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myhauntedsalem · 4 years

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13 Creepy Camping Encounters That Will Put You off the Great Outdoors

1. The Crying Girl

“When I was younger probably like 10 or 11, I went camping with my family. I’ll just get right into it. It was about 1 or 2 in the morning, and I couldn’t really sleep. The tent me and my brother were in was really hot, and very uncomfortable. Anyway, while I was trying to go to bed I heard a very faint whimper. I tried to ignore it because I figured I was just tired. Our campsite was along a road with many other camps nearby. The whimper started to get louder, and then turned into crying. I heard footsteps outside of our tent, and a girl crying.

Now let me tell you, it didn’t go faint, it got louder and louder. It remained in the same spot the entire time. That’s so important because, it indicates that she was looking at our tent site, crying. It gets worse, then it turned into a full on scream for a few seconds, then cuts out. When she started screaming by brother woke up. We both look at each other and just get all the pillows and stuff our head under them.

I couldn’t sleep at all that night. I’m just glad we left the next morning.” – Keithic

2. The Shaking

“This happened to an acquaintance of mine and his son. This took place back in the early ’90s.

He had taken his young son for a father and son type hike out of Skagway. If any of you are familiar with Skagpatch, there is quite a network of trails above town at lower Dewey lakes.

So, it’s evening, dinner done, tent up, bed time. Sometime later, around midnight, he’s woken up by the tent shaking violently, then silence. Then again. Keep in mind its late August, and pitch black, I mean as pitch black as you can get under the heavy coastal rain forest with no moon.

This shaking kept up for over an hour. He had no idea what it was. He went out with his headlamp, yelled, and heard nothing. Would go back in the tent, then it would start up again. He could here footsteps whenever it happened.

He was pretty shaken up by the next morning as you could imagine.

He reported it to the troopers, and the only thing they could come up with was someone with a night vision set up messing around. Or something else…” – Yukoner

3. The Middle of the Woods

“This happened to me when I was little. I went camping with my older brother and my mom. I was about 7 or 8 and I went to bed around 10 in a sleeping bag inside my tent with both my mom and brother. Some time during the night, I don’t know when, I woke up somewhere in the middle of the woods still in my sleeping bag. I had no idea where I was or where my tent was. I screamed for my mom and I heard her calling back for me in panic but she was easily 100 yards away or so. To this day I have no idea how I ended up in the middle of the woods still inside my sleeping bag. Gives me the chills.” – cckaufmann

4. The Hanging Man

“Hiking the Appalachian Trail in Pennsylvania for a week in…2006 and my brother and I came across a young man who had hung himself. We sprinted up to the bluff where he was strung up. I wrapped my arms around his waist to take weight off his neck while my brother cut him down with his Leatherman. He had thrown the rope up over a tall branch and lashed it off with a clove hitch at the trunk like you’d hang a bear-bag. Must’ve climbed the branches and dropped once laced in. We probably shouldn’t have even tried, he was dead for sometime before we happened across him. Fortunately no critters had come to tear him apart before we found him, it would’ve only gotten grislier from there. Called 911. Ended our trip pretty damn quick.

I don’t know why we tried, it was very obvious he had been dead for some time. Don’t know how long, he was very cold and smelled pretty bad. Intuition to help someone and adrenaline that clouds your judgement I guess? It was kind of a fucked up day so I don’t really remember my thought process.” – Anonymous

5. Scratches

“About one month ago, we are riding a favorite trail up near Camp Verde. Oldest son is leading, youngest is following him, a friend behind him and I am sucking up rear. Come over a hill and I see my youngest son with all of his gear off and his jersey. I came up asking what was wrong, thinking that he crashed, He said his back was burning. I looked and there were three scratches across his back. Looked like claw marks. No blood, but very distinct. He had a chest/back protector on so there is no way a tree branch or anything got him. We finally got him geared back up and headed out. About 30 minutes later, we reached a spot where we always stop for a break. I asked him to take the jersey off so that I could see the scratches again. They were completely gone.” – THB

6. Music in the Night

“A couple of years ago my brother bought a large piece of land out in the middle of nowhere, about thirty miles or so from cell phone reception. It’s quiet, there is no light pollution, no paved roads, and not a lot of people around.

Shortly after he bought the place, two of my brothers (the land owner and another), me, and our families spent a weekend camping on the land and doing our best to clean it up; people had used it as a dump, there were many downed trees, etc. On the second night we camped there, I woke up in the middle of the night to take a leak. As I was walking to the bushes in the dark, I realized that I could faintly hear music. This didn’t strike me as odd because I knew my brother had a radio in his camper. I finished up and went back to sleep with no further thought on the matter.

The next morning at breakfast, I mentioned the radio and music. Several other people recalled waking in the night and hearing music, but no two people heard the same music. Finally, the brother who brought the radio woke up. I asked him about the music and he seemed a bit freaked out. He woke up sometime during the night and went outside to smoke. He heard music as well and had assumed it was someone else. I should mention that he was the only one with a generator and a radio. It wasn’t his radio we heard, it wasn’t anyone else’s either.

I’ve been back several times, but I’m a bit freaked out by that place at night. I have fun while I’m there, but I’m almost always armed and I don’t sleep in a tent anymore, I sleep in my SUV with the doors locked. It may seem kinda dumb, but realizing that everyone heard different music when there are no people, no functional radios, and no electricity is quite creepy.” – goat-of-mendes

7. The Light

“We were in a river-side cabin one night in Northern Michigan. I had just stretched out when a huge crack erupted from the woods. Both of us thought it was a branch or old tree that had fallen.

After he turned off the living room light, we noticed that the light coming from the windows was abnormally strong. This sent our nerves to a new high. The light seemed to pulse several times and got so bright at one point you could have read a book by it. It couldn’t have been a car as we were almost a mile off the road on a dirt trail. Plus, the light came in from all the windows equally.

Every so often we would hear a strange humming noise that penetrated that cabin. This lasted almost half an hour. We talked about just running out to the car and leaving but neither one of us wanted to go outside.

After the light went out, we sat on the couch, occasionally putting forth theories on what it could have been. Around four o’clock in the morning, there was another loud crack. We worried that the light might come back but nothing happened.” – R. Bassil

8. Blue Spectre

“My friend and I were walking just outside of the circle of cabins. It was a bright night with all the stars shining and the moon was well lit. There was a campfire going, and in one of the big cabins there was a party going on with music and so on. We were walking, and we both got a really weird feeling, as if we were being watched. We both turned toward the sea… we saw a blue figure, very tall – about 7 feet – walking through the trees. It made no sound at all. It was a bright blue and glowing figure walking through the forest. It was emitting a shimmery aura, and my friend and I both became very frightened. We shouted at whatever that thing was and we were asking it what it was. We got no reply, of course, but we expected one. We stared as it walked away and out of our vision; we didn’t dare follow it.

We then ran back to the group of people at the camp fire, screaming and describing what we saw. Another friend of mine claimed he was watching it from a distance not far from were we were and was just as frightened as I was.” – Devin

9. Footsteps Upstairs

“Not something I experienced, but my sister and her husband did.

My family used to have a cabin on a lake in the Northwoods. It’s a lake with no public access. On the other side is/was an old Girl’s Camp that the state was letting fall apart. The camp had a large, two-story main house that was mostly intact at the time.

My sister and her husband decided to check out the camp one day. They canoe’d over and started to walk around. They went into the Main House first. They walked around for a bit. And then they heard heavy footsteps upstairs. These footsteps turned into someone running heavily towards the stairs.

My sister and her husband booked it out of the house, but they could hear the steps coming down the stairs and on the main level as they ran out. They opted to run around the house instead of heading back to the shore.

They never saw who it was, but they heard them enter back into the house. And then they heard them storm back outside again. They went into the woods this time and heard someone running in the woods after them.

They took the long way around the lake back to the cabin.

My dad and I had to go back later that day to get the canoe. We never heard or saw anything.” – joftheinternet

10. Geocaching

“I’ve been geocaching in the woods many times, and occasionally one runs into caches with weird things in them. The creepiest was an ammo box with only a handful of finds that contained broken doll parts and a handwritten note that said “Look behind you”. I definitely had the heebie-jeebies and double-timed it back to my car despite it being the middle of the day. It’s crossed my mind before that geocaching would be a great way for a serial killer to lure people out to remote locations.” – Anonymous

11. Who Followed Us?

“This happened in 81 or 82. Not sure anymore.

I had made friends with a fellow I worked with and offered to take him gigging for frogs. He was from the city and had never spent any time in the woods at night. The farm I had permission to do it on was only about a mile from my place. My friend showed up at 10:30 or so and I gave him a gig and a flashlight. We decided to walk to the other farm. We didn’t get far before we both heard something walking in the dark to the side of us. I’ve been in the woods all my life and I’ve had plenty of deer follow me but I wasn’t going to tell him that. It was clear he was getting spooked. We climbed a fence and continued on. Then we heard something else climb the fence.

Deer don’t climb fences. I tried looking around with the flashlight but he wanted none of it. We could see the house lights of the place we were going to and he ran off on me and beat on the guy’s door until they let him in. By the time I got there Mr. Barber, (the land owner), and his wife was out on the porch and wanted to know what was going on. Mr. Barber and I went back and had a look around but found nothing. My friend refused to walk back and Mr. Barber gave us a ride back to my place. We never did find out what or who it was that was following us.

My friend decided that frogging wasn’t for him. He has also refused to go on several fishing trips I have invited him to. I can’t say I was too comfortable with what happened but I haven’t let it stop me from frogging.” – Smoker

12. The Circle

“I was backpacking in New Hampshire and camped out for the night after a day hike. I wondered off from our fire to go take a piss and stumbled upon a circle etched into the ground with tuning forks surrounding the circle standing up straight…It looked like a creepy ritual circle and it bugged me out so I booked it back to the group.” – ITS_A_BADTIME_BOB

13. The Gator

“Few years ago I was camping in the Everglades in Florida with a few friends. We all had gone into our separate tents and were starting to fall asleep. The area was pretty noisy with bugs, crickets, birds, etc. I heard this very low vibration, sounding almost like a low roar. it was powerful enough to vibrate in my chest. Suddenly everything in the forest shut up. no bugs, no birds, nothing. about thirty seconds later my phone vibrates and its my friend in the other tent texting me asking if i heard the same thing. the four of us kept texting each other, wondering what it was. about ten minutes later all the animals slowly started making noise again. I slept that night with my machete at arms reach.

A lot of people are saying it might have been a gator. We were in an elevated area that was far from any streams or ponds. Its possible there might have been a pond with a gator that we missed, but the very big ones tend to hang out in lakes.” – Biggs180

#13 Creepy Camping Encounters That Will Put You off the Great Outdoors #shared stories #paranormal #ghost and hauntings #ghost and spirits

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consumedkings-archive · 3 years

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“how did you get in here?” dealers choice!

raven!!!! gosh i fsdhfkasj i love u sm. thank u my sweet angel, i had so much fun writing this absolute cavity-inducing fluff <3 as always, diana belongs to @shallow-gravy; thank u for letting me write our babes!!!

i. tender ✤ murder wives

diana/elliot + “how did you get in here?” taken from this prompt list! word count: 1.3k warnings: for 2.3 seconds there is a reference to past ~*spiciness*~ but it’s almost entirely tooth-rotting fluff.

“Ell?”

Diana’s voice drifts through the front door of the house curiously. It’s late enough in the afternoon that the sunlight is orange-gold and bathing everything in the house that color, cutting across the floor in rich, comforting swathes. The air smells faintly of sugary confection—which likely means that Elliot’s spent her free time trying to replicate Scarlet’s magic with lemon bars—but there’s something else, too.

Hay?

It’s not uncommon to have the faint scent of alfalfa drifting through their house, considering Elliot is in and out of the barn all day, riding around the two hundred or so acres she had planted their stake in. The day Elliot had quit her job at the sheriff’s office had been the day she kicked it into overdrive to get her most ideal life.

And she’d made it very clear that Diana was a big piece of that picture.

“Elli?” Diana sing-songs the nickname reserved for herself and Joey Hudson alone, dropping her bag on the floor by the door and making her way through the house. She thinks she can hear the faint sound of a snore, but it’s quickly drowned out by the sound of Boomer’s nails clicked against the hardwood floors as he comes rushing to greet her.

He’s delighted, of course, tail sweeping in big, grand gestures as he noses her hands affectionately and looks at her with that big doggy grin. Diana brushes a few stray strands of hay from his fur.

“Are you the smell?” she asks him, and then hears one heavy, hot huff of breath from the living room.

Oh, she thinks absently, that’s odd. My wife doesn’t breathe like that.

The words still feel a little strange—my wife echoing pleasantly around in her head every time she says it or thinks about it—but she’s got to focus on the task at hand: the weird heavy breathing coming from her living room.

She steps around Boomer and passes through the kitchen. The lemon bars are, in fact, out on the top of the stove, still awaiting the powdered sugar topping. It’s unlike Elliot to wait until they’re cooled to powder them; not because she’s supposed to (she is, and Scarlet tells her this every time she’s around, and Diana remembers it every time) but because she insists that powdering them when they’re hot is the way it should be done. It isn’t, and yet—

And yet, she still is the cutest thing. The thought passes through Diana’s mind just as she steps into the living room to find her wife asleep on the floor with their baby cow.

Presently unnamed, though she’s certain that Elliot would be content to leave it at the baby, even when the cow has grown to full size. She will always be the baby in that way.

Said baby blinks up at her with big, soft eyes. The door out to the back patio is wide open, letting a hot, late-afternoon breeze in, but the sun’s begun to set and the sky’s turning more purple than red, and the crickets are starting to kick on somewhere outside. Crouching down, Diana rubs the baby’s velveteen-soft fur between her eyes.

“How did you get in here?” she asks the cow, who only chuffs hot breath against her hand and flicks teddy-bear-brown ears comfortably. She’s curled up on the floor with Elliot using the widest part of her side as a pillow.

She knows that the blonde doesn’t sleep well, ever. She knows, because every time Scarlet comes over for dinner, she waits for Elliot to leave the room before she says, is she getting enough sleep? She’s never been a good sleeper, that daughter of mine, and Diana will have to say yes, that she’s doing alright, because it’s the truth. Elliot is just fine, and maybe she’s restless and there might be a few nights every couple of weeks where Diana is pretty sure she doesn’t sleep at all, but that’s okay.

It’s okay, because she knows that Elliot is trying. Therapy once a week, and good, hard salt-of-the-earth work, and spending time with people who love her all have her on the right track. And if sometimes she takes a nap on the floor of their living room with their cow, well, who is she to critique? It’s not like her sleep schedule’s all that much better, anyway. But at least they have each other.

Diana reaches out with her other hand and gently jostles her leg. “Elliot, wake up,” she says amusedly. The blonde startles a little out of her sleep, almost halfway—not quite fully awake, but awake enough to muster up a confused noise in response. Her cheeks are still flushed from the heat and from her sleep, and she struggles to sit up.

“You’re home?” Elliot asks, words slurring drowsily. “But I didn’t finish dinner—”

“You didn’t start dinner,” Diana points out.

“Lemon bars can be dinner.”

“Why are you taking a nap with the cow on the floor?”

Elliot’s mouth presses into a pout. She’s got some loose pieces of hay stuck in her hair. “She was lonely,” the blonde says around a yawn. “Weren’t you, little girl?”

The baby blinks at her with the same big eyes she blinked at Diana with, and Elliot scratches behind her ears affectionately, stifling another yawn.

“How was work?” she asks Diana, having leaned forward to kiss her; Diana takes Ell’s face in her hands.

“The baby’s still in the house.”

“Oh yeah,” Elliot says, like she forgot. “I’ll take her back outside. And also, does this mean we can have just lemon bars for dinner?”

