#also tumblr keeps messing up the formatting boo

[beekeeperspicnic]

What I've been getting up to without my computer

Since I don't have any game updates at the moment I thought I'd give you a look at my very analogue Sherlock Holmes related project!

As you probably know, the Sherlock Holmes stories were mostly originally published in the Strand Magazine which came out as floppy monthly magazines with hardback collections every six months.

A while ago I spotted a really beaten up copy of the July to December 1893 book on eBay for £8. This book can sometimes go for £200 in good condition because it's the one with...

I immediately decided to make repairing it a Project!

You can see here that the text block has totally come away from the boards.

Along the spine I was really excited to see something a little familiar being used to give some structural support! My initial thought was that this had to be a slice of a cover of one of the floppy Strand magazines.

But when I got it loose and studied it, although the paper and ink colour is the same, it doesn't actually follow the layout format of the Strand covers. It's lots of little ads, and they run off the bottom like this is part of a larger document.

Scrap of paper on left, a Strand Magazine on the right:

So yeah, that's still a bit of a mystery, but it's cool to see this scrap of paper the printers had lying around. I had to remove it, but I'm going to keep it safe.

I did some gentle cleaning of the cover using a putty eraser, just gently pressing and rolling, never rubbing. It picked up a little of the grime.

The cover had got some paint splotches on at some point in the past, and I tried to gently remove these. Part of me wishes I'd left them as I think I was starting to effect the blue colour in the area.

(Original on the right, my attempt at cleaning on the left!)

I also reinforced some of the parts of the bookcloth around the spine that were very worn with Japanese tissue, which is very thin but very, very difficult to tear.

Now here's a fun part, with some help from my cat Miss Malkin!

The spine of the book had a few problems.

The fabric which wraps around it and helps attach it to the cover/boards which is called scrim (or mull, I've seen it called both!) had totally decayed and turned into gross dust, I knew I'd need to replace it.

Although the sewn binding was sound, I could tell that the glue wasn't doing its job anymore. It was old 'animal glue' that had turned hard and brittle. I knew I'd need to replace it with something else, like PVA.

I needed to get that glue off, so I tried out a trick I saw online. I made a paste/gel out of methycellulose, which is a substance that gets used as a thickener in lots of food products. Of course I keep mine in a fancy little jar:

The gel softens the old glue without getting it dangerously damp, allowing you to gently scrape it away. I have a really satisfying video of me doing it, but Tumblr only lets you upload one video per post, boo.

Look at all this gnarly gunk!

But look at how good the text block looks with its new scrim and glue!

I got the black paper from Shepherd's in London which is a specialist Art & Conservation Paper shop (they have a book bindery too but it's closed at the weekends.) Buying it was so fun, I got to look through lots of samples and pick something which matched the original paper.

I then had to get it home half way across the country on public transport. Yaaaaay.

I was trying to think what I was going to use to replace the Strand Magazine page on the spine. In the end I decided to leave a little note, for some future person who might take the binding apart someday!

So, here it is!

I have to admit that this whole project has been a real challenge, emotionally more than anything! It's required me to be brave about messing with an old book, and to acknowledge that even where I've made mistakes, at least it's better off then it was when It arrived at my house.

#strand magazine #book restoration #bookbinding #old books #vintage books #history

[mxsybill]

sybill: an intro!

hi guy i’m cassie & i’m excited to bring sybill here and start writing with y’all!! the following is a super chaotic intro just to get an idea of the gal!! i’m gonna make a connections page asap :-) i also forgot my discord login so uhhh i’ll be joining the discord later when i either 1. find my login or 2. make a new account dsjgskjdf

full name: sybill patricia trelawney (call her literally anything that can be made out of the name sybill she thinks its fun) pronouns & gender identity: she/her, cis woman birthdate: march 9, 1961 blood status: half-blood 3 positive traits: caring, loyal, whimsical 3 negative traits: eccentric, picky, dishonest primary school: cornwall county day school for girls, 1979 house & year: ravenclaw, first year degree: divination  clubs: potions, dueling, divination

basically the big tl;dr is she’s trying her BEST but also she’s a mess so

she is in fact a seer but she only actually Sees™ things like 20% of the time and the other 80% she’s making it up as she goes and at this point even she doesn’t know which of it’s real and which of it’s fake so GOOD LUCK

the fun thing is a lot of times the shit she makes up winds up coming true one way or another so she’s kinda like shit how good AM i?????

her older sister works for the ministry and her younger sister is a squib so she’s miss middle child and YES she is a Middle Child

her parents/family in general are good n supportive tho :-) if anything a lil too supportive n kinda suffocating

will tell ur fortune for the low price of 5 galleons

she has 2 cats, they’re twins, their names are marco and meeko, YES she is allergic to cats, YES it’s a very bad allergy, NO she will not get rid of the cats she simply is always taking whatever the wizarding equivalent of benadryl is, there’s gotta be some potion out there

she’s studying divination bc uhhhh as aforementioned she literally has no clue what she’s doing EVER when it comes to divination even though she’s allegedly SUPPOSED to so she’s trying to scramble up whatever knowledge she can find on the matter and hopefully actually put this “””gift””” of hers to good use

she literally doesn’t sleep, on a good night she gets like three hours tops, but according to her it’s fine she doesn’t need the sleep! she just thrives off of coffee and energy drinks and a healthy dose of manic energy

in her free time she can be found “reading tea leaves” (aka trying to figure out how the HELL you’re supposed to see shapes in there), “peering into her crystal ball” (looking at a glass sphere for 10 minutes because ONE TIME she actually saw something, but since then it’s been radio silence, and she needs to know if she made that one time up or if it’s actually real), but also she likes to garden (just herbs, mostly, magical plants and flowers don’t seem to like her) & paint & mix a potion or two! in the super late part of night when literally everyone else is asleep she’ll sit in the common area reading whatever book she’s decided on that night

often falls asleep in said common area, it’s rare she sleeps in her bed consistently for a week straight 

very good bullshitter, quite dramatic, has an.... interesting fashion sense (we stan layers upon layers in this household, she knows her aesthetic and she stands by it)

those big ass glasses from the movies???? yes

the end, bio to come soon but this is getting rambly so that’s the basic idea of this gal!!! pls come love her or hate her or a lil bit of both if ya wanna be spicy

#sleepingdooc #this is truly the most chaotic intro post i have ever written im sorry #in my defense i didnt sleep last night jdfgkjdf #also tumblr keeps messing up the formatting boo

[soft-for-them]

Doctor ❀ Captain Rex x Nonbinary reader ❀ Headcanons

anon: 👉👈 maybe a Captain Rex x NonBinary!Reader going out to 79's on a 'first date' type thing together? 🥺🥺

Not proof read.

