#dybbuk press

[marlowe1-blog]

"Chabad of innsmouth" by Marsha morman (in king David and the Spiders from Mars)

Schrodingers hametz by Leah cypress (online)

The dybbuk in love by Sonya taaffe

Let me know if anyone wants a list of Jewish fantasy novels

[marlowe1-blog]

Book Review: Lost Souls by Poppy Z Brite

Still the most disturbing vampire novel

Recently Billy Martin, aka Poppy Z Brite, announced that he was back to writing. He sold a short story to a friend's anthology and he was writing another one. This was met with a great deal of excitement. For Generation X, Billy was the greatest. Then a few days later, dispirited and depressed, Billy wrote on his Patreon that he was no longer writing. He wrote a story for another editor and that editor rejected the story.

On Facebook, the outpouring of love and support for Billy was amazing. Billy has been through a lot and around Hurricane Katrina, he gave up on writing. HIs restaurant books were not selling and his publisher was demanding more horror. He was depressed from a great deal including gender dysmorphia (he still presented as female at the time) and eating disorders.

The support was either "We REALLY want to see you writing again, because you inspired us" or "take care of your mental health first".

Writing is a tough gig. It's hard to make money at it. It's hard to believe in yourself. It's almost impossible to sustain that belief over the years. The doubts set in. The rejections pile up. The occasional acceptance can feel false. Like ok, this editor is saying that my story is great and wants to pay me money. What's wrong with them? Most writers build up calluses, stop putting their self-worth in the next acceptance, struggle with the feelings that they suck. We read old stories that we thought brilliant and wince with embarrassment, but also take pride in how far we've come.

Billy didn't benefit from these experiences. He was an overnight sensation. Yes, he wrote a lot of garbage as a teenager like we all do and he had some disappointments and rejections, but he sold his stories to a zine when he was young and then when there were enough stories, got a collection published. Harlan Ellison read those stories and got very excited. So did Dan Simmons.

Then came Lost Souls. Billy was in his early 20s when he wrote this book. Most writers are writing trunk stories and embarrassing manuscripts at that time. Billy wrote the nastiest vampire book of its time, inspiring horror writers - especially splatterpunk and extreme horror writers - ever since.

Unfortunately for modern readers who might love to see anything new from Billy, Billy had to deal with all the self-doubt and struggles afterwards. On Livejournal, I criticized a media tie-in book he wrote for the Crow series and he was pissed. We both apologized for the incident (or at very least the nasty feelings from the incident) years later and we're friends now - well online friends - but it was very confusing at the time.

I was a nobody. I mean I'm still a nobody with a few books published through Dybbuk Press and some stories in anthologies. But back then I was even more of a nobody. I had maybe Teddy Bear Cannibal Massacre published and as far as my stories were concerned, I had sold a few of them and made maybe $20 total. That's $20 spread out over 4-5 markets.

So why was anything I said getting under the skin of the guy who wrote Lost Souls?

T-Nightingale at Devientart

When I revise this for Substack, the above is going to be seriously edited down.

Anyhow, Lost Souls came at a strange time. Anne Rice had written two amazing vampire books, one pretty good vampire book that got real dumb in the last third (Seriously Queen of the Damned has a woman thousands of years old deciding to create world peace by killing all the men? REALLY? That bullshit wouldn't fly in an Introduction to Women's Studies class). Francis Ford Coppola turned Dracula into a comedy. Vampires were more popular than ever, but defanged.

When Molochi, Twig and Zillah come to the French Quarter looking for absinthe and fucks they are fucking intense. Christian, the bartender and the one vampire that might walk through an Anne Rice novel, doesn't like these vampires, but they are fellow vampires. What are you going to do.

Within a few pages, the vampires are revealing their identity to a vampire groupy and Zillah is fucking her in the backroom. Mardis Gras is over and that girl is doomed.

Because in the world of Poppy Z Brite, vampires aren't made by other vampires. You don't become a vampire by drinking vampire blood. You don't kiss your new master and then sink your teeth into his new cut. No. Vampires are born.

Vampires are born by eating their way out of their mothers.

Later on Christian fucks a goth boy who wants to become a vampire. Christian drains him and feels bad about it, but it's not Christian's fault if the normies don't understand vampires.

This scene sets the tone for a book that has zero chill. Nothing, the sad goth boy (and vampire who doesn't realize that he's a vampire) would be a parody of teen angst in another book. Then there's Steve and Ghost, semi-adult band members who have a tangled history and a lot of heartbreak between them. They run the band that gives the book its name but they are also messy characters. Steve is borderline abusive to his girlfriend while Ghost protects Steve.

They are the nicest characters

Nothing is a big fan.

An aside: the writing style is fucking poetry. Seriously check this out

The, last dying days of summer, fall coming on fast. A cold night, the first of the season, a change from the usual bland Maryland climate. COLD, thought the boy; his mind felt numb. The trees he could see through his bedroom window were tall charcoal sticks, shivering, afraid of the wind or only trying to stand against it. Every tree was alone out there. The animals were alone, each in its hole, its thin fur, and anything that got hit on the road tonight would die alone. Before morning, he thought, its blood would freeze in the cracks of the asphalt.

That was later an issue with Billy's writing as Billy did not like editors telling him to change his sentences.

Ok. More tomorrow. I need to actually talk about the book itself past the prologue, but I also have a paper to finish (800 more words to go) and I need to wake up early tomorrow for jury duty.

Fuck Jury Duty.

[theseshipsshallsail]

Elio sighs, pressing his index finger and thumb to his eyelids until he’s seeing stars. The distance had been his choice. The only choice. Better. Easier. Absolute. His parents were disappointed, of course, but the clean break was a necessary evil to protect his mental wellbeing. And it worked. On the whole. His decision to send Oliver this journal, however, has taken a torch to the pyre of their estrangement, and the ghosts he’s attempted to exorcise are pressing in like dybbuks. Disembodied and restless...

[lrdvyke]

𝐔𝐍𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

SPICE.  cinnamon. WEATHER.   that moment in a rainstorm where it's still raining, but you can see the rays of the sun through the clouds. PRIMARY  COLOUR. yellow. COLOUR  OF  THE  SKY.   twilight, where there is a bit of the sunrise still visible in the horizon. MAGICAL  POWER. corruption magics. SHOE. sturdy, well-fitted leather boots. HOUSEPLANT. a red-orange bromeliad. BLADE  WEAPON. war spear. SCHOOL  SUBJECT. P.E. or drama. SOCIAL  MEDIA. instagram, but posts very rarely. MAKEUP  PRODUCT. eye shadow or eyeliner specifically. CANDY. jolly ranchers, but mostly the one's where when you get to the middle, you hit a very sour center. TANGIBLE  FEAR. atelophobia, but more so of not being useful, of not being enough for people. but a very close second is claustrophobia and being unable to escape. ICE  CUBE  SHAPE. semi-melted cube left too long on a countertop.  METHOD  OF  LONG-DISTANCE  TRAVEL. walking. ART STYLE. surrealism in an odd mix with baroque. HISTORICAL  PERIOD. middle ages / medieval europe. MYTHOLOGICAL  CREATURE. dragon ( or a dybbuk ). PIECE  OF  STATIONARY. the wax that gets melted down for the rubber stamp to press upon to seal a letter. THREE  EMOJIS. 👁️🔥🤺 CELESTIAL  BODY.   venus ( earth-like assumption at its beginnings before its death to now be something inhabitable )

tagged by, @vilestblood ( tyty!! <3 ) tagging, i'm really bad at tagging people bc anxiety but pls pls if you want to do this, steal it from me!!

[murfpersonalblog]

I'm piggybacking offa @lynnenne in the tags

cuz saaaaame~! I like it, too.

Armand hadn't found the person he's willing to risk it all for yet.

People get so hung up on the romantic relationships, and miss the whole point of the platonic relationships. AR was writing these books to express her unconditional love for her DAUGHTER.

Vampire bonds--especially Maker/Fledgling bonds, are about FAMILY; from Amel on down.

But TVC's all about these effed up families, where blood is NOT thicker than water, and your own blood can let you down and even hate you; and the love of your life can kill you; and you and your Maker/Fledging can't even communicate (telepathically) with you anymore once that literal wall rises between your minds. (When pressed, AR had interesting things to say about her parents, AND her husband Stan; her inspo for Lestat.)

The strongest bond in the entire TVC is between Louis and his daughter Claudia. She wasn't actually his blood at all, but he felt more for her than ANYONE--his Maker (blood-father) Lestat and his Fledgling (blood-daughter) Madeleine combined. He could TALK to Claudia--his favorite thing to do; what he'd been missing ever since Paul died, and Miss Lily. He only gets a mere fraction of that back in SanFran, and again when he pays Daniel 10 million dollars to "sit in a room and talk to you." It's better when Grampire Oldmaniel becomes "something like an annoying little brother," as JA called him.

Someone he can talk to (telepathically) over miles, and who knows how he thinks & speaks & who can be 100% blunt & honest with him.

Claudia: We're a family? Louis: Yeah. But with no secrets.

And I think this show is primed to give Armand a similar treatment, as he too finally discovers what unconditional love means.

But I don't even think it'll be with his Fledgling Daniel, or even his Maker Marius.

I think/HOPE it'll be the bond Armand forms with Benji & Sybelle.

