#Guys I’m lost in a blackberry bush

[caterpillarinacave]

"Ugh...the city," you think, no need to debate this decision, you write out a message to toss through the door, it tells whomever reads it that you are from a place called Earth, you walked through a door and ended up in a new world that is strange to you, this door leads from the strange world to wherever this is, you're looking for more insight into this world and/or your situation, and if they could leave their response near the door that would be great, please and thank you.

You tie the note with a string and toss it through the door then close it. Figuring it will take some time to get a response you leave the door be for today and head back, in the evening you mess with your trinkets and find nothing new about them, you add relevant info to your notebooks, and enjoy life while waiting, after a few days you return and open the door, the note looks untouched and when you pull it in you see no sign of anyone having noticed it, you toss it back through and leave it another day, this time when you open the door you see a letter across the alley, your note and the string are gone. The letter is too far to reach, you'll probably need to step through to pick it up. Do you walk over to get it?

No

[ajmmorg]

Buy spitfire clothing

#Buy spitfire clothing full#

#Buy spitfire clothing zip#

It still has not a single seam out of place! I’ve had it covered in mud, soaked in blood and rain, I’ve had it frozen solid after leaving it out in -5c conditions. Needless to say I haven’t handled this pack gently and whilst no manufacturer recommends handling your pack this way, the DG8 just keeps on keeping on. With over 40kgs I’ve picked it up by a single shoulder strap day after day. I’ve had this thing overflowing with gear on extended trips, yet you wouldn’t know it by how it carries. I believe this pack blows up to something like an 80-90 litre range when fully unfurled. Externally attaching those tricky things like extra tent poles, tripods, lightweight fold up tables or chairs are a breeze with this pack. The military origins of your DG8 really shine when on extended trips. But the ruggedness and tank like build of the Crossfire packs just shake it off without a single misplaced seam or jammed up zipper.

#Buy spitfire clothing full#

The thick scrub is also full of sharp blackberry bushes. The moment that mud soaks its way into seams, most gear starts falling apart. The wet boggy mud that us Victorians often move through in places like the Otways chews up most gear pretty fast. But the ruggedness and tank-like build of the crossfire packs just shake it off without a single misplaced seam or jammed up zipper. The DG1 sniper is perfect for day trips and even slightly longer trips.

#Buy spitfire clothing zip#

It may be a tad heavier than other brands, but if you don’t like the thought of your pack dropping a shoulder strap with 40+ kgs of payload and having to lug it out of the bush held together with zip ties, then crossfire packs are the packs for you! After all the abuse it’s taken, it has not a single thread out of place. The DG8 I’ve taken on a number of high-country trips with substantial weight. Both of these packs have been superb out in the field. I have the long-range DG8 and also a DG1 sniper in auscam. I own two Crossfire packs and a pair of peacekeeper boots. I just wanted to thank you guys for your awesome packs. This ruck is in a class of its own and I won’t make the mistake of comparing it to my AUSCAM DG-1 Sniper in 1000D Cordura, padding and heavier straps, fastex buckles/clips. DG-1 just match your loadout to match YOUR short-range, high-speed ops. It was worth the effort of two ruck marches to sort out my optimal loadout to match the load carrying capacity of the DG-1 shoulder harness to a comfortable weight enough to have the DG-1 strapped on me for 4-5 hour straight without any discomfort. The DG-1 got rid of my weight balancing issues I had when rock scrambling or rucking on uneven terrain in my early gen. Everything about this ruck including the body design, harnessing, beaver tail storage, fastex clips, 500D cordura and even down to the unique “Lost Arrow” attachment system from the early DG-1 Sniper 60 L, 3-day assault pack I still have, are integrated into a versatile load carrying system. I’m ex-ADF/RAAF and I wanted a pack to support my weekend 1-day ruck marches to keep fit in retirement for off/on track rucks in low/high country including rock scrambling in the wet/dry, so I got a DG-1 after I read “short-range, high-speed operations” in the specs. But thats all it is, dont try ramming a bouncing bomb in there as it wont work. Overall, it is a really good “JackSack” able to sustain you for 12-24 hours. In the other one my HMNVS (PVS14) fits really well with my custom pouch i had made! On the side are two small vertical zip pouches that I keep my headtorch and spare batteries (waterproofed). There is another zip compartment at the bottom of the Daysack (just below the 🇬🇧 Patch) I tend to keep this empty in case i’m given any other kit or there is some Mission Specific that I need to take and i can re-juggle what goes where in terms of my jacket or some food so its easier to reach The Helmet carrier part is capable of holding a 🇬🇧 Issued Helmet but it can be a bit fiddly at points! So loosen the straps all the way and you’re laughing It features a main zipped compartment capable of holding a PRC354, Spare Battery, Issue Water bottle or Hydration Bladder with some extra room for Extra Ammo and my Arktis Rainshield & Wet weather gloves. This small “jack sack” in modern terms is ideal for the Minimalist Person.

[bittysvalentines]

BBQ

From: @airplanesandcookies​

To: @lizards-online​

Requests: Zimbits/patater

Note: There was a story going around on tumblr about a person who had the nicest neighbors and it provided a nice prompt for your request. I really enjoyed writing this.  I hope you like it. Enjoy!  

Kent never expected that this would be the hill that he would die on, but…

“Goddamnit.  We’re going to have to throw a barbecue.”

Alexei looked over from where he was laying on the sofa, an empty pie plate on his bare chest. “Sounds like fun. But why?”

Kent glared out the window at his neighbors.  “Because this is war.”

***

The thing about hockey, even with the C, Kent knew that his clock was ticking in Vegas.  

It was bittersweet being right.  

Change happens fast.  

Adaptability is one of his biggest virtues, but even he never expected to end up on the East Coast.  With his contract with Boston proving him otherwise, it was an easy decision to get an apartment and split his time in Providence with Alexei.  It made sense even if that meant living next door to his ex and his perfect blond fiancé.  But hockey, thank god, keep you busy, he reasoned. He would barely be there, he thought.  He could survive a few awkward waves from his front door, he rationalized.  

A run of bad luck took out both the Falconers and the Bruins early in the series, and that left Kent with a lot more time on his hands and a pie box on his front doorstep and a note with a happy face under round letters, ‘Welcome to the neighborhood”.

Kent has never liked pie - it’s too sweet, but he liked the sounds that Alexei made while eating the pie.  And well, you know, they both were on the road, and it had been a while.  Too long really.  Anyway.  Kent made up his mind that he had to thank Bittle for the pie.

He ordered an extra pound of coffee from his favorite roaster down in Colorado.  They have an ethiopian bean blend that tastes like chocolate and blackberries melting on your tongue.  Plus, it bumped his order up for free shipping.

He had planned to throw the bag of beans onto the Bittle-Zimmermann doorstep like a brick and run like hell.  As soon as the bag hit the door,  Jack opened it, also dressed for his run and waved him inside.

“Oh my gosh, this smells amazing!  See, this is worth getting up for.  I’m going to brew a pot right now.” Bittle had exclaimed as soon as Jack had dragged Kent in.  “Oh, this will go perfectly with the chocolate coffee cake I made!”  

Kent left an hour later with three quarters of a coffee cake that Tater legit gasped over.  

Well, shit, Kent thought as he finished his second slice, leaning against Tater in bed.  “This requires an escalation of force.”

Kent needed strategy.  He needed a plan.  

The Bittle-Zimmermanns were thoughtful motherfuckers.

Kent headed to the library.

