We need weight loss ads now more than ever. Trump has reinvigorated the Fat Liberation group. The obesity epidemic is at its highest point ever. We need weight loss ads now more than ever.
Lol was this you
Seriously bruh, if you wanna make a case about nutritional defecits and the declining vitamin and mineral content in agricultural produce, the overall failure of public school physical education to provide any productive and meaningful instruction on personal health and correct methods of exercise, the ever-increasing cost of healthy foods, and the frankly shameful rate of child hunger and food waste all collectively contributing to poorer health in persons of ALL body types, I'm happy to play ball, but if the beginning and end of your platform is "there are more fat people than there used to be and being fat is bad so promoting eating disorders and drug abuse is good actually" then you are straight up wasting everyone's time
"Uhhh but everyone was skinny in 1920 look at this "fat lady" who was in a freak show at the circus lol and look how average she would be now" do you have any idea how many vitamins and other supplements we have had to insert into the food and water supply to combat widespread malnutrition in the last several decades
You realize how many people had teeth rotting out of their heads before we put fluoride in drinking water
Jesus fucking christ, google "B12 defecit"
The population was skinnier because we were constantly on the precipice of dying from shit like low zinc, you absolute dingbat
People being 'fatter' than we used to be is a GOOD thing, combating genuine weight-related health issues with a constant barrage of image-critical ads and the promotion of eating disorders in scientifically proven to be harmful and ineffective bullshit, and the fact that thinness as a beauty standard has been pushed to such extremes as intentionally infecting oneself with viruses and parasites amd chemically and surgically-enforced starvation over the past several hundred years only proves that this is not a natural default but a heavily-reinforced and artificial standard
image description: two replies by @vegathelich, reading: it's all fun and games until the smarties (derogatory) start dissolving in your mouth because your hands don't want to work today
having a process for people who have done morally horrific things to make amends, rejoin community, and do right going forward is actually fundamentally crucial for the left. having a clear and accessible pathway for people to be socially (if not interpersonally) forgiven is how you get people radicalized against capitalism and imperialism and white supremacy and patriarchy. its how you turn "these people think i am a bad person" into "these people think something and someone coerced or forced me into doing bad things, and these people want to help me do something about that."
if you want more revolutionaries, you must have a system to turn guilty, traumatized, angry bystanders and collaborators into revolutionaries. and I say a system and process because its not "oh the drone operator said they were sorry and felt bad so its all good now :)" there is no shortcut here. but it is absolutely necessary. no revolution is comprised of morally pure people. in many cases, the most devoted revolutionaries are the ones who know exactly what it is like on the other side.
#'coerced or forced' is a little too unnuanced for me you are accountable for your actions#but yes everyone needs to have an opportunity to get better#even if that person wasn't coerced or forced in any way actually. yes even then.
to explain what i mean by "coerced":
i think doing things that are morally bad is also bad for the individual. people shouldn't be forced to do things in general, but its especially bad to force someone to do something morally bad. its also bad to coerce them into doing that. and its quite horrific for a system to embed within someone a worldview which habitually leads them to do bad things, and a social system which incentivizes people to do bad things.
this post is in part inspired by reading the book Dirty Work which talks about moral injury & people (largely marginalized people) who do work that is seen as morally "dirty" in society. and specifically the chapter on people who work with drones for the US military (in a variety of ways). one of the major figures was a woman who grew up in poverty and was terrified of dying that way, went to join the military to get to see the world, and ended up working a job requiring her to watch hours and hours of drone footage, including hours of people living their lives, their gruesome deaths, and their families trying to collect their body parts in the aftermath. she recounts how much this weighed on her psychologically and morally, but not only her fear of poverty but also being court-martialed or otherwise subject to punishment if she spoke out or did anything, and her anger at protestors who seemed to be largely middle-class women who directed their protests at individual workers like her. she eventually did become a whistle-blower and says she experienced backlash from the left as well as the right because of her job.
now, this was a difficult read for me. it can be frustrating to read a whole chapter on the suffering of drone operators when so many people in the US don't give the beginning of a fuck about the people who have been getting bombed for years. the trauma of entire countries doesn't outweigh the trauma of a single US soldier. how can we talk about her anger at women protesting drone warfare because it hurts her feelings when we are still having to protest drone warfare that destroys entire families?
and yet. i think that reaction is partially an attempt to avoid the discomfort of how fucked the situation is holistically. the woman clearly had internalized plenty of dehumanizing, imperialistic, racist, and likely Orientalist beliefs and values. but this was hardly something she consciously chose. its easy to say "never join the US military" when you are someone who 1. already had the time and chance to develop a sense of how evil the US military is (not everyone necessarily does) 2. was not and is not in the position of being 17 and worried you'll die of a fentanyl overdose in the next five years like multiple of your classmates and desperate for any opportunity out.
does it make her decision better morally? i don't think so. but why was it a decision she had to make? why did she have so few options? why did things feel so desperate? why did a certain decision seem better and more accessible than others? if we are going up the line of responsibility here, the reason this harmful, morally bad action took place at all is because of the system of US imperialism and capitalism.
the problem is, that answer does not give us A Person To Punish. which we, as people socialized into a worldview of punitive justice, have been taught to want. transformative justice isn't just switching to A Person To Fix, its directing our energy towards social change and collective thinking and acting. that doesn't ignore the individual, but it always sees the individual through a social lens. the ultimate goal is a system which incentivizes the morals we want to see just as much as the current one incentives individualism and authoritarianism and puritanism and imperialism.
i think the perspective that we are coerced, by social systems like imperialism, patriarchy, capitalism, white supremacy, etc. into acting immorally and harming others and ourselves, more naturally invites people to see their own racism, sexism, orientalism, classism, etc. as both morally bad and yet not a sign they are bad. it directly counters the idea that saying "the thing you did is racist" means "YOU are racist and EVIL and CONSCIOUSLY DESPISE PEOPLE OF COLOR"*; the point is that the thing you did is racist, and if you don't want to do racist things, then you have to unlearn the shit you were socialized into believing. "coerced" keeps in mind that there are people who benefit from keeping this status quo. if racism is evil, and white supremacist culture means everyone has internalized racist beliefs, that doesn't mean everyone is evil. it means we have all been coerced into participating in evil, and we are demanding an end to that coercion; that is (one form of) accountability.
this perspective can't exist alone, either. it must be paired with a devotion to the victims of these systems. this is why it is a process. the back-and-forth has to be put into action to get a balanced solution. what is best is what practically creates system change, and having process for (again, social) forgiveness is a practical necessity.
*to be clear, this is what people often feel when they are told they did smth racist; that is itself a racist reaction, but one that people do have & i try to think about how practically to get people to get over that reaction & focus on the actual issue at hand
i 100% agree with all of this. to be clear, my tags weren't meant to deny anything about how society is coercive and systematically pushes people into doing bad things. only that i still think the choice to get better needs to be accessible even to people who could have chosen better, for one reason or another. (whether someone is allowed to be accepted should not be predicated on whether they were 'enough of a victim,' whatever that means.) and we shouldn't conclude that no one is responsible for their actions--they are. but society as a whole is responsible for the coercion and violence done against them, and the solution to that responsibility is not punishment, but restoration.
"Stop scrolling and please help me spread the word, because if I've landed on your page you're most likely either a black woman or someone who cares about black women and the simple phrase I'm about to share could help save a black woman's life.
Doctors are to black women what police officers are to black men. That may seem controversial but I believe it to be true and I speak from personal experience.
If you've seen this TikTok you know that a 2016 study showed that 50% of medical students and residents thought that black people couldn't feel pain the same as white people.
And we learned from this video that because of a 1999 study, to this day, there's a black correction factor for the creatinin levels in black people's kidneys, meaning we're less likely to recieve a kidney transplant if needed.