When they first met him, Benji called him a dybbuk (a demon), but they weren't afraid of him--they saw that he'd been burned alive and was in pain, so they HELPED/SAVED him. They brought him food & shelter, and nursed him back to health, when he could've killed them both. They stayed with him through thick & thin. And he helped them right back; getting Benji off the streets, and Sybelle away from her abusers; giving her a safe space to express herself (cuz she's clearly on the spectrum).

Marius turned them FOR Armand, explicitly to give him companions he could TALK to (telepathically); who knew & understood him, and most importantly: loved him unconditionally. The wall would never go up b/t them, like it had gone up b/t Marius & Armand, or b/t Armand & Daniel (who was mentally ill for a while after he Turned, and HATED being around Armand until he got better).

Marius' love for Armand was conditional: he left Armand with the Children of Satan cuz he was disappointed in him. And Daniel's love of Armand was traumatic & transactional from the very beginning; and took a massive blow as soon as Daniel turned; which required god knows how long to heal.

It's the same way Marius turned Viktor for Lestat, so they could always communicate (telepathically); and be completely open with each other, without the curse of the Masker/Fledgling bond getting in the way as it had with Les and everyone else he loved but couldn't 100% trust to not "abandon" him. Viktor was Les' blood SON; but he'd finally have family he could be 100% open with; without THE Blood Bond getting in the way & inevitably screwing things up.

Armand freaked TF out when Benji & Sybelle were turned, but eventually grew to appreciate just how precious the gift Marius gave him really was ("I didn't know it was a gift"); having not just one but TWO companions he COULD depend on to love him for 200+ years; without any resentment or white noise from being their Maker.

I'm really looking forward to that; for me that was the highlight of TVA; Armand finally getting a real family.

Rolin's interviews are even more confusing like wdym he really couldn't prevent it?

everything he's said is how i interpreted the show as well but i get the confusion. when he says i could not prevent it it's not in the sense that armand couldn't have overpowered the coven in response to their threats like he says in 2x06

he might've killed them or they might've kill him if it came down to a direct confrontation but he wasn't emotionally or intellectually ready to destroy the thing that gave his life meaning for 200 years. that's how i took the "i could not prevent it". rolin also said armand's first act of cowardice is in this moment not simply running away with louis because choosing louis over the coven means taking a huge risk w/ his heart. as he later says he couldn't count on louis's love lasting 200 years and he's not even wrong. even if he's the love of your life, it could all blow up in your face next week or next month. like loustat barely lasted 30 years after all and the final 20 of those years were held together by ducktape and claudia. it all ended in lestat's murder. that's the risk you take when it comes to love.

so the "acts of cowardice" aren't necessarily about armand being afraid for himself physically but rather his dependence on structure and rules to define his life.

here are the direct quotes referenced:

i found it a very interesting choice for the character, although definitely a part of me thinks this change from the books was to ensure armand didn't encroach on lestat's oeuvre of being the guy who puts everything on the line for love/louis. like lestat's whole deal is even if it all blew up and louis killed him every 10 years he would still always choose to have louis than not. armand isn't able to take that risk (yet) but if you take rolin's assurances this is all building to something in 9 seasons lol

[chicago-geniza]

Bought this volume of Boy's theater critique in hard copy because it had both Andrzej Marek's Polish Dybbuk & Tog un nakht. Then saw the first review, remembered "M. Jewreinow" is Nikolai Evreinov, the Russian Symbolist, who--iirc this year while he was in Poland to mount THIS play--gave an interview where he discussed his fascination with the exotic, primitive allure of Judaism on the Yiddish stage as represented by The Dybbuk. Anyway he emigrated to France & became a hardcore freemason lol

[jewishbookworld]

The 36 books posted on JewishBookWorld.org in May 2022

The 36 books posted on JewishBookWorld.org in May 2022

Here is the list of the 36 books that I posted on JewishBookWorld.org in May 2022. The image contains some of the covers. The bold links take you to the book’s page on Amazon; the “on this site” links to the book’s page on this site. Alma Press­es Play by Tina Cane (on this site) Avi­va vs the Dybbuk by Mari Lowe (on this site) Bringing Down the Temple House by Marjorie Lehman (on this site) The…

[arcane-offerings]

J.H Chajes. Between Worlds: Dybbuks, Exorcists, and Early Modern Judaism. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003. Paperback edition. 278 pages.

Shop link in bio.

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[reylofanfictionanthology]

Amid Secrets and Monsters: the 2019 Reylo Fanfiction Anthology Master Post and E-Book Sampler

We are proud to present the pieces that officially comprise Amid Secrets and Monsters: the 2019 Reylo Fanfiction Anthology.

Angels:

Angels Among Us by @biekewieke (Biekewieke)

Asmodeus:

Where No Thing Gleams by @maq-moon (maq_moon)

Aswang:

place the moon at my eyes (and her whiteness shall devour) by @kylorenvevo (diasterisms)

Cursed creature:

Old Blood by @lion-hearted-wolf (NatMatryoshka)

Cursed forests:

the parts that make us whole by @tiaraofsapphires (tiara_of_sapphires)

Curses:

The Dark Prince by @ceciliasheplin (ceciliasheplin)

A Time Without Name by @deedreamer (deedreamer)

Bad Feelings, Good Omen by @rakefired (rakefire)

Dark artifact:

The Dark Crystal by @erney007 (erney007)

Demons:

Belphegor's Prime by @nerdherderette (PalenDrome)

Devil:

Dew of the Sea by @godhelpmeimareylo (Enidzsasz)

Dybbuk:

Truth and Death by @shmisolo (crossingwinter)

Eldritch horror:

At the Moon of Madness by @inthegrayworld (inthegrayworld)

real life sucks losers dry by @leofgyth (QueenOfCarrotFlowers)

Eldritch location:

The Hungry Sands Beneath Jakku by @personalphilosophie (personalphilosophie)

Exorcism:

THE LAST EDGE by @codeblackspace (codeblackmoira)

Fae:

A Faerie Crown by @evilgrrl (evilgrrl)

Ghost planet:

linger in the doorway (of my field of paper flowers) by @mnemehoshiko (bittersnake)

Ghosts:

Within These Walls by @reylo-solo (ssalemghostss)

the shadows are whispering (again) by @thewayofthetrashcompactor (thewayofthetrashcompactor)

Follow Me by @transpogrrl (Zabeta)

Grim Reaper:

The Other Promise by @kuresoto (kuresoto)

Haunted murderer:

Dust Devil by @Orevet (Orevet)

Haunted object:

An Unscripted Sorrow by @lilia-ula (lilia_ula)

Haunting:

Chandrila Manor by @halfwaythroughit (halfwaythrough)

So Much Thin Glass by @nuanceismyjam (walkingsaladshooter)

Immortality:

meet me in the aether by @saint-heretical (SaintHeretical)

Incubus:

Your Love is Poison by @avidvampirehunter (avidvampirehunter)

Beloved by @misscoppelia (MissCoppelia)

Jane Eyre:

you transfix me quite by @politicalmamaduck (politicalmamaduck)

Krabat:

His Raven Heart by @apisa-b (apisa_b)

The Lake House:

Tenant of the Heart, a Lake House AU by @bettertoflee (bettertoflee)

La Llorona:

La Llorona by @commandercrouton (commandercrouton)

Mediums

The Skeptic and the Medium by @shelikespretties (Vivien)

Melusine:

Come take my hand, kiss my lips, taste the promise I hold by @hellomelusine (Melusine11)

Nightmare:

Falling in Slow Motion by @arcnlumi (Orichan)

Portals:

The Light Off Glass by @aionimica (aionimica)

sometimes i dream (the sounds all stay the same) by @orkindofamazing (verilee)

Possession:

Don't Cry Mercy by @below-the-starry-clusters-bright (below_the_starry_clusters_bright)

Psychological horror:

Phantasm by @forcebondedreylo (iamladyloki)

Rebecca:

destruction makes the world burn brighter by @cosmicforces (dearly)

Reincarnation:

Always You by @my-jedi-life (MyJediLife)

Chrysalis by @persimonne (persimonne)

Sea monster:

Don't Fear The Reaper by @tmwillson3 (tmwillson3)

Selkie:

Under Your Skin by @greyrey-lo (greyrey-lo)

Soul stealing:

The Weight of a Soul by @ceallaigheirinn (Ceallaigh)

Unicorns:

In a Lilac Wood by @spottytonguedog (Crysania)

Vampires:

Killing Loneliness by @mrandmrssolo (rissanox)

Werewolves:

It Never Troubles the Wolf by @cobwebbing (cuddlesome)

Just Press Play by @reylocalligraphy (reylocalligraphy)

Milk and Honey for the Wolves by @thekesselrun (La_Catrina)

Witch’s familiar:

Malleus Maleficarum by @monsterleadmehome (monsterleadmehome)

Witches:

In the Leaving by @starcrossreylo (kylosren)

Zombies:

What's in your Head? by @sand-its-everywhere (SpaceWaffleHouseTM)

As a very special gift to the Reylo fandom, our e-book sampler featuring excerpts of all 54 pieces and their mystery moodboards is available for viewing and download here.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

A Brainful Process || Morgan &Rio

@3starsquinn

Cemetery field trip!