Loaded down with every book on manners and etiquette he could grab from the 390s section of the library, along with copies of the Art of War by both Machiavelli and Sun Tzu, and a stack of Good Housekeeping magazines, he didn’t pay attention until he bumped into Jack, who was also standing in line, weighed down with a few of his own books.  

“Kent?”

It took some self control, but he managed not to try to flinch, but it sounded forced in his own ears, “Hey Zimms.  Not surprised to see you here.”

Jack smiled, and Kenny suddenly is flooded with the memory of being in juniors and meeting his god awful crush, Bob Zimmermann, as he introduced Jack to some of the movers and shakers at the camp.  

The memory is visceral, especially with Jack pleasantly looking at him.  Kent could practically see Bob standing there, bigger than life, sexy, confident, and powerful introducing his son, the boy who would be king.  Nothing will ever compare to the sense of relief he had felt when Jack, round eyed, nerdy, and introverted, had shook his hand.  If Jack had had a quarter of the charisma Bob exuded, then Kenny would have been in trouble.  (Hindsight, man.)  But then Jack smiled, a heartbreakingly timid smile, that only he knew the secret to, and Kent thought to himself, “well shit, at least he didn’t get the full genetic package, because that would be devastating.”

He hates being right.  

Because, Jack, has grown into himself, filling in the corners that were filled with doubt and self consciousness.  Now, he is whole and healthy with that shy smile, those intense eyes, and a stack of books, he is all types of fantasy love interest material.  

Kent did not sigh.  He is better than that.  

But it was definitely hard especially when Jack invited him and Tater over for dinner later in the week.  It was damn near impossible when Kenny’s car refused to start in the parking lot, and Jack immediately pulled his car over, popped open both hoods and jumped his car.  

Kent pulled into his own driveway feeling as if he had lost significant ground.  He lost this battle.  

***

“I don’t understand, why are you upset that Zimboni and B are being nice to us?”  Tater asked.  And it’s a reasonable question with unreasonable answers so Kent doesn’t reply.

Tater heard him anyway.  “You are very competitive.  We all are.  But you are not going to beat B.  It’s his court.  We should be grateful that we have such wonderful friends nearby who bring us pie for no reason.”

Kent snorted at that.  “ You sound half in love with him.”

Tater stood up, stretched before heading towards Kenny on the couch.  “There are many harder things to do.  Breathing, blinking, heartbeats.  It’s the same with Zimboni.  Instinctive to love, hard not to.”

Tater is clearly a traitor.  

***

Parse was outmanned.  Winning was futile.  

He brought over more coffee and a pretty green leafy plant as a thank you for the car jump.  Jack responded by helping him pull up the dying bushes in his own yard, and then letting Kenny borrow his truck to pick up new plants from Home Depot.  

He hadn’t even thought of a response to that when a summer storm knocked out the power in their house and Bittle showed up in a poncho with a picnic basket of baked goods, a bottle of wine, candles, and a wink.  Tater winked back.  

Like he said, Tater was a traitor.  

Kenny hadn’t even picked out the date to host a summer BBQ before Jack was knocking on the door to invite him and Tater over for their own summer party.  

“I give up.” Kent said to himself as he watched Bitty flit around the backyard party refiling drinks and making conversation as Jack watched him from over in his own conversation with his his father, “uncle Mario”, Tater, and a few of the Falconer’s senior management.  

Summer on the East Coast never approached what he saw in Nevada, but at the same time, it was humid and no one depending on air conditioning like their lives depended on it.  Kenny felt the sweat drip down his face from his cap and he escaped the crowd to hide inside the house.  

Mostly everyone had moved outside, leaving the house cool and quiet and with nothing else to do with his nervous energy, Kenny decided to get a head start on the  dishes in the sink.  The mess builds up during parties and Kent can tell that Bittle isn’t one to tolerate a messy kitchen.  

He’s finished loading the dishwasher and started rinsing out the sink when a soft hand touched him on the back.  

“This is so kind.  Thank you so much.”  Bittle said, and he can see why Tater likes him so damn much even though Kenny has worked hard to avoid seeing it.

“Not a problem.”  He said, focused more on the sink than Bittle.

“Well, I appreciate it.  I was looking for you.  Jack said your birthday is coming up and I made you a cheesecake.  You raved on instagram about a cheesecake you had in NY and I thought I would try to recreate it for you.”

And it’s a one, two hit.  Kent is done. His will to fight vanquished. Between the consideration and the validation, Tater is right.  He was fighting an uphill battle all along.  Defeat feels like a relief.

“I bet it’s spectacular.  You are going to have to show me how to make it.”

Bittle beamed back at Kenny just as Tater and Jack walked in.  “If you baking with B, I want to come too.”

“Anytime!  Ask Jack, I love teaching you guys how to bake.”

Jack smirked, knowing and fond. “He just wants to cover you in flour while chirping you.”

“I do not!  That is your M.O. Jack Zimmermann.”

And just like that, the picture that Kent couldn’t see clearly righted itself and he could see how he fit in this scene, happy and ready to surrender and make peace.  

[peacefulheartfarm]

Livestock Guardian Dogs; Let's Add to Our Homestead

Livestock guardian dogs is a natural follow-on to the previous podcast about coyotes. At that time, we weren’t really willing to make that step. However, after speaking with other sheep herders, we’ve decided it is time. This is a really big step for me. I truly still feel quite uncomfortable about my ability to properly care for a dog. I don’t really know what my block is in this regard, but I’m jumping in there and I’m going to move past it. I believe some of that revolves around the years that we could not have animals that require daily attention as we were only here on the weekends. It’s an old mindset that no longer applies. I’ve learned to care for lots of different animals. I can do livestock guardian dogs.

I want to take a minute and say welcome to all the new listeners and welcome back to the veteran homestead-loving regulars who stop by the FarmCast for every episode. I appreciate you all so much. If you want to help us out with our mission to provide local, nutrient dense food and heal the earth, please share this podcast on your social media with those interested in following the sustainable homestead life. That’s the best way to help us grow. Now on to our stories.

Our Virginia Homestead Life Updates

Let’s start with some updates on the homestead. If you listened to the last podcast all about coyotes, you know that we have been having some predator issues and we lost a significant number of our sheep. We believe we have that under control for the moment. After lots of discussions and soul searching, we have decided to get a dog. After I give you the normal updates on all of our wonderful homestead livestock buddies, I’ll go into that topic in detail. But first, let’s get you caught up on what’s going on around here.

Sheep

As noted in the last podcast we lost over half of our sheep and lamb population. In fact, we lost all six of the lambs born this year. I let Scott talk me into having a fall crop of lambs. So, Lambert is back in with the girls. We shall see how that goes. We’ve never had lambs in the fall, though it is quite common.

All of the sheep are now in the back pasture again. The cameras we put out night after night indicate that there are no longer any predators coming into the area. We will be getting a dog anyway. They will eventually return and we want to be prepared.

Cows

I’ve completed the registration process on all of our girls. We have three registered Jersey girls and five registered Normande girls. The breeding season is upon us. In mid-June we will start the artificial insemination process once again.

There are still a few details that we haven’t worked out in that realm. Depending on the conversation we will have with the vet will determine whether we try using embryos. The implantation of an embryo enables you to pick all of the genetics of the calf. The mom simply carries the fertilized egg in embryonic form. I don’t know much about this yet. More to come on that.

Calves

The twin calves are back in the calf pasture and we’ve added Virginia to the mix. I don’t know if I talked about that last time. Virginia was sneaking in and stealing Cloud’s milk. Cloud is already supporting two calves. A third, especially a yearling, would be way more than she could support. She has a significant percentage of black angus genes and does not produce as prolifically as the other dairy cows. Butter could support three or four calves. She produces well over six gallons of milk per day.