. Now the day Captain Rex asked you out you were completely surprised. . For one thing it was out of the blue. . You see you’re a doctor who was drafted in from you home planet so you’re quite a different face from the mass of blank faced nurses and alien doctors who looked after the clone troopers. . From day one you have garnered attention from your patients wanting to know about you. . Actually, a couple clone troopers have already asked you out. . However, you have declines them all partly because you’re new but also because you they are only asking you out due to curiosity. . Anyway, you don’t know what’s so special about yourself, despite being a brilliant doctor, but you hope everything will calm down so you can settle in. . Most of the time you hang around the med bay whilst the more senior doctors’ boss around everyone. . Normally the more mundane things are left to you to do. . Mostly clone trooper come in but the odd Jedi do wonder in. . That’s how you meet Rex. . Anakin Skywalker, Ahsoka Tano and exceedingly handsome Rex had walked in one day when most people were on their breaks. . You know of Skywalker and Tano for they often come by with childish scrapes from each other that you keep quiet about so you don’t tarnish the Jedis reputations. . (I can imagine just Ahsoka and Anakin messing around like siblings and just accidentally hurting each other, like scrapped knees and sprained ankles.) . You were just patching up Anakin’s bleeding elbow whilst Ahsoka laughed her ass off and all you could do was steal looks at the all too pretty clone trying not to laugh too. . He stood a littles way off, a grin ghosted over his face, he clearly found the moment entertaining. . Some antiseptic and a big plaster later (with some more stolen glances at Rex) you had finished up patching up Anakin. . “All done master Skywalker, I hope that boo boo will heal very quickly.” You half joke making Ashoka laugh even more and Anakin pouting like a child. . But what gets you is the deeps laugh that rings out through out echoing around the room. . Rex was chuckling at your joke. . This man you had just met and started crushing on straight away. . If Anakin and Ahsoka where like little siblings play fighting all the time then you are certienly like a love sick teenager falling for some one just for their looks. . It’s like the first time you’d met Obi-Wan Kenobi all over again. . (I’d imagined that most people have had a thing for Kenobi…) . Tano and Skywalker mush have seen your flustered face as the man chuckled because both of them had given each other a knowing look. . A look of a plan forming. . As soon as all three where ushered out into the hallways by an impatient nurse complaining about their ‘too loud’ laughs did the two Jedis’ pounce. . Apparently for the next half an hour they both bugged Rex with anecdotes and complements towards you. . Everything from “Doctor (l/n) is probably the most intelligent person I know.” to “I’m surprised no one has asked them out yet.” to even “I heard one of the Jedi like likes them.” . So not even a hour later did Rex walk to you small desk and ask you out. . Obviously, you said yes but you were still shocked. . Very shocked indeed. . So shocked that now as you walk into the 79’s you look like a deer in headlights. . The two of you still in your work uniforms Rex leads to the bar. . He does a thing where he carries on standing, almost shielding you, as you pick a seat to sit in. . Only then does he sit next to you. . “Do you want a drink?” you are asking hoping that the nervousness between the two of you will go away. . He smiles, a word stuck on the tip of his tough, he seems like he wants to say something long but instead he just says something simple. . “I’ll have what you’re having.” . Rex knows what he likes to drink. . He could have easily just said what he wanted and be done with it but his curiosity and internal nervousness has gotten the better of him. . He remembers someone telling him that ‘you can tell a lot about someone about the drink they order at a bar.’ . You see he has

heard of your way before Anakin and Ahsoka had dragged him to you. . You’re the new doctor who has rejected three clones trying to ask you out. . You’re the quieter doctor who looks like they’d fit better in a doctor’s surgery handing out prescriptions and being a family doctor rather than being thrown into a war. . He has been curious about you for a while but finally meeting you, finally putting the face to the stories had urged him to ask you out (that with the two annoying Jedis coaxing him to also do it.) . You and Rex raise you hands to signal the waiter. . “Um- Can I have a (drink).” You half shout to the person behind the bar. . “Same for me.” He turns to you fully, “That’s actually a very good drink.” . “Well, I have good taste in things.” You try to flirt. . You might think the silly line falls flat but Rex faces sparks up, you did say yes to this, so surly you do have good taste. . Before he can get a half flirty quip out the barkeep comes over with your identical drinks. . Rex gets his drink first then the barkeep places a coaster in front of you place a drink on it. . “Sir?-Ma’am?-“ the barkeep begins. There’s no malice in their tone they are just a bit confused. . “Doctor.” You correct pointing down at you work uniform. . “Do you often use that?” Rex asks whilst sipping his drink. . “Use what, the doctor thing?” . He nods. . “It’s much harder trying to explain to every new person who I’m going to say one word to that I’m nonbinary, it’s much easier to say I’m a doctor.” . “I better not be just one of those new people you say one word too.” .You raise you drink up prompting Rex to clink his glass with yours and then you take a sip the lukewarm beverage that really shouldn’t be lukewarm. . “Please don’t call me doctor, call me (y/n).”

.

.

.

Oof, Tumblr has been annoying all day, I think it's because I'm formatting on BETA editor sooo yeah, I just want to get this posted and done, I'll go back later and edit it.

I could re write this as a one shot if people like the concept because this isn't my best (but not my worst lol).

#star wars #star wars x reader #captain rex #captain rex x reader #x nonbinary reader #headcanons

[foxymoxynoona]

Hi Foxy! Since the discussion on the latest Amended chapter seems to mostly take place here, I thought I’d give my two cents as well. I really don’t know anything about Tumblr though, and still haven’t figured out how to format my asks, or make them longer. I see people send in entire bookworks, with amazing formatting, but I have no idea how to do that, I keep getting a limit and have to end messages… So I’ll just cut it up into different parts! +

OMG so I just found this in my drafts so I think I maybe never actually posted this? I looked through my blog and didn’t see it.... I don’t know how that happened, as I never draft responses, I just post. OOPS. But I’m going to post it now, I’m so sorry NickiNickii! It’s such a great long comment you sent!

(Putting below cut just because it’s long)

"I feel like some readers almost suggest that Isabella owes it to Jungkook to be less difficult after all he has done for her. I think she probably feels like this too, but it would be THE WORST basis for a good relationship between the two of them. She has had so little choices in a lot of intimate aspects of her life, that the starting point for their relationship HAS to be one that she makes wholeheartedly, because she feels safe (very important!!) and wants to. Additionally, she just doesn’t+

owe him anything. He went into this relationship knowing she was damaged and had all this bagage that came along with her. She told him not to expect anything, he said he didn’t. That’s that. If anything more happens, good for him, but he isn’t OWED anything regardless of how amazing he is being/trying to be. Something else that bothers me… It feels like everybody is just skipping over the way Jungkook is kind of creating an unsafe environment for her. He is trying not to pressure her by +

turning everything into a joke, which I think is also largely to protect himself. It’s good that he doesn’t want to pressure her! But when every compliment is packed in humor and can also be taken as a joke/sarcastic, I don’t think it’s so weird that Bella (who is already insecure as fuck) doesn’t really know whether she should trust his advances. I’d probably be confused too! So in order for her to trust his love/attraction, maybe he just has to show some more vulnerability. So this isn’t JUST+

her fault. They both have a lot of growing and healing to do. There is CLEARLY also a lot of hang ups JK is dealing with, which is probably also why he chose to have sex with her before confessing his love and all that... Anyway, that's my two cents. Curious as to what you will think :) -NickNickii P.S. From all your hints about LB: I really REALLY hope we are finally going to read about some oral for Sascha (with JK messing up his pants because he likes it too much)!"

-----------------------------

I got you boo, I can copy-paste your messages into one! You make a lot of good points here, I think!