Diana feels a smile tugging at her mouth. “Yes, but Whitehorse keeps asking if I’m eating properly, so you’ve gotta stop making a liar out of me.”

“Lyin’ is a sin,” the blonde intones dutifully, and Diana feels a laugh billow out of her; she closes the distance between them, kissing her warmly. Beside them, the baby snorts and flicks her tail leisurely, reminding them of her presence on the floor of their living room.

“She can stay,” Diana suggests, her voice playful.

“No, she has to get used to sleeping in her room,” Elliot grumbles against her mouth, kissing her a second and then a third time before she sighs heavily. “But tell me how work was.”

“Good. Hudson misses you.”

“She lives like, three minutes away.”

“Everything,” she reminds the blonde, “is at least twenty-five out.”

Elliot makes a disgruntled noise, something like hm, because being twenty-five minutes out of reach of people is exactly where she wants to be, and then smiles. “We should have another barn sleepover. Like we did when baby first came.”

“Yeah? Maybe this time we could stick a heater out there,” Diana murmurs.

“Or we could not,” her wife returns, “and keep each other warm.”

“Ah, so an exact replica of our first barn sleepover,” she says playfully.

“I prefer accuracy over everything else, after all.”

Diana laughs, leaning in to kiss her again just as Boomer comes over and noses under her arm so that he’s panting hot doggy breath on the both of them, mediating their little embrace.

Purposefully, she says, “Let’s eat our dinner of lemon bars first, and then we can talk about the logistics of a barn sleepover.”

“Deal.” Elliot grins, and then pulls herself to a stand, clapping her hands to usher the baby to her feet as well so that she can shuffle out the door. “Though I think the logistics are pretty easy. You, me, the critters, fifty blankets. Leftover lemon bars.”

“Okay, I’m convinced. It’s done.”

“Good!” The blonde stops in the doorway, through which the baby has already meandered out to the back yard, and looks over her shoulder. For a split second, Elliot’s expression softens, and then she says, “You’re so beautiful, honey.”

Diana feels heat crawling up her throat. They’ve been married for a year, and it’s still like this.

“Hurry up,” she says, even despite the blush flooding her face, her throat feeling a little tight. “I wanna get settled in for the sleepover.”

“Bossy.”

“You love it.”

Elliot’s face splits in a brilliant smile, and she promises sweetly, “More than anything.”

#otp: murder wives #ch: elliot honeysett #oc: deputy diana baker #my writing #writing prompts #fc5 oc #far cry 5 #far cry 5 oc #i'm SOFT #i'm EMO in this house #baby gets to sleep with her moms all the time and i love that for her #;----;

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

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Blue Eyes Part 14

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 14: Something wanders into Alfie and Ella’s life.

Ella had never seen the sunset on a beach. She could recall a few times where she’d gone to the beach as a child. Most likely when they were traveling by caravan or maybe even the rare holiday. Somewhere off the coast of wales. But she remembered spending more time around ponds and lakes. The ocean was something so different.

Living in a city of so many people, it was hard to get a good perspective on one’s impact. Especially since she was a part of such an influential family and living with a man who practically owned Camden. But looking at the ocean made Ella feel so small. Its absolute power and vast size were humbling, to say the least. She could be out floating among the waves and be completely lost within seconds. Just a little speck.

And yet she felt like the world was pressing down on her shoulders. Why? Why was she standing, her knees buckling under the weight of all the responsibilities that weren’t her own? The guilt and consequences she didn’t deserve? Why couldn’t she handpick out all the things that were hers and let loose the rest? Cut ties with the burdens that did her no good? The burdens that others weren’t meant to carry.

She could let them drift off into the ocean, never to be seen again.

“You look a little lost, love.” Alfie murmured, bringing her back to shore.

“Oh, I…” Ella blinked a few times and started to regain the feeling of the sand beneath her bare feet. “I was just thinking.”

“’Bout what?” He wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Don’t you ever want to stay here sometimes?” She glanced up at him. “Stay somewhere calm and peaceful. Somewhere no one will be able to get to you?”

“S’pose everyone wants peace at one point or another.”

Her hand moved to his chest. “But it could last. It could stay like this.”

He frowned when he heard the desperation in her voice. The yearning for something that he was so unfamiliar with. Peace. “Ella, what were you thinking about?” He asked again. “What’s wrong, love?”

“I’m just so tired. Being here, I feel like I can actually breathe. I love being in Camden with you but I still feel…lost. Don’t feel like I belong.”

Alfie felt guilt pressing against his chest. He’d sensed her trouble faintly but hoped that as long as he loved her, he could ease that trouble. “I’m sorry, love if I can-”

“It’s not a matter of what you can do to help it. Alfie, you’ve given me so much already.” She murmured and drew him closer. Her intention wasn’t to make him feel bad. All he’d done was treat her well and took care of her. “They’re my issues. Point is that being here with you, I’ve gotten some perspective. More than I’ve had in the last few months.

Alfie’s forehead was creased with worry but he nodded, allowing her to continue.

“We could be like this-stay like this. Stay here. I mean, what good is London to us, aye? It’s perfect here and we’d be so much happier.” She had effectively convinced herself over the last few hours that they had found paradise. No one would ever be able to find them or break through their wall of serenity. It was foolproof. How could anyone in their right mind ruin their happiness?

“Love, as much as that sounds fucking amazing, it ain’t realistic, is it? C’mere.” He lowered himself onto the sand and held an arm out for her to join him. She cozied up to him even if he was about to break the bad news. “I’d love to just take all the money I have, right, and fuck off to some remote island with you. But we both know that it’d never work out.” He gently tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “You’d miss your family.”

“No-”

Alfie held up a hand. “’Fore you say that you wouldn’t, think ‘bout it for a mo’. Do you really never want to see them again? I mean, honestly, El, I ain’t stupid.”

She pouted and wrinkled her nose with a defiant sniff. “Don’t matter.”

“We can come back here anytime you want, yeah? But you can’t keep running from things you don’t want to fucking see. ‘Cause one of these days they’ll catch up to you.”

A chill went down Ella’s spine. They had already caught up to her. She was still caught in the middle between the man she loved and the family she vowed to be loyal to. “Okay.” She whispered.

“Didn’t mean to make you upset-”

She forced a smile and stood up. “You didn’t. Just tired s’all.”

“Right, well.” He dug his hand into the sand to stand up with a grunt. “We can head off to bed. Always sleep better here, them waves are like a mother’s lullaby.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ella disagreed. She didn’t sleep at all. Stared up at the ceiling with her hands over her heart. Sounds of the waves, Alfie’s breathing, and Cyril’s snoring were calming. But she couldn’t stop her thoughts from whipping up a storm. Turning her round and round until she was dizzy with anxiety and hurt.

Soon, it became too much to stay lying in bed. So she did her best to quietly get out of bed and sneak past Cyril on the floor. She walked slowly through the cottage, her arms wrapped around her. The stars were easier to see. There were hardly any clouds in the sky and no pollution to blur the twinkling lights. She watched the sky for a little in the sitting room. The glass wall giving her a good view of where the inky expanse dipped into the ocean. The moon reflecting off every wave.

Still uneasy, Ella continued her pacing. Passing by the bookshelf of picture frames and into the kitchen. It was a bit quieter on the side facing away from the ocean. In the front room, she could hear crickets outside in the garden. She paused for a moment and started to pick up on a new noise. Soft shuffling in the front lawn.

Fear perked her senses and she took a step back. It could be any number of people who were willing to follow her to Margate and intrude on the cottage’s peace. Not ruling anyone out, she inched quietly towards the coat rack where her holster was left. She slipped the handgun out and cocked it.

The noise continued and a soft whining began to move closer to the door. It was squeaky and almost sounded like the whimpers of a newborn. Ella drew back one of the lace curtains that faced the front step. It was too dark to see much but she saw the shadow of something small hobbling around in the lawn. It moved on all fours and she assumed it was a raccoon or fox. But the sounds were unlike anything she’d heard from a woodland critter.

Almost grateful for the distraction, Ella opened the door. She kept her gun in hand just in case it was some sort of trap. The whimpering paused for a moment and the animal turned to look towards her.

Ella squinted to try and see what the thing was, moving a bit closer with trepidation. Finally, she came close enough to see that it was nothing to be afraid of.

Standing in the lawn was a puppy. One so small that its belly was grazing the grass. It whined and approached Ella.

“What’re you doing, little thing?” She scooped the animal up with one hand. As she did, something wet and sticky touched her skin. It was then that she realized the pup was bleeding.

Panicked, Ella rushed back into the cottage and turned on a light in the kitchen. Setting her gun aside, she held up the puppy to seek out its wounds. The poor thing was shaking and continued to cry helplessly. There was a gash on top of its head from where the blood had trickled.

“Alfie!” She called, not concerned with what hour it was. “Alfie, come quick!”

The man woke in a disheveled state of alarm. He stumbled out of the bed with Cyril quick at his heels. “What, what?” He found Ella in the kitchen, still half-blind from sleep.

“It’s bleeding, I dunno what to do!”

Alfie rubbed his eyes and peered at the little thing in her arms. “Fucking hell, where’d you get that?” He asked.

“He was out wandering in the yard, I brought him in and…” She held the puppy out to him. “Do something!”

“Alright, alright, calm down.” He lumbered over and gingerly took the puppy from her hands. After examining the wound, he waved a hand towards one of the cabinets in the kitchen. “Get a towel will ya?” He walked over to the water pump and began carefully washing away the blood.

Ella retrieved a hand towel and hovered nervously by his side. “Will he be alright?”

“Yeah, nothing too bad. Already starting to close up. It’s a girl, also.” He informed her as he did his best to keep the squirming puppy still. After successfully rinsing off all the blood, he handed her back to Ella to dry off. Alfie washed his hands and shut off the water. “Must be a stray.”

Ella wrapped the puppy up like a swaddled infant and held her close. “What breed’s it?”

“Pitbull.” He answered and scratched his beard. “Sorta have a bad reputation.” With a yawn, he sat down at the kitchen table. “Were used in sport, bred to be vicious.”

The slate-colored pup hardly looked vicious. She snuggled right up in Ella’s arms and her dark eyes began to slide shut. Exhausted from wandering around in pain all night.

“Shouldn’t matter what breed they are, should matter who raises them.” She mumbled quietly. “A dog with a mean owner’s bound to be mean too.”

Alfie watched as she inexplicably came enamored with the furry thing. “You gonna name her?”

She looked up in surprise. “You mean you want to keep her?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t see you ever giving her up. Might s’well name her so we can all go back to sleep.”

“Oh, I…” Ella thought to herself for a long moment until she finally smiled. “There was a book that Ada used to read me. Silly little thing really. There was a character named Cyril so perhaps we should name her after another one of the children from the book.”

Alfie looked amused at the prospect and nodded. The idea seemed to delight her so he wouldn’t deny her. “What were the other children named?”

“Well, there was Hilary and Robert.” She frowned with a puzzled expression. “I can’t remember what the younger sister was named…but the older sister was Anthea. I always loved that name, wanted it to be my own.” Her cheeks went a little red. “But I think it’s perfect.”

“Anthea?” He stood and gently stroked a hand over the dog, being careful of the injury. “Sounds like a very intriguing name for a mysterious little pup.” He agreed. “What’d you think, Cyril, aye?”

The mastiff’s tail was wagging with uncertainty but he appeared pleased, albeit a little tired.

“I suppose that’s a yes, then.” Alfie smiled and kissed Ella’s cheek. “C’mon, love, let’s get to bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Alfie offered to go into town the next morning. They’d have to get more puppy chow for Anthea as they’d only brought just enough for Cyril. And the mastiff was certainly not going to share with the little pitbull. Ella offered to go along and the two made their way down the dirt paths to the main road. Alfie holding Cyril’s leash and Ella carrying Anthea like a little babe.

Alfie knew the town well. He knew some of the folks who lived there year-round but not very well. More often than not, he spent his time there at the cottage and only went to town if he absolutely needed something. But enough people were familiar with him and his reputation. The Jewish gangster from London who liked to take holidays on the shore.

He was most acquainted with the older couple that owned a shop along the main road. A few years ago they had explained that they were going bankrupt because of the wife’s failing health. Alfie didn’t hesitate in the slightest. He stepped in and saved the store, all while ensuring the woman got proper care from a well-respected doctor. Ever since then, Margaret and Frank Robinson treated Alfie like one of their sons.

“’Morning Peggy.” Alfie greeted as he walked inside, Cyril by his side. Ella had gone across the street to a boutique with Anthea, lured over by a few dresses in the window.

“Alfie!” The older woman’s face broke into a smile. “Was wondering when you’d show your face this summer. I hope you haven’t been working too hard.” She scolded.

“Found a better balance.” He admitted honestly. Ella certainly had given him a better balance. “You and Frank alright?”

“Just fine, haven’t been coughing as much.” She began tending to a customer at the till. “Doctor in London’s done wonders.”

“Good to hear, good to hear.” He let her cash out the man, heading back through the aisles.

“Alfie, my boy!” Frank was stacking cans when he looked up. “I thought I heard your voice. But, eh, my hearing’s going so I thought it was just an illusion.”

He chuckled and shook the man’s hand. “S’long as you can hear your wife, don’t matter do it?”

Frank laughed and knelt down to scratch Cyril’s ears. “Hello, Cyril, look healthy, aye? Oh, Alfie,” He glanced up and pointed towards the counter where Margaret was making change for the customer. “Man over there’s lost a pup. Haven’t seen little pitbull ‘round have you? Think he lives by your cottage so it may’ve wandered over to you.”

A shock went down Alfie’s spine. “I’ll talk to him.” He agreed and returned to the counter.

The man by the till was just starting to take his bag of groceries from Margaret. He was a squirrely looking man with a thin mustache and shifty eyes. Not much taller than Alfie but thin as a stick.

“Heard you’ve got a dog missing, mate.” Alfie’s voice was a bit louder than necessary, scaring the man who hadn’t heard him approaching.

He turned and nodded. “Little pitbull, thirteen weeks I think.” His voice stammered under Alfie’s steely glare. “S’a blue-nose. Got a white paw.”

“Hm…” Alfie pretended to think to himself, leaning back and forth on his cane. “Might’ve heard some scuffling ‘round my cottage. Anything else ‘bout it? I’ll keep an eye out for it.”

“Erm, she’s got bit of an injury on her head.” The man’s eyes averted, jerking to the side to avoid Alfie’s stare.

“That right?” Alfie’s hand gripped tightly onto Cyril’s leash. He wanted so badly to beat the man into a bloodied pulp. But he wouldn’t bring that sort of chaos into the Robinsons’ store. “What happened?”

A sour look crossed the man’s face. He clearly didn’t like the question. Maybe because he knew Alfie wouldn’t like the answer. “Does it matter?”

His jaw clenched. “Nah, mate, guess it don’t. Where’d you live, I’ll bring the pup ‘round if I find her.”