So if you go to a doctor, feel you aren't getting proper treatment or they refuse the treatment you've requested, say to them the following:
I will need you to document on record that you are refusing the treatment (or medicine) I've requested, and the reason you are doing so."
This works. I have used it in other situations. If medical staff have to document and take responsibility and be on the hook legally for doing shady shit they behave much differently.
If you werenât already going to spread this advice because black women are at risk, then spread it because itâs applicable to everyone else as well, including you reading this.
But particularly women, and especially black women.
LOVES me a comic relief character w/ a reputation for The Melodramaâbut once you consider their backstory/working conditions you realize they are actually holding shit soooooooooooooooo much closer together than most-o-us could manage in the same situation.
there are MANY goons and mooks and goofy best friend characters this applies to, but i wanna give a shout-out to the Living Prima Donna Embodiment from phantom of the opera.
woman with 20+ years experience, most respected professional in her field, refuses to work under unsafe conditions (aka shitty colleague literally trying to murder her) and instead of listening to her massively justified concern, the new tech bro investors decide to just have an entry-level employee fill in for her.
Carlotta shoulda personally been allowed bring that crummy chandelier crashing down on her shitty bosses' heads!!!
âThese things happenâ On what planet Mr French Multimillionaire?!? On what planet is that an acceptable working environment! And the Phantom is picking on her and taking her voice because he, one out of thousands, doesnât like it! And the owners just⌠fold?!? No!
And since we don't face direct punishment for missing positive social cues like we do for negative ones, our coping skills and compensatory hypervigilance don't develop the same way. So we go through a world of never recognising positive signals, sometimes spotting negative signals, and knowing for sure there's more negative signals we're still missing, because those keep blowing up in our face.
If you ever hear the phrase "fascism is aesthetics as politics," that's what this post is talking about.
It's not about being tough on crime, because the absolute toughest most brutal measure you could take against "crime" as a social problem is to alleviate poverty, and increase access to education, healthcare and social mobility.
It's about performing "tough on crime" as an aesthetic by enacting violence against a prop, i.e. minorities and the impoverished, who are fetishized and objectified to represent "crime." They are brutalized as punishment for crime, but never with the purpose of alleviating the problem of crime.
This is why a lot of conservatives and other right wingers can get straight up angry when you suggest things like reform or social measures to reduce crime. They don't want crime to be reduced, they want an eternal war against "crime" because it provides an arena for the righteous to demonstrate virtue by brutalizing their enemies.
you know how some parents do that toxic thing where they donât notice or reward kids for improving their behavior, but every screw-up gets remarked upon and used to inflict shame? so youâre stuck in that awful cycle where there are no rewards, only the inevitability of eventual punishment?
and how that makes it extremely hard to judge your own actions or grow into a better person, because thereâs no one to confirm that you actually are doing better, and are capable of improving, and are not doomed to forever be a terrible person incapable of growth?
I donât know what to call it anymore. people get heated about terms like âpurityâ or âcancelâ or âcall outâ culture, or canât seem to agree on a meaning. Iâm not talking about like. no longer supporting rich and powerful celebrities when their abusive actions come to light. Iâm not talking about holding people accountable, or warning people about active abusers. but I am seriously concerned about how we treat social media users once they get even a small amount of attention, even in small niche spaces.
I am concerned about this culture of combing through years of peopleâs social media accounts, looking for âproblematicâ shit theyâve done. I am concerned with the whole culture of using âcall outsâ as a tool to harass and ostracize users large and small. I am concerned about the malice we spread behind peopleâs backs, in screenshots and posts they arenât able to see. I am concerned with this culture of demanding apologies for things said years ago, things already outgrown and regretted, and of ignoring those apologies even while pilling on more censure. Iâm concerned about this whole culture of accusation and misinformation, where the most outrageous claims and holier-than-thou performances are rewarded with notes and views, even as facts are ignored and context removed. I am concerned about the lack of accountability, the way the accused is given no opportunity to defend themselves from the onslaught, the way their responses and explanations go ignored, the way any charge can be made at any time on any evidence, with no ability to appeal or exonerate. Iâm concerned about the way this culture targets minority users and turns their own communities against them. Iâm concerned about the actually harmful and predatory behavior that gets lost in the bog, and how we have lost the ability to distinguish between shades of gray with any level of sanity. And I am concerned by the sheer number of people who fail to realize they are perpetuating bullying and harassment.
I am enormously concerned with the way people who are âcalled outâ are never forgiven, never allowed to make amends, never allowed to grow, how their efforts to learn and do better are ignored even while strangers callously repeat and reblog and retweet the same criticisms ad nauseam.
And I see this everywhere, happening to anyone. And yes, this applies to larger accounts and youtubers and âinfluencers,â and a bunch of content creators who may or may not be making a decent living off of their work, but who are certainly not ârich and powerful celebrities.â (Because apparently we spend so much time in online microcosms that yaâll canât tell the difference???) Christ, my blog isnât nearly as large as some people seem to think, itâs obscure by most measures, and still Iâve been the target of mass harassment for years. Iâve seen bad and watched others go through worse, seen users with far larger and far smaller followings driven off of this and other platformsâdriven off with a violence and bloodthirst that had nothing to do with making a community safer and everything to do with a toxic culture gone wrong. Fucking fix this already.
Abuse is still abuse when it happens online, when done by strangers, when done en masse, when sanctioned by a community, and when done with âgoodâ intentions. Do BETTER.
oh, and to anyone who has reblogged this and similar posts Iâve written with the âHeartbreaking: The Worst Person You Know Just Made A Great Pointâ meme? that is literally an example of the behavior this post is criticizing. you are literally just punishing good behavior instead of allowing people to grow and do better. Iâve been the subject of smear campaigns for years, and Iâve lost track of the number of times someone has added that meme to one of my most carefully worded, thought-out, sincere and earnest posts, posts on serious social and mental health issues. Itâs exhausting, itâs not helpful, and guess what? Itâs just plain bullying. Do better, and allow others to do better too.Â
Iâm reading a book on biofeedback trainings right now and they talk about this. The words âtryâ or âneedâ add pressure to stuff. Sometimes switching from âI need to calm downâ or âIâm trying to slow my breathingâ to âIâm allowing myself to calm down a little more with each exhaleâ or âIâm giving myself permission to slow my breathingâ can be more helpful. Thereâs a difference between âtry to relax the muscleâ and âallow the muscle to softenâ that is significant enough that for some people it can totally change the outcome of a relaxation exercise.
For other tips and tricks, instead of asking âwhyâ you canât change a thought/feeling (why being an offensive question, meaning it forces you to respond defensively - in this case defending the emotion you donât like) you can ask âis there any leeway or wiggle room with this feeling/thought/belief for something else?â Oftentimes we know multiple things at once, and by allowing for a small amount of ambiguity we can start to accept the situation more fully.
Iâve never been hurt by the fact that my stepfather loved my sister more than me. For me, itâs just that- a fact.
I donât remember my real dad at all, really. He passed away when I was around two or three years old. I remember meeting Dale for the first time, although even thatâs getting pretty fuzzy. I remember the giant of a man kneeling down to my level, stone faced and solemn.
Then he reached forward and gave my hand a shake. âYou like spaghetti?â He asked. I only nodded, too shy to speak. He just grunted and headed to the kitchen to start throwing dinner together. Dale can make a killer spaghetti. And I didnât even like spaghetti until then.
Iâm not saying he doesnât love me. He definitely does, back then he did his best to connect with a shy kid thatâd rather color than talk to people. He had also been married before, married and divorced with a son that was much older than I was. Max was already seventeen when I was only six. And it was at six years old that my mom and Dale had my sister, Harmony-Rose. Just Harmony for short, of course.