JK has said many, many times to Isabella she is not difficult, not ruining anything, and not obligated. They’ve even talked about dynamics that could come from him being the money man, and he’s dismissed that there should be any power difference there but there is. Her “being difficult” by letting him see her fears and worries and pain is exactly what he hopes for --this chapter he even said something like “get it out so we can address it and move on.” You’re absolutely right that he went into this with eyes open about the complicated situation, and that getting married without an established relationship would make that even more challenging. And she was just as blunt in constantly telling him that it was going to be hard and challenging and that she has all this baggage. The cruel story would be for him to say suddenly “yeah you’re right this isn’t fun.” But I don’t see that, adn he doesn’t see that. He’s said repeatedly how happy he is! He likes being around her! 

To your point on the “owed” comments, I’m also not sure what else Isabella is supposed to “give” him. She cooks, she cleans, she does the bulk of childcare, she improves their home, she spends time with his family, she consumes TV shows and video games with him, and now they’re having sex. They talk about his work, she supports his hobbies and spends a lot of time at his games. That sounds really good to me? They don’t even fight often! I don’t see this relationship being wildly unequal --unless you consider being the breadwinner or a stepparent as roles that entitle you to more than the above? Unless this is specifically about “don’t be difficult,” although he has his own ways of being difficult or demanding.

Ah, that's a good point about the jokes too. Even Ezra picked up on the jokey way he says most of his compliments! And yes, the same reason Jimin assumed JK would have sex first. He has vulnerabilities to show too, that would crack open the Prince Charming Casanova veneer to talk about his own deep insecurities about being abandoned, being unlovable or loved only for his appearance and sex. Even when he snapped at his friends this time about how his sex life has always been a joke, I think it showed he has carefully crafted a joking, casual atmosphere around himself, even with his friends and family, and that he is finally starting to feel the limits of that and want deeper recognition and acceptance, flaws and all. 

Anyway, thanks for your comments! <3

#asks #amended

[shark-myths]

Writing Reflection: 2018

I was tagged by @horsegirlharry, who i will smooch in person in ONE WEEK! 

1. Number of stories (including drabbles) posted to AO3: 15. I'm trying not to feel critical about my output this year: I was distracted by ~boy problems and emotional turmoil for a lot of 2018, so I absolutely slayed some journals but neglected my fic. but I also tackled some difficult projects, some of which I'm really proud of, and translated a lot of those big emotions back into writing, so there's a lot to give myself credit for.

2. Word count posted for the year: 224,001

3. List of works published this year (in order of posting)

Roman Candle Hearts

I'm A Wing, I'm A Prayer

The Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique

your hips, your lips, are mine

in space, no one can hear you misgender me

Girl Firsts

halfway to your heart (starting from your knees)

Boys Next Door/Assholes

Vices & Vices

Early Morning Company

Jaws of Death

Baby You're A Haunted House

The Fixed Stars of Heaven

Sell Out Girl

Think of All The Fellas I Haven't Kissed

4. Fandoms I wrote for: Fall Out Boy, Battlestar Galactica, Panic! at the Disco, My Chemical Romance

5. Pairings: Pete/Patrick, Starbuck/Apollo, Pete/Brendon, Brendon/Ryan, Patrick/Michael Day, Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Joe/Andy

6. Story with the most:

Boys Next Door/Assholes, aka the peterick SUMMER BOYFRIENDS au, aka the fic I wrote about falling in love with my ex that captures the sweetness and suffering of new summer love in a very specific and tactile way. It has the most hits, kudos, and comments of anything I wrote in 2018. I'm so glad you guys loved it so much!

9. Work I’m most proud of (and why):

Sell Out Girl, the sequel to girl out boy, is incredibly important to me and I'm so fucking proud of how it turned out. emotionally, i am prouder of the girl out boy stories  than anything else i've ever done. girlfic is how I am cleaning my wounds and healing my heart, and it is an honor to be doing that with you walking alongside me, and being touched and changed too. this fic was incredibly emotionally demanding but also, on a technical level, easy: there was lots of rambly internal monologues and angst, glitter-sharp language and poetical pain, which is my comfort zone as a writer for sure.

on a technical and writerly level, the one I'm most proud of is Baby You're A Haunted House, because i wrote it *fast*, in a fandom I'm not comfortable or familiar in, in a style I don't usually use, and to achieve a very specific artistic effect with the unreliable narrator and shifting sands of reality, while heartbroken. so I'm pleased as fuck with how it came out. it's one of my favorite things I've written in the past several years, and the perfect kind of challenge for me.

10. Work I’m least proud of (and why):

ugh, The Fixed Stars of Heaven . I usually love everything I write, but my experience of writing this fic was terrible. I was never inspired (except when researching the ISS and zero-g botany!) and the epistolary format meant I didn’t know how to develop the kind of tension I *live* for. the whole time I was writing, I didn’t go back and reread (a typical part of my process for matching tone) because I loathed it so much! I kept saying “well, something has to be my worst story” about it... and I still feel that way.

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

It's impossible to choose--I like my writing a lot, that's why I write the way i do. all of Baby You're A Haunted House and I'm A Wing, I'm A Prayer are beautiful to me; the love letter Pete writes in Boys Next Door/Assholes; and the whole bathtub scene from chapter 5 of Sell Out Girl, of which this is the very best part:

“Pete is safe and warm and submerged, an egg in a mermaid’s purse, waiting to swim out as a shark whenever she’s ready. She holds her breath and feels her baby beat within her. She looks up at Pat and fears nothing, nothing but love.”

12. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

every review I get makes impact on my heart. I take screenshots and save my favorites; you guys bolster me and keep me going. The best and most important reactions are the ones I get on Girl Out Boy stuff, and the outpouring of fanworks and support means the world to me. especially the way you guys showed up for and stood with me during my difficult breakup this year—wow. I love you so much.

my favorite reviews I’ve gotten this year have been a few different people who told me I was skilled at capturing the feeling of falling in love. as a feelings-and-process oriented romance writer, that means the world to me! I never know what plots my stories are going to have (my characters always surprise me), but I always know how I want a fic to feel. I’m never more honored than when you feel it too.

13. A time when writing was really, really hard:

during the slow-motion process of one of my romantic relationships coming apart in September and October! I was so anxious and keyed up and self-obsessed and miserable during that time, I literally couldn’t bear to write, and when I tried I just kept wrecking the Girl Out Boys’ lives. you guys carried me through.

14. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

I don’t want to spoil Sell Out Girl, but a ship I don’t typically ship popped up and I went with it, and I was exactly as surprised as everyone reading that it happened and that it felt so right and good!

15. How did you grow as a writer this year:

i tried new types of projects, like the fucking epistolary scifi fic, a flash fiction exercise, the unreliable narrator trope, and sequels. i wrote in a couple fandoms I'm less comfortable in, fairly often off of other people's prompts. I am trying to hone a cleaner writing style: I spend so much time lost and rambly in describing how characters feel, my stories lose a lot of chances for action and motion. i like my writing best when it is spare and vivid, able to actually evoke emotions rather than just tell you what they feel like. i think some of my fic this year really showcases that (like Vices & Vices ). i still grow so much as a writer, and learn so much about the craft, with each work.

i used an editing and revision process for Fixed Stars of Heaven, thanks to my dear friend JM, that i don't usually subject my work to. i also wrote through a project i was not enjoying, rather than dropping it as soon as my interest waned. my discipline as a wild, reckless writer is, slowly but surely, improving.

i wrote through my own shitty emotionally abusive relationship with a parent through the character of Andy in sell out girl, and got better at naming trauma and abuse and setting my own boundaries as a result of that.

i started reading (and a little bit writing) poetry again.