“Uh, sure…” The man gave Alfie his address, only half a mile away from the cottage.

~~~~~~~~~~~

After watching the man skitter off, Alfie finished his shopping. Anger coursed through his veins but he did his best to keep it under wraps. He crossed the street to find Ella at the boutique.

One of the shop girls at the counter looked alarmed when the rough-looking man entered with his massive dog. “Erm…sir, could you leave your dog outside?”

Alfie didn’t even look at her. “No. El?” He called.

A curtain covering one of the changing rooms was pushed back. “Are you done already? I’ve only tried on two dresses.” She pouted.

He stopped in his tracks. She had on a black dress with a fitted beaded bodice and fringe that began mid-thigh and ended by her knees. She looked like a positively sinful angel.

Ella saw the glint in his eyes and she smiled playfully. “D’you like it?” She turned around a few times to show off.

“Like it? Love, it’s gorgeous on you.” He replied huskily. A hand dragged over his mouth. “You want it?”

She bit her lip and nodded shyly.

“Right, any others you’d like?”

“Yes, but you can’t see anything else. They’re a surprise.” She warned and grabbed her purse out of the changing room. “Here, Anthea’s asleep.”

Puzzled, Alfie took her purse and found the pit bull pup contently curled up inside, her head lolled out the side as if it were meant to be a dog bed. Simply put, Alfie would buy the entire store for Ella if she’d like. He’d get her a million puppies. And he’d get justice for her puppy. She was much more than a pretty face to him. She deserved respect and peace. And Alfie was sure she’d sleep much better knowing the son of a bitch who hurt Anthea suffered some consequences.

While Ella changed back into her regular clothes, Alfie paid for her purchases. He didn’t even bat an eye at the price. She returned and took her purse and Anthea back. “What time’s it?” She linked arms with Alfie, pressing her cheek into his arm.

“Um…” He checked his pocket watch. “Half-past noon.”

“Are you all set here? I need to make a phone call soon.” The joy in her blue eyes faded.

“Sure, love. We can head back home.”

It was home. They had their home in Camden but Margate had already become a home to them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do I hafta wait for my surprise?” Alfie gently set Anthea down on the kitchen floor, offering her a bowl of food. Cyril sulked behind him, even though he’d had his share.

“Yes, until tonight.” Ella went into the hall, closing the kitchen door behind her to give herself some privacy.

“Testing me patience,” Alfie mumbled to the dogs.

Ella took a deep breath and reached for the receiver. Her hand trembled slightly but she pushed through and dialed the number. The brief wait for an answer was agonizing.

“Shelby.” Tommy’s deep voice had become so foreign after her months away from him.

“Tom, it’s Ella.”

There was a pause as he struggled with the shock of her call. “El? Where are you calling from?” He thought the operator had said Margate but he was nearly certain Ella was in London with Alfie. Last he heard, they’d been living together ever since her release from prison.

“It doesn’t matter.” She swallowed and curled the phone wire around her hand. “I need to speak to you.”

“No one’s heard from you in quite some time.”

“That’s not what I’m calling about.”

“What’re you calling about then?”

Ella’s stomach turned with anxiety. She was afraid of what she might hear. But the prospect of failing to get the information was enough to get her to press on. “I need to know why you had the family arrested.”

There was a soft sigh from the other end of the line. “You’ve all been released, what’s it matter anymore?”

His disregard made her grimace. “Because it was all very traumatic for us and I want to know what grand plan you had.” She demanded. “I think I’ve a right to know why you were so keen on sacrificing us. What’d you get in return?”

“That’s information for those involved in the Shelby Company Limited.”

“Don’t even start that fucking nonsense with me!” She snapped. “I’ve had enough with your behavior. Either you tell me or I swear to God…”

“You’re threatening me now, El? Alfie rubbed off on you, aye?” Tommy’s voice filled with venom.

Hearing him speak Alfie’s name with such distaste was enough to make Ella want to scream at him until the sun went down. Her body quivered with anger as she tried to hold back. “Thomas, tell me. I will not lose the man I love because of your insolence.”

Tommy was confused. “What do you mean?” He asked.

The image of Inspector Blackwell’s smug smile crossed her mind. If she needed to make amends with Tommy even for a second to save Alfie from arrest, then she would do it. “A detective from Scotland Yard has been threatening me.”

Her brother pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ian Blackwell.”

“He approached you as well?”

“Yes. And you are not to tell him anything.” Tommy warned in a low voice. “I’m handling it.”

As much as it angered her, hearing him say that was a little relieving. At least her brother could handle himself with police. “He’s going to arrest Alfie.”

“And why should I stop him?”

Ella nearly bit right through her tongue with fury. “Because I’ll never fucking look at you, speak to you, mention your name, or think of you.” She snarled. “For once in your life, stop thinking about yourself and think about the family you supposedly love.”

Tommy was quiet for a while. “He won’t arrest Alfie.” He replied firmly. “But you need to call me if Blackwell ever approaches you again.”

The fear on Ella’s shoulder released in an instant. “Thank you.” She said quietly.

Her brother hummed an acknowledgment. “You’re alright, then?”

Ella unwound the phone cord from her hand. She was eager to end the conversation and return to paradise with Alfie, Cyril, and Anthea. “Do you even care?”

“Yes.”

She frowned and lowered the receiver away from her ear. She held it over the hook, only inches from hanging up on him. It was reasonable. She could just end the call. End the discussion. End the line of contact between her and Tommy. But then she would just be using him the way he used her and the rest of the family. She always thought she was better than that.

Slowly, she lifted the receiver back to her ear. “I’m fine, Tom. Better than I’ve been for a long time.”

“That’s good.” Tommy cleared his throat. “That’s good to hear.”

“And you?”

“Busy.” The word was clipped and obviously there was much more behind the response. It was a clear indicator that things were not okay.

“Alright-”

“I’ve got to head off to a meeting, El. Thank you for telling me about the inspector.” He sounded as if he were ending a call with a business associate.

“Okay.” She whispered and allowed him to end the call. She returned the receiver onto the hook and stood stock still in the hallway. Alfie was safe. Tommy had actually done her a favor. And now she could return to her life with her love without having any debts.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams @biba3434 @kimmietea

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#alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomonsxoc #alfie solomons #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinder imagine #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy character #Tom hardy #Shelby ofc #Shelby sister #Shelby oc

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schmordy-blog · 3 years

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The Florescent Flamingos

I want to tell you a story about a small flock of flamingos.

Its easy to feel weighed down by the fear and the fighting in our world. I know because I feel it too. Some days it feels like physical weight that might crush you if you flinch for even a second. But remember a few months ago when the news and social media were flooded with stories of all the creative ways the people were reaching out across the divides, across the isolation to friends and strangers? It was as if we were all hoping to tell each other: I am here too, I see you, you are not alone. There were teddy bears placed in windows for children on walks to find, there were neighbors standing on balconies joining each other in song, there were strings of lights lit up in March just to cut through a bit of the gloom. Remember that?

I live with my 90-year-old grandma. She has Alzheimer’s so the pandemic has been hard on her because she doesn’t remember why I am not taking her to church, she doesn’t always understand why I won’t take her to the dog park or why people can’t come to visit like they used to. But one thing Grandma always remembers is the flamingos.

Months ago, Grandma’s neighbors decided that they wanted to spread a little joy and silliness to the neighborhood.

They had a flock of florescent pink plastic flamingos that they used to decorate their lawn. But every week or so, the flamingos would move. One week they sat in the shape of the heart, the next they had flowers in their “hair” and ties around their necks as they danced at flamingo prom. And no one was more delighted by the flamingos than Grandma.

She called them “the critters” and on days when she forgot they were plastic she would fuss about if they had flown away when she wasn’t looking or if they were getting enough to eat. Every day, without fail, she would ask me multiple times if I thought they were still there and she would go to the window to check on the critters only to giggle happily and tell me how much she was “absolutely tickled” by them.

I mentioned this once to the Youngs because I wanted them to know that their efforts were appreciated. It’s a quiet neighborhood, so I don’t know how much traffic their flamingo displays recieved, but I wanted them to know that they had at least one devoted fan.

And then, just before the end of summer, something wonderful happened. Eight of the flamingos-six adults and two babies-broke away from the flock and cam to visit Grandma’s yard. Oh, you should have seen her face when she discovered that they had come to see her. She knew that they were plastic that day, but she still insisted I help her down her front steps and across her lawn so that she could look closely and pet every single one of those eight flamingos. She gently stroked her hand down every one of their necks exclaiming how wonderful it was that they had come to visit her each time.

Its November now and the neighbors have put away their flock for the season- though they did make a cameo as sheet ghosts for Halloween- but the flamingos on Grandma’s lawn remain. And every night Grandma remarks how kind the neighbors are for letting her borrow them and her delight that they are still there.

You see, I could buy Grandma her own flamingos, I have found plenty of places online that sell them, but it’s not about the plastic birds for her. As much as she loves them, she knows that they are a sign from her neighbors. A sign that she is not forgotten by the people who don’t see her every day. A symbol that she is seen, and she is loved.

And the flamingos are not the only sign she has that they think about her. Her sweet neighbors will drop off little bags of tomatoes from their garden because they know that tomatoes are her favorite or write her little notes to say hi. And those things mean the world to her too. But any time she looks out the window she sees those critters and she smiles.

So today I am thankful for the Youngs and the amazing neighbors they are in a city that isn’t exactly famous for having thoughtful neighbors. And today I am grateful for a tiny flock of plastic flamingos.

And anytime you feel that crushing weight of isolation and uncertainty, whenever you feel overwhelmed and ungrounded, please remember the flamingos, and try to find the ways that people are reaching out to you. They may be friends or family or strangers. It may be small or absurd, but I assure you someone is reaching out for you. Find your flamingos.

#give thanks #gratitude #plastic flamingos #lawn flamigos #quarentine #quarentine neighbor #alzheimers #thoughts from lauren

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spyvstailor · 4 years

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GRAVEYARD DIRT & SALT

CHAPTER FIVE: BENNY

“South Carolina abouts they have this critter called a 'Boo Hag', said to be a skinless sort of vampire and they like to ride you to death and steal your breath. If they like you, they keep you alive, sucking your air, sustaining themselves. But if they don't, if you struggle or make them angry, they skin you and wear your skin. Just walk around like they wear pants or such. But they can't stay riding you forever, they gotta be home and in their skin before sunrise or they become trapped forever without skin.”

Please support me, I’m still out of work because of COVID, so anything you can toss my way can really help. I’m going to need to feed my kitties soon! Reblog this if you can’t donate to please support a nearly starving author!

Read the newest chapter here below the cut if you want, since ko-fi can be unreliable!

Chapter Five: Benny

When everything went to hell, Benny had been at the top.

Maybe he still was? He had no idea how Vegas handled the swarms of the dead.

Probably no better than Atlanta.

God, what a fucking hole in the ground to be caught undead in. Why had he even agreed to come here to the middle of Satan's nutsack to make a deal?

By the time he waded through the packed streets, filled with fleeing idiots, days had passed and the wave of infection had spread.

When he made it to the edge of the city, it was almost completely overrun.

And his private helicopter, that last hope he had of leaving Georgia, was useless, no pilot. So, he was wading his way through the land of good ol' boys and peaches, heading home.

Because what else did he do? Just stay stuck in Georgia with the undead on his ass? Forever? The idea seemed to tickle him. It was divine retribution for all his sins. This was hell. He was in hell. Well, thanks but no thanks. He'd take his chances back in Vegas with his well-stocked warehouse and his penthouse in The Golden Rose.

God, he missed The Golden Rose. Melody's pretty little voice chirping 'Hello, welcome to The Golden Rose', every time he passed through the lobby, or the weird night gamblers bellying up at the bar around two in the morning, sipping on complimentary Flash-bang's, the signature drink created by Bruce behind the bar. Sure he had more employees than Melody and Bruce, the others, the late-night workers who always were just a little bit off, but friendly enough. The kids fresh out of school, old enough to work at the casino, who tried too hard to impress the boss. Sven in the kitchen, who never seemed to leave, always yelling at him for coming down and making those 'nasty little sandwiches' as he called them, the open-faced ones made with peanut butter and sliced bananas on plain white bread, the sandwiches Valerie had gotten him hooked on when they were first dating. They were her favourite midnight snack and they had fast become Benny's too.

Valerie.

Ten years. Holy fuck had it been ten years?

Plucking at a stretchy beaded bracelet he wore, Benny snapped it hard and shook off his thoughts of Valerie. They didn't do him any good in this new society.

From where he sat. Perched on the railing of the bell tower, looking down across a darkened Georgia, barely peeking over treetops that surrounded the convent, Benny exhaled.

Annie had given him the stink-eye at their new spot, full of bird shit and leaves and any kind of crap that the winds blew into the little tower, but Benny had sat her down gently onto the bearskin rug and the sleeping bag on top of it and promised her they would clean it up in the morning.

He didn't tell her what he was thinking, he didn't tell a lot of people what he thought, no one wanted to hear his bullshit. His old man used to say 'if I want your opinion, I'll beat it out of you' and he meant it.

The truth was, the trouble on the wall, the nun dying, had reminded him how dangerous it was. He had become too soft and spoiled lately, the dead were thinning out and he had forgotten what it was like when the outbreak first happened when it was really bad.

They were safer in the tower, should anything happen to the gate, there was a heavy church door to open and a narrow ladder to climb before anything could get at them.

And, sitting on the trapdoor that led to the ladder, Benny knew Annie was safer here than anywhere else.

It had been a long, long time since anyone had relied on Benny and he took his job seriously. Nothing would happen to Annie as long as he was alive and kicking.

During his flight from Atlanta, he had somehow wound up arm in arm with Annie and her mother Laila. They had sort of run across each other and just kept running in the same direction.

Benny had immediately liked Laila, she was tough as hell and he had to admire that about her. Not that he knew much about her or the kid, they weren't real big on talking and he also had to admit he liked it that way.

But Laila had his back and he had hers and they made a good team, but when she went out one morning to scrounge for breakfast and never came back he didn't think for a second the dead had gotten her. He knew her, she was a survivor.

Something else happened.

So he stuck around the area, hoping he'd find something which would let him know where Laila had gotten off too. And somehow, sticking around the small town, he wound up running into that marine and that Grayson kid, and when the kid started talking about men taking his sister, Benny started thinking. He wasn't a gambler by nature, despite him living in a casino in Las Vegas, but he would bet everything he had that when they found these men, he would find Laila.

And Jesus, if he didn't also kind of like that marine.

Not that he'd ever admitted that out loud. Admitting you liked someone, admitting you wanted to be someone's – what? Drinking buddy? At his age? Embarrassing.

But he liked him just fine. The Cajun was a tall puppy dog, but there was something about his optimism that balanced Benny's nihilism nicely.

On the wall below, three nuns kept vigil over Sister Mary Patrick's body. They couldn't retrieve her until morning, so they kept a quiet, mindful watch.

And just like those nuns, Benny would keep a silent watch over Annie all night long, he would sleep when she was old enough to take care of herself.

Sitting by the nuns' water pump in their convent yard the next morning, he watched Annie as she brushed her teeth, brushing his own with the travel toothbrush he kept in his jacket pocket. He liked to travel as light as possible, gun, bullets, knife, toothbrush and tube of toothpaste, and while he'd never admitted it, reading glasses for emergency reading, because fuck if he wasn't getting old.

He noticed the marine traveled with a goddamn apartment on his back and that was just fine for him. Marines were trained for distance and roughing it, they were pack mules. And just as dumb.