(Contains: zombie and animal gore)

Cemeteries were safer to visit in Morgan’s idle house than the woods. In cemeteries, most of the company was resting six feet under, and those that weren’t had a tendency to wave at Morgan as she walked by, content to leave her alone, one still soul to another. Some even warned her when it was better to turn back home. There’s a girl with the stake that comes by around now, a ghost might say. Or, we don’t like you that much. Cemeteries were safer, yes, and yet somehow tonight Morgan still found herself tackled to the ground, wrestling with a one legged zombie who, for all her wild hunger, really knew how to use her strength to her advantage. “Uh--a little help, maybe?” She called, appealing to one of the spirits nearby. “I don’t know what you expect me to do about it,” the old man said, and drifted off to watch her struggle somewhere else. “Okay, okay, ok--ow!” The zombie woman bit into her shoulder, moaning with hunger. Morgan kicked, trying to knock her off balance enough to shift the weight between them like Mina had taught her, but it was a lot harder when the opponent didn’t have much of a mind for sensing pain. Morgan set her jaw and lashed out to struggle with the zombie woman again. “We got this,” she grunted. “You’re gonna be fine, you just gotta stop trying to eat me!”

Cemeteries had scared Orion far before he knew ghosts and spirits existed. He supposed he always knew they were real. Growing up learning about werewolves and Fae made pretty much anything believable. If his parents had bothered telling him about Santa, Rio might still think he was real. But he had always thought of ghosts in the more creepypasta YouTube sense. That they haunted others. They were crazy stories that made things colder and flipped on lights. Not the kind that possessed other humans and drained their life force. But ever since Rio had learned about the Dybbuks and other evil spirits, Rio hadn’t been able to get them off his mind. Rio began pulling books about ghosts and spirits. The more he read, the more intrigued he became with some of the accounts of sightings. Winston and Ricky must have really gotten to Rio. Without even realizing it, on his way home that night he was taking a detour and heading towards the cemetery. For no other reason than pure stupidity, if Rio had to guess. Once he was within range however, he started hearing voices. The hairs on his arms stood straight up and he immediately began shaking. At least, until he realized that the voices weren’t ghosts or spirits but a person. A person that sounded like they were in danger. Rio picked up his pace, beginning to job before breaking into a sprint towards the cemetery, stopping only when he finally spotted the source of the voice, a woman being attacked by another. “Hey!” Rio yelled, trying to sound more dangerous than he actually was, “Let her go!” Rio began moving towards the two slowly, freezing when he finally realized who the victim of the evening was, “Professor?”

The sound of another voice made Morgan’s dead body go stiff. Fuck. The last thing she needed was human company, or some hunter about to stumble upon a two-for-one deal. “W-we’re fine!” She grunted, finally grappling the zombie woman to the ground and pinning her down. “She’s--she’s just---uh--” Morgan struggled for a good lie. The woman was in literal pieces, her skin sagging off her bones and pockets of bare muscle spreading bursts of dark, grotesque color. And the person was coming closer. “Having an attack! Nothing to see here--Rio?”

Morgan saw him through the edge of her vision and didn’t know whether to be relieved or agitated. She hadn’t told Rio the ‘sudden loss in her family’ that explained away two weeks worth of missed classes had been her own. She hadn’t told any of her students. Funny enough, that still wasn’t a conversation she felt like having. But there wasn’t going to be any fooling him. He was too much of a supernatural scholar to not see the obvious, at least when it came to the woman thrashing and groaning under her. “Hey!” She said brightly, panic tight in her smile. “How weird and amazing to run into you here! I’m fine, she’s fine, we’re both fine right now, completely. But you should really stay back and um, maybe grab some rope? And some fresh brains?” She was convinced, maybe falsely, that she had enough confidence to sell everything she was saying without the need for questions. Then the zombie woman rocked against her weight and threw her off, driven by the pull of fresh meat.

For a long moment, Orion just stood from a distance and stared at Morgan and the woman clawing at her. This didn’t make any sense. Why was Morgan being so casual right now? Was this some sort of fever dream brought on by the lack of sleep? “Uh” Rio hummed, drawing it out for far longer than any of them needed. “Both fine. Right.” He realized, maybe many beats too late, that he had still not moved from his spot. Until now, he had stared at the sight as if it was a horror scene in a movie. “Brains?” Rio asked, touching at his head instinctively before realizing that Morgan probably had a rope and brains here. Because this was a zombie. A zombie. A ZOMBIE? It took this long for the fear to finally rush into Rio’s body and he immediately started fidgeting, the usual skin crawling feeling worming its way through his body. “Oh my god. A zombie! I’ve never met a zombie! I’m going to do something now.” Rio spoke aloud, as if that was going to finally motivate his body to follow the commands. Apparently it worked, his feet finally inching across the grass and towards the two. “What do you want me to do with these things once I have them?”

Morgan’s thin smile fractured with dismay. As much as she was relieved Rio wasn’t some guns a blazing hunter trying to get more goo for their collection. But she didn’t know if this was really the time for scholarly curiosity either. Maybe more like run and take action time. Move faster NOW time. Morgan dove for the zombie again, tackling her to the ground and pressing down with all her weight. She looked up at Rio, pleading for his help. She could keep the zombie pinned down for now, but she wouldn’t be able to help the dead woman with just her hands alone. And, shit--of course Rio wouldn’t have anything on him. He wasn’t Kaden, for crying out loud. Morgan looked around them, mind racing to keep up, to stay ahead of any panic. Maybe this was the time for scholarly curiosity. “The plan!” She said, forcing as much confidence into her bright voice as possible. “The plan is you...find something that will do instead of rope. Um...your belt! And uuh…” She looked around her with dismay. “My belt!” It was a lot daintier, meant for her small waist as decoration rather than supporting any weight. “And we are going to bind the zombie as tightly as we can. Because, fun fact: zombies have a much higher pain threshold than humans! Whatever would hurt for you won’t hurt for them, so that’s not something to worry about when they’re...like this.” She swallowed thickly and forced another smile as the zombie rocked and struggled under her. “When her limbes are secure, we’ll get her some of the food from my bag--” what was supposed to have been her lunch, “--and give her some of that. And then...more, probaby. From...somewhere else. I’m not...actually sure from where yet, but--fun zombie fact 2: decomposition and ‘rabid’ behavior is a symptom of starvation and not, necessarily, the zombie’s natural state! With sustainable access to food, your average zombie isn’t much different than a human, by outward appearances anyway.” Now if they could work on this together without Rio wondering too hard about how she knew all this, it might actually be easy. Or at least, not hard.

Okay, obviously it was clear that Morgan was preoccupied right now. Trying to hold back the woman- er uh the zombie from munching on either of them. Ignoring the swelling excitement as well as the far more palpable fear that was building inside of him, Orion tried to put aside any jitters and listen to Morgan’s instructions. He was lucky he had worn jeans today instead of the usual joggers or track pants, and that he was embarrassingly skinny for his age and height, so any pair of jeans that he wore usually required a belt. He pulled the belt free, hooking his pinky around a belt loop to avoid his jeans dropping. God, that would be embarrassing. “Okay uh- my belt is good. And your belt is uh- still attached to you.” Rio called, still standing a few feet back. He was not incredibly comfortable with the idea of undoing his teacher’s belt, but he supposed there were… strange circumstances.

“This is great!” Rio tried remaining positive, his voice cracking at the end of his sentence. Although Rio greatly appreciated the information on Zombies, a species he had not done much study on. He was familiar with a couple of culture’s depiction of zombies in their own lore, but from what Morgan was describing, they differed quite a bit. “I am very happy to help and I am totally going to keep my cool during this time.” Rio said aloud, probably trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince Morgan. He slowly inched towards them, holding his arms out with his belt gripped tightly in both hands. “Do uh- you want me to do this? Or you? Is the whole thing about a zombie bite still true?”

Jeepers, this was going to be tricky. The zombie woman was beginning to thrash, dragging her and Morgan across the ground inch by inch. The closer Rio got, the more she wriggled her head, gnashing her rotting teeth. Morgan shifted position, pressing her knee down into the woman’s back. This was really not very seemly, but she couldn’t think of another way that would keep the zombie from hurting anyone long enough to feed properly. “We got this, we got this,” she murmured, still racing for ideas. “We got this!” She declared. “You are doing a great job, Rio! Just grab her legs and I’ll get the arms, and we’ll bind them up together. No worries!” She grabbed one of the zombie’s arms, then the other, wrestling against the woman’s frustration. “But, uh, yeah, about the bite. Fun fact, that’s--fuck!” The zombie woman’s teeth bit into her hand, grazing the cuff she used to hide her real scar. Morgan finished wrangling the arms with a grimace and whipped off her belt to fasten her arms together so the wrists would come more easily. “The bite thing is real,” she said, looking down at the wound in her hand. “But don’t freak out, Rio, okay? It doesn’t matter if she bites me, it’s you I’m worried about. Uh, get her wrists and ankles together?”

Orion could do this. He could totally do this. He did not love the idea of grabbing onto this woman, zombie or no. But Morgan seemed convinced that she would not feel the pain and that they were not going to harm her. That was what Rio wanted right? What was some tying and gagging if it meant helping her and others not get hurt? That was totally something that Rio could get behind. Grabbing onto her legs was surprisingly easy. Hunter strength and all made wrangling the woman’s legs surprisingly easy. At least, until the zombie bit Morgan. Rio dropped the legs immediately and began screaming his head off. At that moment, he wasn’t sure what was happening. Would Morgan turn into a zombie? How fast was the process? Was there something he could do to stop it? Rio had seen some zombie shows. How they amputated the body part that had been bitten to stop the spread. Even the idea made Rio light headed. He definitely couldn’t do that. Finally, Rio contained himself again, grappling the legs again and holding them. What the heck did Morgan mean that she wasn’t worried about herself? Was she immune to the bite somehow? “I- I don’t- uhhhhh” Rio’s brain broke for a moment, but he forced himself out of the slump. Grabbing onto the woman’s wrists and easily pulling them back to meet the ankles and wrapping his belt around them. “Oh god- Oh god. I hate this. I’m really bad at this. I think I’m going to puke. Are you okay???”