16. How do you hope to grow next year:

oh, i can't see that road! i hope i grow in ways i never expected cuz i'm faced with challenges in my work i could never have anticipated. generically, i hope i keep tightening my style and improving my discipline, and getting better at defending regular writing time.

17. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

- i read only works by women for the entire year of 2018, and the nourishing impact of that on my entire inner life cannot be overstated. i didn't even read a comic book or a work book if it was written by a man. i kept myself entirely pure of the labor of perspective-taking for men, or subjecting myself to men's conception of anybody else's experiential reality.

- @leyley09 my official Fic Enabler, who is SINGULARLY AND SOLEY to blame for at least two fics this year, and has encouraged my very worst ideas about a hundred more

- my unofficial cheerleading squad family on tumblr, who lifted me up and made sure i was healthy, supported, and well through my whole shitty relationship ending debacle. @glitterandrocketfuel, @secretstudentdragonblog, @allkindsofplatinumandpercocet, and @laudanumcafe -- not to mention every other beauty who commented on my sad-ass selfies or my fic. thank you, my loves.

18. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

EVERYTHING IS REAL

most notable and egregious examples:

- the letter pete writes for patrick in boys next door/assholes is a real love letter i gave someone

- the fight brendon and ryan have in vices & vices is a real fight i had with a partner

- the climactic kiss on the streets of new york at the end of sell out girl is my real first kiss with my new boo

the worst thing is that i don't generally farm my *past* life for my fic--everything that shows up is really recent and fresh, because i'm most interested in writing things i'm currently dealing with and experiencing. and yes, i especially steal the sex scenes.

19. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

be curious about yourself and your characters. if you've never written / published in a serial format, where you're only writing a week or so ahead of posting, you must try it at least once! listen to what your readers are noticing about your themes and characters! i learn so much about my the emotional resonance and direction of my stories from the people who read them and comment. my writing is so much stronger as a result of writing the majority of my work this way, and i have much more fun with it than when i write a long piece in an echo chamber with no input from you guys!

20. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

- i'm working on a Rent-A-Family trope + law firm AU + kidfic thing i started messing with last year

- Pete Wentz's Bisexual Realizations, a fic dreamed up and playlist-empowered by @nikadd

- a Venom AU for my beloved @immoral-crow

- Girl Out Boy hiatus fic

- and a MANIA anniversary surprise <3

21. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read.

all of my Peterick creator pals! @leyley09 @shatteredmirrors-and-lace23 @allkindsofplatinumandpercocet @laudanumcafe @glitterandrocketfuel and everyone/anyone else!

#writing #peterick #scarredsodeep

[wily-wolves]

Also, for whatever reason, tumblr keeps messing up my outlines. Even though it’s a formatting feature they offer. Boo.

[the-freckle-game-is-strong-blog]

Letting Off Steam (Creepypasta)

(Ahh, I’m so happy I rewrote this story, it’s like puberty hit it or something. It is vastly better… Downside, finding a writhing format that looks nice either tumblr’s allergic to indents layout is hard)

Delilah Van Grahams was a worrisome woman. Rightly so, many would agree. Her eyes carried more bags than an airport, luggage from her long nights without rest. Every night she had the same routine. First she would tell Riley it was getting late. Despite being sixteen she still needed some coaxing to see herself to Bedfordshire. Then she would come downstairs and stick the kettle on before plonking herself down beside the phone. Sometimes the television would be on, the volume stuck on a dismal five as if anything louder would make her miss a phone call but usually it was not on at all.

She tried not to stress. It was not good for the baby, or so she had been told. Her fingers drummed idly on her four month bump. There was quite an age gap between Delilah’s two children. One sixteen years, one merely sixteen weeks. She had, admittedly, had Riley quite young. Not a teen mother or anything of the sort, mid twenties but youthful enough that she could still now bare more children. Both by the same man, Rylan Blackwood.

Rylan was not the stereotypical idea of the perfect partner. They had never been wed, citing that it was unimportant but finance also being an issue because of reason two. Rylan was unemployed. He had worked dozens of jobs over the last eighteen years of their romance but fate had been cruel and he had never been able to keep a job longer than a few months. Mostly because of his last habit; vanishing.

Rylan had, for as long as Delilah had known him, disappeared. He did this every so often. One day, without warning, he would just take off. He could be gone for less than a day or even months. She would hear little to nothing of him, sparse text messages and occasional letters- If she was lucky. Then when he returned, he could never explain himself. He claimed to genuinely remember nothing. Doctors had suggested some form of selective amnesia but had never been able to provide more than theories.

This was one such instance. Rylan had been gone for weeks now. As usual Delilah had reported his absence to the authorises. As usual, they had not rung her back with the victorious finding of her partner. No. The first few times they had sent out search parties but by now, they had come to the conclusion he would find his way home on his own and that, in fact, this was a cruel trick. He was actually seeing some other woman and this was an elaborate coverup. Delilah scoffed. She knew Rylan better.

While the idea that this had happened countless times before and he had always come home safe reassure her somewhat, it did not totally ease her. No. She continued to wait, anxiously hovering by the phone in case of a call. News of the man she regarded as the love of her life.

“ Mum? ” Riley’s drowsy voice caused Delilah to jump, having not expected her daughter awake. In her paranoid focus on the phone, she had failed to see her entering. She smiled softly at her. The apple of her eye. Dressed in a fluffy pyjama set with just one slipper.

Riley reminded Delilah very much of her father. Her hair for example. At the roots and tips of Riley’s hair where the infrequently and self applied blue hair dye was weakest her natural hair colour was revealed. Ginger, a true redhead, like her dad. She had his freckles as well. Dotted all over her face, torso, arms and legs. Like thousands of tiny blotches of colour splattered from a paintbrush.

That being said, a lot about Riley was clearly inherited from her mother. She shared her skin tone with her mother rather than father. While Rylan was quite pale, Delilah was truly albino and had passed that on to Riley. Her skin was more than milky, like untrodden snow. There was also the matter of her eyes, another of her maternally inherited traits. They were glassy like a low quality gem one might find in cheap jewellery. The lilac tinge to them was soft and only visible in certain lighting. They were odd, yes, but not unheard of for those who suffered albinism.

“ Riley, what are you doing? It’s two in the morning, ” Delilah asked, getting up from her seat with an awkward rock before throwing her weight up. Getting around with a baby bump made even such mundane tasks a nightmare. Wordlessly Riley crossed the cold living room floor, her one slipper squeaking slightly. Lifting up a blanket she had carried from upstairs, she draped it sweetly over her mother’s shoulders.

“ Go to bed, mum, ” Riley insisted after a moment, her voice laced with her Scottish accent, pressing a small kiss to her forehead. Delilah sighed before smiling at her.