The moment that tiny baby was handed to Dale I knew heâd completely fallen in love. I was little, but I could tell he was doing his best to hold back tears. An effort that was wasted, as a tear trickled down his cheek as he sat down and rocked her back and forth.
Dale took a pay cut to be able to work from home for the first few years of Harmonyâs life. Mom once said he got up for more midnight feedings and diaper changes than she did. Maybe back then I got a little jealous now and then, but Iâd only need to look at Harmonyâs sweet face to realize why he loved her so much. She was perfect. An easy going baby who laughed and cooed with everyone but daddyâs girl all the way, I couldnât be mad at her. I love Harmony too.
Sheâs never stopped being an amazing little sister either. From a sweet baby to a well mannered toddler, all the way up till spring of this year, she has always been just the best. I did get closer to Max as the years went by, when I stopped being a little kid and became a teenager you could actually have a conversation with, but Harmony was just always there.
Iâm not saying she stopped being the best. Iâm just saying thatâs when⌠well⌠she got sick.
Iâd just turned eighteen, Harmony now a go getting twelve year old. She was a part of her schoolâs gymnastics team, had all the friends, but she always gave me a tackle hug when she came home. She told me about all the boys she thought were cute, and the ones that werenât so much. Iâd promise to stomp in the faces of any that made her cry, and Harmony would make a point of poking my bicep and raising an eyebrow. No words needed. Iâm a wimp.
Mom and Dale just thought it was just a flu bug that wouldnât go away. I did too. And Harmony, well, what else would she think it was? She always had bruises from gymnastics practice, the fact they werenât going away didnât occur to any of us that there was a further problem.
By the time we went to the doctor, the damage had already been done.
Leukemia. Fucking leukemia. How could Harmony have leukemia? It doesnât run in our family and up until then sheâd rarely even gotten a cold. Leukemia diagnoses happens to other families, other kids. Not Harmony. It couldnât happen to Harmony.
My mom told me that when the doctor broke the news, Dale fell to his knees. Both her and the doctor thought he was about to pass out, his face was white with shock. Dale doted on Harmony, was always in her corner when she needed back up, and she was one of the few people heâd drop the stern outer shell for to show his soft heart. And now there was something he couldnât fight for her, no matter how hard he tried.
Harmony tried to be positive at first. âIâm a tough kidâ, sheâd said, mock flexing and reassuring her dad that sheâd beat this. She went into chemo treatments with a smile on her face, and as her hair fell out sheâd had me help shave her head, cracking jokes about how she now looked like season one Eleven from Stranger Things.
I think even then she was putting on a brave face. The doctors hadnât lied, her form of leukemia was particularly aggressive. Maybe if weâd caught it sooner, weâd be better off, but that just wasnât how the cards played out.
Harmony was dying. We all knew she was dying. The spunky girl with the energy of a lighting strike faded away rapidly, turning into a pale child with sunken dull eyes and barely a smile. She was always tired, and as the months passed with no real improvement, her sense of humor waned and Iâd often catch her lost in thought.
Two months ago she called me to her bedroom, asking if she could talk with me alone. Dale actually quit his job so he could be with her 24/7, caring for her every need. It was hard for us to get sibling time, just the two of us hanging out together.
Harmony was staring out her window as I slipped into her bedroom, clearly a lot on her mind. On her lap was a folded over piece of notebook paper. She didnât say anything, just handed me the paper and calmly waited as I unfolded it and began to read it.
It hit me like a fucking truck when I realized what it was.
â⌠A will?â I asked quietly.
Harmony shuddered and nodded, dropping all pretenses of false bravado. âYou can donate my books for me, right? Or give some to Max, I think Jayce would love them when he gets old enough.â
I wanted to say she wasnât going to die. I wanted to tell her she could still beat this. But I think she knew better than the rest of us that we werenât going to get lucky. I read through this little girlâs will carefully, having to reread every line as my vision was blurring with tears. âI can do that. Donât think this is legally binding though,â I tried to joke.
Harmony smiled, just for a second. âWell, tough, lawyers arenât cheap.â Taking another deep breath, her gaze returned out the window. âThis isnât fair,â She murmured.
I nodded, folding her will back up. âNo, it isnât,â I agreed.
Harmony sighed with relief, flopping forward and burying her face in her hands. âWhy did I have to get sick? Itâs bullshit, I didnât do anything wrong! Iâm healthier than all of you, or I was, I just⌠this is bullshit,â She said, talking so fast I could barely make it out.
I reached forward and patted her head. âIt is complete bullshit. If I could swap places with you, I would.â I meant it too.
âDonât even put that out there, you dumb fuck.â
I laughed, I couldnât help it. âDonât let Dale hear you say that. Heâll never recover knowing that his baby girl knows the word âfuckâ,â I said.
She looked back up, shaking her head but she was smiling. She was⌠at peace. I could just see the burden lifted off her shoulders. âThank you, Joel. Keep that will somewhere safe for me,â She said.
âI promise.â
I pulled her into a tight hug. I knew that this will meant the end was near and that Harmony was fully aware of that. The Grim Reaper was around the corner and she wanted to be ready for him.
When I left her bedroom, I saw that Daleâs office door was cracked open, but didnât think much of it, and didnât bother to check if he was in there. Dale was usually in bed by then anyway.
I donât think he was. I think he heard every word that passed between me and Harmony that night. That his baby girl had made a will for all her belongings, from her treasured stuffed animals to her collection of colorful rocks sheâd bought from various museums and zoos over the years. I had every intention of following that will as closely as possible when she did pass.
But that broke Dale. So thatâs why he did what he did. Thatâs the difference between me and him, really. Iâd be willing to give up anything, even my life, to save Harmony-Rose⌠but he was willing to set the world on fire and let it burn, all for her.
My bedroom window faces into the back yard, right into the forest that stretches around our property for miles. I was having trouble going to sleep that night, that day in particular had been especially bad for Harmony. It had been a week after Iâd been given her handwritten will and it was clear sheâd finally given up the fight. I was afraid if I went to sleep, Iâd wake up and sheâd be gone.
I was finally starting to doze off when I saw Dale in the backyard, cradling Harmony in his arms. Heâd not been able to really carry her these last few years, but sheâd shrunk so much she looked like a skeleton in his arms. For a second, I thought she might be dead, but I saw her shift in his arms. She was just asleep, too tired to even stir.
Daleâs face was completely blank and devoid of any emotion. Heâd spent the last few days like that, almost completely oblivious to the world around him. He hugged her tight, looked into the woods, and started walking. I watched him until he vanished into the trees.
I fell asleep after that. I didnât even know how to even remotely process what Iâd just seen, and when I woke up the next morning Iâd thought it was just a dream.
I went to Harmonyâs room after Iâd gotten dressed, expecting to walk in and see her still asleep.
Instead, I saw a glimpse of the girl sheâd been all before this diagnosis. She was still bald, but the color had returned to her face and she was up and out of bed, looking just as puzzled as I felt. She looked up at me.
âJoel, I feel⌠I feel okay. And I feel hungry. Can you ask Dad for pancakes?â
For a girl whoâd not had an appetite in months, this was mind blowing. She ended up having a whole stack of blueberry pancakes, all the while Dale looked on, pleased as could be. He took her to the doctorâs right after breakfast, and for once I tagged along since Mom had to go to work. I didnât really like hospitals and no one ever made me go anyway, but this time I wanted to see if this was just a âgood dayâ.
Instead, we were given the best news we could ever imagine. Suddenly, after months of radiation and chemotherapy doing jack shit, Harmonyâs leukemia had finally gone into remission. A complete and total 180 from her last appointment. The only explanation the doctors could give?