We are still eagerly anticipating the birth of our last calf via Violet. June 10th is just around the corner. I can’t wait. The late birth may eliminate her from being in the breeding rotation for next year. After birth, it is a minimum of six weeks before she can be bred again. And that would put her insemination at the end of July and the subsequent birth date would be late April. I think we may give AI one try, perhaps two. A second attempt would have her delivering in mid-May. That is pushing it. But it just might work to get her back in sync with the other cows. Ideally, they all need to give birth from mid-March to mid-April.

This is all so much more complicated than I ever imaged. The cheesemaking process demands that you have lots of milk. And to have lots of milk, the cows need to give birth at the same time. Without that piece, you can have many weeks of small amounts of milk in the spring. If they all give birth within three weeks, that’s ideal.

The Garden

The weather has delayed us in planting the garden. I’m finally ready to get the beans in the ground. It was only a few days ago that the temperatures were back down into the 30’s at night. The soil needs to be consistently warm for summer plants to grow. I think we are finally there. Look for more news on that in the future.

The strawberries are doing well. I went out there an checked on them this morning. There is one strawberry starting to turn red. And there are thousands of others that are white. It’s so exciting to see so many berries out there. Do you love strawberry jam? We sure do.

The blueberries are finished blooming and the blackberries have just started. All over the place are lots and lots of white blossoms. The wild blackberries and wild rose are in full bloom. If you live in the area, I’m sure you’ve noticed the clouds of white flowers everywhere. If you are brave and want to pick wild blackberries later in the summer, take note of where those flowers are blooming. Growing up in NW Georgia, we would suit up every 4th of July holiday weekend and go blackberry picking. You had to have long sleeves and no shorts because of the thorns. And in Georgia, it was best to have some way to keep the chiggers off of you. Chiggers are also known as red bugs. And they are a pain. Are you familiar with them? Unless you live in the south, probably not.

Chiggers or Red Bugs

They are arachnids. The red-colored larvae are so small – only 1/120 to 1/150 of an inch – that you cannot see them with the naked eye. They hang out in tall grass, weed patches, and underneath trees. Any brushy or thicket – such as blackberry bushes can house them. I grew up with the popular belief that they burrow into your skin. Not true. They attach to your skin. They like tight places like in your armpits, around your waistband, etc. If they are not removed, chiggers will remain on your skin for about four days.

How do you keep them off? We took several steps when getting ready to go blackberry picking. As I said, long sleeves and pants. We also treated our clothing with insect repellent. We did use those that have DEET – and they are safe enough if you only put it on your clothes and not on your skin. And today there are DEET-free alternatives. Wear boots and tuck the pant legs into them. Then pull your socks up over the pants leg. Double protection there. But it is needed in that area as walking through the brush and bushes is a significant hazard to picking up these little guys. Once you return home, get in the shower immediately and use lots of soap while they are still wandering around. Launder the clothes in hot water.

That’s a little side note not at all related to livestock guardian dogs. Let’s get on to that topic.

Livestock Guardian Dogs

There are many breeds of livestock guardian dogs and they have been used by shepherds and farmers for centuries. They are bred and trained to instinctively protect their herd from predators. The breeds can be crossbred with other livestock guardian dogs, but crossbreeding with any other breed ruins the innate ability to be a great livestock guardian dog. I can’t stress this enough. This topic comes up over and over again when I am looking on Facebook. People ask about this all the time. And the answer is always the same. Your German shepherd is not a good LGD. Great Dane and Dobermans do not make good livestock guardian dogs, and on and on. You can’t breed a livestock herding dog with a livestock guardian dog and get a good outcome. You ruin both sides of that equation. Herding dogs have wonderful instincts but they are completely different than the instincts of a guardian dog.

Breeds

We are looking at several different breeds. The Great Pyrenees is probably the most well-known livestock guardian dog. They are quite popular in the US. Other breeds we are considering are the Akbash and Maremma. The Great Pyrenees originates from the Pyrenees mountains of Spain and France. The Akbash is originally from Turkey. And the Maremma is native to Italy. There are more than a dozen different breeds from various parts of the world. The thing they have in common is their breeding for livestock guardian instincts. Some are better in one or another area. It depends on what you are looking for in your particular situation.

What Makes a Good Livestock Guardian Dog?

They need to be large and strong. Typically, they are very comfortable living outdoors, though they should still have a dog house or some other kind of shelter. Developing a strong bond with livestock is essential. We are looking for a peaceful demeanor unless a predator comes around. They we want them to move into action quickly. These dogs like to mark their territory. Most of them are very vocal and can bark a lot. You want that.

One of the vendors near me at the market says that she can tell when new lambs have been born by the sound of the bark. The dog will be right there with the lambs, waiting for her to come and see to the new lambs. These dogs love to work, and truly need a job to stay occupied. I know a lot of people want to have them as pets, but they can really be a handful if kept couped up in an apartment. Even a nice sized house and yard can be problematic. They need acres and acres to roam and patrol in order to be happy. They need animals to protect to be truly happy.

Other Breeds

Some other breeds you may have heard of include: Anatolian shepherd, a Turkish breed; the shaggy Komondor from Hungary is sometimes referred to as the mop dog. You’ll know one when you see it; there is the Tibetan mastiff, an ancient breed used by the nomadic tribes of Nepal and Mongolia; The Karakachan is known for acute senses and a strong bond with the flock. There are just so many. How to choose?

These guys actually become part of the herd. They are always with the livestock, integrating into the workings of the homestead. Some routinely check the perimeters of the property, others like to keep watch from a high vantage point. They are not going to run off after bunnies and other small animals. They will stick close to the flock. Even after chasing off a predator, they will quickly return to their animal charges.  

What Do We Need in a LGD?

There are quite a few things that we have thought about so far and likely more to come. We are looking for an adult dog that already has some experience with livestock. After getting one adult acclimated to the homestead, we will likely add another that is in the puppy stage. We want to understand all the ins and outs of training as well. So, the first one needs to already know what it’s doing because we sure don’t. After the flock is protected, we can move into learning how to train one from start to finish. These dogs mostly live 12 to 15 years or so. We will likely need quite a few over our lifetime.

They are big dogs and that is a little intimidating for me. Even while still in the puppy stages, under two years old, they will be very large dogs. These are intelligent and headstrong breeds. We have the land and livestock to keep them busy – and they need that to keep them out of mischief. If they get bored, unwanted things can happen. In a household, chewing up things is not uncommon. Again, I don’t think we will have too much difficulty with that, but you just never know how rambunctious your animal might be.

Puppies vs Adults

Puppies simply cannot be left on their own. They need time to mature. The teen stage can be particularly horrible for most. They are just so big but they are still puppies at heart. A dog under two years of age can easily severely hurt of even kill the very livestock they are meant to protect. Again, we are going for an adult dog in the beginning. It is much easier for a puppy to learn if it has an adult mentor.

They absolutely need proper socialization training. Without it, they can potentially be very dangerous. Their sheer size and strength mean that they can cause serious injuries to people or other animals. They can inadvertently injure small people or children during what is considered quite routine play for them. Many breeds, even as adults, have difficulty with protecting birds – chickens, ducks, turkeys and so on – as they like to chase them as many have inbred instincts to kill them. We will be looking for which breeds can be trained well in this area as we intend to have chickens soon.