“ Sweetie, I can’t, I need to watch the ph- ”

“ Why? Does it do tricks? ” The teenager sassed, quirking a brow. “ Go to bed. There won’t be any phone calls tonight, or any other night. You know that. Dad will come home whenever it suits him.

” I- “ Delilah opened her mouth to protest before swiftly realising that actually Riley was right. She had been doing this for years and there never was anything. The fleeting rings she did get fell into the daylight hours. ” … Alright… “ She agreed, some sense having seemingly been talked into her by her daughter. Riley flashed a toothy grin, showing off the gap between her front two incisors, at the sight of her mother relenting and shuffling back to bed.

-

” Where have you been? “ Riley’s voice was bitter, laced with venom as she looked over across the dining table, spitefully digging her fork into her chicken nuggets. Delilah turned to see Rylan looking over at them from the doorway, lingering there. His clothing was a mess. Holes and patchwork littering them. He was unshaven, unlike his typical baby face. The bandaging around his arm suggested it had been injured. Not as bad as a break but worse than bruising. A sprain, perhaps?

"Rylan, ” Delilah got to her feet, dropping the plastic baby spoon she’d been using to feed Blossom- The newest addition of the Blackwood family. She gurgled and laughed as she threw her pot of baby mush onto the floor.

“ Dee, ” Rylan responded fondly, rushing forth to pull her into a hug. Delilah felt a weight lifted from her shoulders. When he hadn’t turned up for Blossom’s birth, she had been broken. Surely, sick or not, he understood how important it was? He had been there when Riley was born. Late, yes, he had turned up late and Delilah had already been in full blown labour by the time he turned up to the hospital. He had looked like someone with a vague idea of what Rylan should look like, but had never actually seen him had tried to recreate him from scrap materials. Yet for all he had looked homeless and messy he had been there. This time he had not.

“ Uh, hello? I asked you a question, ” Riley cleared her throat, shoving aside her plate and getting to her feet. Riley was tall, especially for her age, standing at 5'9 which easily dwarfed Delilah but still she fell short of her father’s 6'2.

“ Hey, ginger snap, I missed you… You’ve dyed your hair, ” Rylan comments, walking over to his elder daughter, lifting a hand to take a lock of her choppy hair in his fingers. Riley pulled away briskly.

“ Don’t touch me. Do you have any idea of what you’ve put mum through? Where the fuck have you been? ” Riley demands, her glassy eyes glaring holes in her father.

“ Riley! Language! ” Delilah scolded. Truth be told, she didn’t actually mind Riley swearing. She was an adult, near enough. Who was she to dictate what she could or couldn’t say? But this was her father!

“ No, no… She’s right, let her shout, ” Rylan relents, waving off Delilah’s protests.

“ Damn right I’ll shout! You asshole! Not only did you miss my birthday for the eighth year in a row but you weren’t here. You weren’t here for Blossom! What if something had went wrong? Touch wood, what if? ” Riley snarled, pointing a finger at him accusingly. This seemed to strike a nerve with Rylan.

“ Don’t you go there young lady, you know fine well I can’t co- ”

“ ‘Can’t control it, I’m ill, boo-hoo. Feel sorry for me’ is that what you were going to say? ” She asked, her face scrunched up unattractively, conveying the full extent of her disgust.

“ Oh, you ungrateful bitch! One day you’ll understand and then you’ll… You’ll…. ” Rylan trailed off, pacing, silently fuming.

“ Both of you, stop it! ” Delilah snapped as she rushed over to comfort Blossom who had started to wail.

“ Me? Ungrateful? You’re the one who can’t even get over this stupid amnesia, teenage runaway bullshit for the sake of your family! You’re the ungrateful one! I’ve been here, looking after mum and Blossom. Where the fuck have you been? ” At this point the argument had transitioned to a screaming match. Riley’s voice was even scratchier than usual- She’d suffered from infant coeliac as a baby and it had scarred her for the rest of her days with a particularly shaky voice.

“ I said both of you, sto- ”

Thwack!

Before Delilah could get any further, she let out a gasp. Rylan growled, rolling his shoulders tensely, his fist now balled to his side. Slightly red but not as red as Riley’s left cheek which he’d just smacked. A bright handprint blistered on her skin. Tears began to stream down her face. Delilah was shocked, her stomach churred. Rylan had never lifted a hand to any of them.

“ …I think you should leave, ” Delilah spoke, her voice hoarse, hardly believing she was sending him away just after he’d turned up. Rylan turned to her, blood boiling.

“ Fine! Whatever! I wouldn’t expect you to understand either, ” He snarled, making Delilah jump. Sure they’d argued before, of course but never had he sounded so… Sincerely hateful. Stomping off, the front door slammed behind him. His figure was visible out the window as he stalked off into her street before taking off at full sprint while Delilah cuddled a sobbing Riley while cradling Blossom on her hip.

She loved Rylan but enough was enough.

-

“ Riley, I know you’re going to your dress up party thing- ” Delilah was cut off before she could get any further.

“ Oh my god, ” Riley exclaimed. “ It’s not 'dress up party thing’, mum, it’s a steampunk convention, ” She corrects, as she adjusts the bow tie around her neck before moving to fiddle with the strap of her goggles.

“ Ah, right, ” Delilah responded, trying to understand. Admittedly, she did not but it made Riley happy and she had not seemed to smile in so long. Things had be rough for the family recently. Riley had been such a great help with Blossom, she was a gem of a girl, so if dressing up a little weirdly not and again pleaded her? Delilah would not stop her. “ But I need to pop to the shops and Blossom’s asleep. Do you mind watching her? ” She inquired.

“ Sure, I guess, but don’t take ages, ” Riley agreed, moving over to look at herself in the hallway mirror, sticking out her tongue thoughtfully before setting her index finger and thumb using her lips before using her spit to flatten down an unruly strand of her hair. Which almost instantly popped back up.

“ Alright, I won’t, ” Delilah agreed, however inevitably time would get away from her.

Upon returning home an hour later, Delilah instantly knew something was wrong. She was not sure what as of yet but it hit her like a truck. Some primal sense that there was something amiss in the home. It sent shivers down her spine, the hairs on her neck standing on end. Yes, she was sure of it, something was very definitely wrong.

Dropping her shopping bags in the hallway, she took a few steps deeper into the house and began to fully understand what the matter was. A nauseous scent clung to the air. Coppery and metallic in nature. It was weak but still made Delilah want to be sick.

“ Riley? ” She called out into the house, her voice echoing. No answer. While the three bedroom semi detached house had felt snug and even claustrophobic in the past it was now a vast mansion and she was calling uselessly into the west wing. That was unlike her daughter. She never ignored her. She clicked her tongue. Was she angry because of how long she had taken at the shop? Delilah wondered, before returning to the previously abandoned shopping bags to lug them into the kitchen

Upon reaching the kitchen, she dropped the bags again. They clunked heavier this time. A white pool began to form around the plastic bags suggesting the milk carton had burst with the force. It pooled in the cracks between the tiles but that was the least of Delilah’s concern.

The kitchen was a complete mess. Utensils were strewn out everywhere. Thrown here and there. Cupboards flung over, a forlorn box of cornflakes was tipped over the side, its contents on the worktop below. Of course there was only one person who could have done this but Delilah could seldom believe her darling daughter, who had been so much of a star these last few months, could do such a thing.