“Rio! You cannot puke on this woman!” Morgan shrieked. Oh dear. This wasn’t calm. This was the opposite of calm. Could she breathe? Was that ever going to work again? She missed the time when all she had to do was tell herself to breathe and her body would start to right itself back into something right and normal. But the quiet was too great and there was too much happening at once. “I’m fine! I’m not even bleeding!” Mostly because she didn’t have any circulation. “Just--just hold her steady and don’t turn into a zombie!” She scrambled over to her bag and prised open a tupperware full of brains, a blend, as it happened, but even a smidgen of person in there probably wasn’t going to get this woman back to normal. They’d have to take her somewhere better, or get better to her. Morgan stuck the tupperware under the woman’s nose and watched, grimacing, as she moaned and wrangled herself closer to fit as much of it in her mouth as possible. Morgan sat back and deflated. That would keep her busy for, what, five minutes? “I’m sorry,” she said. “I am fine though. I’m…” Morgan shook her head and sid off the cuff, showing Rio her old scar, a perfect oval in the shape of Remmy’s mouth. “I’m already bitten and dead, Rio. Say, you didn’t happen to bring a car here, did you?”

“I’m not going to puke on her!” Orion yelled back, unsure why he was even still yelling. Stress. He totally blamed stress. He needed to calm down. Take a chill pill or something. That was all thrown out the window when Morgan tried to reassure him by letting him know that she wasn’t bleeding. “How are you not bleeding?” Rio was right back to freaking out now. But Morgan seemed more together than Rio was. She was in the right state of mind to fish out something from her bag and give it to the tied up woman. “Is that… brains?” Rio asked, the most calm he had been since showing up here. He examined the mush curiously. Everything seemingly clicked into place when Morgan showed off what looked like an old, already healed scar. She was dead? “You’re… a zombie?” Rio muttered aloud, needing to hear the words to actually begin processing it. A moment of fear passed through him as he considered that Rio had just willingly walked into being part of their midnight snack. But he pushed the thought away quickly. That couldn’t be. This was his professor. They had talked about books and the supernatural together. “Woah. You’re nothing like the old Haitian story of zombies.” His head tilted curiously as he examined his teacher to try to pick out any defining details. By all accounts, she looked human to him. “Hmm… interesting.” Rio nodded, and then grimaced at the next question, “About that… I don’t really have a car right now. It belongs to my parents and I’m not really talking to them right now and- y’know what? It’s a whole thing. Clearly we have other things going on right now. Maybe I can call my friend Blanche. Or one of my roommates! Maybe they can help us? Or uh… Where are we taking her anyways?”

“Wow, kid, that’s really one heck of a compliment,” Morgan deadpanned. “But...yes. I got hurt really bad and I died. Two months ago now. That’s why I missed so much school towards the end of the semester. I died, Rio.” She looked down at the woman gnashing her teeth at the brain bits in the tupperware. “But I have people who help take care of me. I can stay fed easily. I have a home. I have a girlfriend that loves me. I even have magic pills for my new zombie physiology that help manage all the depression I’ve got over dying. I don’t know which of those this woman is missing, but whatever it is, she’s still a person. She’s as much of a person as I am. Does that make sense?” She looked at him earnestly. Rio was a good kid. Rio didn’t believe in hurting people. He had to get it. Maybe it was hard to see the woman in her own right. Even Morgan couldn’t do that. She didn’t know her name or if she was happy before she died or how long she had been dragging herself out of bed. She could only see her pain. She had to be in so much pain to have sunk this far. The days of starving had to have been excruciating. With this kind of decay, maybe it was even weeks. “I was thinking of getting her to the butcher’s, but I don’t know if their stock will be enough for her. It’s worth a shot, if we can keep her from getting noticed. “Unless you wanna do a run? You got venmo, Rio?” She asked. The brains were almost gone, and of the two of them, Rio was the one most in danger. And this wasn’t his problem, now that she was mostly subdued. “You don’t have to, you know. I can take this from here.”

Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say at this moment. Clearly, Orion had no idea what he was doing. He had grown up knowing about the supernatural. He loved learning about them and yet despite this he still had just barely scratched the surface. He knew nothing about Zombies, or real zombies at least. “Wow. I’m uh- sorry? That doesn’t sound like a good thing. But you don’t look dead.” Rio tried, he didn’t think that helped redeem him. “Okay that was probably a bad thing to say too. But despite all that… I’m really glad that you have a good support system, y’know? That must have been a really difficult thing to go through and… well I’m really glad things seem okay now. At least, hopefully everything’s okay.” And Morgan seemed dead set on helping this woman right now. And though the woman tied up seemed a little… murdery right now, Rio believed that with some help she could end up like Morgan seemed now. Completely put together. “I believe you. And I’m in. Let’s help her. Uh- I can run somewhere and get stuff… I don’t know what to get. But tell me and I’ll figure something out.”

“Well, you can tell that to my necrosis whenever I wait too long to eat my wheaties.” Morgan mumbled. You can test my pulse too, if you want.” She held out her hand, the bite standing out as a heavy shadow on her pale skin. “And no, you don’t need to be sorry--” But Rio was. He was just a kid doing his best with problems way bigger than himself. “But thank you. I know you mean it well.” She stared at the woman writhing in front of them again. She could see, too clearly now, what hunters did. A raving thing, a disaster they needed to triage before it got out of hand, a monster… “I can venmo you. A hundred dollars so should be able to buy out the brains at the butcher shop, whatever other weird organs they’ve got. That’s a start.” And while he was out she could maybe scrounge up a deer. They wandered through near dusk in little clusters, and it was the time of year when fauns were left to hide in the tall grass while mothers hunted. If she was quick and lucky, she’d be able to nab one for this woman to have. And maybe then, maybe if they were lucky, she could be okay. Morgan wrenched a hand through her hair and took out her phone to send the money over.

Orion laughed, happy that despite the horrible events that had clearly befallen his teacher without him even knowing about it, she could maintain some level of humor. “Don’t worry. I believe you. It’s uh- definitely not my first rodeo with the supernatural.” Even if he didn’t quite understand, he did believe. “Um right. I got it. Give me…” Rio paused, checking his phone for the time, “Twenty minutes. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

One of the good things about being a hunter? Superhuman endurance. Rio was definitely not in shape, but he could run for a while without having to stop. From here, he was pretty sure that it would be more efficient to get a car. If he could run home and borrow Ricky’s truck then he could get to the butcher shop and back without too much trouble. So he ran towards their house as fast as he possibly could, not letting anything distract him.

It worried Morgan how much animals still trusted her. The faun was too scared of the moaning woman six yards ahead to move. Morgan was able to settle down near it, still as death, and when it came over to sniff her out of curiosity, she took its neck and snapped it. The head dangled limp from the body like a toy that had lost all its stuffing. She carried it back to the woman and did not have to wait for her to wriggle and strain against her bonds trying to eat it. Morgan took out a knife and sliced the creature open neatly so she didn’t have to fight. Then she walked away enough yards so the smell of it wouldn’t compel her to steal a starving woman’s meal and licked blood and skin from her hands.

When Rio finally returned, Morgan was perched atop a large cross marker, stained with blood for all that she’d tried to keep herself clean. “Just unwrap everything for her and drop it where she can reach,” she called. “And then, you know, come over here so you don’t get bitten.”

Buying brains from a butcher was perhaps the most uncomfortable Orion had ever been. Despite this incredibly odd request, the butcher didn’t seem to think much of it at all. Which could only mean that this was not an uncommon request that he received. Which probably implied that Morgan and this woman were not the only zombies in town. It hadn’t occurred until now that Morgan could have been the one that turned this woman. But no. His Professor wouldn’t do that. Not unless she had to for some reason. Right?

Rio drove back to Morgan mostly in silence. He hated driving the truck. He didn’t trust himself with a big car. Plus he could barely see while driving the thing and hated ruining Ricky’s seat and mirror placement. But desperate times. Rio parked and hopped out, extending his arm so he could hold the brains at a distance from himself. “I’m here!” Rio yelled out, stopping when he noticed that Morgan had blood all over her shirt. Oh no. “What happened? Are you okay?” Rio asked. Despite this, maybe because he was too trusting just as Athena had always insulted him with, he followed Morgan’s instructions. Unwrapping the brains and tossing it to the tied up woman before hopping away and standing close to his professor. He could smell the blood that stained her. It was fresh.