Caring for a LGD

The next thing I want to talk about is caring for them. This is my greatest area of insecurity. Almost all of these dogs are long-haired and need to be groomed at the very least every month. What do you think it will be like bathing a dog this big? Better get one that enjoys it. It would be impossible to handle a one-hundred-pound dog that didn’t like having a bath.

I’ve look at some of the breeds that don’t have as thick of a coat. But they need the thick, long coats to help protect them from predators and the elements. Some even have mane-like fur to protect their neck and shoulder region from the teeth of predators. It requires more effort from us, but in the end is worth the investment.

There are a few things out there in the interwebs that I have found to be myths. I think the worst one is that you can’t be friends with your dog. Making friends with a livestock guardian dog does not mean he won’t do his job. These are not house dogs and they have no such desire. They do however, love treats as much as any other dog.

I mentioned earlier about cross-breeding with herding dogs. Even worse is the idea that a herding dog can be a good livestock guardian god. Nothing could be further from the truth. Herding dogs have a completely different function. They are small and can easily be overwhelmed by large predators. Their job is to chase animals, although in a controlled way. Inevitably, they will tend to kill animals when bred with LGDs. Not a good thing.

How They Think

These dogs will bark at people that visit but will not bite. Their instincts are to attack only if there is a threat. Again, the difference between an LGD and say a Doberman. That Doberman may attack without provocations. Not so with the LGD.

If a stray dog comes around, they put on a great show but will not harm the dog unless an actual threat is perceived. If there is no threat, they leave the dog alone, perhaps escorting them off the property. The same with humans.

Most livestock guardian dogs learn to enjoy killing wild predators and may even hunt them. They know the difference between a domestic dog and a wild animal.

Final Thoughts

I’m so glad that we have peace on the homestead again. For the time being, all is well with the animals. The garden is moving along slowly but steadily. That means more time outside in the sunshine. It’s good for the soul. Yeah, get that vitamin D.

The perfect livestock guardian dog will be found and our animals will be protected. We will progress through yet another learning curve in caring for animals on the homestead. It’s all a cycle. One after another, after another. It’s a beautiful thing. And yes, I’m still intimidated. But I will get over it. I’m going to love having a dog. And it will be the best dog on the planet receiving the best care available from our loving hearts.

If you enjoyed this podcast, please hop over to Apple Podcasts or whatever podcasting service you use, SUBSCRIBE and give me a 5-star rating and review. If you like this content and want to help out the show, the absolute best way you can do that is to share it with any friends or family who might be interested in this type of content. Let them know about the Peaceful Heart Farmcast.

Thank you so much for stopping by the homestead and until next time, may God fill your life with grace and peace.

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Check out this episode!

[chiruchill-blog]

Childhood Stories #13

I found some of the stories I wrote when I was younger. I had completely forgotten about them, but reading them now I think they’re hilarious(ly bad), so I thought I’d share them! Also, @raindrop-rouge wanted to read them, so here you go! Some of them seem to be assignments related to other stories, so let me know if you recognise any (because I can’t remember)! Some were written in English, some I’ve translated from Norwegian.

The Cursed Stones (age I don’t know, New Norwegian)

Once upon a time there was a prince who was sleeping in his soft bed with fifteen mattresses and a tiny pea underneath all of them. He usually dreamt of the most distant mountains and the deepest seas, but one day he dreamt of a beautiful princess, the most beautiful princess he had ever seen. She was sitting on a big stone in the middle of the greenest forest. When the prince woke up, he told his best friend and stepbrother: “I dreamt of the most beautiful princess in the land, she is sitting on a stone in the middle of a forest, and I am going to find her and marry her!” The prince’s stepbrother smiled, and thought to himself that if he married a princess he would finally become a prince himself and rule the kingdom instead of his stepbrother.

The evil stepbrother instantly went to his secret shortcut down some narrow stairways. He then went up a steep, steep hill, and then he was inside a dark forest. On his way to find the princess he met a rabbit who was sitting next to a blackberry bush and nomming away on the berries. “Where is the princess?” the stepbrother exclaimed. “I don’t know,” the rabbit answered, and kept eating its berries. This made the stepbrother so angry he pulled out the entire blackberry bush and threw it as far as he could.

The stepbrother then kept walking down the path, and shortly after met a large bear. The bear was roaring and waving its paws around, and this made the stepbrother so scared he ran away further into the forest. He ran and ran until he suddenly ran straight into a moose. The moose huffed at him and kept walking. The stepbrother ran after and asked: “Where is the princess?” The moose turned around, huffed at him once again and said calmly: “I will tell you where the princess is if you help me find my right antler.” “Hell no, I’m not going to waste my time finding your antler, you big beast!” the stepbrother answered, and went on down the path.

Shortly after, the stepbrother came upon a large tree, and he noticed the moose’s antler, but went straight past it, because behind this tree and that antler, he could see a princess standing between to large stones. The stepbrother smiled, ran over to the princess and said “I found you first! Now we can get married and I will become a prince!” The princess stared at him for a little while before she sat down on the stone to the right. Suddenly the skies became darker, and the wind was becoming fiercer. Thunder and lightning was coming closer and closer to the two of them. Eventually the storm was right above the princess, and at that time she pointed at the stepbrother. Lightning struck, and when the princess opened her eyes again, he was gone.

At the same time, the prince had just left his castle. He was now at the bottom of the steep hill which the stepbrother had begun his journey on earlier. He went up the hill and soon met the rabbit. It was crying so badly the prince asked what was wrong. “A mean, mean man threw away my blackberry bush!” the rabbit wailed. The prince answered: “I will help you find your blackberry bush, follow me!” and the rabbit followed him along the path.

Shortly after, the two of them met a large bear. He was roaring and waving his arms, so the prince asked him what was wrong. “A mean, mean man threw a blackberry bush at me, so now I have a bunch of thorns stuck on me!” the bear cried. “I’ll help you get those thorns out!” the prince said and gave the blackberry bush back to the rabbit. He then removed the bear’s thorns. When he was done, they all smiled at each other and went their own ways.

The prince went down the path once again, and met a moose. The moose huffed at him and turned away from him. The moose looked angry, so the prince asked it what was wrong. “A mean, mean man ran right into me so I lost my right antler, and then he didn’t even want to help me find it again!” the moose shouted. “I’ll help you find your right antler!” the prince said, and together they started looking for it. After a while, they came upon a large tree, and right next to it the moose’s antler lay. The moose thanked the prince for helping him and told him the princess was right behind that tree.

The prince slowly approached the princess while telling her: “I dreamt of you last night. I’ve come to find you as soon as I could, just to tell you that you are the most beautiful princess in the land, and I would like for you to become my bride sometime in the future.” The princess once again stood in between the two stones, and stared at the prince. But this time she suddenly smiled, and said: “I’ve dreamt of you too, of your castle, your family, your father’s riches. But most importantly, I have seen how you have treated the people and creatures around you. I have been cursed by an evil witch to stand between these stones until the right person comes along to marry me. Your stepbrother came too and proposed to me, but he is an evil man and I would never marry him. You have proven yourself a kind and thoughtful person, however, so I will gladly marry you.” The prince was surprised by this statement; his stepbrother had been his best friend his whole life! He realised that this could not be true, however, as his stepbrother had hurried to get to the princess before the prince. When the princess sat down on the left stone, the weather turned finer and more comfortable than ever before, and all the animals in the forest came to see who the lucky guy was to marry their princess. Two wild horses offered to give them a ride home to his castle.