“ Riley! ” Delilah hollered, anger brewing up in her as she began to replace items such as broken bottles and discarded canned food. Among the mess was her sewing kit, spools of thread all thrown around but still there, apart from the red one. Riley had borrowed that for restitching a skirt a while ago and had never returned it. It was probably still in her jacket pocket. However, something else was missing too. Her dress making scissors. She could not see them in the kitchen either, they were easy to spot, being so large. Nearly nine inches long. Not to mention the bright plastic blue handle.

It was only then occurred to Delilah actually, what if they’d been broken into? She could not see any clear point of entry but that did not mean it had not happened. Fear set upon her again, overcoming her like a tide on the beach before she rushed for the stairs to check upstairs for any further damage- And for her daughters.

This was when the smell began to get worse, encroaching on her sense of smell, causing her to gag as she pressed on. What was that!? It stunk to the high heavens and the house certainly had never had any such pungent odours before she went shopping.

Her feet, which were bare now having toed off her shoes and socks when she had first got home, made contact with something aside from the carpet of the stairs. It was soft. Squishy. It was rounded before it popped under her weight and a lukewarm fluid was released underfoot. She stopped to look down, confused for a moment as to what it was. A white circle mashed into the carpet, with a grey ring and a little punk tail… Was that… An eyeball? Delilah screamed as the optic nerve tickled her toes, causing her to lose her footing, going tumbling back down the stairs. Her head collided roughly with the floor and she was out in seconds.

-

Upon waking up, Delilah groaned in pain as she feebly sat up. She could feel a warm liquid on the back of her head and neck. Blood she assumed, she had likely split her head open from the floor. She was surprised she had woken up at all. Even small head wounds could be fatal… But there was something else. That copper scent from earlier was stronger and now it finally dawned on her. It was blood. She could smell her own blood matting her hair but earlier on it had been the same- And she had not been bleeding then.

Remembering the eye, the first thing Delilah did was throw up. Her body trembled as she turned to empty the contents of her stomach onto the floor. No way she imagined it. That had been someone’s optic nerve. The familiar grey colour suggested who to her- But she could not consider that. She refused to believe it.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she got to her feet to look around. That in itself was hard. The room was incredibly dark. All of the curtains and blinds had been shut, banishing the natural sunlight and the lights were out. She stumbled to the light switch- Only for nothing to happen. Someone had killed the lights. She was not naive enough to believe a power outage was a mere coincidence in a time like this.

Rushing instead to the front door, she rattled on the handle but no luck. It was locked and when she searched for the keys on the table in the entrance way, where she always put them, they were gone.

As the panic and confusion began to set in she frantically checked her pockets for her phone- To provide contact to the outside world or even just a light. It was gone.

Turning to the curtains, she yanked on the nearest ones. They put up some resistance. On closer inspection it seemed they had been duct taped to the wall but the adrenaline made her strong enough to pull the curtains free, tearing the wallpaper the tape was attached to in the process.

It was dusk now and there was very little light outside. The stray beams of half sunlight, half moonlight that filtered in only very slightly illuminated the room and only the half that was nearest the window. Yet that was enough to terrify Delilah.

Covering the walls were red handprints, like a macabre mocking of mischievous children. Delilah knew what it was but it made it easier for her to block it out and think of it as red paint, as frightened tears soaked her face. They were everywhere, apart from one area. One space on the wall had been left be. Instead of handprints, a haphazard drawing of some trees had been inked there. It was messy, clearly done with fingers as the main applicator. Hidden among the cluster was a tall man, drawn as willowy as the woods around him. He wore a suit and lacked a face.

Delilah had to get out of here. As weak as she felt right now, she threw herself at the window, banging on it trying to shatter the glass before another thought caught up to her. In her hysteria she had forgotten about her daughters. Her breathing hitched in her throat.

Turning around, she tried to collect herself. She did not know what was going on but if there was even a slim chance her girls were alive in this twisted mockery of what used to be the family home, she he had to find them.

“ Ri… Riley? ” Delilah called into the darkness. There was no point calling for Blossom, she was just a baby, she couldn’t respond. For a moment, there was only silence. And then there was a whimper from somewhere above her, a broken cry.

Without another thought Delilah raced to the abyssal ascent that was the stairway. Thoughts of the disembodied eye clouded her conviction for a moment. Mayhap it would be safer to escape? Run to the neighbours and call the police first? But no, she decided, by then something dreadful could have happened. She needed to get upstairs.

Gathering her courage, she began the climb, taking the stairs slowly. The light from the window did not reach this face and she was staring into endless shadow. She tried to avoid stepping on the eye again but devoid of light as it were, it was impossible. She flinched as the ball of her foot touched the moist residue, most of the fluid had dried into the carpet but it made it no less disgusting. Her head felt fuzzy and she pressed on before she could repeat her fall from earlier.

Delilah felt breathless as she reached the top, despite having climbed a mere twelve or so steps. The stink up here was worse, more concentrated. She had to heave for breath, panting, unable to take air through her nose. The aroma of awful was just too much to bear. Her lips felt dry. Be it due to using her mouth to sustain her lungs or do to the horrifying reality of her situation.

The first room she came to was Riley’s. The door was slightly askew and opened all the way with a slight creak of protest but it was too dark to see anything. “ Riley? ” Delilah whisper-shouted, but the only sound she could hear this time was her own laboured breathing.

Somewhere behind her a light came on.

Delilah flinched instinctively before spinning to look behind her. Squirming under the tiny cracks in the closed doorway, it shone like a halo around the door but the guiding silhouette did nothing to calm her. How was that light on when she had already checked that the power was out?

Creeping closer to the door, she could feel her heart hammer in her chest. Her footfalls on the creaky floor sounded like an avalanche and she was frighteningly aware of how obvious she was. Whoever, or whatever, was beyond that door knew she was here. Tears streamed down her face, ghosting her lips and leaving a salty taste. Why was she putting herself through this? Her common sense screamed to run away as fast as her jittery legs would carry her but she could not. One thing was more important than her life.

Her daughters.

Fear could only restrain her so much when her mother’s love was called to action. Delilah did not typically consider herself to be any braver than the average person but she did think she had more to lose. Maybe it would be more sensible to make a break for it and have the authorities deal with it- But she fell into that age old trap of refusing to feel helpless. She had to be the one to do something. She could not trust anyone else with the safety of the two people most important to her.

Her hand hesitated, hovering just above the handle before grasping it; the metal cold in her hand. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, as if it made any difference in such dim light. With a small amount of force she pushed the door open. It swung easily round to tap against the wall, giving a whine of protest. As it peeled back to reveal what lay beyond, Delilah became aware of a soft dripping noise. Like a leaky tap.

At first she was not sure what she was looking at. On the floor lay the unrecognisable tangle of… A baby doll? One of Blossom’s toys. Its form was twisted, legs forced up behind it over its shoulders, while one of its arms was missing. Its little pink dress was destroyed, now barely scraps of material hanging from its form. Her hair had been chopped off and littered the floor around her. Red thread had been wrapped around its plastic body. A flashlight was positioned beside it; the light source.