“It’s okay, Rio,” Morgan said. “What do you think I’m gonna do, die again?” She smirked. A beat later, maybe too late, she wondered if that was maybe a bad joke. Rio knew about the supernatural, but maybe not about death. He hadn’t studied zombies before in his big secret library. He barely seemed comfortable with hauling brains and organs over from the butcher. Morgan sighed with a grimace and tried again. “I killed a faun for her. I didn’t think that was something you needed to be around to see. Brains sustain zombies best, but freshly dead meat is…” Her stomach grumbled, twisting. “Like candy on Halloween. You can’t not have any.” She looked down at him, still clinging to her perch. Her fingers had worn notches into the rock, worrying at the grain to keep from breaking off Bambi’s leg and going to town herself. “It’s just how we’re made,” she said quietly. “When the mother comes back to see if her faun is still around, I’ll try to get her too, if our friend isn’t back to herself yet.” She hesitated a moment, wondering if they had crossed into over sharing territory, if this was already too much for one troubled kid to bear in one night. “You don’t have to watch, or be around for any of that,” she said. “This is just another Tuesday for me, but it was a lot to get used to. It still is. You’ve been a big help, though. If all this turns out okay, it’s gonna be because of you. Because you cared.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “You uh...you can ask me questions, if you have any. I know all this is...strange. And lived experience can tell you certain things a book can’t.” She offered him a smile, her fear weighing on her softness. Please don’t think less of me for this.

Orion laughed nervously. Was that Morgan being offended? Or Morgan making a joke. A few seconds later and Morgan smirked at Rio, hopefully confirming that it had been a joke instead. “A faun.” Rio repeated, mostly to himself. He was still processing. Rio appreciated the information. He was taking mental notes, making sure to remember all of the information that he was learning about zombies. Maybe he would head back to the building tomorrow, start digging through his books for some information on the undead. The whole thing seemed like Alain’s side, but Rio knew better than to trust a hunter’s point of view when it came to the supernatural. Rio knew from personal experience that those teachings were biased. “I don’t- I usually don’t do that well around blood. But uh- I don’t want to make you do this stuff by yourself.” Morgan opened the board for questions. And boy, did Rio have questions. Way more questions than he possibly knew how to order and ask. “I- I have questions. But right now seems like the wrong time, y’know? With her… in the state she is in.” He sighed. Just another person in this town that has been through some awful experience that Rio wasn’t able to help prevent.

Morgan nodded and watched the woman eat. It might’ve been faster to let her have her hands back, but Morgan remembered the complete haze around her mind when she woke into her feeding frenzy. She hadn’t even known her own name, much less ‘eating people bad.’ If the wrong person had been in the room, she probably would’ve done everything she could to tear them to bits. “Anyone tell you lately what a good kid you are?” She asked. It was a rhetorical question, but she hoped nonetheless that someone was encouraging his generosity. Even if he could probably stand to get less squeamish. In time, the groans of the woman changed. Morgan gestured for Rio to stay back and made her way slowly over.

There was hardly anything left of the faun, but just enough that Morgan couldn’t stop herself from reaching into its ruined skull and scooping out its small black eyes and the thin tissue of its cheek muscle to munch on. She knelt down near the woman, still working the flesh in her mouth. “Hey,” she said, gently as she could with her mouth half full. “Can you talk? Are you good now?” The woman groaned and dashed herself into the red stained grass, angling her mouth for the rest of the faun. “Okay! Not feeling the impulse control. That’s okay! But I’m gonna need like...one intelligible word before you get this carcass.”

“Mmmhh. Aaarr...oh..k-kay.”

Blessed universe she was okay.

Morgan went around and loosened her bonds enough for her to wriggle free and stepped back as she held the faun and the scraps of flesh she hadn’t devoured yet as if they were all the treasure in the world. “You...shouldn’t...have done this,” she panted.

“I don’t see why not, Morgan replied. “What’s your name?”

The woman sucked the last remnants of life from the faun’s ribs and reached for a scattering of brain bits to shove into her mouth. “Ashley,” she said at last. “I didn’t--” She paused to swallow. As she wiped the mess from her chin she caught sight of the blood and mess on her hands, matching Morgan’s and then some.  “I didn’t ask for any of this,” she said through gritted teeth. “Not any of this, you idiots.” And then she was sprinting downhill, stumbling and falling over her own feet but never stopping, the dead animal still tucked in her arms. Morgan reached for her, but caught only the edge of her torn hiking vest. It fell right off, like it had been waiting to all along.

“It hurts sometimes, being like this, Rio,” she said, hanging her head as Ashley disappeared from sight. “Even when you have everything you need, it can still hurt.” There wasn’t any point in tracking her down again, not when Rio could get hurt, and he had done so much already. She willed herself to look up and gave him the saddest apologetic smile. “Sorry you got sucked into this. What were you up to before anyway?”

Orion felt the heat burning his cheeks as the blush came on. Good kid. They weren’t unfamiliar words, not anymore. But they still warmed him each time he heard them. He supposed being starved for acceptance and praise did that to a kid. “Uh- I get told that more so recently than ever before. But uh- Thank you.” Whether or not she was expecting an answer, Rio thought it would be rude to just not thank her for the compliment.

Over time, Rio witnessed first hand how the almost primal hunger seemed to die down from the woman. Slowly, her eating became less frantic and more of that of a human that had not eaten in days. Morgan was fearless, strolling right up to her. Though he supposed death probably helped to quell many of the fears that Rio felt right now.

The zombie- Ashley- seemed confused. Scared, even. And despite what the two had done to help her, Ashley took off the moment she was comprehensive and scurried off down the hill, leaving Rio and Morgan by themselves. And all of that fear and anguish that Rio could see in Ashley’s face, must have been similar to what Morgan had been through. Her words were raw, her smile doing nothing to mask the sadness or pain present in her voice.  This was her life now. Something she was forced to deal with in order to stay alive. Or re-alive, which wasn’t actually a word but would have to apply for this situation. “You helped her. Even though she couldn’t see it right now… you just protected people from potentially getting hurt. And you protected her from making a terrible mistake. That’s… incredible.” Rio breathed, realizing only now that he had been holding his breath the entire time. “I was just at the old Scribe building, heading home for the night when I heard the noises outside the cemetery.”

“Stars, I hope so,” Morgan sighed. She didn’t feel like she had done much. She had hoped to at least talk to someone else like her for a little longer, to ask what she really needed to get by for longer than a day or two. Who did she have? How had she starved so badly? All she had to go on was one torn up hiking vest and a name. She pushed the thought of Ashley to the back of her mind. Maybe she could put out a call online or ask the ghosts in the cemetery to keep an eye out, just in case she turned up here again or...something. But for now she was as good as lost.

Morgan exhaled. Without the need for air, her body retained most of its tension from the past hour until she worked consciously at it, slumping and rolling her neck and shoulders and arms. “You helped too, Rio. I wouldn’t have been able to manage her by myself. Come on,” she urged gently. She held out an arm, beckoning him close, imagining a one armed hug to calm his nerves. Then she saw the blood on her hands and thought better on it. She let it fall limp at her side and wiped it down on her skirt. “I appreciate that you tried. That counts for something.  Let’s get you home, okay?”

[exorciseyourspirit]

The Ghost Of You || Theo And Rebecca

We were meant to live for so much more.

Theodora had to fight herself not to spend all her energy racing to Rebecca’s home at once. It had to be her. She was strong. She had fought him off before. She would fight him and surface again. It had to be her. But as she neared it, reached to pass through the windows and reach for her, call to her, a fear coiled around her and she hesitated. There was no telling why the dybbuk would trick Blanche again, what he would gain from playing a long game when he enjoyed his own existence so very much. And--dear God in Heaven--she was there. She was using Theodora’s old kettle, nursing her ribs. And she looked so tired. It must be her, mustn’t it? Theodora hesitated, then pressed her hand to the windows, rattling them as if they were caught in a gale. If it were the creature, he would see her. He would be cruel. And she had to be careful, certain. Didn’t she? “I know you’re in there,” she said, uncertain of to whom she was speaking anymore.

Rebecca had been icing her wound when she’d decided that a nice cup of tea would help calm her down. She’d waddled into the kitchen, still limping from the pain, though it seemed to be getting better. She’d have to schedule a doctor’s appointment, she wasn’t sure the demon had done so. It would be alright, in the meantime, with tea and ice and ibuprofen. She sighed, grabbing the kettle and filling it with water, sighing as she set it on the stove and clicked it on. She remembered her visions of the home, of the flashing clock on the stove. It wasn’t flashing now. It wasn’t beeping. Suddenly, the windows shook, a chill up her spin. Rebecca jumped, pulling out her ward. “Who’s there?” Limped over towards the window, when the voice filtered through. No. She-- she must’ve been hearing things. Backing away, she turned away. “Whoever you are, go away. I don’t-- I’m not who you’re looking for.”

Theodora passed through the glass as Rebecca backed away. The dybbuk would have no need to be afraid. He was too confident, surely. And he would see her. Mock her. Rebecca, on the other hand— “Darling?” She called softly. She knew Rebecca’s tired looks intimately. The way the creases around her eyes seemed to deepen, the droop around her mouth, the way her hair dropped with neglect. Hunting a dybbuk, even over the span of years, was hardly conducive to good rest. And it was all the same, now as ever before. “It is you, isn't it, darling? Rebecca?”

Rebecca turned, clutching the counter until her knuckles turned white. She’d finally lost it, was what this was. That voice, so familiar. She was back in that place again, wasn’t she? That must be it. This couldn’t be real. But the chill in her bones, the way her flesh tingled-- she knew it wasn’t just her imagination. Her lip quivered. Maybe if she ignored it, she’d go away. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t be back, couldn’t be here. Rebecca had only been able to pull through because she knew Theo was in a better place, knew that she was no longer suffering-- but now? Accepting this? “No,” she said, moving away from the energy radiating by the window. “No, you’re not-- you’re not here. Just go away, please,” turning her back to her again. Because if it was her, she didn’t want her to see the anguish in her face, the defeat.

