christmas since nanny and brother Francis left without a word, and Warlock feels lonely. He goes to what used to be brother Francis’ shed, goes through the box of Christmas decorations and reminisces about the past, until someone knocks on the door. I am quite partial to the few, precious Warlock’s POV stories, and the author does an excellent job at depicting the pain of an 11 year old and that casual, matter of fact way 11 year olds deal with great pain. This story is delicate, and beautiful and deeper than it might seem.

Series:

Wrong Number AU, by GaryOldman, rated T.

This was the loveliest, sweetest, fluffiest series. Best to read  the stories in order to fully enjoy it. In Text From An Unknown Number (12k) Aziraphale text Crowley’s number by mistake. They hit it off straight away, but of course things are never that simple. Most of the story is told via the texts they exchange (between themselves and with others) and it’s amazing how the author manages to convey excitement, feelings and a little angst in that way. I loved this fic, but I feel I have to give a little warning that the Harry Potter series is heavily used and referred to in this story. Sorry, Right Number (2.5k) is the super fluffy Christmassy continuation of TFAUN. Aaaaww, lovely! He's My Wrong Number, (1.6k) is possibly the fluffiest of the three and it's a real treat to read! A very happy ending to the series!

Poems:

DEATH Grinned-HE Didn't Have Much Choice, by @isiaiowin rated T.

Very evocative and powerful poem about Death.

Thinking Of Nanny, by @the-ineffable-dance

Another incredibly beautiful Warlock's POV fanwork to end this list. Warlock is all grown up and goes for a walk in St. James’s Park, where he sees someone familiar. The only complaint I have about this poem is that it was so difficult to read through the tears, really.

October's list here.

December's list here.

[metamorphesque]

I'm curious - how do you think the world would react if Germany built a monument for hitler? how would you react?

well ... history shows that no one would bat an eye because there actually are monuments built for genocide orchestrators in turkey, and yet, no one seems to find it… disturbing, to say the least. take this one, for example: this is the tomb of talat pasha, the sinister architect behind the Armenian Genocide of 1915.

it's on the hill of "eternal liberty," grotesquely standing opposite the florence nightingale hospital in istanbul. his vile letters, containing official orders for the Armenian massacres, are out in the open – available for anyone to read.

on March 15, 1921, talat pasha met his deserved fate when he was assassinated by the courageous Armenian avenger, Soghomon Tehlirian. (more about it here.)

in a sickening display, turkey’s former allies, the germans, organized talat’s grandiose funeral in Berlin, complete with numerous wreaths, turks arriving from various countries and venomous anti-Armenian speeches. moreover, it was hitler himself who sent talat's body back to istanbul on a steam train adorned with swastikas in 1943.

and yet, to quote one of the greats, the rest is silence…

the world has been as blind and as deaf as it chooses to be when it comes to the Armenians. but imagine the condemnation, the outrage, the backlash, the protests that would erupt if Germany did the same for hitler. why is that? is our blood not red enough? were our tears not salty enough? were our cries not loud enough? I guess not.

this hypocrisy is not just an oversight; it is a cruel reminder that justice is selective, and for the Armenians, justice remains an elusive dream. the world’s indifference to turkey’s continued glorification of their murderous, genocidal ancestors and their refusal to face their heinous past, while continuing to serve the same agenda, should be thrown back at anyone who dares to tell Armenians, "it's all in the past. turn the page. turkey has changed. turks have changed."

nothing has changed. for every Armenian, it will forever be April 24, 1915, until turkey acknowledges and atones for their vile and heinous crimes.

[spockvarietyhour]

Funeral in Berlin (1966)

[annemarart]

the irritating gentleman

context  ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔��

the irritating gentleman (der lästige kavalier) was painted by german painter berthold woltze in 1874. it is now stored in the german historical museum (deutsches historisches museum), berlin.

it “depicts a girl dressed in the black of mourning with a tearful face that looks out to us with a resigned expression on her face, perhaps asking us with her gaze to disencumber her of the attentions of the man leaning over to her."

painting details ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

༉‧₊˚. the fact her hair is undone shows that she is underage because in the time period this was made women of age wore their hair up but women underage wore it down

༉‧₊˚. the black colour of the girl's clothes shows she was either arriving to or from a funeral

༉‧₊˚. the girl is reaching for a hair pin which was a common way of self defense during this period