âItâs a miracle. It really is a miracle.â
And well, it kinda was. Just not one that came without cost.
It started right when we were heading home. Harmony and Dale were over the moon, already planning to order out for Hawaiian pizza while I openly judged them for wanting to ruin a perfectly good pizza with pineapple. We turned the corner and saw two police cars in front of our neighborâs driveway.
Like I said before, weâre surrounded by woods, but thereâs a few other families in the immediate area. Itâs the kind of place where everyone has a driveway at least a quarter of a mile long, if youâve lived in a place like that you know what Iâm talking about. The family closest to us and the one with the police presence was the Fosters. They have a son thatâs close to my age but heâs an asshole, so I tend to avoid him, but his parents are all right.
I saw Dale grip the steering wheel a little tighter but he didnât attempt to even slow down to see what was going on. Harmony frowned. âShouldnât we go make sure Mr. and Mrs. Foster are okay?â She asked.
âAfter the cops leave, we donât want to get in their way,â He said in a tone I wasnât used to hearing- the kind of sound a person has in their voice when they lie. Harmony hadnât missed it either, but she just changed the subject back to Hawaiian pizza and what to do for dessert afterwards.
Once we got back, I dropped my stuff off in my room and immediately beelined for the back door. I just barely stepped out the back door when I heard someone clear their throat. I looked behind me to see that Harmony was waiting for me, her arms crossed and giving me an âare you kidding me?â look.
âWhat, did you really think you were gonna check out what happened to the Fosters on your own?â
I did attempt to come up with an excuse as to why Harmony should hold back on this one, but instead I just sighed and started walking, my little sister hot on my heels. I imagine she was suffering from a bit of cabin fever, itâs hard going out and doing shit when youâre on deathâs door.
I might not have cared much for Daniel Foster, but since he was on the back porch having a smoke from his watermelon vape, I figured he was the best line for questioning.
Daniel gave us both a stink eye as we emerged from the woods, blowing a mouthful of sickly sweet smoke in our direction. Harmony plopped down on the swingset that was still in the Fosterâs backyard despite the fact it hadnât been used since Daniel was younger than she was. I walked up to the porch. âSaw the cop cars at the mouth of your driveway. Weâre just here to check in if youâre okay,â I said.
After glaring for a second more, Daniel sighed and hopped off the porch, jamming his hands in his jeans pockets. âSomething broke in last night, attacked the dogs, trashed the house. Dadâs out of town and you know how shit cellphone signalâs out here. We couldnât connect to 911 so mom and I just barricaded ourselves in her room,â He said.
Harmony cocked her head to the side. âSomething?â She asked.
Daniel gestured for us to follow him. âIt definitely wasnât a person. It was probably a bear, its claw marks are everywhere,â He said as we walked to the other side of the house.
My skin crawled as I saw the large score marks under the bedroom window that was still blocked by a wardrobe. Harmony reached forward and brushed her fingers against the decimated siding. âWow,â She said in her shock.
âDid you see it? The bear, I mean,â I asked.
Daniel shook his head. âNah. Didnât want to. Had the gun ready just in case it got into the room, but it didnât. It scratched up Bella and Griffin real good, theyâre both at the vet now getting patched up.â
Bella and Griffin were a pair of large rottweilers, big babies really, they were the main upside to come visit the Fosters. âWill they be okay?â I asked.
âShould be.â Daniel took a deep breath and shuddered. âI- I think my mom was really scared. She kept saying it didnât move like a bear, but all she got was a glimpse before we hid. Bears⌠bears make roaring sounds, right? Like a lion or a tiger?â
Harmony frowned and straightened up, glancing at me for the answer that she was pretty certain about herself. The description enough definitely puzzled me. âHonestly, bears tend to be pretty quiet. When theyâre freaked out, theyâre more likely to make huffing or grunting sounds, and they definitely donât sound like wildcats,â I said.
âFucking weirdo,â Daniel turned away, jamming his shaking hands into his pockets, probably hoping I couldnât see them. âWhat do you do, just go out and watch bears on the weekend?â
âHey, you asked, dumbass. Come on, Harmony,â I gestured for my little sister to follow along, not at all in the mood to deal with Danielâs shittiness.
âWait. So you know what bear prints look like too then?â
I paused. âAre there prints?â I asked.
Daniel walked over to the treeline and motioned us over. Hesitantly, I followed.
The print that was there was sure as hell not a bearâs print, and I think Daniel knew that too. The mud captured the print perfectly, long spindly fingers carving deep scratches into the mud with smaller palms. It was like a person had dragged their hand through the mud, but it wasnât quite right.
I snapped a picture of it with my phone. âYeah, I⌠I donât think thatâs a bear print,â I said, trying to keep my voice level. Something about it set the hair on my neck standing straight up.
âThen what is it?â Daniel asked.
I sent the picture to Dale with the message âfound this near the Fosterâs, what made this trackâ. âI have no freaking clue,â I admitted.
Harmony bent down next to it. âItâs so weird,â She muttered.
I didnât expect my phone to immediately buzz, Dale was god awful at responding to texts at a decent time. I turned my phone back on to an even more shocking response.
âCome home right now. I donât want you back in the woods now.â
âDale doesnât know either, and heâs telling us to come home ASAP,â I gave Harmonyâs shoulder a tap and that got her attention. âLetâs go, sis. See you, Daniel. Stay safe, man.â
He just grunted in response and jogged back into his house.
Once we got back, Dale explained his for his curt demand was that he was worried about that bear that came after the Fosters. Apparently heâd called Mrs. Foster the moment we got back and got the story from her. If it was so bold to break into a personâs house, god knows what itâd do to me wandering out alone out there⌠and I especially shouldnât bring Harmony-Rose out there.
I did hear Harmony mutter something along the lines of âscrew thatâ as we got ready to go pick up the pizza for dinner. Not that I blamed her, since she was finally feeling better to go out and about. But that track still made me super curious. So the next day, I went to the other person who might know a thing about animal tracks- my older stepbrother, Max.
The visit was first pretty normal, just light chatter about the warm weather and how things have been going at Maxâs work. I got to play with Jayce, who was ecstatic to see his âUncle Joelâ and of course Maxâs wife Lisa popped in to ask how I was doing and if I was seeing anyone (girls or boys, she always makes sure to specify), and then she had to bustle right back out because she had to run errands.
After we got all the small talk out of the way, Max set his coffee mug down and brought up the biggest news to date.
âSo, Harmony. Sheâs better?â He asked.
I shrugged. âCancerâs suddenly beating a hasty retreat. Doctors say be cautious but hopeful. Said itâs a real miracle,â I said.
âHmm. Thatâs⌠interesting,â Maxâs brow knitted in concern, âAnd sheâs going back for more tests? Just to be sure? I mean, any false hope will actually kill Dad.â
âYeah, she should be going back for more tests by the end of the week. But you should see her, it really is a complete 180 with how sheâs acting,â I shook my head, âI barely believe it. But she had like six slices of pizza last night, and sheâd eaten breakfast that morning, a stack of Daleâs pancakes. And she didnât throw up.â
Maxâs concerned expression didnât vanish as he went for another sip, âMaybe, just keep an eye on her- oh fuck that!â
I barely dodged the surge of coffee spilling in my direction as Max literally threw the contents across the table. I was about to ask what the hell was wrong with him when I saw it.
A centipede, two of them actually, squirming and writhing in the pooling dark liquid. Max quietly gagged before heading to the sink. âDidnât even see those little bastards crawl in there. Really hope I wasnât drinking centipede coffee this whole time.â He turned on the tap and looked back at me. âYou want something to drink? I promise, it wonât have a bug infestation.â
I opened my mouth to say a glass of water wouldnât be so bad when I looked at the flow coming from the faucet and the words wouldnât come out of my mouth.