“ What the fu… ” Delilah trailed off, unsure what this morbid display before her was supposed to be. She drew closer, paranoia growing. It was just a doll, she told herself and she needed that flashlight. Bending beside it, her hands shakily grabbed for the light, her nerves making her grip weak and the torch slippery. It took three attempts to pick it up.

She felt breathless, her chest growing tight. Her knuckles turned white, holding the torch with an iron grip. Suddenly she became aware of the dripping noise again. Delilah whimpered and jumped backwards, snapping to turn the light of the torch in the direction of the noise with a swift motion. There was a speck of ooze on the doll’s near bald head. A red spot that slowly began to droop and run down its lifeless face. She hadn’t noticed it before because of the poor visibility and the red thread, but there many similar splotches.

Drip.

Suddenly another hit the plastic skull.

Drip drop.

Another two. Slowly Delilah shakily turned her torch upwards. What she saw made her shriek like a banshee, wailing in a hysterical mixture of terror and disgust. More tears hit her face, splashing off of her face to the floor. Her flashlight hit the floor with a loud thump, the force separating the head from the body, the batteries escaping their prison and killing the only light she had. In the darkness it would be impossible to reassemble it.

The image was seared into Delilah’s mind, like an imprint of the back of her eyes. The room light had swung back and forth, the light shade having been removed. What she at first thought was a red rope had been twisted around the light, lowered down to another dismembered doll. Wrapped around its little neck and torso. Like the other an arm was missing but the legs this time merely hung limp, pointed to the floor. The hair was matted but remained in place. The stomach had been slashed open and an eyeball was missing from its porcelain face. Then Delilah came to the horrid realisation.

It wasn’t a doll.

Seeing the tiny corpse strung up by its own intestines, Delilah felt the bitter taste of the lining of her stomach bubble up in her throat before retching. There was only one person such a petite cadaver could belong to… And to accept that would drive Delilah off the brink into insanity. It was much easier to pretend it was another broken toy.

Somewhere in the darkness, someone laughed. An evil, brutal cackle that echoed off the walls, carrying its malice. Like a hyena fresh from a kill. It was only then that it occurred to Delilah that flashlights cannot be turned on remotely, yet it had been turned on while she was just outside and there was only one exit to this room.

She was not alone.

Scrambling around in the light emptied room, desperately searching for the parts of the torch on her hands and knees, she cursed herself for being so stupid. Her hand frantically brushed over a battery which she snatched up.

However then something collided with her face, hard, knocking her to her back as she let out a cry. Then like she was suddenly on an operating table, a bright light was shone in her face, temporarily stunning and blinding her. Her attacker chortled again. The flick of a switch sounded and the light was gone, leaving her in terrifying darkness. The message was clear. She was not to look for the torch.

They were toying with her, Delilah realised, panting.

For a moment she paused on the floor, gathering her bearings before pushing herself to her feet. She hesitated for a second, waiting to see if another hit came. Nothing. She struggled, rushing forward and bumping into the wall. Slowly she inched around the room, using it to guide her to the doorway which she eventually found.

Out in the hallway she could see the glimmer of light from the window downstairs. The thought that the outside world still existed beyond this madhouse was somewhat comforting.

There were only two other rooms upstairs. Her and Rylan’s shared bedroom and the bathroom. She could not think for the life of her why she would go to her bedroom at a time like this when the bathroom, with its perfectly good lock, was an option. She could have ventured downstairs to break the window and follow through with her original plan but fear derailed any logical train of thought. Her primal instinct to shelter herself somewhere secure and wait for the storm to pass, as unlikely as that was, won out any other wishes.

Finding her way to the bathroom with the help of the downstairs lighting and the wall, she stumbled in. She slammed the door and swiftly jammed the lock shut, bolting out the outside world- But that included the small amount of light she’d had.

Flinging her body back against the door, she gasped. For the first time in hours she felt a sliver of safety. Her breathing began to steady to a regular pattern. Her adrenaline began to waver, bringing attention to the stinging feeling on her cheek and the throbbing at the back of her head.

Squeak!

Delilah flinched. What was that? Searching for any possible source of the noise, trying to keep calm whole she determined whether it came from outside or in the bathroom.

Then there was light. Not like before not a bright, dizzying spotlight to the eyes. A lighter. Just a little flicker of fire. Then another. A tea light, just bright enough to return Delilah’s minimal sight. As her panic began to set in again, the first thing she caught sight of was the bathroom mirror and her own dimly light face. A bright mark adored her cheek, the pattern making it easy to guess it was from the bottom of a boot. A gift from her attacker earlier on.

Then her gaze snapped to the source of the light. Lounging in the bathtub, waving around a tea light in one hand and rubber ducky in the other, one leg hanging out of the tub was her daughter. Still clad in her convention outfit. Her top hat was squint, pushed to the front of her head, her goggles holding it up from tilting any further forward and falling.

“ Fancy a bubble bath? ” She inquired, her grip on the bath toy tightening slowly to release a long, depressed squeal from it.

“ Riley! ” Delilah exclaimed in an whisper-shout. “ What are you doing in there? ” She asked, while Riley gently rocked the foot she had hanging out of the tub back and forth. As if she had not a care in the world.

“ …Having a bath? ” Riley responded nonchalantly, throwing the rubber duck to the other end of the bath and setting the candle down on the edge of the bath before getting to her feet. Her boots thumped on the floor as she hopped out. “ What else am I doing in the bath? ” She asked with a voice full of attitude.

“ Because- ” Delilah began loudly before lowering her voice. “ Because for a start you’re fully clothed and two, there is someone in this house trying to kill us, ” She said, placing her hands on Riley’s shoulders trying to shake some sense into her daughter. Even for as odd as her girl could be, surely she could grasp the gravity of the situation?

“ Well, yeah, ” Riley’s response came with typical teenage boredom. Like a nineteen year old trying to explain the Internet to their ageing parents.

“ What do you mean 'yeah’? ” Delilah responds, fussing. “ Did they hurt you? Are you alright? ” She asks, her hand moving down slightly and catching onto something sticky on her daughter’s outfit. Her shirt was wet and the red colour was only barely visible in the dark. “ Oh my god- Are you alright? ” She gasps, as the half dried blood clings to her fingers.

“ Huh? ” Riley responds looking down before flashing a grin. “ Oh? That. Don’t worry. It’s not mine. ”

Delilah was engulfed in emotion for a moment, first relief that Riley was safe. Then confusion, who’s blood was it then if not hers? And then finally, the horrid realisation hit her.

“ …No! ” She gasped, as she staggered away from her daughter, grabbing frantically for the lock. As she struggled with the small bolt, Riley snickered behind her. With a great exertion of her remaining strength Delilah managed to force the door open, at the cost of slicing open the skin on the the side of her hand open.

Delilah whimpered as she rushed out of the room, shaking her now blooded palm as she rushed into the hallway, the warmth of her needed fluid spilling out against her skin causing her to shiver. As she bolted for the stairway, she glanced behind her for a single moment. Riley stood there, in the doorway of the bathroom, candle in hand having retrieved it from the edge of the bathtub. Her maniacal smile was barely illuminated in the dim light. She raised her opposite hand and pinched the wick with her index finger and thumb- Extinguishing the light. Plunging upstairs into darkness once more.