He needed more bullets for his tidy little Springfield, come to think of it.

“She's a good kid,” someone said from his left. It was a male voice and not Grayson's.

Benny ignored the marine for a moment, not wanting to chat about the fucking weather or some bullshit, spitting his toothpaste foam into a bucket of water to be dumped over the wall with the rest of the handwashing and face washing water.

There was a nun's body being buried out behind the church right now and he didn't feel like jibber-jabbing.

“We did our best last night,” the Lieutenant said, easing down beside him on one of the folding chairs the nuns had set up around their water source. For what? Water pump gossip? Maybe.

“Dead nun though,” Benny replied, sipping at some water to rinse his mouth.

The marine was quiet beside him, gazing out across the dewy lawns.

“I didn't mean to put the squeeze to you,” he began. “Yesterday in the church. I know you don't like talking about yourself.”

“Sure you did,” Benny returned.

Withdrawing for a moment to regroup, the marine went on, “fine. I did a little, but...it's hard trusting people nowadays, yeah?”

“Hard to trust people before this bullshit,” Benny shot back.

“Fair.”

There was a tension to the marine that told Benny he was gearing up for something, angling to reach for something during the entire conversation.

“You got something to say, don't pussyfoot,” he said calmly.

“Not that I don't believe you, but I want a reassurance that you're not trying to fuck us on this deal with the copter,” the marine said.

Benny nodded. “Yeah, I thought you'd think that. I wouldn't blame you. But it's real.”

“Well, we go in smart then,” the man stated.

“We go in smart,” Benny agreed, stretching out his legs and resting them on another chair across from him.

Beside him the marine remained seated, quiet in the growing daylight.

“We done?” Benny inquired.

“You ever hear about the boo hags?”

“The what?”

“And the moral of this story is...?” Benny prompted.

The Lieutenant shrugged, folding his arms. “Nothing really, I just think about the Boo Hags sometimes.”

“My granny used to tell me about this guy she knew from Corpus Christi, used to hate wearing pants. He wasn't crazy or anything, just said they were too hot and itchy, so he'd walk around in his boxer shorts everywhere.”

Around them, the nuns went about their morning routine, chores, and preparing for their morning mass after burying their fellow nun.

“Well,” Benny said. “Maybe he was a little crazy, I guess.”

Annie came to him and climbed into his lap, watching the activity around them quietly. It was a strange sort of calm to the morning, despite the funeral. It felt like the soft morning's Benny had at his grandparents, warms sunlight, peace, and quiet before the hectic activity of the day. It brought him back home to a home he mourned every single day of his life, a home he had only fleetingly as a boy before it was replaced with the boozy smelling mornings of his parents home.

“Mornings like this feel like my Mamere getting ready for church,” the Lieutenant said. “She used to sing when she was getting ready in the mornings, and she'd sing,

There's a land that is fairer than day,

and by faith we can see it afar;

for the Father waits over the way

to prepare us a dwelling place there.”

In his lap Annie rest her head against Benny's chest, listening to the marine as he sang in a fine, deep baritone. Benny knew the song well, it was his grandmother's favourite. When she finally came and took him home, to his real home with her and his grandfather, away from the chaos of his mother and father's lives.

They were the only people who ever really loved him.

The hymn brought back memories of Sunday mornings dressing for church, of Sunday evenings with the smell of roast chicken and his granny's baked apples, sweetened with brown sugar, butter, and cinnamon, sticky and warm.

He didn't live with them long. They were hit by a drunk driver and killed two years after he moved in with them. Benny went back to the chaos and Edna and Merle were buried in Oak Grove.

At the sound of the gentle singing, a few nearby nuns gathered in closer, curious, and quiet. Raised Baptist by his grandparents at least, Benny joined in with the marine, singing only very, very faintly, as though he were doing it for his granny and no one else. He would sing in a voice only barely above a whisper.

It was Annie who joined in the singing, almost eager and happy to do something that wasn't fighting and surviving.

In the sweet by and by,

we shall meet on that beautiful shore.

In the sweet by and by,

we shall meet on that beautiful shore.

We shall sing on that beautiful shore

the melodious songs of the blessed;

and our spirits shall sorrow no more,

not a sigh for the blessing of rest.

In the sweet by and by,

we shall meet on that beautiful shore.

In the sweet by and by,

we shall meet on that beautiful shore.

To our bountiful Father above

we will offer our tribute of praise

for the glorious gift of his love

and the blessings that hallow our days.

“My granny used to sing that one too,” Benny finally admitted, in the stark silence at the end of the song. “Yours lived with you?” He asked.

The Lieutenant nodded. “Yeah, my grandparents raised me.”

“Where were your parents?” Benny asked.

“Due to circumstances beyond my control, nowhere in sight,” the Lieutenant replied, a grin in his voice. “My ma was hospitalized most of my young life,” he added in a more serious tone. “The man who impregnated her was...not important.”

“Pump and dump?”

“Of sorts, not really given permission for it though,” the Cajun finished tentatively.

Benny felt his blood chill a little. “I get you.” He said, not wanting the marine to have to open up old wounds.

“You?”

“I lived with my grandparents for a while, yeah. My parents were...selfish pricks, they lived in Galveston.”

“I get you,” the marine repeated his own words. Easing back in his chair, the Cajun asked, “where you from? Where'd you grow up? You said you lived in Forth Worth?”

“My grandparents lived in Fort Worth, so I guess I moved between there and Galveston mostly.”

“What happened to the twang? You lose it or hate it?” The Lieutenant inquired.

Benny chuckled. “I haven't lived there for years.”

“Can never really shake the twang though, yeah?” The Lieutenant teased.

“I guess not. You? I know Cajun when I hear it, but where you from in Louisiana?”

“Eunice.”

“Eunice? That's...down south, isn't it? Way down the bayou,” he mocked the Lieutenant's accent, prompting the marine to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

“Annie,” he turned to the kid in his lap. “Why don't you head inside the infirmary, okay? I'll be right there to get you set up for the day.”

The girl slipped down to the ground and nodded, heading obediently for the building where Grayson was already getting his shit together.

Sullen, a little pissed that he was forced to face things he had buried long ago in Texas, Benny remained quiet for a good long time. Long enough that eventually the anger dispersed.

Benny sat still and silent so long that eventually, it was just him and the Cajun, who remained, squatted down on his haunches, resting.

“We're running on a very short timeline,” Benny finally said to the man.

The marine nodded. “Yep.”

“That girl, if she is still alive, won't be so young and vibrant if she's with these men, I can tell you that right now. Feel like with no law, men will become animals, women will become prey.”

“What's going on in that tiny bird brain of yours?” The Cajun asked.

“You need to stay here and train up some of these damned nuns, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Think you could trust me?” Benny asked suddenly, turning away from the middle nothing he was staring at and pining the Cajun with a look.

For a good long while the marine eyed him back, blue-grey eyes hard and scrutinizing. At rest the man's face was regal, but villainous, betraying his genuine kindness, at rest his face was the face of a man you didn't want to fuck with.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“You're going to have to know so,” Benny urged.

“Alright, I know I can trust you.”

“It might be riskier, but time is important, isn't it?”

“What's your plan, fancy man?”

“When I was poking around the church earlier, I spied some priest shit, a get up for a proper man of the Lord. Might give me a pretty good shield, might get me close enough to those men if I can find them, to get inside their group.”

“Espionage?”

“Whoa, slow down there Bayou-bred, that's a big word for you.”

The two men hushed up as Grayson began to head over towards them.

“Fuck off, Grayson!” Benny shouted.

“Fuck you, assclown!” Grayson snarled back, veering off in anger towards the wall and the gate.

“That kid is going to murder you in your sleep some night, paon.” The Lieutenant mused.

“Ah well, he's a good kid, needs toughening up. Mouthy little fuck though.”

The two men settled a little again, their ruffled feathers smoothing out in the tranquility that followed the exchange between Benny and Grayson.

“You could get yourself killed ducking in on a group like a priest. If they find out you're not or if they happen to find out what you're up to.”

“I know,” Benny replied. “But I'm good at it.”

“Good at it?” The Lieutenant asked.

Benny smiled. “Getting into places I shouldn't be as someone I'm not.”

The Cajun was quiet, before sighing. “Okay. Cut the shit, what the fuck are you?”

“I'm goddamned good at what I do. You just worry about these nuns. When I head out, you need to do one thing for me. You just need to trust that whatever happens once I leave this convent, I'm not going to fuck you over. Annie will stay here, she'll be my guarantee that I won't let anything happen.”

“Okay.”

“You tell anyone you need that I ran off in the night, just not Annie. You tell her I'll be back. You need to do this for me. Can you do this?”

“I don't like handing the reins over, but...you're right. Time is important and these nuns can't be left alone. Splitting up might be the best bet for everyone. I'll play my part.”

“Pact?” Benny offered, holding out his hand. He knew it was childish, but he wanted God (if there be any) to witness his honesty. For once in his goddamned life of other names, other faces, he wanted some higher power to see his bluffing ass telling a truth.

The Lieutenant leaned back a little, before saying, “brothers. It makes you blood. You don't cross blood.”

“Brothers,” Benny swore, the two men shaking hands firmly.

Releasing hands, the two men sat back a little, trying to look like two men just sharing a conversation, as Mena poked her head out of the convent cloister and started their way.

“We meet up tonight, dead of night when everyone is asleep, in the back room of the church,” Benny said softly, hurrying before Mena could join them.

The Lieutenant nodded.

“Gentlemen,” Mena greeted in the high toned, pretty magnolia blossom voice of hers. Pure sugar, pure south. “Good morning.”

“Why Miss Mena, you're as pretty as a bluebell this morning,” Benny teased, mocking her southern accent.

She offered him a stern, but sparkling warning look, the corners of her mouth lifted a little like a cat. She looked like she was grateful for the teasing distraction, grateful because otherwise, it was pure mourning and fear that remained should she not have anything to distract her from it. “You may mock me all you want, Mr. Malone, but I lost one of my flock last night and I'm not in the mood. Now, we've buried the poor woman, and we were promised training. The sooner the better, I think.”

“Are you thinking of staying? You and Annie are very welcome to.”

They had gotten the nuns started with whatever makeshift weapons they could find and while the Lieutenant gave them a rifle handling and maintenance crash course, Mena had once more sidled up beside Benny as he stood in the shadows of the eastern side of the church, watching the chaos, while idly thumbing through a small bible he had found in the church.

“You're thinking of the wrong man,” he replied, motioning with his head at the marine. “He's probably yours for life though.”

She smiled. “We love having you here, Mr. Malone. All of you.” She hesitated, before adding, “I sort of forgot how boring convent life can be until you all arrived to shake things up. Granted, we suffered a loss, but...I think we're stronger with you and the Lieutenant and even Annie and Grayson. We're no longer cloistered, we're a community center, a...a home.”

He opened his mouth about to say something, before considering it, finally he relented. “I know a nun's faith is sacred to her, but...why did you become a nun? You seem...unhappy with your lot.”

“I wouldn't say unhappy,” she replied. “I'm ungrateful in a small way. I became a nun to help people. Work missions and aid the poor and those most unfortunate. I suppose, I just...never felt like I was helping much here. Feel sort of immured behind these walls.”

“Immured?”

Before Mena could answer his question, the Lieutenant joined them, easing against the church for a rest in the shade.

“So?” Benny asked him.

“Well, they don't like the idea of hitting anyone, seem hesitant, but I think when push comes to shove they know how to do it.”

Scoffing, Benny turned to Mena. “What about you, debutante? Wanna fight with the others?”

Mena laughed. “I'm afraid I don't care much for fighting.”

“You need to learn how,” he went on.

“I know how to throw a punch, Mr. Malone,” Mena argued gently.

Inhaling calmly, Benny scooped the nun up easily in one move and had her stomach perched on his shoulder as she dangled over it in shock, her legs and knees digging into his chest in shock.

“So you're telling me,” Benny began as Mena struggled to be put down, trying to maintain her dignity while being treated like a sack of flour, “you know how to prevent being carted off by someone like this?”

“Mr. Malone, please?!” Mena shouted, panicked. Her ever calm facade breaking into a sort of girlish embarrassment. Shrill and just a little tremulous.

“Don't break the nun,” the Lieutenant warned with a small grin.

Sensing the rest of the nuns' attention and maybe wanting to cheer them up just a little with a distraction from the death of Sister Mary Patrick, Benny perked a little more, hefting the woman on his shoulder as she squirmed.

“Are you kidding me?” He demanded loudly. “I'm two steps away from giving her a noogie. This is fun. I'm going to hold her down and snicker-snag on her if she can't break away.”

“Don't you dare! Put me down!” Mena shouted as the rest of the nuns began to notice the noise and started wandering over towards them curiously.

“Look at how small she is,” Benny laughed. “I could toss her over the wall into a pile of leaves like a little mouse. Hey, give me a hand, I want to try playing keep-away with this shrimp.”

“Are you seriously bullying me right now, Mr. Malone?” Mena demanded, still draped over his shoulder, her veil fluttering to the ground, all dignity lost. “Lieutenant, please?”

“I can't step into another man's training ring,” the Lieutenant lied. “It's not courteous.”

“Courteous?!” The nun hollered.

“Think if I put her down and follow her she'll lead me to her pot of gold?” Benny asked, spinning with the nun.

A stray knee from the poor nun hit Benny in the mouth and he reeled back a little, blood drawn.

“Alright, play time's over, kids,” the Lieutenant stepped in, moving to take Mena from Benny.

As soon as the Cajun set Mena right again, kneeling to get her veil for her, she was puffing up like a little ruffed grouse and twirling around to poke at Benny in the chest.

He was too distracted by the taste of blood on his lip to notice.

Behind them the nuns that had gathered were all trying to conceal their amusement at the scene, a few of them giggling into their veils, some turning their soft laughter into mild coughs.

“Serves you right,” Mena stated. “The indignity!”

Benny, idly licking at his torn lip, grinned and held his hands up. “Hey, okay. Put the guns away, shrimp, you win.”

“Blood has been drawn, no harm done,” the Lieutenant said. At Mena's sharp look, he amended that statement to a soft, “maybe?”

“I am an Abbess,” Mena snarled, whirling on Benny again, her little finger pointed at him like a rifle. “I deserve a modicum of respect.”

“A what?” Benny asked, pocketing his hands. “Hey, don't get mad, country mouse, you said you could handle yourself, and boy, did you sure prove me wrong.”

“I,” Mena began, a little louder than her normal soft-spoken Southern belle coo. She stopped short and seemed to inhale, calming herself. “I...will not let you goad me into a fight, just to prove myself capable, Mr. Malone.”

“One punch,” he pushed. “Just one solid punch and I'll leave you alone.”

Mena was quiet, still trying to smooth her habit and veil back into place after her manhandling.

“It might give you back a bit of that lost dignity,” Benny added in a whisper, leaning towards her.

“Sock him, Mother!” One of the older nuns shouted.

“And just like that the teachings of peace and forgiveness of Christ have been forgotten,” Mena murmured.

“If you punch him then he'll stop being a bully,” another nun suggested.

“I don't think Sister Mary Patrick would approve of this,” another nun pointed out.

“Like it nothing, she'd love to see this cheeky man popped in his cheeky face,” yet another nun added.

“I will not,” Mena declared. “We are not animals and I refuse to hit a man without due cause.”

“He just picked you up like you were a duffle bag, just hit him in his pretty face and get it all over with,” Sister Mary Agnes, one of the few nuns Benny could tell apart suggested. “I would,” she added, before crossing herself quickly in a form of silent absolution.

“Aw,” Benny gushed. “She thinks I'm pretty. Come on, Abbess, just give me one solid punch and prove yourself capable. Come on,” he went on, “I know there's an animal concealed under those robes of yours, let the lioness out.”

“Lieutenant?” Mena asked.

The tall man sort of took a thoughtful step back on one foot and considered it quietly, before he answered with a simple, “hit him.”

Mena was quiet, sizing up Benny for a bit.

He could see her small hands curling into fists at her side and tightened his jaw to take the hit.

Instead, Mena's hands relaxed and she shook her head, turning to Annie who was watching.

“We don't hit people who don't deserve it,” she explained to the child. “A lady must always take the high road.”

“As short as she is, the high road would be the best option,” Benny murmured.

Mena leveled her chin almost indignantly, still looking at Annie.

“Good for you, Mother,” Mary Elizabeth said. “Remember Matthew 5:39. But I say to you, do not resist an evil person; but whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also.”

“If he keeps taunting her I'll show him both cheeks,” one of the older nuns grumbled.

Benny laughed to himself. He didn't know much about each individual nun yet, but he knew he liked the older nun with just that one sentence.