༉‧₊˚. the girl is looking into the viewer, our, eyes, perhaps begging for any kind of help

[deutschland-im-krieg]

Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring at the funeral of Pour le Mérite (Blue Max) holder and 62 victory WW1 ace Ernst Udet, Berlin, 21 November 1941; note Adolf Galland serving as a honour guard front left. For more, see my Facebook group - Eagles Of The Reich

[darkdemeter]

・issue/clipping #1・ SOLDAT'S REPRISE

⚤ Winter Soldier x Female Reader issue contains material not suitable for readers who are not 18+ or are sensitive to the following: 18+ Psychological and sexual thriller — depictions of previous supposed "dub-con" encounters, stalking, medication usage, therapy and trauma — paranoid reader — (semi) dark Winter Soldier — slow burn to smut — I think that's it. ✎ 2.5k The past is always an aspect that will haunt you. No matter where you go, or where you run and hide, the past and it’s ghost will always find you.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

The will of Alexander Pierce was fundamentally clear. Upon his death, the Asset would be inherited unto you, as your personal form of security and to continue Hydra’s mission. By no means were you related to him. Far from it. But he raised you like you were his very own and that was enough for him to sign you into his will. Into Hydra’s will. 

You left that all behind. Alexander Pierce is a forgotten man to you. A dead man. With your absence at the funeral, it wasn’t too long before settlement lawyers tracked you down, presenting you with a fortune you would take no part in claiming.

Not the money, not the businesses and paperwork. Not the Asset. 

You’re glad for it, moving out here into the snowy escape, deep into the wood’s heart and away from civilization. You never wish to return to any of that nightmare if you can help it. You still have nightmares about it all. In the middle of the night you wake up in a cold sweat, a terrifying and odd mix between a moan and scream tearing from your throat as you claw yourself out from the sheets. 

Sometimes his screams follow you out of the nightmare and sink into the four walls around you, the light-grey hue feels darker each night with those haunting cries of pain. It’s taken years to feel some kind of normalcy, some sort of escape from it all, until the news came on. 

The Winter Soldier found in action once again. Sighted at the bombing in Vienna with a rampage following in Berlin. That was a month ago now, Four excruciating weeks of reliving it all again, night after night and day after day. The hidden lab’s sterile odour, the grim and twisting hallways of Hydra’s labyrinth, the soul-wrenching timbre of his tortured screams and the intertwined pants and moans of bliss shared during night’s most intimate hour and darkness. At this point, your appointments could do little to help. Still, you tried. 

Ever since then, you began to see shadows in the blistering winds of white, each tree a darkened and potential silhouette that has you anxiously fiddling with the trigger of your pistol. No, you never really were one to engage in combat, but your training in self defence required it. No, you highly doubt you’d actually be able to shoot him, but the gun is better than nothing.

And no, you hadn’t thought twice beforehand that living out here would conceal your screams of pleasure nor pain. 

“There is still no update regarding the apprehension of the Winter Soldier, who remains at large. Authorities and governing panels assess their options of how to proceed in locating James B—” 

With a harsh press of your thumb you turn the news off, uninterested to hear another word. 

You have to endure living in fear already. Knowing that he’s still out there terrifies you, you don’t need anything else fuelling the hyperactive levels of paranoia and insomnia that courses through your nervous system. 

Tossing the remote aside to land absently on the couch somewhere, you head towards the kitchen, making your way around the pillar wall that connects to the counter to finish brewing your hot beverage. The static of silence brought a sense of eerie to settle over you, and you find yourself glancing over your shoulder to peer around your home, only to find nothing. 

The many present corners provide a horror-esque theme. You never fancied the idea of something lingering just around the corner, watching, lurking and waiting. You hum to yourself softly, estranged and off key, but it fared better at occupying than the little voice in your head saying, you’re being watched. Look behind you. He’s here. 

The spiralling wave of steam hovers over your drink, blown away in a gust as you take a leisurely sip from it, allowing the taste of your beverage to warm and smother you with something comforting. In your constant reminding to soothe and sipping, you stutter in your walk back towards the lounge with a hiss at the pounding creak of something against your window. 

Quickly, you shield the hot stream of liquid from dripping evermore over your rim, glaring at the few drops staining the floorboards. “Shit.”