It wasnât like it was just red or rusty colored water. Water and blood have different consistencies, and the thick scarlet liquid now overflowing Maxâs mug and dripping down his hand was sure as hell not water. Max looked confused at my likely shocked face and was probably about to ask what was up when we both smelled it. The smell that always shows up when you have a bloody nose, except a thousand times more potent and bittersweet, like it was rotting.
Max stared at his sink now filling up with blood, and I bolted for his bathroom to throw up. Iâm not good around blood. I barely made it to the sink before I puked my breakfast and the chocolate shake Iâd picked up at the corner store before I hit up Maxâs place.
After coughing a bit, I made the mistake of trying to wash down the puke down the drain. Thankfully it only took one crimson drop from the faucet for me to turn it back off. I sunk to the floor, my world going topsy turvy as I did my best to keep breathing so I wouldnât pass out. I barely succeeded. Max had to help me get out of the bathroom and put me up in his guest room while he went to figure out just what the hell was up with their plumbing. I was just about as useful as wet noodle so he let me be while Jayce showed me all his dinosaur toys to make me feel better. Obviously, any intention of showing him the strange tracks went out the window as I was struggling just to be a living person.
It wasnât just Maxâs house having âplumbing issuesâ. While I lived in the middle of the woods, he had settled down in a nice neighborhood that was just missing white picket fences to complete the perfect vibe. All up and down the street people were turning on the water to have blood come squirting out of their faucets. One poor person had gone in for a late shower and had an actual to god panic attack as they were coated in disgusting red fluid. The ambulance showed up and everything to make sure they were all right.
I felt like absolute garbage until I got home, driven there by Max. But when I walked through the door and saw Harmony dancing along to some song on the radio, I felt like a million bucks seeing her like this. Bright. Vibrant. Pain free. A complete and total turn around. I did tell her about the blood spewing out of our brotherâs sink and she was naturally quite horrified by that turn of events, but we came to the conclusion it wasnât actually blood. I mean, it couldnât be blood. A lot of things would have to be dead to have every faucet bleeding on my brotherâs street.
Harmony made leaps and strides in terms of recovery in the matter of a week. Every test came back with confirmation the disease that was going to cut her short life off was retreating at unnatural speeds. I encouraged her to start practicing her gymnastic moves, knowing if she kept bouncing back like this sheâd want to rejoin her team. With Harmony getting better, the house seemed generally so much happier. My mom only cried with joy whenever she saw Harmony practically skipping around the house and Dale⌠man, Dale. Truly the happiest about this all was Dale.
Plans began taking form. Trips to Disney, a vacation out west to go visit all the national parks, the future that weâd originally thought might have been robbed from us was suddenly now in our grasp again. I was just as excited as my parents to be honest. I love Harmony, so much. I wanted to just focus on her now.
But as our house began to gain life, everyone elseâs began to⌠fall apart. Rot from the corners and collapse.
Even if I was focused mostly on my little sister, I couldnât help but notice that things were different. More bloody plumbing began popping up all over town, to the point where a notice was put out about not drinking any tap water until they find the source of this. Apparently some professional talking out their ass said it was more than likely some kind of infestation of mold, and all they needed to do was find the source and all would be okay again.
Thing is, they couldnât find a source. I donât know how much time was spent or how much money the town poured into to tear open water mains or go through every centimeter of the treatment plant, but it was turning up squat.
Dale was still not letting us out in the woods. If I so much as looked at the back door he was the first to ask me to âdo the dishesâ or ârun an errand into townâ for him. Not until they found the bear, which I still didnât feel was right. Bears didnât leave prints like that. Bears just⌠werenât like that.
Then I got that call from Daniel.
I had given my number to Daniel freaking ages ago. My parents made me because they wanted us to be friends. Yeah, no, Iâd rather not be friends with the jackass who insulted me literally every other sentence. Around three AM I heard my phone start to ring and I had to scramble to get it. I nearly missed the call and didnât even check the caller ID before I answered it I was in such a rush. I couldnât even ask who it was before Daniel scream-whispered into my ear,
âSomethingâs wrong with the dogs!â
I wiped the sleep from my eyes. âThe fuck?â I managed to get out, my voice slurring with sleep.
âThey⌠they were just so quietâŚâ I heard Daniel swear quietly and the sound of someone checking the lock on a door. âWhen they came back, they looked fine and were patched up, but they were just so fucking quiet. I didnât give a shit, but I just got home from a night out, and- oh my god, thereâs so much blood?â Daniel sniffled and I realized he was starting to cry.
âI canât find my dad, my momâs⌠sheâs passed out, she got bit real bad. I got her wrapped up real good but thereâs not much else I can do. The dogs, Christ, Joel⌠the dogs. Theyâre so fucked up. They tried to get me too but Iâm hiding in my parentâs room. Called 911, Iâm freaking the fuck out, I donât know when theyâre going to get here, and fuck knows if theyâll get to the right house. Please, man, you gotta help me. I donât wantâŚâ Danielâs voice cracked, my neighbor now starting to sob. âI donât want my mom to die, man.â
Maybe Iâm not friends with Daniel, but I sure as hell wasnât going to leave him in a jam like that. I assumed rabies, because you know, thatâs the closest thing to a rational explanation I could come to.
I woke Dale up and told him what Daniel told me. I didnât want to go over there alone, and although Dale had been acting a bit off, I expected heâd help me at least get Mrs. Foster and Daniel out of the house.
He did follow me over. But he also grabbed his hunting knife, and he made sure his rifle was loaded before he swung it over his back.
Dale really didnât hunt often, only going when his buddies asking him to tag along. I thought Dale was a lousy shot, since he never brought anything home he killed himself. I figured it was just an excuse to go out and drink beer.
We entered the Foster house and it was just as Daniel said- the living room covered in blood. I barely managed to swallow my vertigo as I followed Dale, the silence so much it felt like it was going to swallow me. It was only quiet for a few seconds though, then I heard the unsettling sound- the jingling of a dogâs tags.
One of the rottweilers ambled into the living room and even with how dark it was, my initial assumptions of the dogs being rabid was immediately put out of my mind. Rabies doesnât give you large tumorous growths sprouting from under your bandages that oozed a reddish pus. The dog cocked its head to the side for just a moment before its lips curled back, a thin rusty colored film covering its teeth and tongue. It tensed up, ready to pounce⌠and Dale fired a shot right into its skull.
It dropped with not even a whimper, a perfect kill shot. The other rottweiler skidded in after its friend and I nearly vomited at the sight of even more tumors growing from its neck and back. This dog also had a tail. Yes, I know, rotties are known for those little stumpy tails, but I swear to god, this dog now had a tail sprouting from its backside, arched over its body like a scorpionâs tail. I didnât get a better look until Dale downed that dog too. Despite having to swallow down the urge to puke again, I walked up to the second dogâs body. The name reflecting back from its tag read âGriffinâ.
This wasnât the Griffin I knew. The âtailâ hadnât sprouted from its actual tail, it had come from in front of it. A closer look at Bellaâs body and I saw that skin and fur had rotted away from some of her side, revealing putrid decaying flesh stretched over cracked ribs that had were turning black.
I ended up having to collapse on the couch to avoid passing out on the disgusting floor, leaving Dale alone to stride back into the bedrooms to find Daniel and his mom.
When the ambulances finally arrived, Mrs. Foster was dead. Mr. Fosterâs body was found in the kitchen, practically ripped limb from limb. Daniel was catatonic, his eyes glazed over as he was wrapped in a shock blanket, and leaving Dale to explain that by the time heâd gotten in there Mrs. Foster had already passed, the bite must have severed her brachial artery. Her body was covered when it was wheeled out, but I caught a glimpse of her bitten arm, and how it was already growing bulbous tumors like that was on the dogs.