“We are not a boxing club,” Mena went on. “Though we will train to defend ourselves, senseless violence is never the right path. Despite how much a man may want to be hit by a lady.”

“It's always been my dream,” Benny added playfully.

“I'm gonna hit him for you,” the Lieutenant broke in.

Laughing, Benny backed away, hands up. “Okay, I wanted to get hit, not knocked out today.”

This seemed to break up the gathering, nuns moving off, heading back to their training.

Mena, still a little fired up, remained for a moment.

“No hard feelings, Thumbelina,” Benny said. “I just wanted to see your form.”

“I'm sure you felt enough of my form while I was riding high on your shoulder,” she returned a little bitterly, before walking off.

Benny sidled up beside the Lieutenant, still grinning. “She was real mad.”

“Yeah.”

“Has kind of a temper.”

“Yeah.”

“I kind of liked it.”

“Easy now.”

“Don't tell me you've never thought of picking her up,” Benny went on. “She's so fucking small.”

The Lieutenant smiled. “I mean, I could.”

“Hell yeah, you could. You could pick me up, big guy.” As they walked off, heading for the infirmary, Annie following behind, the fancy man added, “but don't ever fucking try, because I will lay you out.”

Chuckling, the Lieutenant opened the infirmary door for the shorter man and said, “you could never, little fancy man.”

Inside the infirmary Grayson sat on his cot, reading a well-thumbed copy of some real crime book, looking bored and still angry.

“Hey kid,” Benny greeted. “You need to learn some fighting too or do you think you'll pull some karate moves out of your ass when the time comes?”

“Could kick your ass,” the kid grumbled.

“Want to give it a try?” Benny offered sincerely. “See what you got?”

“You have, like, thirty years on me, think I'd win, grandpa,” Grayson replied.

“Only one way to find out.”

“You think you'll be ready to head out tomorrow morning?” The Lieutenant asked the kid, playing his part perfectly to Benny's delight. At least the marine had a poker face. “We have to get to that airfield before noon if we want to find proper camp before dark.”

“I was ready two days ago, what have you two been doing?”

“Keeping these nuns safe first and foremost,” Benny said. “You know, about eleven lives versus one? Using our brains.”

Grayson glowered at him.

“Can the shitty attitude, we're trying,” Benny went on firmly.

“Tomorrow,” the Lieutenant said firmly, breaking up the tension, “we will continue on the hunt for these men. Right now, I have to head out to get something for dinner for all of us.”

“Not taking your life partner with you?” Grayson asked.

“Surprisingly progressive, kid,” Benny mused, folding his arms. “I don't even think it's an insult.”

“More observational than insulting,” the Lieutenant added.

“You could do worse than me,” Benny teased.

“Could do better too, paon.” The marine retorted dryly, offering Benny a small grin as he grabbed up his rifle. “Don't kill each other while I'm gone, yeah?”

“Can I hang him from a flag pole again?” Benny asked. “Seems to be the best way to take the bite out of him.”

“Fuck you, Benny,” Grayson growled.

“That is no way to speak to your elders, son!” Benny replied.

“Come on, kid. Let's head out for a hunt.” The Lieutenant said, stepping in calmly.

Grayson jumped up, eager to finally help, but couldn't resist grumbling, “don't call me 'kid', old man.”

“Don't call me old, son,” the Lieutenant murmured, ducking out of the infirmary after the boy.

Alone in the infirmary now with Annie, Benny inhaled and turned to her.

“You like those two?”

She shrugged.

Looking at the child in his care, Benny wanted to say something to her, to emote. But emotions were never his thing, once he opened that pandora's box they wouldn't stop. So he reached out and ruffled her hair, the two puffs on top, at least.

He liked the kid, he really did. Hell, he could almost admit to himself that he loved her and if it wasn't for circumstances and his fucking weak need to be helpful, he wouldn't be leaving her at the convent.

There were mornings, before they ran into the marine, that he would wake up from light, cautious sleep, to find her sitting up and watching him.

She never said much, and he always wondered what was going on in her undeveloped little noodle, she didn't even really speak much even when Laila was with them. Horrors, he assumed, something that kept Laila on edge and wary of their surroundings, haunted the two of them and when Benny found the mother and child, or rather when they had found him, they were almost feral.

He assumed it was something to do with the wedding ring on Laila's finger, of the way it took Annie months to finally take his hand without him telling her to.

She kept close to him now, she had lost her father – as far as Benny knew, and now her mother and the child was wafting on the breeze, drifting around with no moorings. Nothing to tether her to safety and comfort, but for him.

And Benny hated that it had to be him that poor girl relied on. He wasn't reliable, not to people who loved him – at least. He had cut his moorings a long time ago, or...maybe they had rotted with Valerie. Moldering in the grave with his beautiful wife, her cold hands clutching the last strands of the rope that had kept him from drifting.

He didn't mind being tethered by Valerie, he liked it even. Whenever he'd go off and come home, he had a home to come to. She would be there, bright and smiling, her flower garden always in bloom, it seemed, even in the cold Rhode Island winters, when the wind came across the Atlantic frigid and cruel.

She had died in the winter, or the early spring, rather. March. The witches tit of a month, the cold, brown spring.

Valerie wanted to be buried, not cremated, so they had to wait another month before she could be buried.

Benny was gone long before that. He had left the night she died, just walked away.

He liked the poetic idea of their beautiful home and everything in it rotting with his wife, like the idea of her garden drying up and withering. No one deserved her things, or her garden or even dare come near anywhere she had walked.

If he could, he would have built a stone wall, higher than the one that kept them safe at the convent, wider than it needed to be, all around Rhode Island. He would have kept everyone from that state. It would become a shrine to Valerie. His angel. Patient and sweet and everything he didn't fucking deserve.

So with no option to do any of that, he burned Rhode Island from his mind, it didn't exist in his world. It was a crater, with his wife dead in the center.

Everything he owned, everything that remained clinging to him when he walked away, was thrown into the ocean to fucking disappear. Except for his wedding band, wrapped like a napkin ring around a rolled-up photo of her, that he kept in his sock, secured by the knife strap he wore.

When he began to feel too alive, he would torment himself, like a form of self-harm, only instead of cutting his body, he wounded his soul. He would unroll that photo and wear that ring and he would feel every moment of sorrow all over again.

Was that healthy? Was grieving like that right? No. He knew it was sick.

But life was fucking sick, because she was good and he was not, and she died, starving to death because the cancer that had started in her uterus had swept viciously through her body, into her stomach and everything she ate, would be thrown up, black and diseased. And she withered fast, like a rose when the frost touches it.

But she didn't wither fast enough not to suffer.

And even now, with the fucking infected, or the dead, whoever you asked, when they ravaged and tore people apart, he somehow lived. At first, he wanted to live, it was human nature to fight to survive.

Valerie wanted to live too, and she died. So he would live for her if only to eat all the pain he couldn't eat of hers.

And then he had Annie and Laila, and while they were never anything more than people surviving together, Benny had formed an attachment, the first kind of real attachment to the two of them. He had begun to re-weave that tether that had rotted away from Valerie and then one morning, Laila was just gone.

She had left a note, she always did when she went out on her own to scavenge.

But she never came back.

And Benny felt another tether begin to rot.

He was a man struggling to hold on to a handful of sand in a wind storm.

So he held Annie's tether tight because he knew she held his just as tight.

Yes. He did love the child.

He wished the world was better for her, but he thanked the chaos and the randomness of numbers that he had her, and if these men had Laila, if she fell prey to them, he would get her back if she was alive and he would hand over the tether that Annie held that connected to him, back to her mother.

But he was still stunted and fucked up emotionally, so all of this, loving the kid and wanting everything for her, came out in a hand rubbing the top of her head. Because Benny's parents didn't hug and Benny didn't know what to do with a child, he and Valerie had never had one and they never talked about having one. And then she died and he had never been around children except when he was one.

So he tousled her hair and thought to himself that maybe someday he'd be able to express himself to someone else.

Maybe someday Rhode Island would exist on his maps again. Maybe Valerie would finally rest in peace because he could move on and grow and learn to be a human being.

Or maybe he would die trying to get Laila back to her mother and that girl back to her brother and maybe there would be no lesson for him to learn, no more room for him to grow.

Maybe Georgia would become to Annie what Rhode Island was to Benny. Not because of him, he didn't assume the child held any love for him, she was only clinging to him because she was lost, no perhaps she would bury Georgia behind a wall, because of her mother, because of her father, because of the dead and because every day she woke up, she had to see a corpse.

No child should ever have to live in a real nightmare.

Or.

Or maybe someday, Annie would stitch Georgia back together, maybe there could be hope for her future. The dead were thinning out and maybe her mother would return and maybe she'd find happiness, though he knew she would still have nightmares about the dead, he had nightmares about the dead, about Laila and Valerie and Annie, all roaming across the wastelands of his dreams, their eyes cloudy, milky with rot, because the cornea's had no blood flow, their fingertips turning black, their skin waxy and bloated.

Since it had begun, Benny had seen too many children among the dead, small forms, corpses that hungered, but never seemed to eat, only tear and shred and maim.

The thing was, the dead or the infected didn't make very loud sounds. They shuffled and they slogged, their feet dragging, but they didn't moan like the movie zombies, they would give off mewl-like moans. Something almost like the air just rising up from their bloated bellies. It was soft enough to miss if you weren't listening for it. And it wasn't often like they were sleeping and then would moan or when they mimicked and exhale of air. They were near silent forms moving like manifest destiny towards eternity.

Beside him, Annie was very much alive and he would make sure she stayed that way. Benny was nothing if resourceful and he could use those resources to the best of his ability.

If brute strength and survival were what the Lieutenant did best, Benny's abilities were subversive action and artful manipulation.

#novel #support an author #Graveyard Dirt & Salt #zombies #sorry it took me a while to post my friends and supporters i had some mental health set backs due to being laid off and jobless #but im back!

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introvert-no-chameleon · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3: Fear Itself

New Chapter is up! AO3

Fiddleford didn’t know how long he’d be able to handle this.

His new senses had begun to overwhelm him; the sharp, fresh scent of pine trees was stronger than it’d ever been. The sound of small critters shuffling around the forest floor and the babbling of a river a few yards away sounded too close. Everything felt like too much and too little. He shut his eyes, trying to think of something to ground him, but his mind only went back to what had happened an hour ago.

He ran away from Stanley.

His darling had only been looking out for him, and he’d gone and messed up because of some childish pride. Stanley was right; he hadn’t been able to hold it together after all. For Heaven’s sakes, he was hiding in a bush. It didn’t get more pathetic than that.

The truth was, he’d already known that he was over his head. He was nothing like the twins, and the transformation was proof enough. It made sense he’d be something this silly, and the Pines brothers would be two powerful beasts. After all, they were stubborn, strong-willed individuals. For all their bickering, when the two of them worked together they made a near-unstoppable force.

They didn’t need Fiddleford. By this point Stanford probably had him around out of pity, or because Stanley fancied him. Why else would they deal with such a whimpering, pathetic coward that ran away at the first whiff of danger, that constantly needed to be saved?

Something crashed through the trees a few feet away, shaking him out of his self-pity. A giant, black hoof, followed by another, came into view just a few feet in front of his hiding spot. Through the foliage, he could see a few more pairs of smaller hooves appear.

The Manotaurs. Fifty-percent man, fifty-percent ox, and a hundred percent aggression. They were minotaurs, if minotaurs went around acting as if they had something to prove.

Judging by the large hoof, it was the leader, Leaderaur, a hulking mass of pure muscle and testosterone the size of their shack. Fiddleford had seen him once, when he and Stanford had gone to observe their behavior. He could still remember, in vivid detail, watching Leaderaur eat a smaller member of his pack just to assert his dominance. Despite being half of an herbivore, he clearly didn’t have an issue swallowing a smaller member of his species.

Even Stanford hadn’t wanted to stay after that.

Fiddleford kept his breathing as quiet as he possibly could in his current state, hoping he wouldn’t be heard. He began to hate his new sense of smell, because he could almost taste the sweat from where he was. The Manotaurs obviously weren’t as concerned about hygiene as they should be.

“Is this where you smelled it, Chutzpar?” The rumbling voice of Leaderaur seemed to shake the earth.

“Yes, Leaderaur!” said a deep, masculine voice. “I caught the scent of emotional issues, vulnerability and debilitating self-esteem.”

Well, he never.

“An excellent snack, then,” said Leaderaur.

Fiddleford squeaked. He covered his mouth, silently cursing himself a thousand times over. A hand grabbed him around his entire body and lifted him off the ground as if he weighed less than a paperclip.

He came face-to-face with two red eyes. Sleek black fur covered most of Leaderaur, making him appear more animal-like than the rest of the Manotaurs, who at least had mostly human features.

Fiddleford kicked at the giant hand that held him in place. It did nothing to deter the beast from keeping him in his grip.

Leaderaur sniffed Fiddleford. A hit breath smelling like rotting meat hit Fiddleford, stinging the corner of his eyes. “Hm. A jackalope. Interesting.”

“I ain’t no jackalope! I’m a human bein’, an’ I demand to be put down this here instant!”

Leaderaur growled, the sound rumbling through Fiddleford’s very bones. “I don’t like my prey to talk back. Especially not such a scrawny weakling.”

Now, if Fiddleford were living a different day, perhaps if he’d gone through less or wasn’t as upset, he’d probably still be paralyzed by the usual raw terror that seemed to lock his limbs stiff whenever he got cornered by a monster, and he probably woudn’t have been able to do much when the giant creature opened its jaws up and swallowed him.

But today hadn’t been a different day. Even on the day of the Gnome Incident, Fiddleford had at least preserved some of his dignity by making it as difficult as possible for the gnomes to move him. The entire ordeal had finished in more or less two hours, including the part when Stanley had patched him up.

Today, however, had been the day where he’d gotten into a fight with his boyfriend, where he’d tripped and fallen into danger like some hot-headed hooligan, where he’d had to deal with the two brothers that just never seemed to get along, damnit, not even for one day, where he now had to worry about getting mauled because he looked like some carrot-munching herbivore and Fidds, frankly, had just about had enough.

With no small amount of effort, he took all the nervous energy coursing through him and forced himself to use it for something either than panicking. While Fiddleford didn’t have a robot or an invention on hand, he did have a nifty set of strong rabbit legs. So when Leaderaur began to open his mouth, Fiddleford kicked him in the eye with all of the energy he could muster.

The good news was, he was dropped, and he hadn’t been too high up. The bad news was, Leaderaur wasn’t alone.

Fiddleford had underestimated the power behind his new legs. He hadn’t poked the eye out, but it wasn’t in good shape either, seeing as he couldn’t open the puffy eye. Leaderaur roared, baring teeth at Fiddleford.

“Leaderaur!” The Manotaur with the red mane, presumably Chutzpar, pointed at Fiddleford. “The jackalope has struck against our leader! This means a fight…to the death!” A couple of Manotaurs began to surround him.

Fiddleford leaped over one of the Manotaurs. Another managed to trip him as he landed. Just as he made a grab for Fiddleford, he remembered his new antlers. He swung his head to the side, his teeth clanking against each other as he smacked his attacker away.

More Manotaurs began to run at him.

Fidds quickly started examining his surroundings, desperate to find an opening, but the Manotaurs had clearly done this dance before. They surrounded him on all sides, arms outstretched and ready to grab him. He may be faster like this than he was as a human, but he was certain they’d catch him if he tried leaping over them.

A Manotaur lunged at him. Fiddleford ducked under him. The man crashed into one of his companions, leaving the opening the man needed to get out, when one of them caught his leg.

“I’ve got him!”

Fiddleford socked him in the snout, drawing blood as his assailant howled. His hand cracked, and he was sure that he’d broken something, but he was too hopped up on blood-pumping adrenaline to stop now. He lowered his head, pointing his antlers at the remaining creatures. Another ran, and Fiddleford managed to knock him to the side with his antlers. The impact made his teeth knock together, but the fact that he’d just taken one more attacker out of the picture made it worth it.

