Fraternity sorority life resumes

(Sadly, I can't really tell the victim's story in this case like I usually do because there isn't much information on them, nor is there much info on this case in general. I've also found conflicting information as usual)
On January 26, 1999, a local in the center of Almaty, Kazakhstan was searching through a garbage bin near a student dormitory when he came across severed human legs inside the bin. Police were called and they found more dismembered remains such as the arms and 21 fragments and pieces of skin and lastly one of the breasts which identified the victim's gender as female. Subcutaneous fat and muscle mass were found to be missing for the skin fragments, only the skin itself had been removed. The police arrived and determined that the remains belonged to one body and that the dismemberment was likely done with a knife or scalpal and that the killer knew what they were doing.
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Police and investigators at the scene.
The police began the investigation by looking into the low-hanging fruit. They questioned all the local alcoholics and drug addicts but found no suspects among them. They also considered that perhaps the victim was part of an occult ritual or that the killer had been interrupted. With the latter theory, the police searched for witnesses but came back empty handed. They identified the victim as a prostitute who only one media report gives a "name" to her and she was simply referred to as "K". In an unfortunate coincidence, there was a gang of serial killers known as the Bormann Gang who targeted prostitutes in Astana at the exact same time. Police initially assumed K was another of their victims but later ruled this theory out.
By February 23, the investigation had gone cold when police suddenly received a call from another precinct claiming they had found the killer. A travelling doctor reported a four odour coming from one of the apartments inside the building so police arrived and broke down the door. The apartment was owned by a former medical and pathology student named Zagipa Ustaeva, who graduated in the 1980s. Zagipa was home at the time and let the police search her home until they took note of a wardrobe cabinet. After the police went to investigate the wardrobe, Zagipa grew agitated and began psychically pushing back against the officer until she was forced out of the way and the wardrobe opened. Inside, they were greeted by 4 mummified bodies wrapped in shrouds.
Police outside the apartment
The bodies
Zagipa was arrested alongside her father as an accomplice. The 4 bodies were identified as Zagipa's three sisters and her elderly mother. Zagipa denied any involvement in K's murder and claimed they had died of natural causes and her mother, cancer specifically but she couldn't afford the burial costs. An Autopsy seemed unable to determine a cause of death, only that they had been dead for 6 months. Some organs and muscle mass were missing like with the remains found in the garbage bin but this was due to decomposition. Zagipa and her father were found mentally unfit for trial and remanded to a psychiatric hospital. They were later ruled out as suspects in K's murder.
The police grew so desperate for leads that they even went to the mental hospital Zagipa had been sent to just to see that their most infamous inmate, Nikolai Dzhumagaliev was still in custody. Nikolai had killed and cannibalized 10 women in Almaty and in 1989 he even escaped the mental hospital and remained on the run until 1991. After the dismembered remains were found in the garbage bin, there were rumours that he had yet again escaped and was responsible for this latest murder, rumours even the police themselves believed for a brief period. Nikolai was soon ruled out after police arrived at the psychiatric institute and saw that Nikolai had in fact not escaped for the second time. Eventually, the case was shelved and all investigations ceased.
Starting in July, the murders would resume. Those swimming in the Sairan Reservoir found a severed hand floating on the water's surface. This one discovery would only be the beginning. A few days later a pair of severed legs would be found in the Esentai River. During the next few weeks, more remains consisting of legs, hands, organs, bones, skulls and even just skin would be found throughout Almaty in garbage bins and sometimes the sewer wells. These remains were all determined to belong to three separate women. The police arrested a homeless man found near one of the crime scenes named Vladimir Yevseev since he had confessed to killing a woman. He was eventually released after investigators realized he was talking about a murder he had just finished serving his sentence for. Vladimir had simply kept that one detail concealed in hopes he'd be sent back to prison where he'd be warm and fed.
Besides, due to Vladimir's homeless, he was unlikely to be the killer after the police uncovered the first connection between the victims. All of the victims had alcohol in their system and had also been drugged, but not just with any drug. Instead of the more common substances like heroin or cocaine, what they had in their system instead was something much more powerful and used to treat severe mental illnesses and thus not many would have access to them.
The police also managed to identify one of the victims. One of the severed hands found in a garbage bin was identified based on her fingerprints. The prints belonged to a prostitute named Olga Kolesnikova. Her fingerprints were on file due to a incident where she was convicted for stealing a sewing machine. The police proceeded to question Olga's fellow sex workers and were told that many of them had gone missing which the police saw as another connection since K was also a prostitute and the other unidentified victims likely were too.
Olga Kolesnikova
Based on their limited information, the police built up their profile of the killer. They determined that the killer was supremely confident and unafraid of being caught, he could freely move around the city and thus was unemployed, had flexible hours or a job that enabled him to travel around the city, had access to high-grade pharmaceuticals and his "hunting grounds" were Seyfullin Avenue where most of Almaty's Prostitutes found their work. Kazakhstan was also suffering from an outbreak of various STDs in 1999 so based on the brutality and dismemberment, they theorized that the killer was suffering from an STD and that revenge was his motive.
Before the police could act on this profile, they received another call. Orderlies at The Republican Clinical Psychiatric Hospital were doing their rounds alongside the outside and perimeter of the building when in the bushes and vegetation surrounding the hospital, they found a human skull. The skull and bones were relatively clean and completely absent was any form of skin or human tissue, just the skull. The skull also had some burn marks and signs that it had been cooked and boiled for a long time. A tox screen of the skull revealed traces of the drugs used at the mental hospital. As no escapes had been reported, the police questioned the staff and orderlies who floated to police, the possibility that cannablism was involved.
Police being led to the skull
Meanwhile, police had to identify the skull. The facial features of the skull were compared against various missing persons or murder victims who only had some of their remains recovered. In so doing, they identified the skull as Olga's. With this revelation, the police now knew that their serial killer was likely a cannibal and that he was under the employment of a mental hospital. The police didn't want to tip him off though so they didn't move forward with this just yet and instead placed plain-clothed and undercover officers along Seyfullin Avenue as well as discreetly looking into the mental hospital staff. Young girls mainly school girls were also banned from going outside without an escort in an attempt to limit the killer's body count.
They were still no closer to finding the killer until several weeks later when two prostitutes came forward to make a statement. They told investigators about one of their clients, in fact, three clients who showed up to Seifullin Avenue and offered to pay them generously for their services. They were led to an apartment and one of the men behaved strangely. They were offered alcohol and passed out not long after drinking it. They woke up and saw one of the men rummaging through their belongings and feeling like their lives were at risk, they fled. A couple of weeks later, they saw the three again and they picked up one of the other prostitutes who would never be seen again. The two told the police the address to the apartment and when police went to the apartment on August 5, they were greeted by 33-year-old Sergei Mikhailovich Kopay he appeared very indignant and only reluctantly went with the police.
Sergei Mikhailovich Kopay
The police searched their home and were now very confident they had their man. The police found various human bones belonging to the parts of the bodies that weren't recovered, the belongings of the victims that were identified, and lastly, human meat found inside his freezer.
After he was arrested, it came out that the police had several opportunities to arrest Kopay at an earlier date. When police were searching for eyewitnesses after K's remains were discovered, they came across Kopay's house. He simply showed his old police ID to the officer who promptly left. Many of his neighbours also lodged complaints against him that went unheeded by police.
Kopay didn't say anything when interrogated but during the search of his home, the police found a notebook containing the name, address and phone number of his half-brother 24-year-old Evgeny Turochkin and 25-year-old medical graduate, Mikhail Sergeevich Vershinin. Evgeny and Mikhail were employed by the same mental hospital Kopay worked at. The two were swiftly arrested and interrogated with Mikhail confessing first and later the other two after hearing of this and after being identified by the two prostitutes who came forward. The police also arrested a fourth man, Roman Ledyaev. Roman did not take part in any of the murders but knew they were happening. He kept his silence because he was afraid that if he went to the police, they would tell him about his repeated thefts and robberies one resulting in a security guard being injured and that he'd be sent to prison right alongside them.
Kopay was born in 1967 with many siblings. Sources vary on whether he was born in Kazakhstan or was from Russia and immigrated as a child. He was raised by his mother, a chronic alcoholic who kept breaking up with various different partners and would bring many men back to their homes. Kopay himself put it as this "I had a new dad every week". Despite being his only parental figure, his mother wasn't involved in his or his sibling's lives. Due to a lack of any real parenting, Kopay developed a temper, barely studied at school and dropped out as soon as possible and was later drafted into the military.
After his discharge from the military, he got married immediately but swiftly had his first of many failed marriages. He beat his first wife so badly that she needed surgery and passed away during the operation, Kopay did not face any charges for this incident. His second wife, he forced into sex work while Kopay himself was unemployed. For prior employment, Kopay once was a police officer before he was terminated in 1992 for drinking on duty, then he was a security guard and at the time of his arrest, an orderly at the mental hospital.
Evgeny Turochkin was born in 1976 and likewise his only parent didn't care much for him. After his schooling, he worked as a mechanic before joining the military. During his army stint, he suffered a severe and permanent traumatic brain injury after a fellow soldier broke a stool over his head. Once discharged, Evgeny struggled to find work and could only work the occasional odd job. Kopay would help him out and get him a job as an orderly.
Evgeny Turochkin
Mikhail Sergeevich Vershinin was born in 1975 in Almaty with a congenital heart defect. He grew up in a relatively normal family and in fact was cared for greatly by his parents due to his heart issues. He was still shy, withdrawn and introverted which caused him to be bullied at school. After schooling was complete, he went to medical school and graduated as a paramedic. It was during his tenure as a student at med school that he met a girl he would later marry. According to Mikhail, she was the abusive one who "dominated" him, would engage in blatant acts of infidelity before his eyes, and whenever he tried breaking it off, she always convinced him to come back. Mikhali was a member of the Jehovah's Witnesses and the teachings he adhered to and his supposed toxic relationship caused him to develop a hatred toward women as a whole.
Mikhail Sergeevich Vershinin
According to Kopy, Mikhail and Evgeny, they claimed their first victim on April 30, 1998. The victim was a prostitute they simply knew as "Natasha" She was brought to their apartment so they could employ use of her services which would come at the cost of 500 Tenge. Regretting the money he parted with and wanting it back, Kopay took a knife and ran toward Natasha, slitting her throat. With her dying words, Natasha mentioned having two children.
Her body was then brought to a tun in their bathroom where they proceeded to dismember her body and peel the skin and flesh off of the bones which they decided to cook, even turning it into kebabs which they served to their unknowing relatives and neighbours.
After this murder, The gang as it turned out, liked killing and the taste of human flesh so they began luring more prostitutes into their apartment and would replace excessive alcohol with the cache of psychiatric drugs they had access to at the mental hospital and to make money, would even sell their "meat products" to the public.
Another murder happened in August 1998, an acquaintance of Kopay visited him and she got into an argument with Evgeny who threw a bottle at her, starting with the shards cutting an artery. This was the only one of their murders that seemed unplanned and a spur-of-the-moment decision. After her death, the three repeated the same process done with Natasha.
Meanwhile, Evgeny would add that before the victims would be dismembered, he'd sneak into the bathroom and engage in necrophiliac acts. By the time the investigation had concluded, Kopay, Evgeny and Mikhail were linked with 7 murders of women aged between 18-25, three of those victims had never been identified and remain Jane Does.
The three were made to undergo a mental evaluation and once they were ruled sane, the trial began. At court the three referred to themselves as "orderlies of society" and that they were cleansing the world of "filth". Mikhail specifically referred to himself as a scientist and that he was dissecting the skulls for the sake of a major scientific discovery.
On September 28, 2001, The Almaty City Court sentenced all three of the cannibals to death. Roman Ledyaev was handed down an 8-year sentence. The three appealed their sentences but on December 19, 2002, The Supreme Court upheld the sentences. Mikhail's father attended the proceedings and continued to argue for his son's innocence, claiming the police tortured him into confessing and that he had an alibi for all 7 of the murders. Kopay and Evgeny soon followed suit and began claiming innocence as well.
The four in court
Kazakhstan, in 2003, ordered a moratorium on all executions (before abolishing the death penalty entirely in 2021) causing their sentences to be commuted to life imprisonment. While in prison, Kopay took up drawing and artwork with many remarking how "eerie" they found his artwork. In 2008, Kopay passed away in prison suddenly and from an unexpected illness.
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https://preview.redd.it/do8tgnza8q5d1.png?width=1557&format=png&auto=webp&s=8e5898fe20ba80d448ec9730a1d67a8dd6e8c583
Kopay's drawings
Evgeny and Mikhail remain in a maximum security penal colony with their every movement constantly monitored by prison guards. After 25 years of jail time, they would be eligible for parole but it is considered highly unlikely by everyone that they'll ever be released.
Sources (In the comments)

(FYI, I am Chinese and completed my school years before Uni in China. I completed my Uni in a British facility) So I graduated with a master about a yeat ago and still have no job (Due to the crazy job market and my lack of motives, but that is another topic).
It is very hard to find a path of my own, for example, my career path. It seems there are too many and too little choices at the same time. And it is all up to you to decide. You could follow the majority, but even the majority divides into different paths (like take exams for public servants or grind your resume into big companies). Same for the minority paths (start a company on your own, or be a freelancer with side jobs).
Now I am not here to discuss the ways to make decisions. It's just when I look back in my years being a student, things were much MUCH more simpler. Good grade, that was the main focus of a student. Other than that you can do whatever you please (as long as it's legal that is). I had passion for drawing, for tv shows, for someone I had a crush on. Life was simple but rich.
And then you graduate, suddenly you are supposed to get a job, find your future on your own. Good grades which were the world to you suddenly don't or matter very little now. We did not have any career counsellors whatsoever in Chinese schools. And the ones in Uni did not help. Anyways there could be many causes.
It would nice if you can give some advice. But I am mainly looking if someone is having or had the same experience.