One month later, the happy couple was to get married. All their loved ones, including the rabbit, the bear, and the moose, were invited, and all were offered blackberries. The prince’s stepbrother, however, was captured and put in the dungeon of the castle where he had to spend this joyous day. The rabbit, the bear, and the moose all moved into the castle gardens and grew their blackberries there. And then they all lived happily ever after. Except for the evil stepbrother, of course.

[diddlesanddoodles]

DUMPLING (GT/FANTASY)

CHAPTER 16

“What about Jae?” Nenani asked from the crook of Keral’s arm. It was a significantly more comfortable and dignified way of transportation than being bundled up into an old smelly coat. Keral was taking her to the big library, claiming that he had been intending to go there the entire time after dropping his report off with King Warren and it would be a much more suitable place for Nenani to be wandering about in any case. Which she did not have much of any qualms against as she had been desperately trying to find her way there for what felt like the better part of the afternoon. First all that useless searching for a blackberry bush that wasn’t even there, then having to run from Craeg the walking mountain, and then...whatever it was that happen in that tunnel. Those bodies.

Those voices.

At the back of her mind, she could almost hear them stirring up as though merely recalling them was enough to actually summon them. With a lurch of mental effort, she banished them from her mind and turned to the present. She concentrated on the rough texture of Keral’s coat. The unique mud splatters on his cuffs. Even the mere smell of him was enough distraction.  

At her expressed concern for Jae, Keral had waved her off with flippant disregard. Before she could protest, he cut her off.

“M’girl,” he explained patiently and with a kind of perpetual amusement. “The day that blunderin’ bag a’ boulders manages to catch Jae is the day I walk the battlements in the Queen’s frock singin’ Blue Thorn Beauty.”

Keral, Nenani decided then, was a very odd individual. Which made him all the more confusing. Because she was sure he was the same giant she had met when she was only a baby. But while this version held the same intimidating stature and bulk she remembered, the same sharp eyes and the same mellow timbre, his behavior and words did not match what she had imagined them to be. She recalled what Jae had said in regards to him and his brother.

...they’re really easy to tell apart. One’s always grinning like an idiot and the other always looks like someone pissed in his ale.

It was not hard to deign which description belonged to which brother. Farris was notorious for his quick temper, but she had come to learn that there was also very a kind side to him. Sometimes, almost gentle. The kitchen staff were all exceedingly loyal to him, no matter how they snarled and cursed at one another. And now there was Keral. Another puzzle for which she had only a few pieces. More questions than answers.  

Maybe, he was more like his brother than she was giveing him credit for, she thought. If only in small ways. She could not see Farris ever carrying on a prank war that lasted months at a time, that was certain. And Keral seemed to smiled a lot more than Farris did. As easily as a frown came to Farris’s lips, a grin would come to Keral’s just as easily. Had she been wrong all this time? She remembered one more thing Jae told her that at the time she had dismissed as his own bias.

He’s a guy you want on your side, that’s for sure.

As she contemplated Jae’s words, she studied Keral’s face. Or rather, the underside of his jaw and beard. There appeared to be crumbs stuck within the coarse strands and she wrinkled her nose. Keral was in dire needing of a good wash. Him and his clothes. And she was sure she would need one as well before long. His head tilted down and caught her eye, the edge of his mouth twitching up in a smirk. With a jolt of alarm at being caught, Nenani looked away, chagrined at being caught staring.

“I’ll send along a note to Hev that yer in need of a new marker,” he told her. “Might even be able to have it done before Farris ever knows ya lost yers. Might save yer ears a good bleeding at least.”

“Thank you,” she replied and they fell back into silence for several moments.

“So,” Keral said in the way one does when looking for a change of subject. “What made ya think stealing Persimmons from the King was a smart idea, eh?”

Nenani frowned with a long suffering sigh. It had been a good while since anyone teased her about her manner of arrival in Vhasshal.  

“Seriously,” Keral grinned at her reaction. “I’m curious.”

“I was hungry...” she replied flatly.  

“A’course ya were,” he laughed, ruffling her hair into a glorious mess and earning a frustrated grunt from the girl. “No one makes sane decisions with an empty belly!”

……………………

The library was a gloriously welcomed sight for Nenani, despite their nearly marching straight into Maevis just on the other side of the door as he ostensibly readied himself to leave through the same door that they themselves were entering. Luckily, Keral seemed to have excellent reflexes and jerked back just as the magician stumbled forward.

“By the Gods, Keral!” Maevis cried, pressing a hand to his breast to settle his panicked heart. “You gave me a fright.”

Keral frowned slightly and furrowed his brow, regarding the magician with false hurt. Even adding in a pouted lip for dramatic effect.

“Oi, now that’s not very polite, Meeves,” Keral reprimanded. With a tilt of his head towards Nenani, his frown dissolved into a cheeky grin. “She’s ain’t that scary.”

Maevis regarded the ranger with a flat stare.

“Please, I have asked you not call me tha...wait, what?” Maevis blinked in confusion before looking down at Nenani where his bewilderment turned into relieved delight. “Oh! Nenani! Oh, thank goodness. I was just about to go get Captain Rheil to do a sweep. We were beginning to dread that Craeg might have caught you.”

The magician took a moment to compose himself, banishing the worried expression from him features and gave Nenani a pleasant, gentle smile. “Are you alright, little one?”

She nodded, but before she could supply any explanation, Jae’s voice called out from behind him, drawing all three of their focus to Barnaby’s table.

“Of course she’s not okay,” Jae was saying beside the old archivist who, like Maevis, appeared visibly relieved. “She got nabbed by Keral.”

“Hello t’ya too, brat,” Keral replied dryly. “A fine thing fer ya to ‘ave left her by herself now. Ain’t anyone teach ya how to look after a lady, boy?”

“Pff,” Jae scoffed with a grin. “She ain’t no lady.”  

“Well, come on in then,” Maevis said, stepping out of the way and ushering both Keral and his human cargo into the room proper before closing the door behind them. “Let’s be thankful that no one was hurt. That man is a terror for sure. I’m not even human and he gives me the willies whenever I’m forced to interact with him.”

“What business does he have with ya?” Keral inquired absently while he released Nenani onto the table with her fellows.  

“Oh, well,” Maevis looked around nervously before lowering his voice as though he were telling a great secret. “The King requested I keep a close eye on the Queen’s health. And that of the baby.”

Jae visibly started at this further speaking of the apparent royal pregnancy, but hid the gesture by jumping off his stool and making himself another cup of tea, offering Barnaby a biscuit from the small tray as he did so.

“He’s got you and Yaesha lookin’ in after her? The King worries to much,” Keral replied. “It’s too early to tell anything anyways. Won’t be that much lager than a bean, would it?”

“Smaller.” Maevis replied with a small smile, his eyes alight with clear delight. “Much smaller. Yaesha does not know the King asked me. Gods above, I would have no peace if he found out and as much as credit Sawyer for reigning him in…well, there is only so much she can do.”

“’Tis wonderful news,” Barnaby added. “Though no doubt there wont be any announcement for some weeks yet.”

“Oh yes,” Maevis agreed quickly. “Far too early for that. The Queen is young yet and from what I know of the Ibronian royal family, producing heirs has never been an issue. Far closer of a truth to say that perhaps, they were too successful. The Queen herself has six brothers and four sisters and their history is rife with competition for the throne. But it’s no trouble to err on the side of caution and wait before announcing.”

Keral laughed. “As I said: The King worries too much.”