How had he ever missed out on this? To think all this time he’d been taking out his anger on people in a machine when this felt so much better. No wonder Stanley loved boxing so much! Sweat poured down his face, his chest rising and falling. He stomped a foot onto the ground, startling the Manotaurs.

“Come ‘ere an’ get me, ya testosterone-poisoned hornswagglin’ hooligans! There’s more where that came from!”

The Manotaurs, who had begun their attack with confidence began to waver. For a glorious moment, Fiddleford felt confident that he would be able to get out of this after all.

A quick swipe from Leaderaur, however, slapped away his good mood and sent him flying into a bush. He hadn’t expected Leaderaur to recover so soon, nor for him to smack him as easily as Fiddleford would hit a fly with a newspaper. Thankfully, he didn’t feel like anything had broken (aside from his pride, which he figured was far gone by now anyway) but his body hurt, and he felt the sting of a few cuts on his body. To make matters worse, his legs were tangled in the branches of the bush.

The shadow of the giant creature’s arm loomed over Fiddleford’s hunched figure.

He winced, holding his arms up in a vain attempt to defend himself.

“FIDDS!”

A blur of grey knocked the leader down on his back. The ground once again shook, a canopy of dust engulfing the area.

Fiddleford heard a roar nearby. He couldn’t see much through the dust cloud, but he made out what he assumed was Stanford slashing at a Manotaur. Fiddleford took the chance to pull his leg out. He caught some confused Manotaurs unaware by swinging his antlers like the madman he arguably was.

He lifted his head to find the pack retreating. Leaderaur raised a closed fist, ready to bring it upon Stanley’s body. He froze, staring past Fiddleford and at Ford.

Fiddleford glanced at his friend. Stanford managed to look more intimidating than he had yet, teeth bared, claws digging into the earth, fur on end. Even with the comically out-of-place sweater vest he still managed to hold a commanding presence.

Fiddleford felt that instinct grab him by the throat again. He tensed, his legs ready to flee.

Leaderaur choose that moment to fling Stanley off him and dash off after the pack, his thunderous footsteps fading as he left.

Fiddleford could only watch as the gargoyle crashed into the ground, making a concerning amount of cracking sounds as he hit the earth. He gasped once he noticed a series of thin cracks across the stony body.

The shock of seeing his boyfriend hurt jolted Fiddleford back to his senses faster than anything could. His mind cleared as much as it could when you’d just watch a loved one get slammed into the ground by a giant monster.

Ford ran towards his brother. “Stanley!” He went to Stanley’s side and begun to inspect the wounds.

Stanley groaned. He tried getting up with one hand as support but fell right back down with a hiss.

“You knucklehead!” Stanford helped him up. “You could’ve gotten killed!”

“It’s nothin’,” said Stanley with a grimace. “I coulda taken him down no problem if I had a few more seconds.” His eyes widened as he set his eyes on Fiddleford, his gaze softening. “Sides, he was gonna kill Fidds. Couldn’t let that happen.”

The tenderness in his voice made Fiddleford want to cry, but now wasn’t the time for it. “Ferget about me, yer cracked!”

“I’m what?”

Stanford frowned, wrapping an arm around Stanley to support him. “You’ve damaged your skin. Thankfully, you still seem to be in one piece. If you had been human…” He pressed his lips into a thin line. “We can discuss your recklessness later. Do you feel any pain?”

The gargoyle shook his head. “Nothin’ really, but I do feel kinda woozy.”

Stanford looked at Fiddleford. “Fiddleford, have you managed to regain control of yourself?”

The question hurt, but he knew Stanford hadn’t said it out of malice. Bluntness was just a part of who Stanford was. “As much as I reckon I can, bein’ like this.”

“Good,” Stanford began walking with Stanley. “I’ll need you to help. I can take most of Stanley’s weight, but I still need assistance.”

Fiddleford went over to his empty side. “Give me yer free arm, Stanley.”

“Ya sure?”

“Ask me that again and I’ll smack ya on the head.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he let Fiddleford take it. It was just as heavy as Fiddleford remembered, but he found that he could manage the weight a little better than before. Maybe there was something useful about this form after all.

“Hey, at least that’s over,” said Stanley with a chuckle. “Nice job scarin’ them off, Sixer.”

Stanford gave a goofy grin at his twin’s praise. “I think you did most of the work there, Stanley.”

Fiddleford shook his head. “The two of ya do make quite the team. Saved my sorry behind as usual.”

Stanley frowned, shifting to look at Fiddleford. “Hey—”

Stanford stopped abruptly. He froze, his grip on Stanley growing tighter. “Do. Not. Move.”

“What are ya…?” Stanley followed his gaze and clamped his mouth shut.

Fiddleford’s heart caught in his throat as he caught a glimpse at the creature in front of them, one that had somehow managed to stay perfectly still the entire time and blended with the deep greens of the mossy trees. It’s heavy, labored breaths were the only sound that could be heard.

It was tall, with mushrooms growing on its shoulders. It had hideous fangs jutting out from its bottom jaw, a muscular build, and green skin. Its glowing red eyes were fixed on the trio.

“Oh good Lord,” whispered Fiddeford. “What is that?”

“It can’t be…,” said Ford. “It’s the Gremoblin! I’ve only heard stories about it. Perhaps it isn’t hostile…”

“It has glowing red eyes, Poindexter,” hissed Stanley. “I don’t think it wants to sit down and play cards!”

The Gremoblin reared its head and roared at them.

“Run!” Fiddleford began tugging them away from the hulking beast just as it swiped its claws (why did everything in this god-forsaken forest have claws the size of knives?) where they stood moments before.

“Wait, at least let me take a moment to observe the creature for my journal—”

“Stanferd, I swear to the Lord above if ya dare to stop right now I will throw all yer journals into the Bottomless Pit!”

Stanford’s eyes widened, but at least he didn’t slow down, so Fiddleford considered that as good of an answer as any.

Stanley ducked as the creature swiped at them again. “I’m with Fidds on this one!”

“Alright, alright I’m running!”

“Then do it faster!” said Stanley.

“It’s difficult for me to run like this!”

A shadow flew over them. Fiddleford didn’t have time to register what it was until a boulder fell in their path. The three of them lost their balance and stumbled to the ground.

Fiddleford managed to spring back to his feet, but he couldn’t get Stanley to budge. The cracks on his back spread. “Stanferd, come on!”

Ford held his leg, wincing. “I think I sprang my ankle—well, I’m actually not sure if I have an ankle in this form—but the point is, I can’t move!”

The goblin-like creature went over to them, closing in.

Stanley forced himself to his feet. His lip twisted with pain, but he dragged himself in front of his brother, raising his fists. His stance didn’t have the confidence it usually had; he wobbled just enough for Fiddleford to notice. “Ya think ya can get to my brother? Not on my watch, bucko!”

“Stanley…” Stanford gasped as he tried, and failed, to get on his feet.

“I’ll distract Ugly here,” said Stanley, turning to Fiddleford. “Fidds, get Ford and get the hell out of here!”

Fiddleford didn’t budge. “I ain’t leaving ya!”

Stanley ducked as the monster tried to grab him. He threw a punch at its arm, sending it reeling back. “I’ll be fine! Just go!”

Fiddleford’s chest started to pound again. His arms were lead, his tongue felt fuzzy and his legs trembled, more nervous energy waiting to be unleashed, a coil waiting to unfurl.

Then the monster grabbed Stanley. Its eyes went from a deep red to yellow. It stared directly at his boyfriend, and Fidds could only watch as Stanley stiffened, jaw slack as if he was in a trance.

Then he screamed, and something in Fiddleford snapped.

Stanley Pines did not scream like that. He’d always put on a façade, and even at his most terrified he’d use his energy to fight back. He’d always smirk or wink back at whoever he was protecting, making bad puns as he fought his way out of a problem. Yes, he was a loud man, making his presence known in every room to an obnoxious degree, but he never screamed as if something was being ripped apart inside of him. He never cowered like Fiddleford, or even Stanford did on the rare occasion that he was afraid instead of fascinated.

The Gremoblin dropped Stanley like a dead weight. The gargoyle curled in on himself, trembling, wings covering him. He clawed at his face frantically. Fiddleford didn’t know if gargoyles had tear ducts, but Stanley sounded close to sobbing.

The creature walked towards Stanford, who limped towards his fallen brother, with murderous intent.

It should be noted, to anyone who is reading this, that while Fiddleford Hadron McGucket considered himself to be a patient, level-headed individual, he was also a man who would go on a rampage whenever someone had earned his ire or broke his heart. At the age of twelve he wrestled a wild hog after seeing it make a beeline for his then-pregnant Ma and won, and he once fought off a grizzly bear with a banjo when it tried to attack Tate on their last camping trip. His wife had (once she talked to him again after the whole robot incident) lovingly coined this particular type of behavior as his “hillbilly frenzy mode”.

So it really shouldn’t have surprised Fiddleford as much as it did when he ended up steeling himself, ducking his head and charging straight at the creature that had lifted a large gargoyle with ease. But the thing about surprises is, even if one considers the possibility of one, it usually doesn’t dull the shock of going through the unexpected.

The creature had focused all its attention on the larger threat, and obviously hadn’t expected the scrawny man to do much, let alone stab him with a pair of antlers with a wild cry and enough force to knock the Gremoblin down.

Fiddleford hadn’t cut too deep, so he managed to retract his antlers a moment later.

The creature was quick to get back on its feet. Two wounds were oozing a dark green liquid that must’ve been the creature’s blood. It charged at Fiddleford, and he leaped over it, using its shoulder for leverage to get a higher jump. Glancing to make sure that the monster was away from the twins, he shouted at it.

“Is that the best ya got, ya white-feathered varmint? Come ‘ere an’ get me if ya want me!”

Fiddleford didn’t wait to see if it would follow; a roar confirmed that much for him. He let his legs lead the way, but while before he’d just throw himself into the wilderness, now knew exactly where he was headed.

The snapping of wood and thunderous steps behind him warned him that his opponent would catch up soon. Which was all well, since his destination was right ahead.

The Bottomless Pit had been one of those anomalies that they’d discovered when Stanford had, in an act of brilliance that Fiddleford used as yet another bit of proof on why Stanford could not be left unsupervised when it came to exploring the unknown, jumped in it. His employer, a man of 12 Ph.D.’s, had, upon dropping a pen and not hearing it drop, took a step forward and fell right onto the pit, taking Stanley and Fiddleford with him when they’d tried to save him.

It was in that traumatic turn of events that the trio had discovered what Stanford claimed he’d known all along: the pit itself wasn’t bottomless, and it wasn’t even a straight fall down. They’d been spit right back out of where they’d fallen in after twenty minutes of what should’ve been a straight dive to their deaths.

And that was more than enough time for the three of them to get away from this monster and back in the shack.

He let the Gremoblin close in. Just as it made to attack, he threw himself to the side. It fell in but managed to cling to the side of the pit. It began lifting itself back up, and that wouldn’t do at all. Fidds went to kick it in, but it held his leg in a vice and dug its claws into the meat of his calf.

Fidds howled, seeing stars and all at once, he wasn’t at the edge of the pit. He was back at the shack, staring at the front door. He stared down at his normal, human legs.

“What on earth?”

It was then he noticed the blood.

It seeped through the bottom of the door, through the windowsill, dripping on the wood floor. Fiddleford stumbled back, hitting the ground as he began to crawl back. He got on his feet and almost tripped over himself as he punched the combination for the underground lab on the vending machine they kept in its place.

Instead of swinging open to reveal an elevator, it just had three people stumble out of it.

Fiddleford’s head spun, his hands flying to his mouth. Every person he cared about lay on the ground in front of him, his young son and the twins, covered in gashes, eyes vacant and cloudy.

But.

They were gone, they must’ve gotten hurt, they weren’t careful—

No.

They weren’t dead. This wasn’t any more real than the fear he’d carry with him each and every day, where he knew that one bad step could lead to a drop or an encounter with something volatile.

He felt it every day, and he figured it was about damn time he’d stop letting it control him.

He made himself to focus on the pain and collect thoughts like the fireflies he’d scoop up in a jar when he was just a youngling, on the hot June nights when the sun had just set.

The image wavered then, a stone thrown in the water, rippling, disrupting.

He thought of Stanford’s relentless, if not at times foolish, courage that never stopped him from pursuing his passion.

The bodies faded away.

He thought of Tate, his shy and curious boy, of the quiet days they’d spend talking about nature or fishing.

The blood dried up, as if it never been there.

He thought about Stanley, always so brash yet so sweet, hardened by life yet able to still hold Fiddleford so tender all those nights, to be so gentle that it felt like Stanley carried his heart on the palm of his big hands as if it was the most precious thing in the world. As if Fiddleford was worth that much to him.

He came back, a thunder-clap moment of disorientation as he tasted salt sweat and smelled the pine trees.

“Ya think I don’t know fear? Well, let me tell ya somethin’.” He grabbed a rock nearby. “Ya can’t scare a feller who is already scared outta their wits!”

He smashed it on its hand, and watched it plummet away, down and down, until he couldn’t see it anymore.

And only when he was sure it disappeared from sight did he allow himself to sit down and catch his breath. And laugh. And laugh and laugh until his belly ached and the high-pitched, manic sound bounced throughout the woods, a tension he hadn’t known he held released.

Once he managed to compose himself enough, he went back to where he knew the twins were waiting.

#of monsters and mcguckets #young stanley pines #young stanford pines #young fiddleford #gravity falls #mystery trio #mystery trio au #monster falls

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lefaystrent · 5 years

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hiddendreamer67

replied to your post

“Heartbeat”

Ooooh I’d totally love to know more about this

I’ve thought out a whole story for this actually. I’m not gonna write it, because I’d probably never finish it, but here’s some bullet points about it.

If you haven’t read my story Heartbeat yet, just know that spoilers are ahead.

WARNING: There’s some dark stuff here, mentions of murder and violence.

VIRGIL

Virgil has always known he was different.

He could always sense things about people, knew when they weren’t quite human.

He can see things other people can’t as well. Growing up, his mother found him playing in the yard frequently, talking to what he described as ‘fairies’.

It seemed like no matter where he went, aspects of the supernatural would find him, like it was drawn to him.

He also learned early on that not all of these creatures can be trusted.

He’s had some close calls, has been hurt. The fairy friends he made were very possessive of him. Sometimes they’d kill each other when competing for his attention.

Some have tried to kidnap him.

One creature tried to eat him. It didn’t get far, just a bite, and it immediately released him, it’s mouth sizzling and scalding with Virgil’s blood before it fled.

The bite wound healed completely in an hour.

By the time Virgil turned ten, he was more wary of the world than any kid should be.

When he was twelve, he was approached by a man who reeked of magic.

His name was Remy and he claimed himself a witch.

Remy immediately felt the pull that all supernaturals felt around Virgil. He was fascinated by Virgil, and can see how much the kid needed guidance.

It took a long time for Remy to convince Virgil to let him help.

Virgil let Remy experiment with his blood.

“You’re human,” Remy concluded, and Virgil felt like he was wasting his time, but Remy explained further.

Virgil doesn’t share blood with anything supernatural. He wasn’t cursed or anything like that either.

As far as Remy can tell, his ‘gifts’ are a natural part of him, even if no one else in Virgil’s family line has exhibited similar happenings.

The best Remy can describe it, Virgil’s blood reacts chaotically towards magic in general.

During Remy’s tests on the blood samples, the blood nullified magic, reversed it, absorbed it, or outright destroyed it.

Virgil’s healing factor is also because of this. Whenever he absorbs magic, it’s redirected towards strengthening himself. Only if he comes into contact with the supernatural though. If he gets a papercut, he just has to suffer.

As for why supernatural creatures are drawn to Virgil, Remy can’t quite say.

“You’re a trap,” is Remy’s best answer.

This does not help.

Remy would try to give Virgil amulets to protect him, since he can’t help but be a beacon to all types of critters, but any kind of magical protection Remy can offer wears off rather quickly when it comes to Virgil.

His blood doesn’t have to be spilt, it’s like he acts as a conduit and drains the magic until there’s nothing.

Remy sticks around regardless, claiming Virgil to be his apprentice even though he knows good and well that the boy can’t do magic.

Fast forward years later, Virgil is sixteen when Roman attacks him.

By this point, Virgil has already had a few run-ins with vampires. Half of them boiled from the inside out. The other half became human.

Once Roman has a drink and falls unconscious, Virgil sticks around to find out which will happen this time.

He wonders if he should feel guilty for being annoyed when Roman starts breathing.

Roman wakes up and Virgil is left to explain why he’s suddenly human again.

ROMAN

Roman hasn’t been human for hundreds and hundreds of years.

His memories of that faraway time are extremely faded.