“Rebecca--” Theodora called, drifting slowly towards her. She couldn’t mean it like this, surely. After all the time it had been, and the weight of these weeks knowing she was drifting alone in the black while the dybbuk mocked her existence, that the alternative was a cursed existence, pulling against a tide she could not fully control. If Rebecca knew it was her, surely-- Theodora brushed her hand through her hair, wilting as she realized that Rebecca might do just that, if she were alone enough, and hurt enough. The worst fights they had were the ones where Rebecca pushed her away when Theodora most wanted to be with her. “Don’t let’s do that cruel dance again, my love,” she said. “It really is me. And I’ve come all this way just to see you again, for true.”

“That-- it--” Rebecca stammered, shivering as something brushed across her skin. She screwed her eyes shut, pulling away again. How cruel could the world be? To give her her lover back like this? As the things she hunted? The things she had come to only feel, to hear, but not see. Never see. She cast her head down, arms wrapped around herself. Tears welling behind tightly shut lids. “It’s not fair! You can’t-- you shouldn’t be here. I’m so sorry. Why are you here? You shouldn’t be here. Go, please, go. Move on. Be happy. Please,” she begged, breath wheezing. The hurt in her ribs was now nothing compared to the hurt in her heart. The ache that clenched at her. She wished for so long during that year alone to see her lover one more time. To speak to her, one more time. And never had she thought to come back to White Crest. Never had she thought Theo would have been here, been around. And it hurt all the more, knowing that she could’ve known her this whole time. That she could have had her like this, the whole time. But her stubbornness, her pain had kept her away. And she only had herself to blame. “You can’t be here.”

“As if I could ever rest, knowing you were in pain?” Theodora asked. “Knowing I hadn’t done enough to protect you? After all my other failures, and all my other wanderings?” She lifted the hair that fell over her face, twisting it round in her grasp, such as it was. “Would you really deny us this, my love, after two long years? Haven’t we suffered enough apart? Must you punish us again?” If she could have only but summoned solid hands through will alone, the ability to pull her up, shake her, make Rebecca look at her and see her-- Oh, but that would have been too easy. Whatever sins Theodora was atoning for, she had obscured herself from such a blessing. “It’s one thing never to visit your wife, but another to cast her out of your home. And this is not the time for running, Rebecca,” she said, voice firm. 

“This isn’t-- this isn’t your fault, you know that, I told you that,” Rebecca pleaded quietly, shivering again when Theo’s ghostly hands passed across her. She looked up, bewildered, wishing now more than ever that she could see her-- cursing now more than ever, that she couldn’t see ghosts. “You should be able to move on, my love,” she said quietly, her voice strained as she fought back her tears. “You shouldn’t be here suffering with me.” The pain swelling again in a frantic sob, aching ever more thanks to the fracture in her side. She moved through the spirit in front of her, through the kitchen, and to the living room. There was a photo of Theodora on the mantel and she picked it up, knowing she’d followed her in, hands caressing her face in the photo. “I couldn’t bare to visit the place where I’d lost you. Where’d I’d failed everything in my life,” she confessed quietly, “my ultimate failure. Losing you.”

Theodora followed, peering over Rebecca’s shouler and passing her arms through her body, as if she would press her close, Rebecca’s back cradled by her chest. Some evenings, when Rebecca’s fear pulled and stiffened at her, it was the only way she could bridge the awful silence between them and hold her at all. If she could just take shape for even a moment, she thought. Even with hands of death, to feel anything-- “Oh, my darling,” she sighed, her voice shuddering. “It wasn’t your fault at all. I dove for him. I just wasn’t fast enough. That was my blasted foolishness, not yours.” She skated her ghostly hands over Rebecca’s. It was just a chill, Rebecca had told her. Like a pocket of icy wind. She did not know how it could comfort, but she hoped that from her, with her voice in her ear, it might for even a breath of a moment. “Is marriage not a sharing of suffering, anyway? I think I’m rather entitled, don’t you?” Her voice lilted softly upwards, hoping to soothe with a touch of levity.

Rebecca shuddered again, but it wasn’t an adverse reaction. Somehow, the chill of Theodora’s touch was a comfort. Perhaps it was her voice, or perhaps it was just knowing that that was what she was trying to do, but Rebecca didn’t turn away this time. She could feel Theo’s presence behind her and felt the longing inside of her to hold her and touch and her and felt the unfairness of the fact that she couldn’t. It felt like a physical ache in her arms that could only be quelled by Theodora’s touch, but she would never again feel it. Even now, with her here. “We never made it official, you know,” she said quietly after a moment. She turned around, looked up-- she couldn’t see Theo, didn’t know exactly where she was, but she could see her clearly in her mind. Standing there with her sweater on, that look in her eyes-- so soft, so caring. Like they could look into Rebecca’s own soul and pull out all the bad and make everything okay. With just a look. “I want to see you,” she whispered, “let me see you.”

“Not officially, no,” Theodora chuckled. “But we did a lot of married things in the eyes of our gods alone. It’s close enough. I told Blanche I was your wife. So at this point, who’s the wiser, really?” Rebecca turned to her, her soft face open and bright. There was a sparkle of hope in her watery blue eyes, that resilient seed that carried her through so many dark nights. Theodora passed her fingers through her cheeks. She dug deep into the core of her soul, just in case there was any strength within her that could summon to make herself solid again. Even a moment, a flash of contact, however soft. But she could not wipe Rebecca’s tears from her cheeks. She could not draw her close and fold her up in her arms away from the world. “Oh, if I only could, my love,” she said. “It is so good to see you after so long. I have missed you so very much. So very much. If I knew how, I would--” She could not bring herself to continue. It seemed too cruel, to speak hopes that had no promise of coming true. “But I would stay with you tonight, and every other, for as long as this lasts. I will help you, however I can.”

Rebecca lifted her left hand. There was a pale band around her ring finger. “I haven’t put it back on in a long time,” she murmured, curling her fingers in slightly before stretching them back out again. “It didn’t seem right. I was worried he might--” Take it. Break it. Destroy it. Destroy their symbol of love. She knew it sounded stupid, but she couldn’t bare the thought. She knew that their love was always going to be in their hearts, undead or not, no matter what. Even if Rebecca wilted away and her soul was torn from this world. She shuddered at the thought and clutched the picture to her chest, sinking into the couch. “Staying seems almost cruel,” she muttered, “how cruel is the world to give you back to me in the one form I can’t see you.” She looked up again, eyes worn, tired. “I want you to stay, but I can’t ask that of you. What if he comes back while I sleep? He’ll kill you, he’ll take you from me and I already lost you once, I can’t-- I won’t,” she set the photo down on the table in front of her. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Theodora. I’m lost.”

Theodora turned her attention to the photograph. Despite being only a year before her death, the woman in there seemed so much surer, stronger, than how she felt. Perhaps she was simply more corporeal. But lacking a reflection, Theodora found a strange sense of heart in the person she was. However damned she was, she had been a woman who could bear anything. The cruelty of loss. The rejection of the world. The breaking of her own body, over and over from one night to next. She could bear this too. And perhaps at the end of it, if she succeeded, she might uncover the misdeeds of her soul, might even find her way to absolution and peace. But what was heaven without Rebecca? The thought was meaningless, too selfish and small as to dissipate faster than smoke. Theodora knelt before her, hands cooling on her knees so she would know where to look. “Whatever you will of me, I will do it,” she said solemnly. “You wouldn’t be asking me to stay. You need only tell me you want it again and I shall. I would like to stay with you too. Comfort you, if I can at all, and to damn the risk. I can dissipate faster than he can reach for me like this. But If it will only cause you more grief and worry, I will go. I have places to stay. I’ll be alright. I won’t even be alone. Perhaps don’t think about this one overmuch, if you can help it. You needn’t ask at all, only say what you feel.”

Cool hands on her knees that she could almost feel, Rebecca looked down at where she knew Theodora was. She could picture her so clearly, kneeling in front of her, green eyes sparkling. Tears welled behind her eyes again and she let them fall freely this time, too tired to fight them off anymore. She wished she could see Theo, she wished so badly for the thing she’d worked her entire life to be proud of not having. Becoming an exorcist despite her inability to see ghosts had been one of her proudest accomplishments, and now, all she could do was curse the world for denying her this gift. “I can’t say it,” she finally admitted, her voice a hoarse whisper, “I need to know I’m me first. I need to know it’s safe, first.” She wrapped her arms around herself against and pretended they were Theo’s arms, sinking into her grasp like the safety blanket it had always been for her, from their first embrace to their last. “I need to feel safe again.”

Theodora was glad Rebecca could not see her then, for in two years of being invisible she had lost all habit of schooling her face to hide any emotion she didn’t want to surface. She hung her head and would have dug her fingers in with longing, with a silent plea, if she had anything to touch. She wanted to stay. After two years alone, torturing herself with memories, she wanted to stay more than anything. But the wishes of the dead and damned were of no consequence. Theodora was quiet for several moments, however, before finally saying, “Alright. Then I will go. I’ll return soon, though, to see how you are.” She withdrew from her, gliding away towards the door. “I hope at least that much is alright with you.”

Rebecca’s heart tugged because she could feel exactly what Theo was-- she knew exactly the look on her face. And though Theodora was here, she was so tired of having to just imagine things. To imagine what her lost love was doing, feeling, looking. “Wait!” she said, a bit desperately, “stay for a little longer. Please,” she asked, hoping her eyes were glancing in her direction. “I-- just a little longer.” She stood up, struggling, her side prickling with pain. “I can finish making us tea,” she said quietly, hobbling towards the kitchen again, “and...maybe you can tell me your favorite poem again. And just...maybe for just a little bit, you can stay…” she paused in the doorway again, looking around the room, wondering if she could simply reach out and feel her. “Please?”