Hi there everyone. This’ll be another part of the strangeness that has been my life. However, It just seemed right, since I shared my first story so it’d be only fair I share this one too. My name is Joey. I'm a 24 year old man. I live in Utah and if you’ve read the title you’ll know that this is about an older Church. One I used to go as a child at 6 years old. I grew up around and inside the Churches that have infested the entire state. Anyone that's been around Utah knows exactly what I’m talking about. Those that don’t, there’s a lot of Churches around here. So much so, throw a rock in a direction and follow and you’ll visit one. I’ll start off by telling you all about my childhood a bit.
I grew up into an adoptive family. During that time, 2006 was growing. With the dynamic being my Mom, Dad, Newly adopted sister and me. This year happened to be the same year my consciousness formed and memories started forming into my long term brain. My thinking during the time wasn’t entirely clear but my memory makes my body feel a shudder throughout my innards. I believe it’s time to get into my background during this year. For those that don’t want to know feel free to skip the next paragraph. Though the context is that I was abused. Making my prayers to God much stronger. So there's that warning.
My father was a drunk. I feel I don’t need to explain more here. My mother was more self preservative than I could ever know. Days and Nights blended together in my head a lot from my childhood. My mind blocked out a lot of those moments. My abuse was much more than my sister. Mostly because I took protective stance and hid my sister often while my mother would leave us there in the horrors of my fathers drunken fist. This happened this whole year all while the main story occurs.
Prayers. These were what kept me company after I had been left bloodied. Sundays were always somewhat of a safe haven at times. If you haven’t been, there’s a room inside some Churches that’s a large room with lots of windows used for prayer specifically. Sometimes, in my Church we used it for events or for youth group prayer. Never made very many friends in school or inside my time at Church. However, this is where things always felt weird and my memory persists something was wrong even as a 6 year old child.
The light of the day would shine through the windows inside the room and I would pray. Sometimes by myself. Praying my heart out that God had a plan to save me and my sister from the pain. Asking questions like “Why us?” “Were we bad kids?” “Did our parents love us?”. All hard questions to listen to. Especially coming from such an innocent boy. Every Sunday I’d end up in that room. Either alone or with few. Staying until the Church would close. As we only lived a block away from my house my family would leave me there knowing I knew my way home. It must have happened sometime in the summer when I first noticed it. I was praying just like I did every other Sunday when I caught a glimpse of it in the sunshine. A porcelain button on the back left thigh of the statue. This was odd and my child's curiosity got the best of me. I pressed it. I remember a door unlocking from behind the statue. Being small enough at the time I squeezed past and opened it. Closing it behind me.
It was dim but had some light from the old bulbs that lined the halls before me. I wasn’t as scared as I probably should’ve been but from my previous story you’ll know I wasn’t always the brightest. These halls were small to say the least. My own body could barely maneuver between the walls and it didn’t seem to get larger by any means. I recall walking for some time. To a child it was an eternity. A whole 20 minutes. But, I finally reached another door by then. I pushed it open to reveal that the way was sealed. By brick and cement. Saddened to not find narnia at the end of the halls I turned back and walked back. I made it back in time as the person closing didn’t even notice I left and escorted me out of the Church.
This wasn’t the last time I’d visit, obviously. I took a crude tool I made on my own calling it my “pickaxe” It was 2 old hammers I found in my fathers shed and happened to stick them on one hammer handle with nothing but caveman brute force and hopes I could get through that brick and cement to see what was behind it.. The pickaxe was just the two hammer heads with the nail removers facing outward. I remember this took me about a month's time to craft.
The next time I visited the door was on a saturday when we still had access to the Church but no sermon was held. So I took my weekends very seriously that fall. I would leave my pickaxe and a ninja turtles backpack there so I could dump the rocks and rubble just outside in the school yard a few feet down. The expeditions became my childhood obsession. An escape from my home life. It was only after I started leaving that my mother took my sister with her to my aunts house on the weekend. I continued throughout school when it picked back up in september. By this point however, I was getting closer. Closer than I ever thought I could.
It wasn’t long after this that my mom and dad got a divorce. I never minded it. Honestly, my first thought was how I could stay longer and see what was finally behind that door. Never had a second thought about the implications of the divorce or even that I was to stay with my dad for the time being. My mom always assured me she’d come back for me. It never happened. Despite the small delay from this I was quick to go back to the halls. The room had stayed empty for a lot of the weekend as they got colder and colder. Less and less people would stay around the prayer area. Soon after I remember it reached November. I was ecstatic when I breached the wall for the first time.
My life hadn’t been easy that year. Yet finally I was at the cusp of my adventure and I finally would receive my treasure. It didn’t matter if it was gold or a penny. I did it and it took me away from the horrors of my home life. Even if little me had no friends at the time until I met Michael, Ben and Austin later on. As in my previous escapades. I didn’t feel lonely. Only that I felt happiness for what felt like the first time that year. It was only when I saw what was behind it did I realize that I never should have chipped away at that wall. I should’ve stayed home and tried to make friends at school. Instead I decided to fly too close to the sun. In search of something that would change my life. Somehow in an odd way it did. Just not in the way I wished it would’ve.
The breach of light hit me. I saw through the hole I had made just large enough for me to see inside. It was another Church room. This one was, however, empty and dark. The windows shone only moonlight as I looked through. Yet I still knew in my head that it had only been about a couple hours according to my Spider-Man watch. Somewhere closer to 3PM that afternoon. So how was this place dark? How was the Moon out? Where is everyone? Why is it gross looking inside? These questions flooded my mind as I continued to chip away at the brick. To which by the end of this day I could easily stick my arm out of the hole I’d created.It seemed like literal magic to me. This must be something that God has finally given me. The thought my prayers had been answered flooded my mind the following week. Waiting and waiting for more answers. Thinking I just had to make it to Saturday that week. By the time I had gotten back on Saturday my expedition resumed and I was as eager as ever. When finally I had a terrible realization that same evening. My pickaxe was severely beaten and broken due to me just smacking it against the wall with all my force. It look disheveled and honestly I think back now and It most certainly should’ve broken many weeks prior. So my solution? Replace the tops with my dads 2 other hammer heads I had found earlier that summer. Wasn’t like he ever left his room other than to grab another pack of miller.
I should’ve seen something coming after taking the hammers. My dad soon went to work on a project and found that his hammers (all 4) had gone missing and I was the only one at the house. So inevitably I got grounded and beat. Luckily I left my bag and pickaxe at the halls. The next two weeks were agonizingly slow. Thoughts of what would be through that odd magic door rushed through my head endlessly. So much so I didn’t even get that much sleep by the end of the week. Regardless, I went to Church that Saturday morning. The same people there tried to greet me but I ignored them this time. Many were concerned about the black eye I had that was just barely going away now. At last I made it back to the spot I dug. I saw my Ninja Turtle backpack and my pickaxe waiting for me. The hole however, was larger than I had previously remembered. Enough so that my body almost fit. My child brain assumed that maybe it had been something like wind or something. We just learned about erosion a bit in school so it seemed logical at the time. Within the hour I was in. I left my bag and pickaxe and entered the old Church. I looked around and found myself in a regularly lit room with the sun out and shining. Though I didn’t understand why it looked like night time when I went looking through the sealed doorway earlier. My first thought was that maybe it was just later than I thought it was. My watch said 6 PM which meant I had about an hour before my dad would notice I wasn’t home. So I journeyed forward.
The Church resembled the one I came from. Eerily so. Same statue. Same layout. Even the same odd scratches and bumps I used to notice on the walls. The same all around but just backwards. Like everything had flopped on its head. When I left the large prayer room identical to the one I had left to get here. I saw a man at the podium. He didn’t look like my own pastor. He wore darker clothing and wore a symbol. A symbol I never saw before. Almost resembling the cross you might see at a train stop? He also spoke about scripture that I don’t remember. Reading from a book that was much thicker and more dense than that of the one I saw regularly on the weekends. Confused, I just listened. The sermon enticed me. Felt even more fulfilling than the current bible I recognized. I still remember the line that was spoken that drove it home for me. “To he who seeks heaven and hell shall find it. Naught to he who merely thinks about the idea but the ones that create it in their mind’s eye and heart. Heaven and hell are but concepts bestowed upon by the false idols of this world. The one true idol shant be the idea of these idols but the belief in oneself as the idol you imagine to be true.” I wrote down these words in my little notepad I had brought along to catalog my journey.
Listening to this filled me with the idea that I was in control of the things that happened. Not my father. Not god. Joey. After the sermon which lasted only a few minutes after the statement, I would walk up and talk to the man who spoke so clearly. I remember our small conversation from the notes I took.
“Hey there mister!”
“Hey buddy! Did you like the sermon?” He spoke so calmly and warm that I almost cried upon hearing him.
“That was really cool what you said.”
Thank you! Well I haven’t seen you here before. Where are you from?” The calmness in his voice never once struck me with malice.
“Down the street near the school. Right next to the 7-11. I get slushies there sometimes” I remember how hot my face was as I did my best to try and impress what I thought could be my new friend.
“OH! Yeah I know where you’re talking about. Do you know where you’re at buddy?” His question was the first time I felt he had some concern in his voice.
“No. I just found out this place was here.” I recall vividly looking down in shame.
“Well. We’re not really outside. See?” He revealed to me that a light on the windows could be turned on and off. Showing a moonlit night or what was currently the day time light.
Stunned, I immediately went into a small panic. “Then where is this place?”
He looked at me. Almost with a hatful look only a man I knew all too well would give me. I fully expected to be beat at this point. To my surprise he didn’t. He just told me a story. “What's your name buddy?”
“Joey, I’m 6.”
“Joey, huh. That’s funny. My name is Joseph but my friends can call me Joe.” His face turned into a very heartfelt smile.
“Hi there Mr. Joseph”
“Hey! I said my friends call me Joe! We’re friends aren’t we Joey?” this sentence made me feel a little more weary but nothing that seriously made me question anything.
“Yeah, hi Joe”
“Joey. Would you like to hear my story? How did I get here? Then maybe we can talk about how you got here?” This felt warranted afterall we did just meet and I was curious how he ended up here without my genius pickaxe.
“Yeah. I think that’s fair.” I think at this point my nerves got the best of me as I started to swing my legs back and forth.
He started.
“Joey, It was 1979 and I was just right out of highschool. I was gonna end up in the U! You know what the U is right?”
He chuckled as I nodded but this pause wasn’t long before he started up again.
“Well, I made it there. Met a beautiful beautiful girl. Her name was Marie. She was the love of my life Joey. She was my everything. I used to go with her everywhere. To the parlor where she’d drink soda and ice cream with her friends. I’d see her at the park or the drive-in theater sometimes. She’d always be so hard to get through Joey. She never said yes a single time I asked her out. Over and over throughout my college years I would ask and ask. It drove me nuts!”
He laughed so hard he threw himself into a coughing fit. After it he began again after patting my back. This time his expression was heavy and looked just like how my dad used to look at me before a beating. So I cringed back only for him to continue.
“Joey, do you know how lonely it is when a person you love doesn’t love you back?”
I nodded and I remember a tear or two fell from my cheeks as I recalled the way my father treated me. “Yeah I do. My dad isn’t very nice to me.”
He wiped my tears in a caring manner. “Joey, I did something really bad. I loved Marie so much and she kept saying no. I got upset and instead of talking to her. Ugh. Well. She had a boyfriend at the time. I killed him, Joey. It was in their house. Afterward, Marie woke up and she couldn’t believe it. She was gonna call the cops, Joey. So I ended up killing her too.”
The tone of his voice must’ve made me not think of the real intentions of the story. “So you’re a bad person than?” I reluctantly asked.
“Passionate, Joey. I did everything I could time and time again only for her not to love me. I found this place after I killed her. She went to Church in the other building. I carved all the rest of the bumps and scratches so that it would look like a reflection to most. I found this place with the button. Came here and I sealed up the entrance. Gathered up food and water from the store nearby and everything down here works great buddy. I don’t have to go back up. This also means I can’t let you leave. If the police find me then it’s all over and you can’t hear my sermons anymore. Don’t you want to hear more?”
Not quite understanding the situation at hand I nodded and agreed. I couldn’t go back to my dad after finding this kind person with the warm voice. Though I wrote most of what he said in my notepad that night. I slept in what felt like home for the first time in forever. I asked Joe why the place was built before we went to bed. He told me a small story about how the halls were supposed to be widened so that it could be a two story Church capable of housing more people than any other Church could. The building process became too pricey so they stopped production but apparently it turned to legend and he stumbled upon it when running away from his crime. Coming to the Church to repent. He found a book inside left by some teenagers. Apparently a book on satanic beliefs were the only thing he had close to him. So he wore the robes and ended up preaching to himself every weekend since. He dyed it a purple black from some beets and vinegar. I enjoyed my night with Joe. He was my friend.
A week had passed by. I hadn’t left Joe’s side as he taught me the insides and outs of the Satanic bible he held in his hands. I listened so intently that I couldn’t even think about going home now. I had food, candies, water, and juice boxes. All sorts of stuff. These were old storage stuff to last at least 40 years. Shelves and shelves of goods. For one man he’d only gone through about 5 years worth. He taught me about some of the power he felt from fasting. An idea I strongly hated at the time, but still I respected him for it. It wasn’t long before he indoctrinated me as his first disciple. I felt like I had a dad for the first time. He talked to me about school and everything in my life so far. He helped me learn to actually tie my shoes. He ended up teaching me more than I could ever learn from my dad back home. By this point it had been 3 weeks. I felt comfortable with Joe. Loved the way he made me feel. Like I was finally a person. Rather than a burden set upon my parents. I treated him better than I ever did the god I previously worshiped. After about a month or so we celebrated new years together and made loud noise and sang about our scripture and I thanked Satan for bringing me the thing I wanted most. A dad who loved me.
2 months in I was cleaning the place. Joe had tried to seal the hole but failed multiple times. The stuff was a bit too old to be used now. This would mark the police's first investigative lead on me. Since my disappearance my mother had been searching everywhere. The cameras of the Church had been searched, people interrogated. My dad was the first suspect in my homicide case. I say homicide because my dad was always spouting how I went and got myself killed. February marked an interesting time for me. The police found out my patterns. This led them down the path of getting a search warrant for the Church. They found the button in March of 2007. Shortly after this they found the wall. Found my bag. Found the pickaxe.
They blew it down. They shot Joe. “Saved” me.
Little did they know. I never wanted to go back. I still believe his teachings. He was my dad. He will always be my dad in my heart. I love you Joe. I miss you. Wish we had more time.