I also noticed that Daleâs hunting knife was now conspicuously missing.
When we got home, he pulled me aside and quietly told me one thing:
âDonât tell your mother. Or your sister.â
I didnât need to ask what he didnât want me to tell. I kept my mouth shut. Maybe if I didnât talk about it, it wasnât real. The mutant rottweilers from hell, the fact that Mrs. Foster was now dead and how I had this gut feeling that something really bad had gone down in that room when Dale went in there.
There were more attacks. Reports of shadowy, long legged beasts roaming around our neck of the woods, that moved too quickly for anyone to get a good look, and pets would vanish only to turn up torn to pieces. Probably a better fate than what happened to the Fosterâs rottweilers.
Only one person was directly attacked other than the Fosters. Mr. Green was taking his garbage out when he was pounced by what his wife described as âtwo thin beasts with overly long legsâ. They literally ate his face off, god, it makes me sick to even say that. She managed to get them away and call 911, but with her signal going in and out it took them forever to get there. They took the somehow still living Mr. Green to the hospital, but he didnât last. He developed a fever that went far beyond the livable temperatures, and even if he did live I imagined it would be kind of a shitty life, since his face was entirely gone.
I didnât get to hear if there were any more tumors, since I had to listen in on this conversation between Mrs. Green and my mom. Poor widow was clearly traumatized by what she saw.
In town wasnât much better though, as Iâd find out when I went to go visit Max. The start of the most fucked up day.
âLisaâs taking time off work. She doesnât want Jayce at daycare.â
Max looked, well, a mess. The water still hadnât been fixed, and it looked like he hadnât had a decent shave or a bath in days, probably since this all started.
âHeâs been such a fussy kid lately,â Max flopped back on his position on the couch with a loud sigh. âSame with all the other kids who go to that daycare.â
âThink itâs the bad water?â I asked, nodding to the absolute mountain of water bottles by the front door, barely contained in their garbage bags.
Max shrugged, running his hands through his hair. âI just⌠I donât know. His eczema is acting up again too, but that might just be because of the heat. Weâve been using bottled water for almost everything, including baths. I feel like I need a long shower, but every time we turn on the pipes itâs just,â he shuddered, âWell, you know.â
I patted my brotherâs back. âMaybe you can come over and stay at our house for a bit? I doubt Dale will mind.â
Max was quiet, shifting uncomfortably and staring at his clasped hands before he spoke up.
âJoel, did Dad- did Dale do anything weird, leading up to Harmonyâs recovery? Was he acting quiet, or did⌠did he go out to the woods late at night?â
I remembered what happened the night before Harmonyâs miracle. Up till then, Iâd made myself believe it was really some kind of dream. I swallowed. âWhy?â I responded, trying to keep my voice level.
It didnât work. Maxâs eyes narrowed and I could tell he knew I knew something. âWhen did he go out there, Joel?â He said, his voice quiet and icy cold.
âWhy does it matter?â I asked, still trying to avoid answering the question.
Max chewed on his lip, a small speck of blood forming when he ripped off a piece of dried skin. âIt matters, Joel. Youâre not his blood, so I donât blame him for not telling you, but⌠thereâs something you do need to know about those woods. About the far back, past the lake, through the wet cave, thereâs a patch of trees-â
Max was cut off by a loud crash from the kitchen. I just about jumped out of my skin and Max was up, bolting for the source of the sound.
âLisa!? Lisa! Whatâs wrong?â
I got up and followed behind Max, nearly bumping into him as he stood frozen in the doorway.
Lisa was on all fours, groping wildly at the floor and murmuring something to herself that I couldnât quite make out. My heart hammering in my chest, I pushed past Max and slowly walked into the kitchen. âLisa? You all right?â I asked.
I nearly stepped on it, since it mostly blended into the white linoleum floor. But at the last second I saw the red stumps protruding from the back of the small white orbs. I nudged one with my foot and I actually pissed my pants a little when I saw the light brown irises of Lisaâs eyes staring back at me.
âMy⌠my eyesâŚâ
The hair on my neck stood right up as I looked towards Lisa, whoâs head lifted up in my direction, likely hearing my panicked breathing.
âH-help me find my eyes?â
I stared into the black sockets of Lisaâs skull, her face pale as her hands continued to blindly grope along the kitchen floor. A maggot crawled out of her left eye, squirming onto her cheek before dropping onto the floor.
I screamed. I ran. I ran right into the front door and knocked myself out. Not exactly a thing to be proud of, but fuck it. I saw a woman searching for her fallen out eyes. When I came to, the ambulance was there, rushing Lisa to the hospital while another EMT was making sure I didnât accidentally give myself a concussion in my panic to get away. I didnât, but it didnât matter. Max had already headed to the hospital with Jayce and I was left in their home alone, unable to get the image of Lisaâs eyeless face out of my mind.
I had Dale pick me up, but I was too scared to ask him about the wet cave and the patch of woods behind it.
There was one other person I could ask what went down that night though. I could ask my sister, Harmony-Rose.
I found her in her bedroom that night, sitting at the foot of her bed and staring into her mirror. In her hands was clutched the light pink handkerchief sheâd used to cover her head once the chemo took her hair away.
I sat on the bed behind her, waiting for her to come out of whatever thought she was in. We sat in silence for a few minutes before she turned around.
âJoel? I think somethingâs wrong with me.â
My stomach turned. I was about to ask if she was feeling sick again when I looked at her⌠I mean, really looked at her.
Sure, she had been bouncing back, but she looked almost entirely back to normal now. The weight had been put back on in a matter of days, and her hair was already regrowing, reaching to cover her ears⌠but it wasnât really her hair, either.
Harmony-Rose had our motherâs hair, dark brown, sleek and smooth. And I had heard about how when a chemo patientâs hair grows back, sometimes it looks a bit different. The textureâs changed, the colorâs lightened or darkened.
The texture had changed, now it was much curlier, but the color was what got me. Parts were the same, but other locks had grown in a shocking shade of silver. I reached forward to give her hair a tussle and was surprised by how thick it had become. âDo you feel different?â I asked.
Harmony shook her head. âI feel⌠fine. Too fine. Recovery shouldnât- it just doesnât go like this. I shouldnât be building back muscle so fast, I shouldnât be,â She ran her hands through her new grown hair, âmy hair should be taking its time, and itâs almost normal now, except for the⌠colorâŚâ She shuddered. âJoel, whatâs happening to me?â
I shook my head. âI donât know. But I have a theory.â
I told her about what I saw the night before her recovery began. When I finished, Harmony had gone white as a sheet, but her eyes lit up with the return of some memories of that night.
âI thought I was asleep,â Harmony tugged at the strands of her hair, âAnd just had some really whacked out dreams.â
âWhat happened?â I urged her to say.
Harmony took a deep breath to clear her thoughts.
âI remember Dad carrying me out back. Like when I was little and Iâd fall asleep on the couch during a movie. I knew I could feel I was outside, because it was windy, but I was too tired to really do anything except lay still. Dad carried me for a long time, I remember hearing the leaves crunching under his feet. Then we walked through someplace⌠maybe underground? His footsteps echoed off the walls. And then when we left that he set me down on my feet. Told me to walk alongside him. There was wet needles under my feet and the place smelled like bad breath and something sickly sweet. We were surrounded by pine trees. I didnât really open my eyes, I was so tired, but when I did, I saw⌠things. Eyes looking out from between the branches. Big, yellow eyes. I couldnât even make out what they belonged to, dad just hurried me along and told me I couldnât stop.