What he does remember is that he had a wife, children—a family that he dearly loved and was proud of.

He remembers watching them all be slaughtered like cattle one night when someone broke into their house.

The attacker turned out to not be human at all. He was a vampire, as Roman later figured out.

What Roman never figured out was why the vampire turned him that night.

Roman was left on his own to explore what he had become. His burning hatred and the promise for revenge is what kept him going through all the trauma.

Roman spent years tracking his sire down. He took his time killing him as well.

After that, there wasn’t much love left in Roman. He spent a lot of his vampiric life hating himself and the world around him.

He has killed a lot of vampires.

He has killed a lot of people too, a lot of them innocent.

A handful of centuries ago, he ran into the first vampire he didn’t kill, and that wasn’t by choice.

His name was Logan, a nobleman gallivanting as a human.

He’s far older than Roman, and much more powerful.

Not all vampires can do it, but some can glamour hapless humans and bend them to their will.

Logan is strong enough to glamour other vampires.

Roman tried to kill him several times. Logan kept sending him away like he was some annoying puppy.

Eventually Roman stopped trying to kill him and they sit and talk.

Roman has asked Logan many times why he never just killed Roman. Logan has never given a straight answer.

Logan is not a ‘good’ vampire by any means either. In some ways he can be worse than Roman.

Logan enjoys selecting humans like fine wine. He likes to have sex with them before he drinks them dry.

Even Roman thinks that’s fucked up.

Fast forward to present time, Roman finds himself human again.

He hates it, thanks.

Virgil explains the bare-minimum of why he’s like this now before he strolls off. Roman’s too weak to leave the forest for a long while.

He later shows up at Logan’s manor, very much alive and annoyed about it.

Logan thinks it’s the most hilarious thing he’s ever witnessed.

After Logan stops laughing his ass off, he’s absolutely fascinated with Roman and the process of his reverse vampirism.

Logan subjects him to as many tests as he can to confirm that no trace of vampiric nature is left in Roman.

Neither of them has seen anything like this.

Logan wants to meet Virgil, to possess something so unique as his own.

Roman just wants to track the boy down and kill him.

Logan swats Roman with a rolled-up newspaper for even thinking such a thing.

“He might be the only one of his kind,” Logan says, as if that’s supposed to sway Roman.

Logan does indeed track Virgil down. Then of course he kidnaps him.

Virgil wishes he could say that this is the first time he’s ever been kidnapped.

Virgil wants to be put-out about the whole thing, but Logan actually terrifies him.

Virgil has a panic attack in Logan’s manor. He doesn’t expect Logan to actually help him out and walk him through it.

Logan explains that he has many medical degrees. Virgil doesn’t really find that too comforting.

Especially with Roman hovering around, trying to persuade Logan to just kill him already.

Logan makes it clear that he wants to keep Virgil around. Virgil doesn’t find this comforting either.

Logan asks Virgil a lot of questions. If Virgil’s good at anything, it’s at being vague. He doesn’t want to anger Logan, but he doesn’t want to give the vampire any more power over him.

At length, Logan actually gets frustrated enough to try to glamour Virgil. He’s appalled when he looks at Virgil and nothing happens.

Appalled and ten times more curious.

He would keep Virgil there indefinitely if he could, but Remy has other ideas.

With all the force of a hurricane, Remy blows in.

“That’s MY apprentice, you fang-faced fucker!” Remy snarls.

Virgil never really understood the scope of Remy’s magical prowess. He’s never met another witch before and has no comparison.

With Logan cowering before him, Virgil thinks that Remy might kinda be a big deal.

Remy takes Virgil home. Logan sulks in his broken manor.

Roman doesn’t think he’s going to get his revenge any time soon.

And then at some point Patton’s supposed to show up as a werewolf, but it’s late so I’m just gonna cut it here for now.

General Tag List: @spectralheartt @a-pastel-pan @notalwaysthevillian @rose-gold-roman @ijustrealizedhowdumbmynamewas @katie-the-noble-fangirl @yourroyalydramaticanxiousness @aroundofapplesauce @merlybird500 @beach-fan @jemthebookworm @whats-going-on-kiddos @randomsandersides @gamerfreddie @unring-this-bell @that-royal-ravenclaw @analogicallythinking @lilygold23 @punsterterry @naw2702 @levy-the-b00kw0rm @iolanomsgranola @tacohippy56900 @lottavic @camariechris @accio-hufflepuff-power1 @just-another-rainbowblog @hiddendreamer67

#hiddendreamer67 #sanders sides #virgil #virgil sanders #remy #remy sanders #roman #roman sanders #logan #logan sanders #dark #angst #violence #death #writing #fanfiction #heartbeat

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myhauntedsalem · 5 years

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13 Creepy Camping Encounters That Will Put You off the Great Outdoors

1. The Crying Girl

I couldn’t sleep at all that night. I’m just glad we left the next morning.” – Keithic

2. The Shaking

“This happened to an acquaintance of mine and his son. This took place back in the early ’90s.

He had taken his young son for a father and son type hike out of Skagway. If any of you are familiar with Skagpatch, there is quite a network of trails above town at lower Dewey lakes.

He was pretty shaken up by the next morning as you could imagine.

He reported it to the troopers, and the only thing they could come up with was someone with a night vision set up messing around. Or something else…” – Yukoner

3. The Middle of the Woods

4. The Hanging Man

5. Scratches

6. Music in the Night

7. The Light

“We were in a river-side cabin one night in Northern Michigan. I had just stretched out when a huge crack erupted from the woods. Both of us thought it was a branch or old tree that had fallen.

8. Blue Spectre

9. Footsteps Upstairs

“Not something I experienced, but my sister and her husband did.

They took the long way around the lake back to the cabin.

My dad and I had to go back later that day to get the canoe. We never heard or saw anything.” – joftheinternet

10. Geocaching

11. Who Followed Us?

“This happened in 81 or 82. Not sure anymore.

12. The Circle

13. The Gator

#13 Creepy Camping Encounters That Will Put You off the Great Outdoors #paranormal #ghost and hauntings

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afantasticbeastwriter · 5 years

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Artwork || Newt Scamander x Reader

Genre: Fluff. Word Count: 2,710 Prompt: “I was wondering if you could do a newt x reader in which the reader wants to do an illustrated version of his book, and he asks her why not do a book of her own, and she says she really loves his works because she has a farm and loves these creatures so much? Just all Nerdy and happy because she is his fan?” A/N: Thank you charlie-charlotte for requesting this :) As always, I took my own little spin on this, so I hope you enjoy where it went! Be sure to let me know. Also, if you read this and enjoy it, feel free to request something of your own! I’m always looking for more requests. Enjoy!

When you were little, your mom bought you picture books.

These books were your escape to the outside world, a vision of the wonders of what life outside of the farmland you called home could look like. Large bodies of water, heroic castles, bustling villages – they all intrigued you. They sparked your wildest dreams to come alive, so much so that you requested a new book from your aunt every year for your birthday. Even when you grew into your teen years, you still requested them.

As you matured, you found yourself wanting to do more than fantasize about the world. Coming from a farming family where travel was not financially possible, the only other step you could take was to recreate the world yourself right at home. Drawing was even more of an escape for you. You started off by drawing the horizon, coloring in the beautiful backdrop of a sky that came with each passing sunset. By the time you hit age sixteen, you could nearly recreate the marvelous meshing of the clouds and rays of sun in the way a photograph could. At eighteen, you could do the same for the barnyard animals. Your favorite subject was the family of horses your family owned. Of them, your favorite was a Palomino named Dashing. His flowing locks and golden skin never ceased to challenge you in your skills.

It was not until age twenty that you found your first real challenge, however. Out of nowhere, snapping like the crack of a whip, a man appeared nearby your barn. You were sitting alone by the barn door cleaning out some buckets when you heard it, and the noise immediately sent you hiding behind it. Peering out, you watched this man – clearly disheveled – wipe off his coat, set down his briefcase, and gaze around his surroundings. He caught sight of you moments later. Though a great drawer, you could hardly hide to save your life. Knowing very well where farm tools such as axes rested, you watched the man approach the barn with bated breath. He gave you a gentle smile when he got close.

“Hello.” His voice sounds like he could not harm a fly, but you remain on edge. “Would you…would you mind telling me where this is?”

Raising a brow, you looked the man over. “You show up here and don’t know where you are? Pardon my asking, but not many people just show up here for pleasure, sir.”

“I’m a traveler,” he replied. “I seem to have gotten lost. Am I anywhere near London, perhaps?”

You shook your head. “You’re a far bit away, I’m afraid. Welcome to Scotland.”

“Scotland.” He looked down at the ground – at what, you hardly could tell. What you could tell, however, was that his hair was quite long compared to the other guys in your family’s hair, and that you found it rather dashing. He certainly was a foreigner, for no man you knew looked like that.

“Would you, um, have a place I could stay for a night?” He paused. “I’m quite tired, you see, and traveling at night is not exactly preferable.”

“You’re not going to steal our stuff and rob our farm blind, are you?”

The mere sound of the idea seemed to sicken the man. “Of course not, no. Would never do anything of the sort, I swear.”

Giving in, you sigh and move out from behind the barn door. “It’s not much, but you can rest in the barn. I’ll bring some linens so you don’t have to sleep only on hay. I know that can get uncomfortable, I’ve done it myself a few times myself.”

The man smiled. Again, he appeared more dashing than you thought possible, this time so much so it caught you a bit off guard. Ever the gentleman or too distracted to say, he did not point it out. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Turning your back on the stranger, you made your way out of the barn and out to your home. Though only a few yards away, it felt like an eternity to you to walk. Every moment not with the stranger was a moment he could be doing something bad, maybe stealing feed or tools, or planning on harming some of the animals. It also was a moment lost in figuring him out and getting to know more about him. After all, when else was a strange man going to just appear out of nowhere on your doorstep when your family was gone? This was a rare opportunity, and you were missing it to go grab bedsheets to get dirtied up in hay.

If you did not fear your family returning so soon, you would ask the man to stay inside with you. For courteous means only, of course.

After grabbing sufficient linens and taking a, albeit embarrassing but necessary, moment to fix your hair nicer, you ventured out to rejoin the man. By then, the sun was beginning to set and most of the animals were looking to bed down themselves. He seemed rather alert compared to them, rifling through something in his lap quite avidly. Unable to see just what, you inched closer to him and cleared your throat so as to not surprise him. His innocent gaze up at you at the sound proved your actions worked like a charm, that same dashing smile reappeared on his face. You moved to give him the same smile back, but then your eyes caught sight of exactly what was in his lap, and all bets went out the window. The linens fell from your arms as you lurched forward, reaching for the papers he held with a shrill “hey.” He held them away from you, quite perplexed at your sudden movements.

“I’m sorry, what are you exactly trying to do?”

“Grab those,” you grumbled, reaching again in vain. “Give them back now.”

He frowned. “They’re quite lovely, are you sure I cannot-”

“Yes,” you grumbled, “I am very sure. Give them to me now, or I will not hesitate to throw the linens back inside and make you sleep by the manure pile tonight.”

That was a chance he did not seem to wish to take. He handed back your papers to you compliantly and gentlemanly, and you snatched them as fast as you could away. You made quick work of throwing them onto your workbench, far from where he could grab them. His eyes glanced over to them, but he did not dare make a move their way, courteous of your wishes.

“We can probably set up a spot for you in the back so you’ll be less cold-”

“When did you learn to draw so well?”

You spun around. “I thought we were going to drop that.”

“I’m sorry, but I cannot help but inquire how you developed such an extraordinary talent,” he replied, shyly hiding behind his hair. “Have you had any professional training?”

Shaking your head, you tossed his linens to the floor. “No, I have not, and I taught myself, thank you. Now, leave it alon-”

Before you could finish your word, a large roar seeming to come from the man’s briefcase stunned you into silence. Eyes wide, you looked between it and him with a mix of shock and horror. He, however, sat with only a slight hint of worry, which only exaggerated your feelings. You did not know who this man was, but anyone who did not look flabbergasted and terrified when their briefcase roared did not exactly scream that he was someone safe. You took a step back, eyeing the barn door.

“What was that?”

“N-Nothing, really.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” you scoffed, “so you can cut that act. Tell me what that was or you can kiss your sleep space goodbye.”

Sighing, he looked over at his case with exasperation. It rumbled again, this time shaking a bit in a way no suitcase ever should. You watched as he went to it and opened it, releasing the noise into the barn around you both with a vengeance that startled the barn animals. He looked regrettable of that, but your thoughts quickly turned to the fact he proceeded to step down into his case. Among a sharp “What?” from you, he climbed down until he disappeared. Two minutes of you panicking internally passed before he reappeared. In his arms was a baby creature you never had seen before, not even in your picture books. It had the body of a lion. In place of its mane, however, was a puffy, sack-like pouch of skin with sharp points to it. You hardly knew what to make of it, or of the fact the man was cradling it in his arms like a small child.

“Wha-”

“They’re called Nundus.” He pet the squirming cub and shushed it. “The one you’ve been hearing is the mother. She’s been rather irritable since having her most recent litter.”

You sat, mouth agape. “N-Nun..what now?”

“This one is Cleo,” he said softly, scratching the critter behind its ears. It let out a mewl no louder than a kitten’s which, undoubtedly, was adorable. “He’s the smallest of the litter, you see. I’ve had to give him special attention ever since he came down with an illness at birth.”

“Illness?”

“He struggles to keep down his food.” Cleo let out a scratchy roar and pawed at the man’s coat. He gave a small smile before holding his paw down. “Nundus must have proper nutrition in order to develop. I was journeying to find a special herb just outside of London I’ve read up on that is supposed to ease digestion and soothe nausea. Seems as though I journeyed too far off course, though.”

“How…how did he fit in there?”

He followed your eyes to his case and frowned. “Have you heard of magic?”

You laughed. “Magic? Really? That’s your explanation?” Scoffing, you crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow at him. “Seriously, I’m not stupid. Shocked and confused out of my mind,” you added, “but far from stupid.”

“I know.” Meeting your eyes, he gestured for you to take the Nundu cub into your own arms. You looked even more taken back with this request, but he pressed on until you found the cub in your grasp, squirming and mewling just as it had been before with him. Just when the shock of that began to wane, the man pulled out what legitimately looked to be a wand. Shaking your head, you laughed again.

“Do you really know? Because I think you’re havin’ a laugh with that wand right there.”

But then, you realized he wasn’t. With a mumbled word, he pointed his wand and shot bright sparks from it toward your drawings. Right before your eyes, the animals you drew came alive and literally came off the page. A beautiful horse, a near copy of your favorite Palomino, stood proudly against the sheep and deer you saw on your walk earlier that day. It took your breath away. Cleo nearly fell from your arms as shock set in.

“My name is Newt Scamander,” he eased out, gentle, not wanting to scare you. “I was born a wizard and went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And, no, I am not joking, nor do I believe you are anything but incredibly competent. And that’s the truth.”

“They…they’re real,” you breathed. Newt chuckled.

“As real as Cleo and the rest of my creatures.”

“Rest? There’s more?“

Nodding, he took Cleo from your arms and opened his case. “You may see them if you so wish. Though I must accompany you, as they are quite animated today. All the traveling, you know.”

“Yeah,” you said. You really did not know, though. You hardly had left your barn home. Newt showing up was the most outside contact you had experienced in a long time. Part of you wondered if these creatures of his he spoke of really were magic, or if you were just that sheltered. Not even your internal monologue could stop you though from following down into his case.

The inside reminds you a lot of your office back inside your home. It’s wooden and cluttered with knick knacks as far as the eye can see, and if Newt was not there guiding you forward through it, you would have wondered if he was lying about the creatures. But then he brought you into a habitat with skies and grass and animals, and you are stunned silent. Everything he said was true. Everything he mentioned was true. Even Cleo seemed to have his place in the vast area, bounding over to a large rock. From on top of it appeared a larger, more fearful version of him. She did not growl like she had before, choosing to instead cuddle against her young cub and welcome him back. Newt smiled their way.