“It’s called a grief doll” Dr. Ramos said.
I stared at him like he’d grown a second head.
“A what?” I asked.
I’d agreed to this session to get my mother off my back. Provided, of course, that she also foot the bill. And, truth be told, it hadn’t been an easy couple of months. The word “stillbirth” sounds a lot more peaceful than the reality of it all. You get all the same blood and screaming as a regular birth but with none of the joy afterward. Things are, I guess, “still,” in a way. The silence of the grave.
“I know it’s a little unconventional,” Dr. Ramos said. “But, there’s been some really solid research to back it up recently. My colleague down in Camden–”
I cut him off. “You want me to buy a lifesized recreation of the dead baby that I just gave birth to?”
He looked slightly chastened by this. “I want you to process what happened, Mary. It can help. Look, if what you were already doing was working you wouldn’t be coming here, right?”
I sighed. “Alright. You’re the doctor. Who am I to argue with science?”
We talked a bit more after that, but it’s not really worth recounting here.
***
The next day I went to the address Dr. Ramos had texted me. It was a little building tucked away downtown between the huge tech skyscrapers and offices. When I walked in, the owner, a short man with a scruffy beard, smiled at me and said “You must be Mary.”
I nodded.
“Would you like to sit down? Do you want anything to drink? Anything to eat?”
I shook my head. “I don’t really want to stay here any longer than I have to, if that’s alright with you,” I said to the Rasputin-looking gentleman sitting behind the desk.
“I get it,” he said, nodding gravely. “People come here to get away from something, not to settle down. Do you have the pictures?”
I took them out of my bag. It had been quite a while since I’d needed to get photographs printed out. Ever since the world had gone digital we’ve all become allergic to paper.
“Here they are,” I said to him. These would serve as the model for the doll. He reached out and took them from me, examining them carefully.
“I think I’ve got what I need. I will let you know if I need anything more,” he said, stroking his long beard hypnotically.
I left and drove home. It was a quiet ride. Much more quiet than I’d been used to. Ever since Tim had left there were these little dead spaces throughout the day. He used to fill car rides with excited chatter about protons and leptons and all the -ons he got to work with as a physicist.
My brain had begun to fill these spaces with grim reflections on the past and future:
It’s your fault.
You don’t deserve a baby.
This is God’s way of telling you that you don’t deserve to be alive.
Over and over again these thoughts would run through my mind like the world’s most depressing tape recorder. Vicious, hateful, unbelievable things kept popping into my head as I drove the short distance home, making the trip feel far longer than it actually was.
***
I had taken to staring at the ceiling and crying myself to sleep most nights. The big, empty house felt suffocating at 3 AM, like all the open space was sucking the air out of my lungs every time I opened my mouth. This had been the way I spent most nights since the stillbirth. I tried to fill the silence any way I could. At all hours of the night, one could hear my TV blaring or my phone playing some podcast or another. Anything to avoid the little dead spaces between one task and the next.
But it was most difficult of all when I tried to sleep. I saw images of my little girl when I closed my eyes. I saw the blood and heard my own screams when it became clear that she would never take a breath. There were also subtler forms of self-inflicted torture.
Exactly one month after the worst day of my life, I came home from work to find Tim’s things cleaned out and a note on the kitchen table. It read:
“I’m sorry Mary. I can’t imagine how hard this month has been for you, but every day I stay here is like a knife to the heart. You’re just so sad and I can’t take it anymore.”
That phrase “You’re just so sad” played in a loop in my mind’s ear.
***
Eventually, I won the battle against consciousness. It was a fitful, restless sleep pregnant with terrible things. I felt like I’d lived an entire life come morning. I dreamt that I’d held little Sarah in my hands, that I’d been able to feed her from my own body just like I’d wanted to do for so many years. But as I held her against my chest she melted into a puddle of flesh and blood, yet never ceased to suck, to draw whatever life she could from me, and I was desperate to give it to her. Eventually, she was little more than eyes in a puddle of fleshy blood, staring at me from the ground and whispering “Why didn’t you save me, Mama?”
I woke with a start. Never, not once in my life, had I experienced a dream like this. I sat huddled in my bedsheets, shaking with tears as I saw the image of my melted little girl swirling around on the floor, asking why I hadn’t helped her. Reality seeped back in stages, penetrating the veil of sadness, and shocking me to my feet with the blaring intensity of my phone’s alarm. It was always turned up to full volume because anything lower risked my sleep-addled mind resisting its call to return from the deep. It had always been difficult to tear myself from the land of dreams, and more so after my life began to feel like a nightmare. But lately, sleep offered little respite.
I pulled on my clothes, brushed my hair so that it was halfway presentable, and poured myself a bowl of oatmeal. It was a gray, soggy pile at the bottom of my bowl. In a flash of unwanted connection, my brain superimposed the image of little melted Sarah onto my field of view. I nearly vomited into my bowl, but just then there was a knock on my door.
“Package,” the deep baritone on the other end intoned.
I opened the door and saw the mailman walking away. It occurred to me that nothing was stopping me from asking him out now that Tim had wandered out of my life. But, immediately, my brain stepped in to fill in the blanks:
Why would he want someone like you?
What the hell is wrong with you?
I don’t even want you and I am you.
These thoughts came as easily as my breath, and I had long since stopped trying to challenge them. In all likelihood, they were right. I picked up the package and saw that it was the grief doll. As soon as I got home from work I’d figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with the thing.
As I stepped into the bathroom, the mirror joined my inner voice in confirming my lack of romantic prospects. Deep, black circles formed rings under my eyes. Deeper wrinkles stood out on my forehead and my double chin and – was that a gray hair? Already? Immediately, the thoughts returned.
You’ll be dead at 50 by this rate.
The world won’t miss you.
Why not make it tomorrow?
Again, these suggestions were difficult to challenge with the evidence inches from my eyes.
***
It was hard to care about work. Even at the best of times, it hadn’t been the most fulfilling job in the world, but these days my cubicle felt like a tomb. My job was to call people who had filled out negative reviews for the phone company (I’m sure you know which one, but it’s probably best to leave that unsaid) and ask why.
This was a doubly depressing task because it was both neverending and pointless. How many times in the past month have you picked up a call from a number you didn’t recognize? I’m guessing the answer is lower than one. Almost nobody picked up, and those who did invariably did one of two things: hang up instantly upon realizing who I was or scream invective at me that I would hesitate before repeating to the devil himself.
One particularly creative gentleman suggested I fold myself in half seventeen times to create a black hole and then have intercourse with said hole while my company’s headquarters were sucked into the event horizon. Points for creativity. Deductions for misogyny. Although, in fairness to the man, I have no trouble believing he’d have said something similar to a male rep.
That day only two people picked up. One hung up immediately. The other launched into a tirade of such intensity and fervor that I was worried he wouldn’t make it to the end of the call.
“And another thing!” the man shouted as I quietly ate a sandwich on the other end. “Your website looks like it was designed by some rock monkey with shit for brains and feet for hands!” he screamed at me. This was an insult I hadn’t heard before. Variations on it appeared with some regularity, sometimes with racial overtones. I’m not entirely sure why this was, given that I had no accent identifying me as anything other than white, and in fact I wasn’t. The assumption seemed to be that because I worked in customer service I must be Indian. This leap in logic went unquestioned by a surprising number of my interlocutors. The average consumer of cellular services in this country is a few rocks short of an avalanche themself.
“I’m sorry that our services did not meet your quality and reliability expectations,” I said dryly, reading from the part of the script labeled “negative responses.”
“And I’m sorry that you people haven’t gone back to where you come from!” the man shouted.
“I’m from Omaha sir,” I said.
“Where you’re really from!” he shouted back.
“I’m really from Omaha sir,’ I responded tiredly. “And so is my father and his father, and before that we came over from England.” This prompted a string of racial epithets I’d rather not repeat. The rest of the day went like this, and after a while I defaulted to flatly repeating “I'm sorry that our services did not meet your quality and reliability expectations.”
My faith in humanity dimmed with each passing call. I decided to slip out at 4:00. I figured no one would notice. I figured right.
***
It was Wednesday: trash day. The walk from my apartment to the dumpsters was a dismal affair. Despite gray skies, cold fog and a pounding headache, the excursion did at least deliver the best part of my day. A few guys catcalled me on the way to the curb, and for a moment I felt like something other than a disgusting blob of flesh.
But then the thoughts started back in and made me realize that the men’s comments had not been compliments but acts of aggression. As I dragged the empty trash cans back to my apartment, the men once more yelled out their opinions on my face, my tits, my ass. In response, my mind conjured scenes from my dream – melted flesh, the endless unanswerable question: “Why didn’t you save me, Mama?”
By the time I’d made it back to my apartment I was practically in tears. At that moment, however, I remembered that the doll had been delivered earlier. It was time, I supposed, to open it.
After a few unsuccessful attempts, the package yielded its contents, and I nearly fell over when I saw it for the first time. It looked exactly like Sarah. Her little, premature hands. Her closed, screwed up eyes. Everything.
I held the tiny plastic facsimile against my chest and sobbed into it. I apologized to it over and over again:
“I’m sorry Sarah. I’m so sorry.”
But nothing could have prepared me for the moment that it spoke back:
Why didn’t you save me, Mama?
I screamed and fell backwards. The floor flew up to meet me and struck the back of my head with overwhelming force, driving the tears out even faster through a combination of momentum and pain.
“What did you say?” I asked, with a shaking voice.
For a moment, the doll was quiet, its little eyes still shut against the world. Then, they snapped open. Its little mouth opened and flopped around like a fish before repeating:
Why didn’t you save me, Mama?
I threw it across the room. It was an instinct, but a second later, I felt bad. It was like seeing Sarah’s death all over again. The doll screamed and cried.
Why did you hurt me, Mama?
It asked in its sad, childlike voice.
I ran to the bathroom and threw up. I threw up again and again, my body shaking uncontrollably. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t possible. That thing was nothing more than a hunk of colored plastic. When there was nothing left to expel from my stomach except bile, I returned to the front room and slowly approached the doll where it lay in the corner.
Its eyes snapped to mine.
Why did you leave me, Mama?
I picked it up and hurled it out the window. For a moment, I thought that I should try and call the short Russian man who had sold me the monstrosity but then I remembered that it was 8:30 on a Wednesday. Not even Russians have that kind of work ethic.
Instead, I poured a glass of wine with shaking fingers and turned on the TV, desperate for something, anything to break the silence. As the news blared and the alcohol entered my veins, I was almost able to convince myself that the last few minutes hadn’t happened. But then the screen began flashing images of babies in incubators – victims of some war halfway around the world. Protestors marched through the streets, holding images of the poor, malnourished infants, and listing out those they felt were responsible. Before I turned it off, I could have sworn that one of them turned to the screen and said my name.
***
When I did fall asleep, it was only after many hours of crying and shaking. As returned the silence, so returned my certainty that I had heard the doll speaking. But human frailty won the day, and my brain surrendered to darkness once more.
In my dream, I saw Tim holding little Sarah and crying. He held her close and put the tiny baby girl to his face, kissing her again and again. Then he turned to me with an eyeless face and spoke with a toothless mouth:
Why didn’t you save her, Mary?
I tried to scream but in this world I could not make a sound. My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, and I felt like I was breathing in the ocean. Then, little Sarah looked at me with her little melting face and said:
Didn’t you love me, Mama?
When I didn’t answer, the tiny melted eyes burned with rage.
I hate you Mama. Everybody hates you. You throw me out the window?! You should jump out yourself and do the world a favor you worthless sack of human garbage forgotten by God. Why are you even alive you heartless bitch?
I kept trying to scream but nothing would come out. I tried to apologize but could only feel the sensation of water rushing into my lungs. Sarah began to say, over and over:
Why didn’t you save me, Mama? Why didn’t you save me, Mama? Why didn’t you save me–
I woke with a start to find the doll inches from my face. It was shouting at me:
Why didn’t you save me, Mama?
This time, I did scream, and batted it away from my face. The horrible thing, which somehow had reappeared in my house after I’d thrown it out of a 7th story window, began to sob in the corner where it fell. It looked up at me with its tiny heartbroken eyes and quivering lips as it asked me:
Why did you hurt me, Mama? Do you hate me?
Without thinking, I said, “Of course I don’t hate you, sweetie. Mommy loves you very much.” I froze. What was I doing? This thing wasn’t Sarah. It wasn’t even a person.
Then why did you hurt me, Mama? Why didn’t you save me?
I buried my head in my hands. “I couldn’t save you! I’m sorry!” The tears continued to pour from my eyes in rivers, soaking the arms of my shirt.
You didn’t deserve me, Mama. You coldhearted cunt. You shouldn’t even be alive.
I looked at the thing in shock. Hearing those words in a child’s voice was somehow far worse. It couldn’t stay in my house. Not one second longer. But throwing it out the window hadn’t worked, so I had to come up with another plan. I grabbed the hateful thing and carried it to the fireplace. It screamed all the while, sobbing just like a child in pain.
Don’t burn me Mama! Don’t hurt me! Why are you doing this?
I was undeterred. The fire roared to life, and I hurled it into the hottest part of the blaze as it hurled insults back at me.
Nobody’s ever loved you! Why do you think Tim left, you stupid bitch? If he really loved you, he’d have stayed!
Slowly but surely, the thing melted in the flames. Its little face turned to mush, then to liquid, then to ash. The smell was atrocious, but at least it was gone. I lay panting on the floor, crying but relieved.
Later, I called the Russian man and told him that something was terribly wrong with his doll. He listened to my story, then said, not without empathy:
“Maybe you should go back to this doctor? The one who referred you here?”
It was the most polite way that someone had ever called me crazy. Seeing that this was a mistake, somewhat too late to avoid it, unfortunately, I hung up.
Work was no better than it had been the day before. I listened as people berated me over the phone, and read from my script in a monotone voice. I was no more useful than a robot. As the insults went on and on, I began to dissociate from my body. My mouth said the words in the script, but my brain had no say in the matter. The words simply spilled from me like tears from my eyes.
At lunch, I sat next to Jim. I’d always liked Jim. Had a huge crush on him since the day we’d met. Normally, we took our lunch breaks at different times, but that day the stars aligned. The biggest problem with talking to Jim had always been that we had zero interests in common. But that day, the TV in the break room happened to flip to a channel playing a soccer match. We discovered that we were both huge fans, and finally I had something I could say to him.
Things couldn’t have been going better until I looked down and saw, under the table, something that made me jump a foot in the air.
The doll.
It was staring up at me with its cold eyes and sneering mouth.
You can’t get rid of me, Mama. No matter how much you want to.
Jim looked at me strangely, and I apologized, making some halfhearted excuse that I probably wouldn’t have believed coming from him.
What makes you think he’d be interested in someone like you? Have you looked in a mirror sometime this decade? Unless he’s got a corpse fetish I’d say you’re about two decades too old for him.
I stared down at the doll so long, Jim asked me what was going on. I picked it up, and showed him. When he asked what it was, I hesitated before answering. Eventually, I lied and said that it was a present for my daughter.
“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” Jim said.
“Yeah, I gave birth a couple of months ago,” I replied, which was not technically a lie.
Of course it’s a lie you worthless bitch. If you told him the truth he’d run screaming into the street. The only reason he’s stuck around this long is because there’s only one break room. Nobody will ever love you. Nobody.
“Stop it!” I yelled, before remembering that Jim had no idea what this thing was. He looked at me strangely and I bolted out of the room, sobbing and cursing the malevolent presence in my arms. It cursed me right back:
What the fuck’s wrong with you? Why would you even talk to him? You’re a disgusting pile of shit and vomit unworthy of life. You know what you could do to make Jim’s life better? You could slam your fucking head through a plate glass window and spray the side of the building with blood until you fucking die.
“Stop it!” I shouted, and threw it onto the floor as I ran to my car. But, there it was inside, waiting for me, its hateful sneer plastered onto its tiny, childlike face.
What’s the matter Mary? Can’t handle the truth? Can’t handle knowing that you’re a failure as a mother and the ugliest bitch who ever lived?
I sank to my knees and screamed, holding my head with both hands and begging the hateful thing to stop. But it didn’t. It kept pummeling me with insults and threats until I couldn’t take it one second longer. I got into the driver’s seat and floored the accelerator, taking the car onto the freeway, then to the nearest exit, then right off the edge of a cliff.
As the car soared through the air, there was a tiny moment of quiet before gravity took over. It was only an instant, but in that instant I realized that I was going to die. So for the first time in weeks, I smiled.
***
The next thing I can remember is tremendous pain. My eyes hadn’t even opened yet, but even though the world was dark, it was still full of suffering. Then, in the next instant, my eyes flew open. There, at the edge of the bed, looking at me with all the hate in the world, was a familiar hateful face.
Welcome back to the land of the living, bitch. Couldn’t even get suicide right, could you?
I had no energy left to sob. Instead, I hung my head in defeat, looking at the tiny hunk of plastic staring up at me and wishing to God that I’d chosen a higher cliff. Soon, a man in a white lab coat walked in and smiled.
“Hello Mary,” he said.
“How do you know my name?” I asked.
“They checked your wallet when they pulled you out of the car. Your driver’s license was right on top,” he replied, still smiling.
“Right,” I said, not smiling back.
“I’m not going to lie to you, that was a close call there. But you’re going to be okay. Would you mind answering a few questions?”
I immediately became wary, but nodded my head.
“Before the accident, do you recall feeling lightheaded or dizzy?
I shook my head.
“Any alcohol or drug use?”
I shook my head.
“Okay, good. And have you had any thoughts of hurting yourself in the past week?”
This was the question I’d been waiting for. I shook my head again, knowing that an affirmative answer would mean at least a 3-day psychiatric hold. As soon as they learned about the doll, God knows how long it’d last.
“Excellent. You should be able to get out of here in a couple of days. You’ll have to be careful with those casts, but everything will be okay.” I nodded again, and he left. The doll popped its little face back off the bedsheets and set itself right back to its task: destroying my mind and soul. As the night wore on, I sat there, frozen, as it continued to pound me with reminders of my inadequacies, my faults, my failures. From time to time, I had to stand and it stood with me, clinging to my hospital gown as I made my way to the bathroom, to the cafeteria or to have one test or another performed. From that moment on, it was never quiet, though I seemed to be the only one who could hear it. Whether it was reminding me of that time in 3rd grade when Johnny Welkins had rejected me in front of the entire class, or the time that I’d sat through an entire date before realizing my shirt was on inside out, or berating me about letting the original Sarah die, it was always saying something degrading and humiliating.
By then, I’d become numb to the abuse. I never responded or argued. I never fought back or tried to get rid of it. Once or twice, I accidentally crushed it under my foot, but it always ended up right back where it had started: on my hospital bed, eyes burning with rage and lips firing off insult after insult.
***
The last night I was in the hospital, I dreamt of Tim. I dreamt of the last time that I’d seen him before he disappeared forever. He stood in the doorway, blocking it with a stern face and large hands. I kept trying to push past him, but he wouldn’t let me. Eventually, we fought, and he threw me to the floor. I landed on my stomach so hard all the air flew out of my lungs.
When I woke, the doll was standing over me, and it had gone back to its familiar mantra:
Why didn’t you save me, Mama? Why didn’t you save me, Mama?
I sighed and focused on filling out the discharge forms that the nurse had left. They were long and boring, and it was no simple task to complete them with the doll repeating its horrible question again and again and again. Eventually, I finished, and an orderly wheeled me out to my car, the doll clinging to my shoulder and shouting abuse into my ear.
A single tear fell from my eye and rolled down my cheek as I climbed in to the driver’s seat and started the engine.
***
When I arrived home, I collapsed on my bed and began to weep. I wept like a child. I wept so loud in fact that I couldn’t even hear the doll as it broke down my door and resumed berating me. But I ignored it. I ignored it as I made dinner. I ignored it as I took out the trash. I ignored it as I returned to bed and tried to sleep. But it wouldn’t stop. Finally, it got close to my face and screamed right into my ear:
Why didn’t you save me, Mama? Why didn’t you save me, Mama?
And, for the first time since the accident, I replied, shouting: “What do you want from me?! I couldn’t save you, Sarah! I couldn’t!”
Liar! You could’ve saved me! You know you could’ve!
In that instant, it finally pushed me past my breaking point. I picked it up and shook it as hard as I could, screaming: “What could I have done? What was I supposed to do? What do you want from me?! Why are you doing this to me?!” The doll looked at me with cold, hateful eyes and said:
You could’ve stopped Tim.
I froze. “What do you mean?” I asked.
You know what I mean, Mama. You know what he did. Why didn’t you stand up to him? Why didn’t you stop him?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I shouted.
Yes you do. You know exactly what I’m talking about.
“No!” I shouted. “No, I couldn’t stop him!” But even as I said it, I knew it was a lie.
We both know why the stillbirth really happened, don’t we, Mary?
I shook uncontrollably and ran into the backyard to get away from the doll, but it only appeared right in front of me, scowling down at me as I tripped and fell. It pointed to the ground and began to raise its little arms. The ground shook and trembled and I shouted at it, begged it to stop, but it was too late. In one enormous burst the ground split open and a body fell next to me.
It was Tim.
Why didn’t you save me from him, Mary?
The doll asked. I continued sobbing, but managed to respond, “I couldn’t save you Sarah. But I could get you justice.”
The doll’s face softened a little, and for the first time, the fire went out of its eyes. It crawled up next to me and buried its little face into my chest, and let me hold it, just like I’d always wanted to do.
I stroked its hair and whispered to it, over and over again, “I would’ve saved you if I could.”
And in its tiny, childlike voice, the doll replied, “I know.” Then it closed its little eyes, nuzzled close into my chest, and heaved a heavy sigh before never moving again.