Nenani silently sipped at her tea while the giants spoke and every once in a while she sneaked a glance over at Jae as crunched a mouthful of jam biscuit noisily, seeming to devote his attention to a small mark on the table’s surface. Though she could not tell if anyone else noticed, he looked miserable and her heart ached for him. But what was there for anyone to do?

So she nibbled her own biscuit, sipped her tea, and tried to make polite conversation.

……………………………………….

Maevis was pale as he listened to Keral’s report.

“And the boy?” he asked once Keral had finished.

“He’ll live,” the ranger replied, thumbing through a thick tome in his hands. It was a well worn book documenting the native creatures of the continent and their migration patterns. By the ranger’s face alone it appeared that it did not hold the answers he sought. “Th’man gave his life fer th’boy. Took the brunt of the attack and th’boy got away clear with only a few nasty scrapes. I’ll be dropping by in a few days. Ask ‘im what he saw.”

“Poor boy,” Maevis replied, his words barely a whisper. He studied the floor with a worried expression that after a time, turned to a hard look of concentration. He asked, “What more do we know about the attacker?”

“Nothin’,” Keral replied bitterly, snapping close the book and looking at Maevis with steady focus. “The only significant thing we have to go on is from the Hill Tribes and it’s as useful as a trough of pig shit.”

Maevis made a face.

“Well, what do they say?” the magician pressed. “Even the smallest detail could unlock a clue. Point us in the correct direction. Any direction.”

“That it’s a man,” Keral replied tiredly as he sank heavily into a chair. He reached for the pitcher of wine and poured himself a generous glass. He took a long drink. “Or a Vhasshalan.” Another drink. “Or a Dragon.”

Maevis made another face. “I...see.”

The ranger drained his glass before refreshing it. “And always the same story fer each a’the witnesses: never hurt no one, or attacked, never got close to the torches fer anyone t’make out what exactly it was. If it were more than just a beast, it never spoke or made its intentions known.”

“And non of the Vhasshalan victims saw what attacked them?”

“Not a’ one. Most of ‘em were attacked during times a’day with poor light and either from behind or above. ‘Cept our farmer and his boy,” replied Keral somberly. He eyed the magician. “Whatever sorta pattern it was stickin’ to, it broke it with them. Just don’t know why yet.” He pauased, considering the wine in his cup and then regarding Maevis with a look that was not quite curious, not quite exasperated. “And ya haven’t picked or sensed anythin’ up from here then I take it, eh?”

Maevis shook his head, scanning the text of a smaller booklet he held in one hand while the other was pressed to his lips in contemplation and deep concentration. “Waves of magic. Powerful. But...wholly unfamiliar to me. Which is worrying in its own right. Practical magic often leaves traces, a kind of marker, that one can read and measure and identify.” He paused, as he contemplated something. Seeing the look on the magician’s face, Keral poured a second glass and slide it across to Maevis who took up the cup readily and drank. Staring ahead at nothing in particular, Maevis said in an uncharacteristically somber tone, “Elementals, however, are...much more difficult.”

“Hm,” Keral grunted in agreement, glaring into his cup. “Dangerous too.”

“Unfortunately,” confirmed Maevis. “We may be dealing with a mage.”

Keral looked utterly grim, the lines set hard in his face, and he looked very much like his brother then. “None of the attacks mentioned fire, and no sign of scorched earth neither.”

“Not all mages are fire mages, Keral,” Maevis replied patiently. “However, it is quite odd to find any of the other varieties anywhere near Vhasshal. Most are nomadic and the few that aren’t live in the Northern Plate and the East Islands. And as we know, the Silvaran fire mages are long gone. It’s not impossible to think one among the Hill tribes may posses the gift, but we would have known of them. Out of all Elementals, fire mages are the least subtle.”

“Aye,” Keral replied, a sardonic look overtaking his features. “Saw one blossom once. When I was a squire. Little tyke lit up like a torch right in the middle of a crowd. Scared the seven hells outta me.”

“And I doubt these attacks are the work of a toddler.”

“Sir,” came Barnaby’s small voice. He sounded unsure, worried even, as he ambled slowly to the edge of the table. “What did those of the Hill tribes describe it as? Their exact words, please.”

Looking neither perturbed by Barnaby’s injection into the conversation, nor displeased, Keral replied, “Just a black mass. Shapes in the night. One fella claimed it was a man walking around like he was looking fer somethin’. Then one old woman swore up and down it was a giant. In armor. Infantry armor by the way she described the helmet. And then some wee lad said they were all bonkers and that it was a dragon, a real and proper dragon. Said he saw the smoke from its nostrils and everythin’.”

Barnaby looked visibly unnerved and it did not escape Maevis’s notice. The magician had placed his small book down and came up his charge, placing one gloved hand around the archivist’s shoulders protectively and bending down slightly. “My friend, are you alright? Do you need to sit?”

“No, no, I am fine. I just...” Barnaby paused, panting a little, and glanced up at Maevis sheepishly. “Perhaps a sit would be good after all.”

Before Maevis could retrieve the small stool himself, Jae strode up alongside them and placed the chair and cushion just behind. Maevis gave the boy a grateful smile and helped ease the old man down onto the stool. Keral was sitting up in his own chair, leaning forward with hawk like attention, his eyes sharp and alight with interest. “What do you know, Barnaby?”

Barnaby licked his lips and stared at his hands, seeming to try and find the proper place to begin.

“Silvaara has...had a long and proud tradition of magic,” Barnabas replied. “But only certain types of magic were considered proper. Pure. Fire being the purest. When my grandfather was a lad, people began to shun those of deviant magic. If you carried any ability other than the flower of flames, it was somehow a black mark upon ones person as though magic abilities determined one’s morality. Anyone who bore the flower’s flame moved up in society. A low born butcher’s son who blossomed would often be taken in by the aristocracy.”

“Taken in?” Keral asked dubiously, one thick brow raised and his mouth twisted as though he tasted something sour.  

“A kind way of saying they were not permitted to remain with their blood relations. Either through extortion, kidnapping, or murder. The child would be raised by someone rich. Most often though, families were paid for their gifted children. My great uncle was one such case.”

“How cruel,” Maevis muttered in disbelief. “Simply dreadful.”

“Eventually, the bloodlines consolidated to only the aristocracy. No fire mages were born among the poor. And the vitality of those with the gift staggered. Blood purity was an obsession among the nobles and the royals. Fewer and fewer mages were born.” Barnaby paused, looking confused. “Oh, but I missed my point entirely. The so called deviant magic users,” he looked to Keral. “You said one of the witnesses – the boy – from the Hill tribe mentioned smoke.”

Keral nodded.

“And none of the others could agree on what it looked like?”

Another nod.

“Tell me,” Barnaby said seriously. “Did all of these witnesses see different things on the same night? Or were these all separate instances?”

“Separate,” replied Keral. “Scattered over the course of a week or so. Give or take a day.”

Barnaby nodded slowly and rung his hands. He seemed to be coming to terms with something in his own mind, something that deeply troubled the man. And much to Maevis’s concern, the human looked as though he were on the brink of tears.

“My dear friends,” said Barnaby after composing himself, though his voice cracked with suppressed emotion. “You are dealing with a smoke mage.”

[sending-the-message]

I'm still having nightmares about the day I found the door to Hell by Aaron_Abysmal

The nightmares have started again. 

Hell, I don't know that they ever went away. But I'm remembering bits and pieces of the horror again when I wake, covered in cold sweat, goosebumps spread across my arms and legs like a rash. Two nights ago I screamed so loudly that I woke myself up. 