Sighing, you look up to just see that damn branch rattling sharply on the window pane. “That fucking branch.” 

You pass the mug off to sit on the couch’s end table, resting it on a coaster as you draw the curtains to a close, hearing the grating clatter of rings move along the railing. Now with that threat out of the way and assured by, you turn back and collect your cup, the foresight of your mind in such a haze to realise the lack of a coaster under it. 

Your lack of awareness for your surroundings always allowed him a sick sense of playfulness. 

In account to your prior option of lazing about, you’re drawn to cross the hallway and into your study, the growth of work put off during the day now no longer viable to be left for tomorrow. You set your drink aside and take your place in the office chair, pulling yourself to log into your laptop and pull up your work emails and other related windows.

Time passes as you sort through the multitude of tasks, soon enough burning through your beverage, you gauge the time. 

‘11:32pm’, the time in the screen’s corner reads. At this rate, you could pull an all-nighter. Tiredness to drag you to sleep evades you still without the aid of some medication that you’ve been trying to slowly wean yourself off. 

Maybe another cup, a bit of TV and reading and then bed.

Seems pretty fair, pretty logical. The deadline wasn’t until the week’s end anyway, you could let yourself sleep in a little tomorrow. Signing off your laptop, you ignore the notification ping that pops from the corner, figuring it's a random email you’ll have to unsubscribe from, another chore to knock off the list tomorrow. 

The hem of your woollen shirt pulls up as you stretch your arms over your head with a grumble hearing a few pops and cracks. 

Another cup won’t hurt, you remind yourself as you snatch up your empty mug and exit your study. You catch movement in the corner of your eye and swiftly, your head follows, your heart feeling as though it's dropped a hundred yards into the abyss of your stomach. 

Nothing. 

It’s just your mind crafting illusions out of nothing. A trick of the light, you think you see the outline of a human being and paranoia does the rest at unsettling you. 

Venturing back to the kitchen, you place the ceramic cup down with a gentle thud and reboil the kettle, once again surrounded by that deathly void of silence that only fades out of existence at the comfort of boiling water. 

You make quick work to fill the portions of your drink before you realise that you have neglected your phone for some time now. Rounding that same wall out of your kitchen, you head for the coffee table, peering over the long stretching couch to see your phone’s black screen reflecting the bouncing halo of light above. 

“Ah, exactly where I left it,” you hum to yourself and reach for it only to pause. Your hand hovers over your phone before it moves over the TV’s remote. “I swear I threw you over here...”

You look to the couch with a hardened crease falling over your brow, your mind working to retrace your steps but it all feels like some giant haze that leaves you questioning what is what. With a shrug, albeit still sceptical, you brush it off and grab your phone. 

‘Security system 4 detection at 10:59pm.’

Your study. Eyes widening, you flick the notification box up. 

10+ security notifications. All dated from today. Your mind is on auto-pilot of panic, that creeping chill runs up your spine like a sprint as you open the security app. You have a ton of notifications, why haven’t you noticed a single fucking one of them?

He’s here… 

Today. All from today, all scattered apart in increments of hours, almost like a coordinated attack. The timestamps range from the study and all the way back to last night, around 1:30 in the morning, right where you believe you finally dozed off. If these alarms are being sparsely triggered, you dread to wonder just how many he didn’t set off. 

Ping! 

Your wide eyes caught in the hunter’s headlights turn downwards to your phone screen, taking your focus off the potentially dangerous horizon that circles you. Your breath hitches deeply in your throat, becoming a dry knot. 

‘Security system 1 detection at 11:38pm.’

Front porch. 

Your phone trembles in your grasp, your entire being pliant to fear, your pounding heart counts the seconds of haunting anticipation. 

It takes so much for you to finally move one foot. You cradle the phone to your chest that heaves with erratic, laboured breaths. Along your way to investigate, you reach over the kitchen counter, your hand curls around one of the knives from the block and hold it at your side. Tears form on the brim of your vision with a misted blindfold as you pad your way cautiously to the door.

It utterly terrifies you how silent he can be. How deadly he is. Like a ghost. What’s more is this habit would be… natural for him. You’ve come to believe that he enjoys tormenting you like this. A sick, perverse game of the hunt. That even through the process of wiping, engrained indoctrination and strict persistence, he retains a dark sense of appetite for this. For you. 