Hello everyone! I want to introduce you to the fantasy world/ dnd campaign setting I've been working on for a few months: the continent of Flavia. Some time ago I already made a post about this project, but here I have added some improvements and polished some details.
The region of Flavia is a small continent (similar in size to the Iberian Peninsula) surrounded by islands to the north and east. This land is currently an impoverished region due to a religious civil war and a naval blockade by the Hannan League and the Brethos League, two mercantile leagues that have conquered the islands to the north and east. This prevents the region from resuming the trade it had with the inhabitants of the other continents (Müder to the north and Veridisia to the east). Both the Hannars and the Brethos are peoples from the Müder continent (known as dumai or smoke men).
Today, the state that controls the entire territory of Flavia is the Kingdom of Mer, but few people call it that. They use more the old name (Empire of Gülf) or simply Flavia, which is the name of the continent.
Geography and Nature.
To the north, the towering mountains with deep valleys and serene lakes of the Vardenic mountain range dominated the landscape, while, to the south, golden beaches with hidden coves lined the land. Hills scented with fragrant flowers stretched across the countryside, interspersed with forests of oak and chestnut trees. Within the cities, cobblestone streets meandered between colossal walls, leading to hills crowned with opulent palaces.
The region is home to a diverse variety of wildlife, including forest wolves, agile chamois and deer climbing the slopes and wild boar hiding in the undergrowth. The skies are the domain of hunting hawks and the plains are the domain of partridges running through the grasses, while hares and rabbits hop across the fields.
History.
Flavia was once the prosperous domain of the Gülf Empire. For centuries, it remained a mercantile power, guided by its deity Moné from his heavenly realm. The emperors of the Diantis dynasty, acting as the representatives of the Goddess, ruled over fertile lands abundant in vineyards, olive groves and various crops, along with an abundance of wool and other textiles.
Less than a century ago, tragedy struck the Empire when the Goddess was murdered by her seven sons. This event triggered a brutal and bloody civil war, with factions including traditionalists loyal to Emperor Lucius III and the old faith; religious reformers following personalities such as Alberto Sanguino, ready to preach in favor of the new Broken or Fragmented Goddess, independent bands of mercenaries seeking territory and swords for hire under the command of foreign powers.
The war ended with the triumph of the reformists, giving way to the new fragmentary doctrine. From the ashes of the Empire of Gülf emerged the Kingdom of Mer, now a proud but impoverished nation struggling to advance despite facing naval blockades imposed by the Hannars and Brethos, which have disrupted its ancient mercantile empire.
The Kingdom of Mer is composed of five marks: the Mark of Torvis, the Vardenic Mark, the Mark of Jatropa, the Mark of Ager and Sagant, and the Mark of Guadamur.

• Mark of the Torvis: North of the river Torvis, with the capital city, Torviscal.
• Vardenic Mark: It occupies the territory near the Vardena Mountain Range in the north of Flavia. Its capital city is Templanza.
• Mark of Jatropa: In the central plateau, with the cities of Encanto and Solaz competing to be the location of the courts of the new kingdom.
• Mark of the Ager and Sagant: Between the Sagant and Ager rivers. Its capital is the city of Prosperitat, although the fortresses of Roble and Olivo stand out in its territory.
• Mark of the Guadamur: Between the Ager and the Guadamur, with the capital Ciamora.

From the islands near the mainland of Müder, the seafaring peoples known as Hannars and Brethos had arrived in the Flavian lands four generations earlier. Exploiting the instability caused by the holy war, they took control of the archipelagos surrounding the small continent.
In those remote archipelagos north and east of Flavia, wild nature dominates over any other force. Vertiginous cliffs tower above rocky beaches, while fierce winds, laden with the scent of salt, whip the land, where heather and moss abound. Rolling hills wind through the valleys, lined with oak and holly forests. In these lands, ancient thatched stone settlements have been transformed into bustling fortified villages and thriving towns, where markets teem with music and handicrafts. The once-quiet island settlements have become bustling trading ports, connected by a network of canals and adorned with windmills that dance to the rhythm of the sea breezes.
Among the northern islands, the Brethos, known for their bravery, established their dominance. Men and women united under the banner of the League of Breth. With the leadership of Yann and Malle Le Gall, two sailor brothers who lost their parents in a violent storm, they have made their fortune in these inhospitable lands. Their capital, Morvran, shines with wealth, fed by the thriving coastal settlements of Porzht Talmarch and Porsarth, in whose ports countless vessels dock and depart each week. With a complex pantheon, the Brethos transformed the simple chapels dedicated to the Goddess Moné into majestic temples where they offer sacrifices to their gods and goddesses.
The Hannars, known for their greed, established the Hannan League in the eastern islands. Led by a mysterious council of merchants known as the Council of Masks, the Hannars have turned Port Cathmart, Solusán Torr and Gardeán into their thriving metropolises rife with corruption.
Religion.
For centuries, the Goddess Moné was the guide and protector of the continent of Flavia. The emperors, considered almost divine for their ability to communicate with the deity, received direct counsel from her, contributing to the flourishing of the Gulf Empire as a mercantile and military power in the surrounding seas. From small chapels in the humblest settlements to imposing cathedrals in the great cities, the religious centers dedicated to Moné were an integral part of the daily life of the men and women of the continent.
However, the golden age came to an end less than a century ago when the Goddess's own children perpetrated the crime of murdering their own mother, the motive for such atrocity being unknown as the seven figures disappeared. From these seven sinners were born the seven deadly sins of the fragmentist faith: Cruelty, Detachment, Betrayal, Neglect, Cowardice, Anger, and Deceit.
With Moné's death, crops withered, wine turned sour, and the water that once flowed fresh and crystal clear from springs and canals turned reddish and tasted of iron. Plagues and pestilences followed. And thus, the land of Flavia, united with its Goddess, entered a stage of senescence.
But hope was reborn when mysterious crystalline stones were discovered in remote places, associated with miraculous events. It was believed that these stones were the shattered body of the Goddess, who, having not helped her people enough, had decided to distribute her power so as not to leave her beloved followers to their fate.
The shards of Moné became objects of devotion and pilgrimage for those seeking salvation and miracles. However, divisions arose in society between the fragmentists, who worshipped the shards, and the conservatives of the old faith, who rejected this new practice. These tensions culminated in a civil war in which thousands lost their lives and temples of both sides were destroyed.
The victory of the war went to the fragmentist side. Although happy to have put an end to death, the consequences left by the conflict were an impoverished land inhabited by a distrustful population. The lands were occupied by foreigners who had taken advantage of the chaos to seize power over them.
On the other hand, the people of Dumai origin pray to a varied and extensive pantheon of gods, heroes, and spirits. The high priests and shamans of the Hannars and Brethos were visited in dreams by these extraterrestrial entities, and the mission to cross the waters south of Müder was given to them. Some of the most important gods and heroes are as follows:

• Ar Rouan Danath: Lady of the White Smoke. Goddess of the earth and fertility.
• Ar Gwazh Tumsaigh: Lord of the Black Smoke. God of the underworld and the dead.
• Sklaer Kerzh: The Smoky Mirror. God of providence, darkness, and the invisible, lord of the moonless night.
• Scairth: The Drowned Child. God of storms and the rising sun.
• Zelenaya: She who wears the emerald skirt. Goddess of water, lady of lakes, rivers, and seas.
• Arian: The Lady trapped in the skies. Goddess of the moon and fortune.
• Druan: Guardian of Fire. Patron hero of the city of Morvran.
• Dhu and Ghulainn: The Lovers. Figure referring to luck or fortune.