Racing downstairs, Delilah stumbled in her haste and gravity did the rest, causing her to slip forward and rather ungracefully descend the stairs for the second time today. She landed on her front this time, winding herself, knocking the air from her lungs. She wheezed, panting as she crawled forward, her nails scratching the floor as she drove herself forward to the wall. Tearing the handprinted wallpaper as she tried to return to her feet, she cried out, as a pain shot through her ankle.

Looking down the nauseous feeling in her stomach returned at full force. Her left ankle was twisted in an unnatural fashion and trying to support weight upon it was met only with agony.

Limping towards the window, doing her best to avoid using her left leg as much as possible, she paused and huffed as she tried to steel herself and ignore the multitudes of pain coursing through her. She was starting to feel dizzy, the amount of blood she had lost starting to take its toll on her.

Yet it seemed she could not catch a break. She could heard footsteps coming from the upstairs hallway. Boots stomping. Slow and loud. Taunting her again, letting her know she was coming, like a lamb who knew the butcher was only just beyond the relative safety of its pen.

Why her? Why did it have to be Riley? She was a good kid! She got decent grades in school, did all she could to help around the house and only very rarely got into fist fights with other students. Had she missed something? Had she overlooked some sort of mental health issue? No, she thought, trying to keep focussed as her vision spun before her like a carousel. She was a tentative mother, of that she was sure. She had been there to fuss when the school had referred her to a specialist to have her diagnosed with ADHD. She had been there. If there was some deep seated psychological reason, she would know.

The footsteps banged on the stairs, beginning to get closer, telling Delilah she had a limited time to come up with a plan of action. Banging on the glass of the window, she screamed in frustration. She could sense Riley lurking in the shadows of the hallway.

Growing more and more hysterical, she began to ram the window with the full force of her shoulder. An amused 'heh’ alerted her Riley was in the room with her, barely a few steps away, taking her time, leisurely strolling across to Delilah. Trapped, like a fish in a barrel.

Finally, the glass began to break under the force, a small dent beginning to stretch into a line. The possibility of smashing the window becoming more and more real.

Yet it was already too late. The sharp sound of metal scraping metal made Delilah turn. Riley stood directly behind her, face inches from hers, wielding her mother’s stolen dress making scissors. Slowly opening them before snapping them shut again. Some of Blossom’s now dried blood blunted them ever so slightly. Delilah realised Riley had not been taunting her, or trying to work her to panic. She had merely been taking her time to clean her weapon. This threatening gesture was intended to remove the last of the crusty red and sharpen her blade.

“ 'Sup, ” Riley chirped before thrusting her scissors into the right side of her mother’s stomach. Delilah flinched, her hands snapping to Riley’s wrist and white knuckling her, screaming in anguish as she tried to defend herself. Trying to shove Riley back however seemed in vain, her daughter was much better built than she and easily overpowered her, driving the scissors through her body and piercing an exit wound on the skin of her back.

“ No, no, stop! ” Delilah screeched, squirming, as she fell back against the window, hearing it crack more against her weight but not enough to give out. Riley flashed an evil sneer, twisting the scissors, niggling her insides and tearing through human flesh like butter. Delilah felt like she was on fire, the pain rushing through her from her head, her hand, her side, her leg. “ P-Please! Stop! ”

Riley ripped the scissors free, causing more damage as she did so. Delilah sobbed in a mixture of terror and anguish. Her blood splattered the semi broken window behind her like a morbid stain glass painting.

“ What’s wrong? I arrange all this mother-daughter bonding and you don’t even appreciate it? Ungrateful! ” She snapped, as Delilah’s vision began to fade.

“ Why, ” She gasped at her daughter, reaching out a weak hand to her. “ Why would you… ” She trailed off, as Riley pocketed her pilfered scissors and took her mother’s outstretched hand in hers, squeezing it. A motion that might have been affectionate, reassuring even, if not for the context of their situation and the extra pain it caused in Delilah’s injured hand.

“ I understand what daddy meant now, ” Riley tells her, turning her gaze upwards to the drawings on the wallpaper. Her gaze seeming to linger on the painting of the faceless man.

“ Ri… Ril- ” Delilah stuttered, her voice escaping her as she slumped against the window, sliding to the floor. Riley went with her, lowering herself, crouching before her.

“ Shh, shh, it’s okay… Go ahead, you can rest now, it’s over for you, ” Her daughter’s scratchy voice whispered, their hands still holding onto one another, fingers intertwined.

Delilah was already so far gone, she was barely aware of the revolver being lifted to her head.

Bang!

-

A few weeks later, Rylan was sipping his coffee, his eyes never leaving the broadsheet newspaper in front of him. He had been nursing this hot beverage for long enough it had went cold but in a cozy, backwater truck stop in the middle of no where like this? Nobody bothered him over it.

He had always known it was a possibility this would happen. A very probably one in fact. The question had merely been by who’s hand. Yet, reading about Delilah and Blossom’s gruesome end still stirred deep sentimentality in him. Still, they had served their purpose. As had he. His time was limited now. He would be replaced soon- Discarded.

The bell on the door tinkled alerting the sparsely populated diner someone else had entered. Rylan heard them brush off a waitress, telling them to give her a moment. He glanced up slightly.

“ You know, you’re inconspicuous as fuck in that outfit, ” He grumbled, as his daughter took a seat across from him. “ You’re supposed to be laying low. ”

“ 'You’re supposed to be laying low’, ” She mimicked sassily. “ Fuck off, Snitch, ” She grunted, addressing him by his alias rather than his proper name, despite knowing it full well. She shivered, clearly cold, pulling her tailcoat close. “ This place is fucking freezing, ” She grumbled before picking up Rylan’s coffee, taking a long gulp before beginning to choke up. “ Fucking hell! That’s cold, how can you drink that swill? ”

“ Will you be quiet? You’re causing a scene, ” Rylan warned her lowly, the few other cafe goers risking glances at the unusual pair.

“ See, the thing is, to cause a scene you need a crowd and unless you hadn’t noticed, we might as well be in the Sahara, ” She retorts. Rylan snorts, turning up his nose at her.

“ …You been given a name? ” He asks simply moving on. She flashed a toothy grin, glancing over as one of the waitresses tried to perform a hushed phone call. As Rylan had suspected, his daughter’s over-the-top getup had given them away almost instantly, sticking out like a sore thumb. It would hardly be a tricky police line up.

“ Aye, ” She told him, lifting her revolver and firing without looking. In the last few weeks, her skills had already been honed. Trained by the tough lifestyle and the threat of death in the face of failure.

Someone screamed, as the waitress’ brain was turned to mush with the impact of the bullet before spraying across the wall.

“ Bullseye, ” The girl let out a low self-impressed whistle. “ Three sixty no scope that shit! ”

“ Nice shot but don’t be an idiot. So, name? ” Rylan pressed, guiding her attention back to his question, as people began running from the truck stop, screaming bloody murder. In such a secluded country corner, the duo could take their time. Any law enforcement would be at least ten minutes this far out in the sticks.

“ Steampunk, don’t wear it out, ” She told him as she clicked the safety of the revolver back on and holstered it again.

“ …You’ll be…. An interesting proxy. I’m sure he’ll be watching you very closely. ”

#creepypasta #creepypasta oc #slenderman #proxy #Creepypasta Steampunk #horror #short story