I'm just an old man now, mind and body used up by years of manual labor and hard alcohol. I just celebrated my 78th birthday last week. When you're young you never think something could fuck you up for that long. 

You see, I used to work for the Water Department in a small city when I was in my early twenties. 

For a kid pretty much fresh out of high school, the pay was decent and the work wasn't hard if you were good with your hands. Every once in a while you'd have to go fix a pumping station, maybe, or unclog a sewer drain after a hard rain, but other than that it was easy and uneventful work. Until the day I saw the door to Hell.

That particular day I remember coming in and seeing my supervisor, Al Nell, buckling his utility belt. A green hardhat with a headlamp sat on the table next to him. That was never a good sign. 

"What's up, boss?" I asked, dreading his answer before he gave it. These kinds of work orders came up from time to time when the canal overflowed or the sewers backed up, and nobody liked doing them. 

"Good, you're here," Al grunted. "We got a main pump on the fritz. Jansen's still out sick, Denton and Gorcizca are on call, and Brewer's still on his honeymoon 'til next week. Looks like you, me and Gordon are going down on a little field trip." 

I opened my locker with a sigh. It was going to be one fuck-all of a day. 

Nobody liked going down into the sewers: the smell was awful, it was cramped and dark, and God forbid you got lost down there. The sewer system was old (very old) and somewhere along the course of time some shitpot had lost the blueprints. It was like going into a dark, shit-covered labyrinth without a map. Actually, that's exactly what it was. 

Jimmy Gordon came out of the bathroom as I was tightening my utility belt. I could hear the faint sound of the toilet flushing as the door closed behind him.

"Just sent some supplies down, in case you guys need lunch while we're down there."

I shot him the bird. 

"Gordon quit fuckin' around. It's going to be a long day and I want to spend as little of it as possible wandering around in the dark with you assholes." Al said. 

We put on our hardhats, I grabbed our enormous metal toolbox, and we piled into the utility truck. 

We drove down to Pumphouse #3, which was conveniently located amidst an area of lush overgrowth of tangles and bushes that ran adjacent to downtown. We did a few tests and located the pumping station that seemed to be the problem. From there we marched down through the tangles and blackberry bushes and found it just a little way off from the river. 

"Weird," Jimmy said as we approached the concrete cylinder. "The cap's already off it. You think Denton or Gorcizca already made the call?" 

"Fat chance," Al said and spat out a stringy glob of brown chewing tobacco. "They're laying pipe for a new residential off Broadway." 

"Maybe some kids were fuckin' around?" I suggested. 

"Who cares what moved it, let's get down there and fix it." Al started climbing down the steel ladder into the pumping station. Jimmy and I exchanged amused glances and then followed suit, me going first then Jimmy. 

The pump was fucked, all right. For one, the rotors were all clogged up with thick mats of long orange hair. That alone should have been enough to prompt us to find out just what the hell had been down here. But that wasn't all. 

A few feet away from the pump, in the mouth of the drainage pipe that ran from the pumping station into the sewer system, was a small red shoe no bigger than my hand. A child's shoe. 

"How in the hell did a kid get that pump cover off and end up down here?" Jimmy asked, his voice a mix of astonishment and unease.

"Doesn't matter how they got down here," Al said as he picked the tiny sneaker up grimly. "What matters now is that we find 'em and hope to God they're in one piece when we do. Looks like they lost a good lot of hair in that pump there." 

His eyes trailed to the tangle of hair stuck in the pump, and then back to the shoe.

"Carlton get the pump up and running. Gordon and I are on the search party." 

I nodded. Jimmy's face was pale and solemn. They clicked on the utility lights on their helmets and disappeared into the darkness of the sewer pipe. 

It took me about 30 minutes to splice the wires that were shorted and clean out all the shit clogging the pump. When I finally managed to pull out the knotted hair I found clumps of bloody scalp came with it. During that time I kept looking toward the opening of the pipe, expecting Al and Jimmy to come back carrying a scared and crying kid. But they never did. I finished up with the pump, packed up all the tools, closed the tool box. Staring into the black O of the sewer pipe I drew a long, deep breath. The newly repaired pump began to whir softly behind me. 

I drew the flashlight from my utility belt and entered the narrow sewer pipe.

My boss had been with the Water Dept. for ages, and he'd probably been down in those sewers a dozen times. Nell told me stories of people he'd worked with before that got lost down there and never came back. Just gone. "They belong to the sewers now." He'd say solemnly. "You go down there, you'd do well to take after Hansel and leave yourself a trail of breadcrumbs to find your way back out, or you'll belong to ‘em, too."

I found their trail easy enough. Every fifty yards or so I'd find a burning fusee producing red light, and a large orange X spraypainted at every fork to indicate which tunnel they'd taken. It was dead silent down there. I heard not the sound of scurrying rats or trickling water, but the air was electric like the atmosphere right before a big storm. They'd gone deep - much deeper than I was comfortable with. At one point I came to three pipes, each spewing clean water, greywater, and sewage. And don't you know there was a big orange X above the shitpipe. I couldn't see what made them take this winding course, it seemed too specific for a search. 

I sat the toolbox down, rolled up my pant legs, held my breath, and squeezed into the pipe. It sloped down deep. Real deep. As I descended I couldn't help but wonder just how far under the city I was, and who the hell would run pipe this deep. But as I got farther I could hear them talking excitedly. I came out of the tunnel, it wasn't as much a pipe anymore as it was an underpass, and couldn't believe what I saw. It was some grand underground cathedral, bigger than a ballroom. A hundred yards away I could see Nell and Gordon hovering around something.

"What the hell is this place?" I shouted.

"Carlton! Come check this shit out. Ain't never seen nothing like it." Gordon hollered back. Al's face was pale and scared. 

It was a door. A small oak door, maybe three feet high, big enough for a child or a dwarf. There was a big iron X across it, and a strange symbol that looked like a devil. A greenish-yellow light glowed brightly under the door. They'd found the door to Hell itself. 

"Damn thing's locked." Gordon muttered as he shook the handle. "Whaddaya thinks in there?" 

"I'm not sure we want to know." Al replied softly. He pointed to a pile of small bones at the foot of the door. If there was any doubt as to their nature, the tiny human skull that rested on top of the pile settled it.

"How'd you guys find this place?" I asked. This wasn’t something Waterworks put in. This was something else entirely. Some kind of lair. The atmosphere down there was charged and intense, and I swear I could feel the presence of evil itself.

"We heard a little girl crying once we made it in a little way. We kept calling out to her, trying to catch up to her, but she just kept saying 'help me' and running deeper into the damn sewer. Strange thing is, we followed her cries all the way here and now she's nowhere to be found."

"Where's the toolbox Carlton? I wanna see if I can jimmy the-" Gordon suddenly uttered a shrill scream that echoed off the stony walls of the chamber. 

I followed his gaze up the wall. Descending the domed stone wall toward us was an enormous scorpion at least eight feet in length. Its hollow exoskeleton glowed a translucent silvery-blue in the shadows. The inner claws of its mouth twitched and clamped with excitement. Al began running backwards, but Jimmy stood there petrified. 

"Run Gordon!" I yelled. Bemused, he turned and looked at me and then back to the hideous creature that had just climbed down the wall. 

Jimmy made as if to hit it with his flashlight, but a giant glowing pincer caught him at the forearm and snipped his arm clean off in one motion. A jet of bright blood sprayed onto the tiny glowing door. Jimmy shrieked in horrified agony, and then the scorpion's tail pistoned forward and its orange stinger pierced through his chest with a wet thud. 