Theodora wanted nothing more than to do all of those things with Rebecca. Just another evening near her, even if they couldn’t touch or meet eyes. But if such and evening was what she had really wanted, she would have said so. This gesture, however earnest, could only have been given out of love for her. And oh, how Theodora had missed being loved at all. To be offered something so simple, so kind, for no other reason than because Rebecca saw her and cared. If she could truly claim to love her in return, however, she would honor her first wish. The one she had made before she knew how thin Theodora’s skin had become. “No,” she said. “It’s alright. You should feel safe, first and foremost. No need to take on any shame about it.” And Theodora believed this, with all her heart, but she could not avoid the bitter sadness she felt. She had always failed at compartmentalizing cleanly when it came to Rebecca. Why should it be any different in death? “It is good to have you back, my love. Even like this,” she said. And before Rebecca could call to her again and change her mind, she was gone. 

[shiraglassman]

a few SFF recs with nonbinary representation that I personally enjoyed and think don't get enough press

First of all, since I'm cis, please visit Corey's list of reviews of trans and/or non-binary lit by trans and/or non-binary reviewers to further look into these and any other books with trans rep. https://coreysbookcorner.wordpress.com/reviews-of-trans-and-or-non-binary-lit-by-trans-and-or-non-binary-reviewers/

Nine of Swords, Reversed by Xan West (review-ish) - two genderfluid mages navigate being honest with each other about their disabilities so that their relationship doesn't have to suffer when their bodies do. Nonbinary Jewish rep from a nonbinary Jewish author. This is also a ghost story with a friendly dybbuk and completely one of those "warm blanket around your shoulders" queer reads so if you like my own stories for that reason, this one has that same feel. Note that the relationship is D/s but the story is not sexual at all; it's entirely represented by forms of address and acts of service.

No Man of Woman Born by Ana Mardoll (review) - collection of short stories based around the premise that gendered prophecy in fairy tales should respect gender identity, so for example if "no man or woman can defeat the sparkly beast!" then a nonbinary person is a perfect fit for the job. Some of the stories are about binary trans people as well.

Baker Thief by Claudie Arseneault (review) - bigender protagonist is a mild-mannered male baker by day and a female vigilante by night, trying to save her fellow magic people from being used as the city utility company's secret new power source against their will.

Capricious #9: The Gender Diverse Pronouns Issue (review) - collection of short stories focusing on nonbinary representation in fantasy and science fiction in many, many different settings including ghost stories and space politics.

Three Partitions by Bogi Takács (review) - short story set in an Orthodox Jewish space colony **THIS ONE IS FREE ONLINE**

A Closed and Common Orbit by Becky Chambers (review) - an AI hiding in an illegal human "suit" learns how to become truly autonomous. The nonbinary rep is from a major supporting character who is a bigender alien, her closest friend. Note that in this list, this is the only book where the nonbinary character is not the central character.

Always Be You by RoAnna Sylver - fluffy short fiction in which a nonbinary faun and a lizard man (who are both on the ace spectrum) figure out what kind of boundaries their cuddling will include. **THIS ONE IS FREE ONLINE**

P.S. There are other books out there but I may not have read them; when @lgbtqreads gets asked about nonbinary SFF I feel like she has an almost entirely different list so you probably want to check her site, too! And again, the link at the top is an amazing resource.

[loveforpreserumsteve]

The Chilling Adventures of Steve Rogers: Part One (Magical Hydra Horror AU)

Sixty-Six:

Bucky figured that this was about as out-of-body as he was going to get with a dybbuk possessing him. And even then, he wasn’t as far away as he would’ve liked. Especially not with the malicious spirit using his body to attack one of his best friends, Sam. Currently, his legs were straddling Sam’s muscular thighs while he bashed his face in.

If it was possible for Bucky to look through his fingers, he would. It would’ve been better than feeling as though his eyelids were nailed open as he was forced to watch the blood splatter across Sam’s face like a Jackson Pollock painting.

Honestly, anything would’ve been better than this. Even if the roles were reversed and Bucky was the one getting beat from within an inch of his life.

Anything would've been better than this.

Bucky couldn't even fight against the entity. It was too powerful. But he couldn't just sit there and do nothing. So, Bucky attempted to wiggle his toes. Just hoping to feel something that was his being controlled by himself. For a moment, Bucky was positive that he had moved his toes.

Working even harder, Bucky tapped his foot against the ground. Only, his hands were doing the most harm, and he didn't have control over them. His hands were being completely controlled by the dybbuk. And the dybbuk was using Bucky's hands exactly how he wanted to. To harm Sam.

Out of his control, Bucky's fingers wrapped around the thick girth of Sam's neck, and closed. Squeezing so tightly, that a bloodied and beaten Sam writhed and scratched at Bucky's hands in hopes of getting him to stop. However, the more Sam fought, the tighter Bucky held.

"Please," Bucky begged, even though his mouth didn't move.

Of course, that only spurred the dybbuk more. A frightening laugh tore from Bucky's mouth. Growing hysterical as an audible crack could be heard, causing Sam's eyes going wide in fear as he struggled even more.

Sam's blunt nails dug into Bucky's hands, hoping that would get them off his neck. Hoping to get a breath in. Unfortunately, nothing was working. If anything, it made Bucky's grip more secure, even though Sam was fighting for his chance.

Bucky's body leaned forward, and using Bucky's voice, the dybbuk informed right in Sam's ear, "If I had a knife, I'd slit your throat and bathe in your blood."

Christ on a cracker, Bucky thought as his body moved back. Feeling the corners of his lips quirk up into a wicked grin that frightened Sam. Bucky could see in his eyes that he was scared.

Fighting even more in the prison of his body, Bucky's fingers wiggled. Yes! Bucky rejoiced and concentrated even more. But he wasn't able to do anything further. The most that happened was the way his muscles shook under his skin as the dybbuk fought against Bucky's control.

Then, Sam stopped moving under him.

No, Bucky denied, fighting his own body. Bucky's chest heaved aggressively as his breaths came as pants. He continued sitting on Sam, but removed his hands. And although Bucky tried to move himself off, so he could perform CPR on one of his best friend's, he wasn't able to. Bucky couldn't even close his own eyes to stop from staring down at his lifeless friend. The dybbuk wouldn't let him, and forced his eyelids up. The only thing that Bucky could do was cry.

While tears fell down his face, the dybbuk grew bored. And Bucky knew that was a bad sign. Especially when his body turned without his control and looked over at Sharon. Just like he and Sam had been, she was bound to an old chair. Something that reminded Bucky of a dentist chair.

With that single thought, spurred the dybbuk onto his next torture. Wicked grin, the entity used Bucky's hands to pry Sharon's mouth open. Sharon, like the fighter she was, tried her hardest to fight back the best that she could while still being restrained.

Biting at Bucky's hands only made the demon laugh though, and Bucky feared what he'd do in retaliation. Sure enough, his hands were used against his will to pull at one of Sharon's back molars. Using strength that Bucky didn't know his body had, the dybbuk managed to remove the tooth entirely.

Bucky was sure that the sounds of Sharon's screams of agony would haunt him for the rest of his life. The way that her body twitched in her suffering would forever be ingrained on the back of his retina. Just like the warmth of her blood and the rusty smell.

As Bucky's body moved towards his mom, Bucky sobbed. He didn't want to hurt anyone. He didn't want to kill Sam. He didn't want to torture Sharon. And he sure as hell didn't want to hurt his mom.

Especially not when she pleaded, "James Buchanan Barnes, remember who you are."

Bucky's lower lip quivered. For a moment, Bucky was in control of his body. Quickly, Bucky stumbled over to Winifred, tripping over his own feet and tumbling into her chair. With shaky hands he started to undo the thick leather straps holding her in place.

Winifred pulled Bucky into a hug. However, that was precisely when the dybbuk took over and started strangling her. At least the dybbuk was nice enough to let Bucky apologize. Tears streaming over his high cheekbones as he sobbed, "I'm so sorry, mom."

"I… know… baby…" Winifred conceded in between her gasps of breath.

"I'm sor--"

"Buck!" A deep familiar voice called out.

Bucky knew immediately who it belonged to. He tried to reply, "Teddy," but the dybbuk paid him no attention.

Then, the voice he wanted to fall asleep to forever, corrected, "Azazel."

At that, the dybbuk whirled around so quickly that Bucky felt sick. Fearing for what the dybbuk, Azazel, would do to Steve, Bucky tried to close his eyes. Hoping that if he could keep Azazel from seeing Steve, he could protect him. But, just like before, his eyelids were forced open. And Bucky couldn't believe what his eyes saw.

There, towering beside Teddy, was Steve. Such a different Steve that Bucky was sure he was mistaking the tall, muscular boy. But Bucky would recognize those sky blue eyes anywhere. Even if he hardly recognized anything else.

Crossing the short distance between them, Azazel reached up and cupped Steve's newly chiseled jaw. Companionably, Azazel patted Steve's cheek and pinched the flawless skin there, while Bucky could only stare at him.

"You'll make us all so proud," Azazel praised.