“So?”

You shook your head as a winged creature flew above your head squawking. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”

“You’re not.” Newt blushed under your gaze. “Believe me, you’re not.”

“You just carry these guys everywhere?”

He nodded. “Everywhere I can. I’m studying them, you see. I wrote a book about them, actually.”

“You have a book?” Blinking, you eagerly looked to him. “Can I see it?”

Appearing rather taken back, he gazed at you for a second before moving back toward his office space. When he returned from it, a small book was in his hand. He extended it to you shyly, his eyes hardly looking your way. You took it with a soft murmur of thanks and then rushed to the nearest seating spot to read.

It took you very little time to get into the book. It reminded you a lot of what you wished your picture books were – full of insight, imagery, and excitement for creatures. The way this man, Newt, seemed to capture everything about a creature, even a strange one, blew you away. He made creatures you hardly knew the first thing about sound as enticing as a puppy to meet. Not even five pages in, and you were smiling ear to ear.

“I bloody adore this.”

“You do?”

“Let’s just say I’ve read two paragraphs on a Demiguise and I desperately want to meet one,” you laughed. “I’m such a big fan of whatever this is. Do you have a copy I could have?” Newt’s eyes filled with wonder and delight before softening, shyness taking him over once more. Cocking your head to the side, you threw an inquisitive look he could not ignore his way.

“Y-Yes, um,” he fumbled, taking a moment to mentally force his next words out clearer. “Would…would you ever, and do not take this as pressure to do so, but…would you be interested in…well…”

“Would I be interested in what, Newt?”

“Drawing,” he said with a gulp. Without an immediate response back, he cleared his throat and peered at his feet. “For my book. I’m a pitiful artist, you see, and s-something about your drawings…you bring the creatures to life. My book needs that. M-My book needs you.”

Your eyes widened. “You’re talking about my work, right?”

“Yes.”

“That’s mental,” you breathed.

“It’s the truth,” he said. “Please, consider it. O-Or at least making a book of your own. You’ve such an extraordinary talent, it would be a shame for you to let it go to waste.”

With a sigh, you looked to his book and then back to him. He was so hopeful. Even though it scared you to think about your work being seen by others in the world, something told you that you would not be able to live with yourself if you let down Newt. Perhaps it was his eyes. They seemed to see so much in your work. More than you did, honestly. Who were you to doubt that?

“How about this,” you said, handing his book to him, “let’s get your bed set up, I’ll put the animals up for the night, and then…then you can tell me more about what magical animals I’ll be drawing for your next edition.”

Newt’s smile made all your nerves worth it.

“That would be lovely.”

“Let’s get to it then, stranger.”

#newt scamander #fbawtft #fbawtft imagine #newt scamander x reader #fantastic beasts #Newton Scamander #newt x reader #fbawtft fanfic #fantastic beasts imagine #fantastic beats and where to find them

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richardprewittwriter · 6 years

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Journal Entry (Part 1/X) - Day 5

At least, I think it is the fifth day… the days have blurred together in the flurry of uncertainty and anxiety. No one seems to know when it really started, or how it started, or why it got to this point. All we know now is there is no going back to the way things used to be. We were discussing it yesterday evening, when we were discussing our next move. We decided that someone should keep a log of what is going on. I drew the short straw and they decided I should be the one that starts the log. Maybe some day, when all this is over, if humanity is still around, someone will find this and it will find a place in human history. At least, that’s what Jax said when he convinced everyone that we should do this. “We should keep a group journal so we can leave a footprint in human history. A hundred years from now, people will wonder how we survived this,” He said, “let’s keep a detailed record of everything that happens to us.” Everyone came to an agreement, and now here I am writing down history. Honestly, I’m just glad that we have the little peace of mind to stop and breathe long enough to worry about something normal like documenting human history.

Anyways, I guess I should begin with where it all started for me. I was at the park near my apartment playing fetch with my dog, Buddy, who has got to be the most energetic critter imaginable. I trained him all the basics, sit, stay, come, but where he really learned his manners was from this guy I took him to once I had him house trained. The guy was an ex-military dog trainer. I guess he used to train the dogs that sniffed for bombs and stuff to keep people alive in combat zones. Now, he runs a dog training “boot camp” out of his property outside of town. I took my dog there because he needed something to learn, a job to do. He must have seen something special in Buddy, because he started him on sort of private lessons. He taught Buddy a bunch of military exercises, how to retrieve game, and a bunch of other stuff I will never know now…

While Buddy and I were playing at the park, we heard a loud, piercing scream. I turned to try to figure out where it had come from, but I couldn’t tell. Confused, I headed toward the apartments. I figured that the scream probably came from that direction, since I hadn’t seen anyone else around the park since I’d been there. When I got to the apartment area, I saw a few other people wandering about, and it seemed to me that they were probably looking for the source of the scream as well.

One of them ran up to me and said “did you hear that?”

I nodded at him, still looking around, “where did it come from?”

“I don’t know for sure. It echoed through the courtyard, though, so maybe someone inside an apartment?”

“Do you see any windows open?” I suggested, beginning to scrutinize the windows on the building walls surrounding us.

“I see two over there,” the guy pointed toward the farther end.

I followed his finger and found one open about halfway down building B on the second floor, and the other was at the end of building C, which ran perpendicular to building B, on the first floor. We looked at each other and jogged toward the first level window, Buddy followed behind us. He seemed to sense the apprehension we felt.

As we got closer, I imagined peering into the window to find a man with a weapon, standing over the body of a woman, and a chill ran down my spine. In retrospect, I would have preferred that to what happened next. We were nearly to the open window on the first floor, when Buddy slowed down. He had made it in front of us as we ran, and when I caught up to him I stopped to pet his head and give him the reassuring words I was telling myself silently. I watched as the other guy continued jogging past, and figured he would say something if he found anything.

“Hey, Bud, It’s all—” I was cut off by a crash—a window breaking—and turned toward the sound in alarm. I watched in horror as a woman fell from the third floor of building C and landed with a sound I wish I could forget.

The other guy let out a few expletives and dug his phone out of his pocket. I was closer than the other guy, so I darted over to her body. As I got closer, the world seemed to slow down. I tried to breath, but it was difficult, like someone was hugging me too tightly. The sound of the woman’s body hitting the pavement behind me replayed in my mind as I looked at her unmoving body. After a moment I could hear Buddy’s growl. I shook my head, and the world became clearer again.

“I haven’t touched the body!” The guy was screaming at the person on the other end of the phone as he came up behind me, “There is blood everywhere! She just fell out of the building!”

Buddy was staring at the lifeless body of the woman on the ground, the hair on his spine was raised, and his growl resounded through his chest, quieting down as he noticed he had my attention. I wondered why he was acting like that, since she was the victim, and was dead after falling from a window.

I shifted my attention from the lifeless body a few yards from me, and searched for the source of her demise. I quickly found a broken window on the third floor above where she had landed. There was a shadow of a person in the window, and I yelled, “Hey! You!” I pointed to him, and the guy on the phone followed my finger, and relayed the new information, “Stop right there! The police are coming!” As I was saying this, the shadow moved closer to the window, and I noticed it was another woman. She continued toward the window.

“Stop! Don’t do it!” I yelled, fearing she was going to jump out the window.

As I watched, she reached out of the window, her arms fully outstretched as if she was trying with all her might to hug someone out of the window. She continued to lean farther out, reaching for that invisible something, until she had gone too far, and toppled over the windowsill. It happened so fast, and yet, it seemed like forever, as she fell down the side of the building, hitting the ledge that jutted out from above the first floor windows, before finally landing on the hedges below.

The phone guy continued relaying what happened to the operator, and I ran toward the girl that had just fallen. As I got closer, I saw her moving, and I heard her let out a slight groan in pain.

“She’s still alive!” I shouted. Then quieter to her, “The police are on the way, you are going to be okay,” I got closer, and saw her eyes were open, and noted the blood all over her clothes. She looked at me and started flailing. I jumped back, startled. “It’s okay, I’m here to help!” I tried to act as though I didn’t assume she had just thrown the first woman out of the window and then jumped out herself to avoid the repercussions of murder. She continued to flail in place. She was tangled in the hedge pretty well. The phone guy came up to me, still on with the operator.

“Should we get her out of there?” I asked.

The guy shrugged, “I don’t know.” He answered me, before repeating my question to the operator.

“Since she is the suspect, please keep your distance and do not hinder her. Officers will be arriving soon to detain her.” Was what I heard over the phone. I was relieved that she told us not to do anything. I was afraid I might make things worse by moving her anyways. But no sooner had I expelled my sigh of relief than thegirl redoubled her furious flailing and thrashed her way clear of some of the branches. She tore away from the hedge’s hold on her, leaving tears in her tangled clothesthat revealed trickles of red beneath. I had never seen anyone thrash with the kind of fury I saw in her. We backed away, and Buddy moved to stand between us. She finally got herself free from the branches enough to tumble off of the hedge, and land flat on the ground. This seemed to stun her for only a second before she started dragging herself toward us with renewed vigor. Buddy was poised to attack, until I called him back. I didn’t want to be liable for the damage he could cause.

“I’m out of here!” The phone guy said, running the opposite direction as fast as he could.

I needed no extra convincing, and turned to run away after him. I wanted to get as far away from her as I could, and hope the police got there soon to deal with this crazy person. I did not want any more surprises. I headed straight toward building D, opposite building B, where my apartment was and the safety and normalcy that it should bring. I bounded into the stairs and straight to my apartment on the second floor.

I had dug my key out of my pocket before I got there, just in time to jam it into the lock and open the door. I rushed in and slammed it behind me. I threw the bolt into place, and took a step back, trying to catch my breath and collect my thoughts. It took only a second of collecting till I realized I’d slammed my door shut on Buddy. I looked through the peephole on the door, and buddy was sitting in front of the door, panting slightly. There was no sign that the girl had followed me. I unlocked the door, and opened it to let Buddy in, and repeated the process with the same vigor I had done the first time. Buddy turned and sat, watching me as I paced the hallway trying to make sense of the scene I had just witnessed. I sat down, leaning against the wall at the end of the hall, opposite the door, and stared at it. Buddy was staring at me.

I had just sat down when I had to stand up because I had been sitting too long. As I got back to my feet, I heard the sirens in the distance, and thought that it was about time they were coming to take care of this. I took another few deep breaths and shook my head, and went to the window in my living room that looked out to the street outside the apartment complex. I looked down the street each way, hoping to see the flashing lights that should accompany the sirens. Other cars passed by; oblivious to the fact that someone had just been thrown out a window on the other side of the building they drove past. I remember thinking how nice it must have been to be unaware of the situation. In retrospect, I had no idea just how right that thought had been.

I finally caught a glimpse of the flashing lights, it was the police, and I dashed across the apartment to peer through the window looking into the courtyard. I searched for the body of the girl that had been thrown from the window, but it was gone. The bloodstain was still there where she had landed, so I knew I was looking in the right place.

Had the killer come to her senses enough to drag off the body? I shook my head at the thought. How could someone—anyone—survive a tumble out of a third floor of a building, and have the strength to get up and drag a body away? It didn’t look like the body had been dragged through the blood, there were no visible smears on the ground from my window, but the pool of blood was still there. I searched the rest of the courtyard, and gasped. The girl that had been thrown from the window was walking toward building D. I was about to open the window to ask if she was okay, and to let her know we called the police, when the police came around the corner of the building.

They started saying something to the woman, and I opened the window a crack to hear them better. As I opened the window, one of the police was approaching the woman, weapon drawn, and the other was looking around, his weapon also at the ready. “Let me see your hands!” The advancing officer was shouting at the woman.

She just continued to walk, changing directions directly toward the two men. The second officer must have seen the pool of blood, because he pointed toward it with one hand, and said to the other, “I’ve got blood. Lots of it.”

The first officer repeated his command to the woman, “Put your hands where I can see them and stop where you are.”

She didn’t stop. She started moving faster. The second officer came up behind the fist, and echoed the command. The first officer said something to the second that I couldn’t hear, and they said again to the woman, “Stay where you are, stop advancing, or we will have to use force!”

Panic welled up in me; she was the victim, why was she acting like that? These men were here to help, to make sure she was okay, and to arrest the other woman for what she had done to her. Why was she advancing toward them without saying anything?

She started moving even faster toward the two men. The first officer nodded to the second, and moved out of the way. The second officer fired his weapon at the woman, who fell immediately to the ground, writhing. Confused for just a second at the lack of sound from the officer’s gun, and the reaction from the woman, before I realized the officer must have used a Taser. The woman stopped writhing, and immediately started trying to get up, heading straight toward the two men as if nothing had happened. “What?” I heard the first officer say as the second sent another round of the electrical charge at the woman, who immediately began writhing again. As I watched the woman writhe during the electrical shock, I was distracted, and did not notice the other woman crawling toward the officers from behind until it was too late.

I heard the first officer cry out, and looked back to him, as did the second officer, to see the other woman biting the first officer’s ankle. The first officer leaned down and slammed his gun into her head, but she did not let go, she continued to bite his leg. He hit her again, and she tore away, ripping his pants, and blood going everywhere. The officer screamed, changing tactics, he aimed his weapon, barrel right up to her head, and fired with a loud bangthat resounded through the courtyard. Buddy let out one bark, and ran to the window beside me. Other dogs’ muffled barks rang out throughout the apartments. The first officer fell to the ground, holding his leg, the second officer started to run toward him, not noticing that the first woman had recovered from her bout of electricity. Before he made it one step toward his partner, she got to him. She grabbed him in a big hug and bit into his neck, sending sprays of red everywhere; he screamed and flailed against her, but she wouldn’t let go.

The first officer took his weapon back up fired multiple shots at the woman attacking his partner. The second officer and the woman recoiled together, they had both taken some of the bullets that were fired. The shot officer collapsed, taking the woman with him. The first officer got his radio out and relayed an “officer down” message to the person on the other side. He shifted his focus back to his leg, trying to stop the bleeding, and wiping his face every few seconds. I assumed there were tears – he had just shot his partner along with that woman.

As I watched, the woman got back up and leaned over the body of the fallen officer. How could she have survived being shot so many times? The first officer screamed, loosed another volley of bullets, until the only sound was the “click” of the unloaded gun. The woman’s body fell limp over the body of the other officer, and the clicking continued.

After a minute, the officer finally dropped the gun and started muttering to himself, staring at his hands, and I became aware of more sirens rapidly approaching. I closed the window and shut the blinds. What a horrible thing to witness! What was I going to do? What should I do? I was so confused, and panicking, as Buddy calmly sat and watched me pace back and forth in my living room. Eventually, I sat on my couch and called Buddy up to join me. He sat calmly as I tried to make sense of what had just happened, and what I would need to do.

(To be continued...)

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