I'm ashamed to admit it, but we fled. Turned and ran like cowards, and left Gordon there to die. I'm not sure what two men could have done against a scorpion as big as a pickup truck, but I'm still ashamed nonetheless. 

We scuttled back up the way we'd came and found orange Xs sprayed at all four intersections of the fork, like someone was trying to throw us off track. 

"What the hell, Carlton?" Al wailed. 

"I didn't do this. It wasn't like that earlier."

"C'mon, we came in right so we'll go back left." He pointed to the far left pipe.

"We came out of one of those middle pipes. We came out right, but not all the way." 

"Damnit boy, I know where I'm going. Now come on!" He grabbed my arm fiercely, but I pulled back.

"Al, I swear to you we came through one of the two in the middle. Look, there’s the toolbox." I pointed to our heavy-duty box sitting in front of two of the middle pipes.

"Suit yourself but I'm getting the hell out of here." He turned and went down the pipe on our far left. I watched him go, staring from him to the semicircle of orange Xs to the toolbox, and then picked one of the middle pipes. That was the last time I ever saw Al Nell.

Maybe Al was right, but still to this day I don't think so. Regardless, I wandered around in that damp, dark and smelly labyrinth and never saw another orange X. Some intersections I came to looked familiar, and I kept going the best I could remember, and when I couldn't remember I went with what felt right.

I'm not sure just how long I was down there but I suspect it was two or three days. Lost in that dark, wet warren I thought I would starve to death, never to see daylight again. At one point, I came to a big pile of our dead fusees, like someone had gone and gathered them all up and heaped them together. By then I was tired and scared and thirsty. I sat down right there with my flashlight and slept for a while in the muck.

I awoke to the sound of Al shrieking somewhere in the distance. His screams seemed to float down there in the dark, echoing from every surrounding pipe. The blood-curdling sounds came in bursts and lasted for several minutes before they finally stopped. I'll never forget hiding there in the dark listening to those shrill screams of agony. Not until the day I die. 

I sat there fixed to the damp and filthy ground, clutching my flashlight as a rat scurried past me. I don't know how long passed, minutes or hours, before then I heard something slinking down the sewer pipe towards me. 

Plop. Squish.

Plop. Squish.

Plop.

"Carl-ton," I heard Al croak from the darkness. But what came out of that pipe wasn't Al. It was a little girl with matted orange hair, a faded grey dress speckled with spots of dark green mold, and a missing shoe. The top part of her scalp was missing.

"Are you okay little girl?" I asked and got to my feet uneasily.

"I told them there were no monsters in the sewer, Mister. They bet me two bucks I wouldn't touch the bottom of the well."

There was something off about her calm demeanor in this setting. She smiled and extended a tiny pale hand toward me. I went toward her to take it, but stopped when she whispered:

"I won the bet... but I guess monsters are real after all."

That was when I realized, even with my headlight blaring on her, she cast no shadow. Her eyes became cloudy and white, and there was only purple gore where her throat had once been. She started laughing madly but it wasn't the sound of a little girl's laugh. It was deep and booming - the sound of a demon.

"No!" I shouted and threw my flashlight at her head. I turned and ran as fast as I could, twisting and winding down pipes blindly, ducking or crawling in some places. Eventually I saw light up ahead. I went toward it with the desperation of a prisoner with freedom in sight. It was a pumping station. I crawled out of the grimy pipe and gripped the steel ladder that led to my freedom. I risked one last glance back into the dark sewer and saw a pair of enormous yellow cat eyes staring back at me and then I got the fuck out of there.

I packed my shit up that day and headed as far south as I could afford to go. I didn't stop until I was out of money and then kept going. I only ever had one cop question me about what happened once I set up residence in Louisiana, and they didn't sound very interested. A couple of quick questions and then he abruptly wished me a good day. I don't know if they ever found Al but something tells me not. He belongs to the sewers now.

I had night terrors for years. I drank a fifth of whisky every night just to get to sleep. Even then I couldn't sleep unless every light in the room was lit, and I refused to go anywhere remotely dark or cramped. Nyctophobia and claustrophobia the doctors called it. I found odd jobs in manual labor here and there doing electrical patchwork or building fences or painting. But never plumbing. Then one day, the nightmares just stopped completely like someone had flipped a switch.

I'm still not sure what was down there. Maybe it was some kind of Pandora's Box, full of horrors, or maybe we found the door to Hell itself burried down there beneath the city. My heart tells me it's the latter.

Last night I dreamt I was back in those dreadful sewers. I came into that hellish mausoleum and saw Gordon’s skeleton surrounded by the tattered green rags of his uniform. And then Hell's door swung open. I awoke screaming so violently my throat hurt and found I pissed the bed.

As far as I can remember, I haven't had a nightmare about what I saw that day in over 30 years... and now they've come back.

[idontcare-whybother]

Updates!

Okay, so here’s a recap of my weekend:

Friday was St. Patricks’ day, so naturally us university kids went a little nuts. At 4, a friend and I went to the dollar store to get some stuff to show some spirit. We wanted to get a bit ridiculous but it cost a bit too much, so we only for the cheap shiny beaded necklaces. We also stopped for some alcohol, then headed back and met up with the rest of little group. Grabbed dinner and started drinking. Come 6-7, we’re all a bit tipsy. We made plans to go to an all-ages pub so we could bring everyone, unfortunately most of campus had the same idea. The place was absolutely packed, after half an hour, we were still waiting to sit. In the end, we had to separate into 2 groups (we were a group of 10), some at the bar, others at smaller table. Got drinks and stayed till about 10-ish. Got pretty drunk. It was a very funny trip home. One guy had to get off the bus to puke and we had to run off with him. Another two had to take a piss on the sidewalk. 

Thankfully, I woke up hungover-free but my friends weren’t so lucky ;)

It was a fun night.

Saturday afternoon, I had a biology community field trip. We went to get rid of invasive species, which happened to be Himalayan blackberry bushes. It was an hour bus ride, talking to a biologist for an hour, working for an hour, then another hour bus ride. Overall, the day was okay, it was very nice weather but so so muddy. We didn’t work as hard as I thought we did. But I did get stuck in the mud and lost both of my sneakers. I spent the day in muddy socks and running shoes, which wasn’t fun but alright. It wasn’t super wet thankfully. Got back and took a nice hot shower and cleaned up. Relaxed the rest of the day.

Sunday, was busy. Got up nice and early, made my way to my sister’s school. I did get lost a few times but finally managed to make my way there. From 11 am till 4:30, we worked on my hair. Got a nice short bob, not quite a pixie but its pretty darn close, I’m hoping to get the rest of it off. We attempted to bleach my hair but it ended up being a pretty dark brown. We tried to put dye on top but it all ended up being.. a mesh of dark colours. We’re going to try again next weekend.

Honestly, I was really nervous when I saw how much was being cut off, but I’m actually pretty satisfied with my hair. It doesn’t look as bad I thought it would. I didn’t believe my friend when she said I’d look good with a pixie cut, but I actually look okay. I want to see the colour but I’m pretty comfortable with the short hair look.

Overall, I’ve been pretty stressed but at the same time, not. Frankly, I can’t really tell anymore. I’m just feeling... unstable. I don’t know what to do with life. I don’t know what i like or what I want. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. Nothing makes sense. Nothing feels right. Emotions just are being processed properly right now.

Today, I felt like I couldn’t breathe for most of it. I came back from class and curled up in bed and I didn’t want to leave. 

But I can do this. I made it through today. I didn’t like it, but I got through my classes. I can do it again. I will

I’m trying.