Steve's eyes narrowed and he grabbed Bucky's wrist. Even with the dybbuk controlling his body, Bucky shivered just from Steve's warm hand on him. Sure, he wasn't used to this new packaging, but Bucky was sure that it was the same boy that he loved on the inside.

Not moving his gaze from Bucky, Steve ordered, "Teddy. The box."

Inside of Bucky, two feelings coincided. Relief from Bucky, and fear from Azazel. It was such a shift that Bucky regained some of his control over his own body and he tearfully defended himself, "I didn't mean to do it. I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean --"

"Shh," Steve soothed, using his free hand to wipe the tears flowing from Bucky's eyes, "I know. It's gonna be okay. I promise."

And if Steve promised something, it was going to happen. That had always been an everlasting truth in Bucky's world. Steve promised that things were going to be okay, so things were going to be okay.

Then, Steve pressed a coin to Bucky's forehead. Oddly, it burned. It burned a lot. Such a searing heat that a tormented howl ripped through Bucky's frame. Knowing that it wasn't from him, it was from the dybbuk. In a language that Bucky couldn't decipher, Steve mumbled in a voice low enough that only he could hear, but it wasn't for him. It was for the dybbuk. And the dybbuk was fighting back.

The more that Azazel fought, the more Steve did too. Dropping Bucky's wrist, Steve pressed another coin to the back of Bucky's neck. The pain became so much that Bucky slipped away. Only vaguely aware of a loud bang of wine cabinet doors being slammed shut and strong arms catching him before he hit the ground.

[jewish-privilege]

At dusk [on July 10, 2004], a few dozen women will gather in the garden of Ruth Gan Kagan, in Jerusalem’s Baka neighborhood, in order to mark a special event: the 116th anniversary of the death of Hannah Rochel Verbermacher, the Maiden of Ludmir, a solitary women from the town of Ludmir, in Ukraine (during her lifetime the town was part of the Russian Empire), who gained fame as an admor (Hasidic teacher and master). She prayed in a tallit (prayer shawl) and tefillin (phylacteries), and like her male counterparts she held a “third meal” for her followers (the meal eaten on Shabbat afternoon, which is pervaded by a melancholy feeling because of the imminent conclusion of the Sabbath) at which she expounded on the Torah. She also received Hasidim who had questions on religious matters and granted them blessings.

…The 116th anniversary is not a round year, but it is nonetheless a special date. On Sunday, which is the exact memorial day, Verbermacher’s admirers will visit her grave, on the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem. The grave was discovered only a year ago [2003] by Nathaniel Deutsch, a Jewish researcher from Pennsylvania (where he is an associate professor of religion at Swarthmore College). On October 2003, after several years of research, Deutsch published “The Maiden of Ludmir: A Jewish Holy Woman and Her World” (University of California Press).

In the past few months, Kagan organized the establishment of a fine headstone on Verbermacher’s grave (the original stone was apparently shattered during the period of Jordanian rule in the city and there is no record of what it said), which will be unveiled on Sunday. The new headstone deliberately makes no mention of her function as an admor; the formulation on the headstone, “a just rabbanit” - a word usually used for a rabbi’s wife - is the term by which she is referred to in contemporaneous archives…

Verbermacher settled in the Land of Israel when she was in her fifties, following a wave of harassment on the part of the Hasidic community in which she lived. As far as is known, she continued to act as an admor in Jerusalem, too. Because “maiden” is a pejorative epithet that was foisted on her by her opponents in the religious world, Kagan and her group do not use it and prefer to refer to her simply as Hannah Rochel.

…Studies of Hasidism also mention other women who gave Torah lessons and blessed the Hasidim, though they were all wives or daughters of well-known rebbes (the best-known of them is Udel, the daughter of the Ba'al Shem Tov, the founder of Hasidism) whose family lineage made possible their anomalous behavior. Verbermacher, in contrast, is the only woman who functioned as a genuine admor, and without enjoying the protection of a prominent lineage. (She did have another form of “protection.” The large inheritance she received from her father, who was a merchant, meant that she was not dependent on the economic favors of her surroundings.)

…[T]he gossip-mongers claimed that she not only behaved like a man but that her voice was also masculine, giving rise to the allegation that she was possessed by a dybbuk, or evil spirit. Deutsch thinks the story served as a model for the playwright S. Ansky, author of the famous Yiddish play “The Dybbuk.” Its plot does not follow the story of Hannah Rochel in all details, but there are many similarities (a woman with a masculine voice, a forced marriage, a holy man who seeks to exorcise the dybbuk, and so forth). There is no clear-cut proof of this, but Deutsch found at least circumstantial evidence. Ansky, he discovered, visited Ludmir twice in the years before he wrote his play and interviewed residents there about the story of the “maiden.”

Verbermacher later immigrated to Ottoman Palestine. In the popular account her move was caused by persecution, though Deutsch conjectures that one reason may have been the fact that many Hasidim moved to the Land of Israel around this time - it was a period of messianic hopes among Eastern European Jewry. The exact year of her immigration is unknown, but it was probably in 1860.

In the Montefiore Archive in London, Deutsch found two mentions of Verbermacher’s residence in Jerusalem, in two different censuses conducted by Sir Moses Montefiore in 1866 and in 1875. The same source turned up the year of her birth: 1805. In each census, by the way, she appears under the category of widows (the overall name then assigned to single women) and is said to belong to the “Old Wohlin kolel” (kolel now means a yeshiva for married men but at the time referred to a community). The first census lists her as “rabbanit Rochel Hannah,” from Ludmir, the second as “the just rabbanit Hannah Rochel from Ludmir.”

…[Hannah Rochel’s new] headstone was designed by the architect Avigayil Zohar…who was also long familiar with the story of the “maiden” and was thrilled at the privilege that befell her. The design, Zohar says, “was determined by a number of criteria, especially by the request of the burial society that the headstone not stand out from the rest of the headstones in the area. They were also opposed to the building of a `tent’ (a structure in which visitors can congregate, as is common with graves of important rabbis and admors). In light of the possibility that the grave will become a site of pilgrimage, we also saw to it that a place for candles was hewed in the stone, and after the headstone is in place we will also hew a place for kvitlech (notes containing requests and wishes, such as are placed at the Western Wall and at graves of admors).”

Schechter hopes that in the wake of the book’s publication and the unveiling of the headstone, lost writings of Verbermacher will also turn up. According to an article published in 1952, only four sentences from her sermons have been preserved. “Every pure thought that stems from the heart cannot be grasped by the mind,” she said…

[Yair Sheleg’s full piece is at Haaretz]

[magica-pseudoacademica]

Judaism - Books

Last edited 2018-10-01

Abrams, Judith Z. Judaism and Disability: Portrayals in Ancient Texts from the Tanach through the Bavli. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press, 1998.

Bloom, Maureen. Jewish Mysticism and Magic: An Anthropological Perspective. Abingdon, England: Routledge, 2007.

Chajes, J. H. Between Worlds: Dybbuks, Exorcists, and Early Modern Judaism. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003.

Day, John. Yahweh and the Gods and Goddesses of Canaan. London, UK: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002.

Gaster, Theodor H. The Holy and the Profane: Evolution of Jewish Folkways. New York, NY: William Morrow & Co., 1980.

Giller, Pinchas. Kabbalah: A Guide for the Perplexed. New York, NY: Continuum International Publishing Group, 2011.

Goldish, Matt, ed. Spirit Possession in Judaism: Cases and Contexts from the Middle Ages to the Present. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 2003.

Janowitz, Naomi. Icons of Power: Ritual Practices in Late Antiquity. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2002.

Jeffers, Ann. Magic and Divination in Ancient Palestine and Syria. Leiden, the Netherlands: Brill, 1996.

Lesses, Rebecca Macy. Ritual Practices to Gain Power: Angels, Incantations, and Revelation in Early Jewish Mysticism. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 1998.

Mark, Zvi. Mysticism and Madness: The Religious Thought of Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav. London, UK: Continuum, 2009.

Naveh, Joseph and Shaul Shaked. Magic Spells and Formulae: Aramaic Incantations of Late Antiquity. Jerusalem, Israel: Magnes Press, 1993.

Orlov, Andrei A. Dark Mirrors: Azazel and Satanael in Early Jewish Demonology. Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 2011.

Saar, Ortal-Paz. Jewish Love Magic: From Late Antiquity to the Middle Ages. Leiden, Netherlands; Brill, 2017.

Schwartz, Howard. Lilith’s Cave: Jewish Tales of the Supernatural. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 1991.

Vukosavović, Filip, ed. Angels and Demons: Jewish Magic Through the Ages. Jerusalem, Israel: Bible Lands Museum, 2010.

[chicago-geniza]

did you know that leon schiller put on a yiddish production of the tempest in lodz in 1938 & aaron zeitlin (!!!) translated it & jakub appenszlak reviewed it for nasz przeglad & his language re: polish/jewish theater & universalism is extraordinarily similar to stefania’s language about polish/jewish film & polish/jewish art & universalism? did you know that abram morewski, best known for his role on stage & screen as the tsaddik/reb azriel in the dybbuk, played prospero? did you know that jakub appenszlak also wrote a critique of vakhtangov’s dybbuk which echoes stefania’s critique of waszynski’s dybbuk? did you know that appenszlak was one of several co-founders of the jewish arts promotion/patronage organization whose exhibit stefania reviewed in 1928 for her short-lived journal wiek XX? did you know that i’m autistic & have exactly three (3) interests, which happen to be stefania zahorska, the dybbuk by s. an-sky, & the interwar polish press?