Initially, I wanted to give a shorter introduction, but I got carried away and ended up telling almost everything I have written about this region. I hope you liked it! If you have any questions or want to know more about any aspect of this world, I am willing to share whatever you want. I'm also open to talk about your own worlds and ideas. Thanks for reading, and I look forward to your comments!

As the title says, what do you think would be better? To help you judge better for me, I'd like to let you know that : 1. I do not care much for placements, since I am planning to further a career in research and will get a PhD (whether that is in India or abroad depends on where I can intern lol) 2. I mainly care for internships, quality of education and facilities/infrastructure. I need good internships for my resume in the future haha. 3. Exposure. Just want to form connections with good and helpful people and idk which college would be better to get into good circles which can be beneficial to advance my career. I just want the opinion of the lovely people here as to if DTU is a better pick, would the benefits outweigh wasting 5 hours daily in commuting or not. 4. Accessibility : NSUT is not very far whereas DTU is very very far from where I live. With NSUT, I will save a lot of time and energy since I'll have to commute much lesser, time which I can give to studies and other skills. 5. College life. Not that important. But college culture, fests, administration, quality of people and gender ratio do somewhat matter.
That's it guys, sorry for the long read. I haven't gotten any concrete advice and most of it is hearsay. Thanks to all who help. Cheers!

know that I should take the language with the most bang for my buck but I am still struggling to choose one.
Please help me decide which language I should commit to.
A few years ago I used to study Japanese on my own, but I didn't manage to follow through because of my studies and it somehow petered out. I had a lot of fun learning it though. The fact I was called out as a weeb for learning kinda affected my view on learning Japanese, I love manga and video games but it's not the only thing I like about Japan. The emotional tie I have with this language and its culture is very strong. And Japanese gaming is one of my main hobby and interest.
Seeing how Simplified Chinese is prominent as a nation on the international scene, I set out on learning it to improve my CV, even though I don't think it will be as effective as English (moreover I've never been as acquainted with Chinese culture as Japanese culture), and also to improve my odds of making Chinese friends (which are reportedly more numerous in numbers in Europe than Japanese immigrants or tourists, which contributed to me wanting to learn it even though I don't how I would be manage to meet them outside of big cities like Paris and London, and Chinese people are more prevalent on the internet even if a large portion of it is cut off from global internet, I still think it's easier to meet Chinese people online than Japanese people).
I've been learning Chinese for a few months now but unconciously I have to remind myself of the benefits constantly. I've tried getting more acquainted with Chinese culture through manhua, games like Genshin Impact, and C-dramas, or even their traditions which I like but not as much as Japanese culture obviously but China's notoriety as an authoritarian regime with people being supressed and censored and deprived of Western medium smeared my image of it (and I can't bring myself to like how the language sounds). And I don't even want to mention China's recent history with the Great Leap Forward and deculturation which leaves pretty much nothing traditional to check out about this country and reinforce my emotional attachment to it. Mind you, Japanese history isn't as glorious with the Nanjing massacre for example but at least it became better and more respected as a country on the international scene and it boasts a shit ton of resources to learn from.
I don't know what to do now, I know that whatever I choose it will multiple years to learn and I don't want to waste my time wavering between both languages. I have to make a choice so I can resume my learning as soon as possible. Which language in your opinion should I learn considering the points I put forth above? I have to admit it would be easier for me to stick to Japanese for years and through hurdles but unfortunately I can't get everything I want in life and sometimes I have to make do with what I have (which is Chinese at the moment). I would like to have your take on this though.

Hi, thanks for reading and any input you may have!
I’ve been traveling the past six months. Initially, things were good but with the time change in Germany (8 hours ahead) I began struggling with sleep. 2 months in while in Turkey I caught a virus which landed me in bed for a week. I flew to Greece and foolishly tried an exercise program forgetting how bad things could get and I flared my CFS along with post exertional malaise. For the following 3 months I began developing cluster migraines which subsided with more rest but then I started crashing and having issues walking and getting out of home. I was spending more time at home, napping in bed and not doing as much. 2 months later I chose to come home for a brief period and recuperate. I’m giving myself 1-3 months before I resume traveling to Asia but I’m concerned I might flare up again with the time change and travelling. It’s hard to have a healthy diet while traveling and social isolation was hard as well which also may have caused extra stress.
I have everything in storage. I sold my car before I left and currently staying in Airbnb. I have nothing holding me back and wanted to travel before returning home and eventually start dating again to find a healthy relationship with intention to get married, part time work, and so forth. Life will be same old same old but travelling for a year was my dream.
Should I relent and give up on travelling? Accept my limitations and choose to possibly travel once a year opposed to 6 months?
What are your thoughts? Thank you 🙏

So I'm coming to the end of my college life and need to find a position relevant to my career even if it's just an internship. Throughout college I worked with a small business in town (just my boss and a dozen or so crew members) that was a pretty good gig for me and my boss would speak highly of me.
My problem is since I last worked with him he caught a lawsuit and had an expired contractors license and is doing some time in jail. So should I even use that work experience on my resume and should I not use him as a reference if he is unreachable? My sister is telling me to exclude all of it for the time being but that means atleast until he gets out I have little to no work experience to put. Am I really unable to use the 3+ years of work with him at all?

In the second half of month 3 into this college drama, the incidents were mostly between Jake and I.
What I believed is that Jake is a player, or at the very least has what I call someone with a harem king dream. With how Faye would always bring the gang to join me in on lunches etc. Jake had roughly known my usual spots.
On days where I have super early classes, I would always have breakfast at the same spot , lesser crowd and they serve good food. It was around this time Jake started showing up at my usual breakfast spot and would automatically sit at my table. He never once asked, just a smile and a 'good morning'. The place is usually empty in the morning and he'd chose to sit next to me as if I were his buddy. I was always indifferent towards his presence and ignored him. He would try to talk to me about my hobbies, relationship stuff, memes etc and I would always brush him off with one worded answers.
From the beginning I was never close with Jake, nor have I ever managed to click with him well. He just decided one day that he wants to gain my attention.
The first time he showed up at my breakfast spot I didn't think much, maybe it was just a coincidence, but this went on for three days and I was really annoyed at this point.
In class, he started to approach me to discuss about assignments. Whenever I leave the lecture hall, be it for toilet breaks or snack breaks, I caught him trailing behind me. When confronted he just said it's not safe for a girl to always wander around alone. Like, huh?? I'm in a campus, in broad daylight, what's there to happen? Also whenever he trails behind me, I noticed a few times whenever I bump into a lecturer he would turn around and walk in the opposite direction only to follow me again once the lecturer leaves.
In club meetings, he would stand next to me as I chat away with other club members. I usually only notice his presence when I can smell him, yes, that's how close he stood beside me. Other members were freaked out and asked me about Jake, I told them to ignore him as Jake is a freak.
Whenever a large group of college mates invited me for lunch and Seraphine is absent (if she isn't around she's most likely out with Alvin), Jake would sit on my left side like how he did with Seraphine. He made attempts to touch my hair, put his arm around the back of my seat and he even used his leg to brush mine. I loudly exclaimed that I didn't consider he needed more space and I should scoot over a little. He seemed embarrassed and stopped his antics for awhile.
I reached my breaking point after putting up with him for roughly two weeks. I was alone in the club studio ( I joined a crafts club btw) finishing on a paper display for an upcoming event when I felt someone breathing down my neck. It sent chills down my spine but I soon caught a whiff of that disgusting smell of Jake's. I asked Jake to back off and leave me alone before he regrets doing what he has been doing. Jake scoffed and asked "what a girl like you could do to a guy?". I was infuriated and turn around to pin Jake onto a wall. I was holding a paper cutter at the time and immediately pressed the blunt part of the cutter on his shoulder. All my life I have never seen a grown man whimper, and I got front row seats to that. I pressed the cutter harder and spoke in a low tone, "I said leave me alone fker. You think you are Mr. Cool kid? Don't let me see you approach me ever again or I'll beat the shit out of you the next time."
Jake mumbled and scampered out of the studio. Ngl it was so funny that the sight of that, that quenched my anger.
As to why I think Jake said, what a girl like me would do to him. I believed it stemmed from the fact that at the time everyone knows I had a medical condition but I never mentioned the specifics, only told them I couldn't carry heavy things as I experienced some muscle along the road of recovery. Maybe to Jake, he thought muscle loss = lack of strength. Well, I wouldn't know anyways.
I thought that was the last encounter I would have to endure with Jake. Unfortunately, the guy's not a quitter. He made one last attempt on me. He approached me once again the next day as if nothing had happened and attempted to touch my hair, face and waist. I moved away when he tried to touch my hair and face but the moment he tried to wrap he hand around my waist I gave him a huge slap across his face and a knee to his guts forcing him to curl on the floor.
A lecturer saw everything and stopped me before I could send my foot to his face. After some questioning and luckily for me, a hidden camera near my faculty office had a clear shot of everything that happened. I was allow to leave while Jake got a warning letter.
Since that day, as if I became a whole new person. I treated Jake as if he were invisible. (He still tried to greet me a few times after I beat his ass) If Faye asked if she could bring the whole gang along for lunch I would reject the proposal. I spent the remainder of that semester alone most of the time. I believe Jake didn't tell anybody what had happened because many asked why did I suddenly started to ignore Jake. I always responded with "who?" and resume my own things and everyone just left it at that.
While this whole thing went on, Alvin and Seraphine had some interesting development in their relationship.