âWe came to this large⌠rock. I think. There was someone sitting on top, with very long legs and arms. Like twice the size they shouldâve been. Dad helped me lie down in the dirt in front of the rock and told me to go back to sleep. I tried, but his voice kept me awake. I think he was talking to the person on the rock, told them he had the key, and was willing to make an exchange,â Harmony reached up, touching the locks of hair that were now colorless, âAnd something wet and slimy touched my head⌠I was too scared to reopen my eyes. And I heard⌠I heard someone else say that it would be done. Suddenly I was just so cold, I couldnât stop shivering, and it feels like thereâs hundreds of bugs crawling all over me⌠ the next thing I know Iâm waking up in bed, and Iâm hungry, and I donât feel like a pile of garbage.
I glanced out back to the forest that had surrounded my home. The very thought that something was actually dangerous in there was, well, it felt stupid. I played back there almost every day as a kid and saw nothing more than squirrels and birds, maybe the occasional garter snake or deer. But nothing like what she described.
âIâm going to go see.â
I donât know why I felt like it was so important for me to go check it out, but I had to be sure for myself.
I was barely out the back door when I heard a click and saw the beam of a flashlight. I turned to see Harmony right behind me, wearing a coat that finally fit her again instead of making her look like she was drowning in cloth. I originally opened my mouth to object to her coming along, but I shut it just as quickly and started walking.
The far back of the woods. Past the lake and the wet cave. Harmony and I walked in almost complete silence, only hearing the croaking of frogs and chirping crickets that hung heavily on the night air. Iâd been back here so often I knew what Max was talking about. Iâd only gone in the cave once, but since it was so gross I only poked my head in and never went back. When I walked through it this time, I felt Harmonyâs hand in mine, I felt it shake.
When we exited into the forest behind the cave, we were officially in a place I had never been before. Even the trees looked different, the flashlight casting long shadows along the pebbles that looked like claws. While my steps got more uncertain on the stone path, Harmonyâs pace picked up.
âI remember⌠this. I remember this.â
Harmony breathed in slowly, her gaze flicking back and forth. âWhatever you do, Joel, donât look to the sides. Theyâll eat you alive,â She said.
I knew better than to ask how the hell she knew that. âWhy wonât they eat you?â I asked, the hair on my neck standing up. Back here not even the crickets were making a racket, the only sounds were my breathing and the occasional snap of a twig past the treeline, just enough to let me know that we werenât alone.
âBecause whatever my dad did to me, it made me a part of them.â
Harmony and I kept walking until we reached the clearing, where the heavy silence was finally broken by something else. Arguing.
It took me longer than normal to recognize Maxâs voice, his words were colliding and slurring together so they were barely recognizable. Harmonyâs grip on my hand turned so tight it nearly cut off circulation, and we both ducked behind a tree before peering around to see Max.
He was so drunk he was barely standing up straight, his cheeks bright red and his hair sticking up with sweat. At the very back of the small clearing was something I recognized as an obelisk, made of a black flecked gray stone and carved with letters I couldnât recognize. And by the obelisk was Dale.
âSo all those years⌠every fuckinâ year you told me that it was the most important fuckinâ responsibility,â Max swayed back and forth, barely catching himself from just falling to the ground, âYou were just talking out of your ass? Because the moment you need something, you c-come back here and let them out?!â
Dale was quiet, his face expressionless. â⌠We were out of-â
âDonât. Donât fucking give me that shit, dad!â Max burst into messy sobs, tears rolling down his cheeks and snot dribbling from his nose. âLisaâs dead! So many people are dead, because you took the key and let them out to save Harmony!â
âSheâs your sister-â
âSo what about other peopleâs sisters?!â Max pointed an accusatory finger at Dale, spittle flying from his mouth as he began to scream at his father. âWhat about other peopleâs wives?! Other peopleâs s-s-sooonnsâŚ.â Max trailed off before he threw his head back and screamed into the sky.
Dale finally showed something other than apathy, blinking a few times in shock before he looked concerned. âWhat happened to Jayce?â He asked softly.
âI donât fucking know, how about you ask your fucking monsters?!â Max pointed up and I finally noticed there was someone sitting on top of the obelisk.
It was just as Harmony recounted for me earlier, a man with limbs twice as long as they shouldâve been, but his face⌠the gray skin was stretched so tightly over his skull, his lips parted in a painful looking smile as his yellow eyes stared down at the arguing pair.
Dale glanced up at that⌠that thing. âWhat happened to Jayce, then, Balem?â
Balem yawned, revealing rows upon rows of needle teeth in his mouth that stretched back down his throat and covered his pointed tongue that was dripping in a thick white saliva. When he spoke, his mouth moved a moment slower than the words leaving him, like he was lipsyncing along to his speech. âWhat happened to the rest of the children at that Greenhill daycare. The carpet cleaner was diluted with water- tap water. They were infested.â Balemâs manic grin returned.
Daleâs face went white as a sheet. He stammered for a few moments, trying to come up with a response. âIâm so sorry, Max, I didnât mean for this-â
âAnd you still did it!â Max cackled, his eyes rolling into his head to only show their whites as he continued to laugh without sounding a least bit amused. When he finally stopped, his face twisted in such a way I could barely recognize him as my stepbrother anymore. âYou fucking hypocrite. You traded everyoneâs lives for Harmony, the same thing you told me not to do for anyone- not even mom.â
Dale stared at his shoes. I think he knew he was in the wrong here, but there was really no coming back from what heâd done. â⌠Itâll only be for a bit more, Max, a week or two more and Harmony will be completely healed,â He said.
âAnd whatâll happen during those two weeks!?â Max shook his head. âUnbelievable. So, whatâs the deal? As long as sheâs alive and recovering in town, these freaks get full run of the place? I can think of a good way to end that.â
My heart almost stopped at the implication. Dale looked ready to be sick. âNo, no, you canât! If you hurt her, then all of this would be for nothing!â
âIt already was!â Max began winding his way through the clearing. âYouâre responsible for everyone whoâs getting hurt and killed! You did! You might as well have put a gun to their head! At least when I kill Harmony, itâll be peaceful, and sheâll never know her life was paid for with her nephewâs blood-â
It happened so fast. Max took a step too close to Dale and Dale grabbed Max by the head, slamming his son into the obelisk so hard his skull cracking sounded like a gunshot.
Max slid to the ground, his smashed head leaving a streak of blood on the stone. A shrieking laugh echoed through the clearing and I looked up to see this âBalemâ clapping, rocking back and forth on his obelisk. I now saw there was a chain wrapped around his neck, with a padlock hanging open from one of the links.
âToo good! Too good, Dale!â Balemâs chattering his jaw, his teeth making a disturbing clattering sound. âThe drama has been made perfect with the audience!â Balemâs gaze landed right where we were and he pointed one of his long fingers towards us.
Dale slowly turned, the blood of his son dripping down his hands from where he bashed Maxâs head into the stone. Harmony shoved me down into the ground before she stepped out from behind the tree, muttering âstay stillâ as she walked into plain view of Balem and Dale.
âDad?â Harmony looked at Maxâs body before back to their father. âYou killed Max?â
Dale began to shake, the once imposing man turning into a shadow of his former self. He dropped to his knees, burying his face in his hands as he began to sob, sputtering out half apologies and weak explanations about this being the only choice.
âI couldnât lose you, Harmony Rose. Iâd sacrifice the world for you,â were the only words that were really clear, since the rest was slurred out by his sobbing and crying.
Harmony just shook her head before glancing up the obelisk. Silently she approached it, where Balem leaned down, actually managing to get down to her level. âArenât you going to thank me?â The monster said, cocking his head to the side, his ever grinning face looking downright smug.