He’s out there. He’s outside waiting for you. He’ll be standing right there and he’ll take you. 

That voice in your head whispers a sharp lullaby of fear into your mind, poisoning you only further into that spiral of madness. It keeps telling you over and over that it’s him, that he’s here for you and that there is no escaping him. 

At the archway of the door you freeze before it, the barrier that is meant to keep unwanted shadows out and yet one may very well be lingering on the porch. A wolf ready to devour the rabbit with a bleeding limp, drawn to follow the warm trail of waning strength to run. 

A deep breath taken in shudders in your chest as you steel yourself to face whatever lays behind. 

Knife held tight in the grasp of one hand, the other that holds your phone juggled with shifting the lock and twisting the handle. Immediately a swarm of winter cold breezes through the fine gap with a hollow, ominous howl. Your skin is riddled with a chill from both the cold outside and the terror you suffer. 

You pull the door open more and more, breath held until it enlarges into a suffocating bubble that sends a tingling sensation through your arms and to your cold fingertips. You raise the knife high with the intent to slash and cut as you release your breath with a loud gasp, eyes wide with a maniacal drive to survive. You stop dead in your tracks before you can fully cross the threshold.

Nothing. 

All is normal. No looming silhouette that blends into the blackened backdrop of woodland that scare you enough with that threat that he hides among them. There’s no evidence he even crossed the front porch to set the alarm off, snowy prints untraceable on the cherry wood flooring. 

Your shoulders sag low as the adrenaline dies to keep yourself on the front of combat. You almost feel silly for letting your fear take it this far. Have you really become so consumed by it? 

He is… he’s out here…

Shaking your head you rid the intrusive thoughts from taking anymore of your sanity tonight. You turn and quickly head back in, body falling back against the door as you shut and lock the door behind you with an audible and safe sounding click.

Showers had become a late night occurrence and by no means could you have picked a better time after all that’s happened. Under the watery barrage that steams the glass panel and hangs in the air with a misty halo, you are absorbed into a place that is safe and away from any danger that lurks close by. Fingers combing the drenched tresses of hair and massaging the last of the conditioner through, you’re taken aback by the inkling that you heard the lock’s audible click. But it’s hard to tell from the rain of hot water. So you ignore it, push it deep down into a box of irrational fear. That’s all this was – all this night had been. 

A nightmarish fiend conjured by irrational fear. 

You turn off the water and the overhead drips remnant wetness onto the tiles below and down the drain as you step out, hands wrapping your fresh and warm towel around you. 

Standing before the fogged up mirror, you take part in dressing yourself in a fresh singlet that clings to your warmed, dewy skin like a second layer. Following you tugging up your panties, you brush a streak over the mirror with your hand. 

Your eyes widen, forming tears dry on the waterline as your body is consumed by that feverish, icy cold of dread, heart pounding hard against your ribs at the sight of him. A ghost that confronts you in the safety of your own home. 

“Soldat!” you scream until your cords shrink and shred, leaving your throat scratched and irritated, you pivot on your heel fast only to find your breath hitching, those tears come to glass over your vision and a sob chokes out from your throat at seeing…

Nothing. 

“I’m telling you, Doctor, I saw him—” Though your voice is a little hoarse from screaming last night, you still plead to be heard by the one person who is obligated to do so. But she doesn’t. She dismisses you, a hand raised into focus of the camera.

“Victims in these situations can suffer relapses and experience hallucinations that otherwise appear to be real,” she says with a calm, experienced octave. She’s been with you long enough to know just how your process works. 

That you often have some breaking point that sends you spiralling back down to the bottom of your paranoia and trauma. 

“No… i-it wasn’t a figment, Doctor, I actually saw him…” Your eyes are red, disturbingly swollen from the amount of crying that occurred in the aftermath of your encounter. Your whispering voice quivers as you reiterate, “I saw him… and the way he looked at me…”

You cannot forget that crazed look in his eyes, gaze abandon of anything remotely sane turning deep to that primal lust. That distinct trace of something carnal. “He looked like a mad dog…”

You saw in the reflected image of his eyes that he vowed to claim you once again, all in due time. 

Your watery eyes move away from the laptop’s camera, downwards to the glass of milk resting on a coaster to absorb the trickles of condensation.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ no note from the author