“It’s called a grief doll” Dr. Ramos said.
I stared at him like he’d grown a second head.
“A what?” I asked.
I’d agreed to this session to get my mother off my back. Provided, of course, that she also foot the bill. And, truth be told, it hadn’t been an easy couple of months. The word “stillbirth” sounds a lot more peaceful than the reality of it all. You get all the same blood and screaming as a regular birth but with none of the joy afterward. Things are, I guess, “still,” in a way. The silence of the grave.
“I know it’s a little unconventional,” Dr. Ramos said. “But, there’s been some really solid research to back it up recently. My colleague down in Camden–”
I cut him off. “You want me to buy a lifesized recreation of the dead baby that I just gave birth to?”
He looked slightly chastened by this. “I want you to process what happened, Mary. It can help. Look, if what you were already doing was working you wouldn’t be coming here, right?”
I sighed. “Alright. You’re the doctor. Who am I to argue with science?”
We talked a bit more after that, but it’s not really worth recounting here.
***
The next day I went to the address Dr. Ramos had texted me. It was a little building tucked away downtown between the huge tech skyscrapers and offices. When I walked in, the owner, a short man with a scruffy beard, smiled at me and said “You must be Mary.”
I nodded.
“Would you like to sit down? Do you want anything to drink? Anything to eat?”
I shook my head. “I don’t really want to stay here any longer than I have to, if that’s alright with you,” I said to the Rasputin-looking gentleman sitting behind the desk.
“I get it,” he said, nodding gravely. “People come here to get away from something, not to settle down. Do you have the pictures?”
I took them out of my bag. It had been quite a while since I’d needed to get photographs printed out. Ever since the world had gone digital we’ve all become allergic to paper.
“Here they are,” I said to him. These would serve as the model for the doll. He reached out and took them from me, examining them carefully.
“I think I’ve got what I need. I will let you know if I need anything more,” he said, stroking his long beard hypnotically.
I left and drove home. It was a quiet ride. Much more quiet than I’d been used to. Ever since Tim had left there were these little dead spaces throughout the day. He used to fill car rides with excited chatter about protons and leptons and all the -ons he got to work with as a physicist.
My brain had begun to fill these spaces with grim reflections on the past and future:
It’s your fault.
You don’t deserve a baby.
This is God’s way of telling you that you don’t deserve to be alive.
Over and over again these thoughts would run through my mind like the world’s most depressing tape recorder. Vicious, hateful, unbelievable things kept popping into my head as I drove the short distance home, making the trip feel far longer than it actually was.
***
I had taken to staring at the ceiling and crying myself to sleep most nights. The big, empty house felt suffocating at 3 AM, like all the open space was sucking the air out of my lungs every time I opened my mouth. This had been the way I spent most nights since the stillbirth. I tried to fill the silence any way I could. At all hours of the night, one could hear my TV blaring or my phone playing some podcast or another. Anything to avoid the little dead spaces between one task and the next.
But it was most difficult of all when I tried to sleep. I saw images of my little girl when I closed my eyes. I saw the blood and heard my own screams when it became clear that she would never take a breath. There were also subtler forms of self-inflicted torture.
Exactly one month after the worst day of my life, I came home from work to find Tim’s things cleaned out and a note on the kitchen table. It read:
“I’m sorry Mary. I can’t imagine how hard this month has been for you, but every day I stay here is like a knife to the heart. You’re just so sad and I can’t take it anymore.”
That phrase “You’re just so sad” played in a loop in my mind’s ear.
***
Eventually, I won the battle against consciousness. It was a fitful, restless sleep pregnant with terrible things. I felt like I’d lived an entire life come morning. I dreamt that I’d held little Sarah in my hands, that I’d been able to feed her from my own body just like I’d wanted to do for so many years. But as I held her against my chest she melted into a puddle of flesh and blood, yet never ceased to suck, to draw whatever life she could from me, and I was desperate to give it to her. Eventually, she was little more than eyes in a puddle of fleshy blood, staring at me from the ground and whispering “Why didn’t you save me, Mama?”
I woke with a start. Never, not once in my life, had I experienced a dream like this. I sat huddled in my bedsheets, shaking with tears as I saw the image of my melted little girl swirling around on the floor, asking why I hadn’t helped her. Reality seeped back in stages, penetrating the veil of sadness, and shocking me to my feet with the blaring intensity of my phone’s alarm. It was always turned up to full volume because anything lower risked my sleep-addled mind resisting its call to return from the deep. It had always been difficult to tear myself from the land of dreams, and more so after my life began to feel like a nightmare. But lately, sleep offered little respite.
I pulled on my clothes, brushed my hair so that it was halfway presentable, and poured myself a bowl of oatmeal. It was a gray, soggy pile at the bottom of my bowl. In a flash of unwanted connection, my brain superimposed the image of little melted Sarah onto my field of view. I nearly vomited into my bowl, but just then there was a knock on my door.
“Package,” the deep baritone on the other end intoned.
I opened the door and saw the mailman walking away. It occurred to me that nothing was stopping me from asking him out now that Tim had wandered out of my life. But, immediately, my brain stepped in to fill in the blanks:
Why would he want someone like you?
What the hell is wrong with you?
I don’t even want you and I am you.
These thoughts came as easily as my breath, and I had long since stopped trying to challenge them. In all likelihood, they were right. I picked up the package and saw that it was the grief doll. As soon as I got home from work I’d figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with the thing.
As I stepped into the bathroom, the mirror joined my inner voice in confirming my lack of romantic prospects. Deep, black circles formed rings under my eyes. Deeper wrinkles stood out on my forehead and my double chin and – was that a gray hair? Already? Immediately, the thoughts returned.
You’ll be dead at 50 by this rate.
The world won’t miss you.
Why not make it tomorrow?
Again, these suggestions were difficult to challenge with the evidence inches from my eyes.
***
It was hard to care about work. Even at the best of times, it hadn’t been the most fulfilling job in the world, but these days my cubicle felt like a tomb. My job was to call people who had filled out negative reviews for the phone company (I’m sure you know which one, but it’s probably best to leave that unsaid) and ask why.
This was a doubly depressing task because it was both neverending and pointless. How many times in the past month have you picked up a call from a number you didn’t recognize? I’m guessing the answer is lower than one. Almost nobody picked up, and those who did invariably did one of two things: hang up instantly upon realizing who I was or scream invective at me that I would hesitate before repeating to the devil himself.
One particularly creative gentleman suggested I fold myself in half seventeen times to create a black hole and then have intercourse with said hole while my company’s headquarters were sucked into the event horizon. Points for creativity. Deductions for misogyny. Although, in fairness to the man, I have no trouble believing he’d have said something similar to a male rep.
That day only two people picked up. One hung up immediately. The other launched into a tirade of such intensity and fervor that I was worried he wouldn’t make it to the end of the call.
“And another thing!” the man shouted as I quietly ate a sandwich on the other end. “Your website looks like it was designed by some rock monkey with shit for brains and feet for hands!” he screamed at me. This was an insult I hadn’t heard before. Variations on it appeared with some regularity, sometimes with racial overtones. I’m not entirely sure why this was, given that I had no accent identifying me as anything other than white, and in fact I wasn’t. The assumption seemed to be that because I worked in customer service I must be Indian. This leap in logic went unquestioned by a surprising number of my interlocutors. The average consumer of cellular services in this country is a few rocks short of an avalanche themself.
“I’m sorry that our services did not meet your quality and reliability expectations,” I said dryly, reading from the part of the script labeled “negative responses.”
“And I’m sorry that you people haven’t gone back to where you come from!” the man shouted.
“I’m from Omaha sir,” I said.
“Where you’re really from!” he shouted back.
“I’m really from Omaha sir,’ I responded tiredly. “And so is my father and his father, and before that we came over from England.” This prompted a string of racial epithets I’d rather not repeat. The rest of the day went like this, and after a while I defaulted to flatly repeating “I'm sorry that our services did not meet your quality and reliability expectations.”
My faith in humanity dimmed with each passing call. I decided to slip out at 4:00. I figured no one would notice. I figured right.
***
It was Wednesday: trash day. The walk from my apartment to the dumpsters was a dismal affair. Despite gray skies, cold fog and a pounding headache, the excursion did at least deliver the best part of my day. A few guys catcalled me on the way to the curb, and for a moment I felt like something other than a disgusting blob of flesh.
But then the thoughts started back in and made me realize that the men’s comments had not been compliments but acts of aggression. As I dragged the empty trash cans back to my apartment, the men once more yelled out their opinions on my face, my tits, my ass. In response, my mind conjured scenes from my dream – melted flesh, the endless unanswerable question: “Why didn’t you save me, Mama?”
By the time I’d made it back to my apartment I was practically in tears. At that moment, however, I remembered that the doll had been delivered earlier. It was time, I supposed, to open it.
After a few unsuccessful attempts, the package yielded its contents, and I nearly fell over when I saw it for the first time. It looked exactly like Sarah. Her little, premature hands. Her closed, screwed up eyes. Everything.
I held the tiny plastic facsimile against my chest and sobbed into it. I apologized to it over and over again:
“I’m sorry Sarah. I’m so sorry.”
But nothing could have prepared me for the moment that it spoke back:
Why didn’t you save me, Mama?
I screamed and fell backwards. The floor flew up to meet me and struck the back of my head with overwhelming force, driving the tears out even faster through a combination of momentum and pain.
“What did you say?” I asked, with a shaking voice.
For a moment, the doll was quiet, its little eyes still shut against the world. Then, they snapped open. Its little mouth opened and flopped around like a fish before repeating:
Why didn’t you save me, Mama?
I threw it across the room. It was an instinct, but a second later, I felt bad. It was like seeing Sarah’s death all over again. The doll screamed and cried.
Why did you hurt me, Mama?
It asked in its sad, childlike voice.
I ran to the bathroom and threw up. I threw up again and again, my body shaking uncontrollably. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t possible. That thing was nothing more than a hunk of colored plastic. When there was nothing left to expel from my stomach except bile, I returned to the front room and slowly approached the doll where it lay in the corner.
Its eyes snapped to mine.
Why did you leave me, Mama?
I picked it up and hurled it out the window. For a moment, I thought that I should try and call the short Russian man who had sold me the monstrosity but then I remembered that it was 8:30 on a Wednesday. Not even Russians have that kind of work ethic.
Instead, I poured a glass of wine with shaking fingers and turned on the TV, desperate for something, anything to break the silence. As the news blared and the alcohol entered my veins, I was almost able to convince myself that the last few minutes hadn’t happened. But then the screen began flashing images of babies in incubators – victims of some war halfway around the world. Protestors marched through the streets, holding images of the poor, malnourished infants, and listing out those they felt were responsible. Before I turned it off, I could have sworn that one of them turned to the screen and said my name.
***
When I did fall asleep, it was only after many hours of crying and shaking. As returned the silence, so returned my certainty that I had heard the doll speaking. But human frailty won the day, and my brain surrendered to darkness once more.
In my dream, I saw Tim holding little Sarah and crying. He held her close and put the tiny baby girl to his face, kissing her again and again. Then he turned to me with an eyeless face and spoke with a toothless mouth:
Why didn’t you save her, Mary?
I tried to scream but in this world I could not make a sound. My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, and I felt like I was breathing in the ocean. Then, little Sarah looked at me with her little melting face and said:
Didn’t you love me, Mama?
When I didn’t answer, the tiny melted eyes burned with rage.
I hate you Mama. Everybody hates you. You throw me out the window?! You should jump out yourself and do the world a favor you worthless sack of human garbage forgotten by God. Why are you even alive you heartless bitch?
I kept trying to scream but nothing would come out. I tried to apologize but could only feel the sensation of water rushing into my lungs. Sarah began to say, over and over:
Why didn’t you save me, Mama? Why didn’t you save me, Mama? Why didn’t you save me–
I woke with a start to find the doll inches from my face. It was shouting at me:
Why didn’t you save me, Mama?
This time, I did scream, and batted it away from my face. The horrible thing, which somehow had reappeared in my house after I’d thrown it out of a 7th story window, began to sob in the corner where it fell. It looked up at me with its tiny heartbroken eyes and quivering lips as it asked me:
Why did you hurt me, Mama? Do you hate me?
Without thinking, I said, “Of course I don’t hate you, sweetie. Mommy loves you very much.” I froze. What was I doing? This thing wasn’t Sarah. It wasn’t even a person.
Then why did you hurt me, Mama? Why didn’t you save me?
I buried my head in my hands. “I couldn’t save you! I’m sorry!” The tears continued to pour from my eyes in rivers, soaking the arms of my shirt.
You didn’t deserve me, Mama. You coldhearted cunt. You shouldn’t even be alive.
I looked at the thing in shock. Hearing those words in a child’s voice was somehow far worse. It couldn’t stay in my house. Not one second longer. But throwing it out the window hadn’t worked, so I had to come up with another plan. I grabbed the hateful thing and carried it to the fireplace. It screamed all the while, sobbing just like a child in pain.
Don’t burn me Mama! Don’t hurt me! Why are you doing this?
I was undeterred. The fire roared to life, and I hurled it into the hottest part of the blaze as it hurled insults back at me.
Nobody’s ever loved you! Why do you think Tim left, you stupid bitch? If he really loved you, he’d have stayed!
Slowly but surely, the thing melted in the flames. Its little face turned to mush, then to liquid, then to ash. The smell was atrocious, but at least it was gone. I lay panting on the floor, crying but relieved.
Later, I called the Russian man and told him that something was terribly wrong with his doll. He listened to my story, then said, not without empathy:
“Maybe you should go back to this doctor? The one who referred you here?”
It was the most polite way that someone had ever called me crazy. Seeing that this was a mistake, somewhat too late to avoid it, unfortunately, I hung up.
Work was no better than it had been the day before. I listened as people berated me over the phone, and read from my script in a monotone voice. I was no more useful than a robot. As the insults went on and on, I began to dissociate from my body. My mouth said the words in the script, but my brain had no say in the matter. The words simply spilled from me like tears from my eyes.
At lunch, I sat next to Jim. I’d always liked Jim. Had a huge crush on him since the day we’d met. Normally, we took our lunch breaks at different times, but that day the stars aligned. The biggest problem with talking to Jim had always been that we had zero interests in common. But that day, the TV in the break room happened to flip to a channel playing a soccer match. We discovered that we were both huge fans, and finally I had something I could say to him.
Things couldn’t have been going better until I looked down and saw, under the table, something that made me jump a foot in the air.
The doll.
It was staring up at me with its cold eyes and sneering mouth.
You can’t get rid of me, Mama. No matter how much you want to.
Jim looked at me strangely, and I apologized, making some halfhearted excuse that I probably wouldn’t have believed coming from him.
What makes you think he’d be interested in someone like you? Have you looked in a mirror sometime this decade? Unless he’s got a corpse fetish I’d say you’re about two decades too old for him.
I stared down at the doll so long, Jim asked me what was going on. I picked it up, and showed him. When he asked what it was, I hesitated before answering. Eventually, I lied and said that it was a present for my daughter.
“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” Jim said.
“Yeah, I gave birth a couple of months ago,” I replied, which was not technically a lie.
Of course it’s a lie you worthless bitch. If you told him the truth he’d run screaming into the street. The only reason he’s stuck around this long is because there’s only one break room. Nobody will ever love you. Nobody.
“Stop it!” I yelled, before remembering that Jim had no idea what this thing was. He looked at me strangely and I bolted out of the room, sobbing and cursing the malevolent presence in my arms. It cursed me right back:
What the fuck’s wrong with you? Why would you even talk to him? You’re a disgusting pile of shit and vomit unworthy of life. You know what you could do to make Jim’s life better? You could slam your fucking head through a plate glass window and spray the side of the building with blood until you fucking die.
“Stop it!” I shouted, and threw it onto the floor as I ran to my car. But, there it was inside, waiting for me, its hateful sneer plastered onto its tiny, childlike face.
What’s the matter Mary? Can’t handle the truth? Can’t handle knowing that you’re a failure as a mother and the ugliest bitch who ever lived?
I sank to my knees and screamed, holding my head with both hands and begging the hateful thing to stop. But it didn’t. It kept pummeling me with insults and threats until I couldn’t take it one second longer. I got into the driver’s seat and floored the accelerator, taking the car onto the freeway, then to the nearest exit, then right off the edge of a cliff.
As the car soared through the air, there was a tiny moment of quiet before gravity took over. It was only an instant, but in that instant I realized that I was going to die. So for the first time in weeks, I smiled.
***
The next thing I can remember is tremendous pain. My eyes hadn’t even opened yet, but even though the world was dark, it was still full of suffering. Then, in the next instant, my eyes flew open. There, at the edge of the bed, looking at me with all the hate in the world, was a familiar hateful face.
Welcome back to the land of the living, bitch. Couldn’t even get suicide right, could you?
I had no energy left to sob. Instead, I hung my head in defeat, looking at the tiny hunk of plastic staring up at me and wishing to God that I’d chosen a higher cliff. Soon, a man in a white lab coat walked in and smiled.
“Hello Mary,” he said.
“How do you know my name?” I asked.
“They checked your wallet when they pulled you out of the car. Your driver’s license was right on top,” he replied, still smiling.
“Right,” I said, not smiling back.
“I’m not going to lie to you, that was a close call there. But you’re going to be okay. Would you mind answering a few questions?”
I immediately became wary, but nodded my head.
“Before the accident, do you recall feeling lightheaded or dizzy?
I shook my head.
“Any alcohol or drug use?”
I shook my head.
“Okay, good. And have you had any thoughts of hurting yourself in the past week?”
This was the question I’d been waiting for. I shook my head again, knowing that an affirmative answer would mean at least a 3-day psychiatric hold. As soon as they learned about the doll, God knows how long it’d last.
“Excellent. You should be able to get out of here in a couple of days. You’ll have to be careful with those casts, but everything will be okay.” I nodded again, and he left. The doll popped its little face back off the bedsheets and set itself right back to its task: destroying my mind and soul. As the night wore on, I sat there, frozen, as it continued to pound me with reminders of my inadequacies, my faults, my failures. From time to time, I had to stand and it stood with me, clinging to my hospital gown as I made my way to the bathroom, to the cafeteria or to have one test or another performed. From that moment on, it was never quiet, though I seemed to be the only one who could hear it. Whether it was reminding me of that time in 3rd grade when Johnny Welkins had rejected me in front of the entire class, or the time that I’d sat through an entire date before realizing my shirt was on inside out, or berating me about letting the original Sarah die, it was always saying something degrading and humiliating.
By then, I’d become numb to the abuse. I never responded or argued. I never fought back or tried to get rid of it. Once or twice, I accidentally crushed it under my foot, but it always ended up right back where it had started: on my hospital bed, eyes burning with rage and lips firing off insult after insult.
***
The last night I was in the hospital, I dreamt of Tim. I dreamt of the last time that I’d seen him before he disappeared forever. He stood in the doorway, blocking it with a stern face and large hands. I kept trying to push past him, but he wouldn’t let me. Eventually, we fought, and he threw me to the floor. I landed on my stomach so hard all the air flew out of my lungs.
When I woke, the doll was standing over me, and it had gone back to its familiar mantra:
Why didn’t you save me, Mama? Why didn’t you save me, Mama?
I sighed and focused on filling out the discharge forms that the nurse had left. They were long and boring, and it was no simple task to complete them with the doll repeating its horrible question again and again and again. Eventually, I finished, and an orderly wheeled me out to my car, the doll clinging to my shoulder and shouting abuse into my ear.
A single tear fell from my eye and rolled down my cheek as I climbed in to the driver’s seat and started the engine.
***
When I arrived home, I collapsed on my bed and began to weep. I wept like a child. I wept so loud in fact that I couldn’t even hear the doll as it broke down my door and resumed berating me. But I ignored it. I ignored it as I made dinner. I ignored it as I took out the trash. I ignored it as I returned to bed and tried to sleep. But it wouldn’t stop. Finally, it got close to my face and screamed right into my ear:
Why didn’t you save me, Mama? Why didn’t you save me, Mama?
And, for the first time since the accident, I replied, shouting: “What do you want from me?! I couldn’t save you, Sarah! I couldn’t!”
Liar! You could’ve saved me! You know you could’ve!
In that instant, it finally pushed me past my breaking point. I picked it up and shook it as hard as I could, screaming: “What could I have done? What was I supposed to do? What do you want from me?! Why are you doing this to me?!” The doll looked at me with cold, hateful eyes and said:
You could’ve stopped Tim.
I froze. “What do you mean?” I asked.
You know what I mean, Mama. You know what he did. Why didn’t you stand up to him? Why didn’t you stop him?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I shouted.
Yes you do. You know exactly what I’m talking about.
“No!” I shouted. “No, I couldn’t stop him!” But even as I said it, I knew it was a lie.
We both know why the stillbirth really happened, don’t we, Mary?
I shook uncontrollably and ran into the backyard to get away from the doll, but it only appeared right in front of me, scowling down at me as I tripped and fell. It pointed to the ground and began to raise its little arms. The ground shook and trembled and I shouted at it, begged it to stop, but it was too late. In one enormous burst the ground split open and a body fell next to me.
It was Tim.
Why didn’t you save me from him, Mary?
The doll asked. I continued sobbing, but managed to respond, “I couldn’t save you Sarah. But I could get you justice.”
The doll’s face softened a little, and for the first time, the fire went out of its eyes. It crawled up next to me and buried its little face into my chest, and let me hold it, just like I’d always wanted to do.
I stroked its hair and whispered to it, over and over again, “I would’ve saved you if I could.”
And in its tiny, childlike voice, the doll replied, “I know.” Then it closed its little eyes, nuzzled close into my chest, and heaved a heavy sigh before never moving again.