Harmony took a deep breath. âAs long as the lockâs open,â She pointed to the padlock, âyou and⌠everything else can go wherever you want?â
Balem nodded. âAnd your blood cancer will continue to fade. Once itâs gone, youâll live to a hundred and two, thanks to my interference,â He said.
For several long seconds, Harmony just stood there, still as a statue. Then she reached up and clicked the padlock shut.
Nothing monumental happened- Balem didnât start melting into goo, and I didnât hear the screams of several monsters being forced back into their forest prison. Balem didnât even stop smiling, only reaching up to pat Harmony gently on the head. âYou still stand a chance to beat it, since I healed it enough to where treatment might actually make a difference. Youâre welcome, and youâre such a good girl, so I hope to see you again. I havenât made a bargain with your family for years. It was great fun. Now go home, girl, and take your half brother with you. I think youâll both want to miss the final act of this drama.â
Nodding, Harmony backed away from Balem before turning around and sprinting back to the treeline, yanking me back up to my feet. We bolted down the path, together. I took a single look back to see Dale, still on his knees, while swarms of long legged pure black creatures began to swarm him.
Itâs been a month. Maxâs body was found, but there was no mention of an obelisk, and Dale was just gone. Harmonyâs recovery is starting to slide, but where it is now, it is far more likely sheâll beat it. Sheâs been quiet, running her fingers through the still silvery curls on her head. She hasnât said it, but we both hope if her hair falls out this time, itâll grow back the way it used to be. Momâs been a wreck, losing Dale, Max, Lisa and Jayce has really fucked her up. But weâll make it through this.
I found something though. Last night, after both Harmony and my mom went to bed, I heard someone knock at the door and opened it to find a small leather pouch on the porch. I dumped the contents into my hand and I felt sick.
Itâs a key. A key made of the same material the obelisk was, just the right size for the padlock attached to the chain on Balemâs neck.
Hello, friends!
This is Spider, writing on behalf of Celly & our daugh⌠Spider Perry needs your support for Help Celly & Cat Recover Fr
Hello, friends! Please help a young trans woman save her house.
My daughter, @mistresskabooms, moved out to her dad's after he had multiple strokes in 2024. They were just getting back on their feet when massive rains hit and completely flooded their basement. Insurance won't do shit bc it's flood water, and if they can't get this handled quickly, it'll turn to mold. Without help, Celly will have to put off cataract surgery, which isn't great since Cat currently doesn't drive, and Celly can't get to work without a car.
This is the house that her dad bought after his father died, and it's what he intends to leave to her so that hopefully no matter what happens, she doesn't have to worry in this climate about having a roof over her head. It is the sum total of the legacy that her Pop-Pop, who spent 40+ years on a Chrysler assembly line, left to his son and his granddaughter. For that to happen, though, the house has to survive.
If you can donate, awesome, and if not, boosting the post is so appreciated. đ
ppl are so annoying âyou canât paint ur bedroom pink youâre an adultâ i did not spend my entire life waiting to grow up and control my life to paint my bedroom beige
when I first bought my house, I announced my decision to paint my bedroom purple. I had wanted a purple bedroom for thirty damn years, you fucking bet I was gonna have one now. My friends decided, for some reason, that I meant what one of them referred to as â14 year old girl purpleâ (through whatâs wrong with the colors a 14 year old girl chooses, I donât know, even if theyâre not what I want as an adult). They didnât believe me until they saw the color on the actual wall, even thought they helped me pick out paints. My mother, meanwhile, decided to get worried that if I painted my bedroom a âdark purpleâ, it would be âdepressingâ. As if, with an entire house to live in, I would spend all my time in the bedroom, which I wanted to be dark because I would be sleeping in there. In the damn dark.
I had like one, maybe two friends who were all like FUCK YEAH YOU PAINT IT WHATEVER COLOR YOU WANT, PURPLE BEDROOMS ARE AWESOME.
But when they actualy saw the finished bedroom, every single one of them was like, âOh yeah, thatâs really pretty.â (Well, the ones who supported me from the beginning were more like WOOHOO.)
And the moral of the story is: Fuck âem, please yourself. Either theyâll come around, or you can safely ignore every question of taste they opine about for the rest of time.
This applies to other adulting activities, too. When I was a kid, I decided that I wanted to have a wedding cake made of doughnuts. When I got older, I figured that I would be âmatureâ about it and get a traditional cake, which the older adults approved of. Now that Iâm 25 and facing the possibility of actual marriage in the near future, Iâm just like âmarriage is a social construct but it comes with tax & insurance benefits, so just give me that goddamn doughnut cake.â If they donât like it then they donât have to come to my wedding.
Iâm thirty and my first big furniture purchase was a custom coffin shaped coffee table that opens up and is lined with purple crushed velvet. I would have loved it at 13 and I love it now. Growing up doesnât mean you have to abandon what makes you happy.
I have told this story before, and I will tell it again, because I am An Old now and repeating stories forever is our prerogative:
When I bought my house, the kitchen was multiple shades of dingy white. It was dismal, but it was now mine! So went to the hardware store for paint (well, several trips, painted swatches on panel, etc â Iâm very picky. But this was the final, ârealâ trip). It was a busy day in the paint section. There were at least five people behind me in line.
Now, remember, latex paint is slightly lighter and brighter when wet than it is when dry. And Iâd decided to paint my kitchen candy-apple red. The hardware store employee took my gallon off the Paint Jiggler and cracked it open to put a dab on the top, revealing the most incredibly deep pink, and behind me I hear the entire line of people say,
âOh my god.â
âŚin perfect chorus.
I did not realize up until that moment that shocking a crowd of strangers with my paint color choices was a life goal, but at that moment I felt an absolutely overwhelming sense of achievement.
When I first moved into my place, I painted the spare room, that eventually became my office, lime green, the kind of lime green that glows down the corridor when I open the door - The colour was only available as an âaccent colourâ in the section of paints intended for childrenâs playrooms, and in the shop I got a lot of âOh your son will love this!â And from people I knew I got a lot of âOh well, youâre 21 now, youâre basically a teenager, this is a terrible idea, youâll hate it and need to pull out all the furniture to repaint it.â And I have to report that I am now in my forties and my office still looks like this, and it makes me smile every time I see it.
not decorating trends; those have always existed. but the idea that color and decoration is inherently childish
this is the dining room at the Eustis Estate in Milton, Massachusetts, from 1878 (where I used to work, briefly). the walls are TEXTURED MICA SHIMMER on a green background. Adult Space For Adults!
A jewelry shop in Paris c. 1901. kids canât buy jewelry!
who can forget the classic 1950s colorful bathroom? Iâm not a huge fan, but still! adult space! bright colors; decorative designs!
meanwhile âyouâre immature if you like Art Nouveauâ is a hot take Iâve really, seriously seen on this webbed site (only once, thank the gods). I donât know who started this, but Iâm going to kill them
I think a lot of it stems from the ubiquitous Waterhouse prints that were sold on college campuses for 20 years. like why would I get a free pass if it were Monet instead Western culture is stupid. The entire point of being an adult is breakfast for dinner and cake for breakfast and dying with the most toys.
The examples of decorated homes above are both either modern or upper class, which makes it easy to dismiss because âsure the rich people have beautiful homesâ and âsure, modern middle-class people have lots of color in their homes.â
So hereâs two examples of traditional Norwegian farmhouse interiors. You know. The kinds of places peasants live in.
This type of painting is called ârosemalingâ and today you usually find it on, like, carved wooden bowls and such that are only used for decoration. But back two centuries ago, it was very common to find the interiors of homes covered in it, in projects that were painted little by little over the decades. Because itâs beautiful to look at, paint is the cheapest way of decorating your house, and what else are you going to do on the long winter nights when itâs too dark and cold to work outdoors?
But mostly, they did it because it made them happy, and it was beautiful.
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