So quick recap of my life; I’ve been in the military for the past 5 years (my adult life). This will be my last full year in the service. I’m tired and do not enjoy what I do anymore. I have gotten my bachelors and have some certifications in transpiration. However, I still feel inadequately prepared for the “real world”. Everybody keeps telling me the civilian world is much more difficult than the military and that I should stay in because “it is a guaranteed paycheck” ;however, this life is not for me anymore. The constant being away from my family and treated like trash is taking a toll on me. Is there anything more that I can do to guarantee a successful transition to the “real world?
P.S I have my resume and cover letter ready.

In the vast, star-studded expanse of the Milky Way galaxy, Zorg the Conqueror sat hunched over his control console aboard his modest spacecraft, The Nebula Weasel. Zorg was a Blorpian, a diminutive alien species known more for their intellect and technology than their bravery. Standing at a mere three feet tall, with a gelatinous, greenish body and disproportionately large eyes, Zorg was determined to make a name for himself in the intergalactic community.
Blorpians were generally peaceful, preferring to stay in their domed cities and engage in endless scientific pursuits. However, Zorg was different. He had always harbored dreams of grandeur, of being recognized as a hero among his people. Recently, he had become fixated on the idea of kidnapping a human. He had heard countless tales of humans—wild, unpredictable, and ferocious creatures. Capturing one would surely elevate his status and prove his worth.
After months of planning, Zorg had finally identified his target: a human female named Lisa. She lived in a small town on the third planet from the sun, which the locals called Earth. Zorg had conducted extensive surveillance, watching Lisa’s daily routines through his ship’s cloaking device. She worked at a local diner, lived alone, and seemed to be the perfect, unsuspecting target.
One crisp autumn night, as the stars twinkled above the sleepy town, Zorg activated his ship’s teleportation beam. In a flash of blue light, he materialized in Lisa’s living room, his blaster clutched in his three-fingered hand. He was ready to make history.
Lisa, a fiercely independent woman in her late twenties, had just settled down on her couch with a bowl of popcorn. She was watching her favorite horror movie, finding comfort in the predictable scares and thrills. As the suspenseful music swelled, Zorg appeared in the middle of her living room, causing her to scream and spill her popcorn everywhere.
Zorg, expecting compliance, was taken aback by her reaction. "Silence, human! You are coming with me!" he squeaked, his voice high-pitched and trembling slightly.
Lisa, however, was not the type to be easily intimidated. She quickly assessed the situation and grabbed the nearest weapon she could find: a cast-iron frying pan from her kitchen. "Get out of my house, you little green creep!" she shouted, brandishing the pan menacingly.
Zorg dodged the first swing, but the second one hit him squarely on the head, causing him to yelp in pain and drop his blaster. The weapon skittered across the floor, and Lisa promptly picked it up, aiming it at Zorg, who was now cowering on the ground.
"You picked the wrong woman to mess with," Lisa said, trying to figure out how the alien weapon worked. Zorg, seeing his opportunity, quickly activated his translator device, his large eyes filled with fear.
"Wait! Please don't shoot! I can explain!" Zorg pleaded, his voice now coming through in perfect English.
Lisa, surprised by the sudden change in tone, lowered the blaster slightly but kept her grip firm. "Start talking, then. Who are you, and what do you want?"
Zorg gulped, his gelatinous form quivering. "My name is Zorg, and I'm from the planet Blorpx. I... I was trying to kidnap you to prove myself to my people. I wanted to show them that I could capture a human, the most feared creatures in the galaxy."
Lisa stared at him in disbelief, then burst into laughter. "You thought you could just come in here and take me? Do you have any idea what humans are capable of?"
Lisa, still holding the blaster, decided to teach Zorg a lesson. She made him sit on her couch while she dug through her movie collection. "Sit tight, Zorg. You're about to get a crash course in human resilience."
Over the next few hours, Lisa subjected Zorg to a marathon of action movies, war films, and documentaries about human endurance. They watched scenes of humans battling against all odds, surviving extreme conditions, and fighting for their freedom. Zorg’s eyes grew wider with each passing scene, his terror mounting.
"This is John McClane," Lisa explained, pausing a scene from Die Hard. "He took down a group of terrorists in a skyscraper, barefoot. And this," she continued, switching to a documentary about World War II, "is about real human soldiers who fought in one of the deadliest conflicts in our history."
Zorg, thoroughly horrified, could hardly believe what he was seeing. "Are... are all humans like this?" he stammered, his voice trembling.
Lisa nodded. "Pretty much. We're tough, resourceful, and we don’t take kindly to being messed with."
By the time the movie marathon ended, Zorg was visibly shaken. He had learned more about human tenacity and ferocity than he had ever imagined. Lisa, seeing that her point had been made, decided to go a step further. She fetched her laptop and pulled up news stories about real-life human achievements, from surviving natural disasters to overcoming insurmountable odds.
"See this?" Lisa pointed to an article about a woman who survived a bear attack and hiked for miles to get help. "This is what we’re capable of. We're survivors."
Zorg, thoroughly chastened, nodded vigorously. "I see that now. I had no idea humans were so... formidable."
Lisa handed him back his blaster, now that she had removed the power source. "Next time you want to impress your people, maybe try doing something a little less invasive."
Zorg nodded again, grateful for the advice. "Thank you, Lisa. I will take your words to heart." He activated his teleportation device, ready to beam back to his ship.
As Zorg vanished from her living room, Lisa couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the night’s events. She knew she would have an incredible story to tell her friends at the diner the next day. She sat back down on her couch, picked up her bowl of popcorn, and resumed her horror movie, feeling more invincible than ever.
Back on The Nebula Weasel, Zorg was greeted by his ship's AI, a snarky program named Blip. "Welcome back, Captain Zorg. I see your mission was... eventful?"
Zorg sighed and slumped into his pilot's chair. "You have no idea, Blip. Humans are even more terrifying than the legends say."
Blip's digital face appeared on a nearby screen, smirking. "I warned you, didn't I? Humans are not to be trifled with."
Zorg nodded, still shaken by his encounter. "You were right. From now on, I'm sticking to less dangerous endeavors."
Blip's smirk widened. "Like what? Knitting?"
Zorg managed a weak smile. "Something like that."
Meanwhile, on Blorpx, on a large stage in front of hundreds of thousands of Blorpians, Zorg was giving a lecture.
Ladies, gentlemen, and gelatinous beings of Blorpx, gather 'round, for I have a tale of sheer terror, unprecedented bravery, and a cast-iron frying pan. Yes, you heard me right. A frying pan. Now, let's set the scene. Picture this: a bold, ambitious Blorpian—yours truly—dreaming of intergalactic fame. The plan? Kidnap a human. Easy, right? I mean, how hard could it be?
So there I was, Zorg the Conqueror, stealthily teleporting into the living room of my chosen target, Lisa. Just as planned. What wasn't planned was the popcorn apocalypse that ensued the moment I materialized. She screamed, popcorn flew, and I thought, "Ah, an appropriate reaction to encountering the great Zorg."
I pointed my blaster and squeaked, "Silence, human! You are coming with me!" I expected fear, compliance, maybe even a little awe. Instead, I got a frying pan to the face. Let me tell you, folks, it's not just for breakfast anymore.
As I lay there, seeing stars—literal stars, mind you—I realized I had severely underestimated humans. Lisa, with a mix of annoyance and amusement, decided to educate me on the tenacity of her species. She didn't just stop at one movie. No, no. She lined up a marathon of action films, war documentaries, and survival reality shows.
"Zorg," she said, with a look that could melt neutronium, "this is John McClane. He fought terrorists barefoot. And these are real soldiers from World War II. They faced odds you can't even comprehend."
By the time we got to the survivalists who could build a five-star resort with nothing but dental floss and a toothpick, I was shaking like a leaf in a supernova. "Are all humans like this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"Pretty much," she replied, casually munching on popcorn. "We're tough, resourceful, and really, really don't like being messed with."
As the horror film marathon concluded, Lisa handed me back my now-depowered blaster. "Next time you want to impress your people, maybe try knitting."
So, here I am, back on Blorpx, with a newfound respect for humans and a slightly bruised ego. But hey, I didn't just learn about human resilience. I learned that sometimes, the most valuable lessons come from the most unexpected places. Like the business end of a frying pan.
Now, when you think of humans, remember this: they're not just wild, unpredictable creatures. They're formidable, resilient, and very, very creative in their use of kitchen utensils.
Thank you, Blorpians, and remember—never underestimate a human, especially if they have a frying pan within reach.
Please visit my YouTube channel https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC_uC67FeKOA2_jNGCGLe1jA

I'm writing this as a warning.
This warning only applies to those who are sleeping in a house / apartment / enclosed space with another person.
If you wake up between the hours of 2 AM and 4 AM to the sound of your door opening, beware. The person who looks in may appear to be another member of your household: a parent / roommate / guest, but that’s only a facade.
The thing masquerading as a person will stare in at you for 5 to 7 seconds. If you acknowledge its presence, it will come for you. If you shift in your bed too noticeably, it will come for you. If you get up and turn on the lights, it will come for you.
You must remain perfectly still and quiet. Pretend like you're asleep. And whatever you do, if you see it enter your room… Don't struggle.
Struggling only makes it worse.
***
The above was copied from the front page of Maddie’s digital notepad collection, titled, “THEYRE WATCHING ME,” which was collected by police shortly after her sudden disappearance a few days ago. The following logs were from the same notepad.
Note 1
It’s currently 5AM and I just had the scariest experience. I’m not sure if I’ll ever show this to anyone, but in case I do, I’ll give you some context.
My name is Maddie. I’m 24 and living in [redacted] Wisconsin. I live in one of those two-story house apartments: the ones where you have an anteroom with the mailboxes, then you walk in and there’s like 4 doors to different living spaces. I live in room “B” with my roommate Michelle.
Michelle and I both graduated from [redacted] one year ago and decided to find work in the local area. We were actually in the same sorority—that’s how we met—so rooming together to save money was a no-brainer. The only concern I had at the time was her boyfriend, Nick, who was attached at her hip. But she said he wouldn’t be a problem (meaning he wouldn’t be our third roommate) and luckily he found his own place the two of them could rendezvous at. I’m not sure why they didn’t just move in together, it’s not like they’re waiting till marriage or anything, but I guess that’s a question for another time.
I went to sleep around midnight after watching a few episodes of Bridgerton. I’m the type of person who can’t sleep if there’s even a wink of light on in the room, so after I turned off the TV, I laid a book up against the blue dot which was permanently embedded into the bottom of the TV panel. Then I made sure the blackout curtains were covering the window completely. I saw Michelle in the hall and asked her if she was going to sleep. She yawned and said she was, then she went into her room and closed the door. I did the same.
I put my phone up to charge and turned it over so the “charging” light was facing the nightstand. Then I slipped under the sheets (a comforter, two normal bedsheets, and a weighted blanket,) and turned off the lamp. It had been a long day of work, and there was another one waiting for me tomorrow. Before I knew it, I had drifted off.
In my dream, I remember running away from something. I’m not sure what was chasing me, but I was overcome with a sense of fear, and the knowledge that if it caught me, it would eat my soul.
Then I heard something. At first I attributed it to the dream, and I tried to figure out what the assailant was doing, but then I realized I was awake. The world around me was pitch black, as usual, and I was about to turn and check the time on my phone when I saw the bluish-white tint of the hallway night-light reflecting off the wall in front of me. Michelle and I had installed that light so we could see in the hallway should we wake up at night and need to pee. And now it was lighting up my room…
Which means someone opened my door.
And not just opened it. As I stared half-delirious at the wall, I realized there was a body-shaped shadow hovering in the center of the light. Someone was standing in the doorway, watching me.
I stayed absolutely still. My mind raced through the potential scenarios. Was it Michelle? Doubtful. She wasn’t the type to joke around like that. An intruder? Maybe, but why just stand there? Could it be that Nick had stayed over and . . . and, what?
Just then, I heard the most awful creaking sound, as if thousand-year-old hinges were whining shut. I saw the blue light fade from the wall, and then with a click, it was gone. The entire world fell completely dark. Completely silent. And the only thing I could think was…
Did they come into the room?
It’s around this time I noticed my bladder was full, but I held it, remaining in a perfectly petrified state for hours until I built up the courage to move. I reached for my phone, half-expecting to feel a hand grip mine as it left the safety of the mattress. But I was able to pick it up and check the time. I considered using the flashlight, but I was still too scared to look around. So I watched some Tik Tok videos, trying to take my mind off my full bladder, but it was on the verge of exploding. I stood up, fully intent on marching into the hall, but after two steps I thought I saw a witch’s face in the darkness, so I immediately jumped back into bed and piled the covers over my head. I’m writing this now from the safety of my little blanket bubble. I don’t have to pee anymore. And I’m already loathing the idea of going to work on basically no sleep. Maybe I’ll call in. Hell, maybe I’ll just stay here all day. I feel like I should confront Michelle, but to be honest, I’m afraid.
I’m more afraid than I’ve ever been in my whole life.
Note 2
So I ended up staying home. Let me explain.
After I heard Michelle head into the kitchen, I decided it would be as good a time as any to leave my dream fortress. I was more tired than scared at that point and frankly a little angry that I had let what was probably my imagination rob me from a good night's rest.
When I reached the kitchen, I saw Michelle bent over with half of her body inside the refrigerator. I had a sudden, disturbing feeling that this wasn't Michelle, and when she popped out of the fridge, her face would be missing. The only explanation I have for my feeling is the dream from the previous night. Whatever was chasing me didn't have a face. That's why it wanted to eat me and take mine.
But when she pulled out a carton of eggs and some shredded cheese, her face was perfectly intact. "Oh, hey Maddie," she said, surprised. Then she smirked and said, "Were you checking me out?"
The sudden snap of Michelle's whimsical personality broke open the dam of tension that had been erected last night and I burst out laughing. It took a solid minute for me to be able to get a handle on it, in which time Michelle asked me if I was okay (twice), then started laughing herself, then came over to pat me on the back, then laughed again (this time anxiously), and then finally started the whole loop over.
"I'm okay," I said, and held my hand up to wave an invisible white flag. "I just—" I started, but suddenly my mouth was filling up with hot saliva. I hardly had time to react. I took three steps toward the kitchen sink and spewed acidic chunks all over the floor, then the counter, and finally down the sink drain.
While Michelle helped me clean up the mess (which I told her she didn't need to do, but she insisted), I asked her if Nick had come over the prior night.
"No. As far as I know he was at his place. Why?" Michelle asked.
"Oh, no reason," I said. I hesitated telling Michelle because I honestly felt a little ridiculous admitting that I had ruined a whole night's sleep over a fear of the dark. But after a second to think about it, I realized I did want my friend to know. "I mean, there was this thing that happened last night."
"Thing?" Michelle raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, I thought someone had opened my door in the middle of the night. I work up and—you know the blue hall-light? It was projecting into my room. I even swear I saw someone in the doorway, watching me. Then I heard the door close, and I was so afraid that I couldn't sleep all night."
"You didn't sleep?"
"Not a wink."
"Oh, Mads. That sounds horrible. But I swear Nick wasn't here. Unless he's become a secret stalker. And I hope you don't think I'd do something like that."
"No, I know you wouldn't. I just—I don't know. It was so vivid."
"Well, how about you take the day off. You've been working lots of overtime lately. You're clearly not well. When I get back tonight, I'll bring some soup and we can watch some movies. How does that sound?"
"That sounds great Michelle. You're the best."
Note 3
Holy fuck.
I ended up taking a nap then waiting for Michelle to get home. She arrived around 8:30 PM, and when I asked her, she said she'd stopped by to see Nick. She also forgot the soup, but that's a little point.
The big point is that, after watching our movies, we both went to bed. I was confident that the whole incident the night before had been a case of a bad nightmare mixing with reality, so with the aid of 5mg of melatonin, I was asleep a little after 1 AM.
I recall having the same dream as the night before. This time, the faceless person got closer. I was running through an empty office that was built like a labyrinth, with random assortments of cubicles—all empty except for me and the monster chasing after me. I would turn a corner into a new room, this one without any dividers, and immediately scout out the next exit. Just as I made it to the other side of the room, I saw the thing enter. My heart was pounding.
And then I heard my door open. Somehow, I had turned so that I was facing my door this time, and the blue hall light beaming into my eyes. I stared, completely breathless, as the figure from last night stepped into the doorway. I wanted to scream, but for some reason, I couldn't move. I was absolutely petrified. And my fear only increased when I saw the figure's head enter into the room, its long neck protruding, its expression leering. With the light in the background, its face was almost purely black—faceless—except, it wasn't. I could make out some features. And that's when I noticed her hair. She had a pixie cut, the same way Michelle styled it. And then, as her head retracted, I saw the silhouette of Michelle's chain earring.
My heart was thumping in my throat. I couldn't believe it really was Michelle. How could she do something like that and lie about it so easily? I wanted to get up and confront her right away, but I couldn't. I was still absolutely petrified. And a little voice in the back of my head was still saying: maybe it's not her. Maybe that thing just looks like her.
But that's crazy talk.
Right?
Note 4
Well now I have no idea what's going on.
Michelle barged into my room this morning and claimed I had looked into her room. I assured her that she was the one who looked in my room, but that accusation was only met with a sneer and a "don't pull that shit again, Maddie." Then she slammed my door shut. I tried going after her, but she grabbed a banana and was out the door before I could stop her to talk things through.
The weight of everything that has been happening really made it impossible for me to function at work. I was effectively two days behind on my e-file and decided to stay a few hours late to try and make up as much as I could. I'm pretty sure that I'm a certifiable insomniac at this point, but what am I supposed to do? Now my own roommate and best friend had turned on me. And worse, she was accusing me of doing something she did. Or at least I think she did. Honestly, I'm not ruling anything out at this point.
I decided to stay over at my other friend's house tonight. Her name's Shelby, and she lives with her husband, Tony, and their three dogs. Yeah, they moved pretty quick. They were engaged by Junior year and sealed the deal the Summer after graduation. He is an electrician, so he's been making a steady income for a little over three years now, which is why he can afford to drop fifty grand on a downpayment for a mortgage.
Anyway, I told Shelby about what's been going on, and she's as freaked out as I am. She offered her guest room for as long as I need it. I thanked her but said it would probably just be a day, two at max, until I caught up on sleep.
I'm writing this now from the guest room. I'll admit, even here, in a house with two people and three dogs, I'm scared. Part of me hopes that it really is just Michelle trying to prank me, or even get under my skin. That would be a preferable explanation to any of the alternatives I've come up with. Maybe I'll tell you about those later. I'm so tired.
See you on the other side.
Note 5
It's been over a day since that last note. I'll try and recount everything as clearly as I can.
That night I stayed at Shelby's, I didn't have any dreams. Actually, my entire sleep felt very strange. I don't know if you've ever experienced this, but I felt like I was sleeping and not sleeping at the same time. Like, I was conscious of the fact that I was laying down, but I also couldn't move, and I felt like I was in a shallow sleep state.
I woke up the next morning basically feeling the same as when I'd gone to sleep. Maybe even worse. I felt restless, as if I'd been running around all night. When I went to the bathroom, I saw my eyes were bloodshot red, and there were two purple purses strapped underneath them. I took a cool shower, as my body felt extremely hot, then went to get dressed.
I didn't really notice anything until I went downstairs to get breakfast. I was expecting to meet Shelby and Tony at the kitchen table, but it was empty. Where did they go? I called for them, but no one answered. I checked my phone, but I didn't have any new messages. They were just… gone.
I ended up toasting a bagel and eating that on my way out. I was going to be late for work again. At this rate, I would be fired by next week. I sent Shelby a text thanking her again for hosting me. I considered asking her where she had been off so early, but I thought that might come across as rude, so I pulled that message and instead asked her to dinner, my treat.
By the time work ended, I hadn't received a text from Shelby and I was starting to get worried. I was just about to call her when my phone rang. It was Michelle.
"Michelle?" I answered.
"Hey, Mads. I—"
There was silence.
"Michelle? Hello? I think you cut out."
"No, sorry. I just… wanted to apologize. I miss you."
"Oh," I responded. "I miss you, too."
"Come home?"
I clicked my tongue. "Um, yes. I mean, I will, but I was about to call Shelby. Have you heard from her? I stayed over at her place last night and now I don't know where she's gone."
"Probably just went camping with Tony. You know they like their spontaneous trips."
"Sure…" I said doubtfully, "But, like I said, I stayed over. You'd think she'd at least send me a message letting me know where she was off to."
"It's Shelby, Mads. She's always off to somewhere."
I considered this. It was true that Shelby was known for being a bit sporadic, but this was definitely more than just sporadicism. And Michelle was being awfully pushy on the subject. Still, I did want to go home. I was exhausted, and I couldn't wait to sleep.
When I stepped in the door, Michelle was waiting for me on the couch. She was crying.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
She rushed up and hugged me. "It's Nick. We broke up."
"What!?" I shouted. "What do you mean you broke up? Who? Who broke up with who?"
"He broke up with me. He said he was interested in someone else."
"He said this today?"
"Yeah,"
"Oh, Michelle, I'm so sorry."
I stayed up with Michelle and listened to her spill her guts about the relationship, telling me all sorts of things I didn't know, and some things I could have gone without knowing. Neither of us wanted to be alone, so we slept on the couch together, both of us dozing off to a Netflix movie.
Or at least I thought that's what happened.
I woke up sometime in the middle of the night in my bed. I touched the spot to the left, then to the right of me, and I couldn't feel anything. Where's Michelle?
Then I heard her scream from outside my door. Her voice was trailing off, as if something were hauling her away. I got up and tried the knob, but it wouldn't open. I saw the blue light filtering through the crack underneath the door. It was faint, but there were footsteps moving in the light. I dropped down so my head was on the ground and stuck my eyeball in the crevice. I could make out two large, tree-trunk feet standing directly outside Michelle's door, but nothing else. I stood up and tried the handle again. It still wouldn't budge. This time I tried looking through the crack between the doorframe and the door itself. And what I saw through that tiny slit chilled me to the bone. The monster from my dream was standing there, holding my roommate up in the air, siphoning the life out of Michelle's face into her own blank visage. It was as if her entire face was a giant, toothless maw, gaping, sucking in the prey whole.
I didn't realize I was holding my phone, and when it dropped to the ground, I felt my soul flee my body. The monster stopped sucking my roommate's essence, and in an audible snap of its neck, its face rotated 90 degrees in my direction.
I backed away from the door, watching the two dark stumps grow larger in the blue light still seeping in along the carpet. I fell back down on my bed and watched in horror as the door knob twisted, and twisted, and… the door opened.
Michelle smiled at me from the doorway. She was definitely Michelle. There was not one imperfection in her facade. Yet I knew it was that monster. The monster had taken her appearance. I waited for the demon to take a step into my room, to come and take me the way it had taken Michelle, but it didn't. It only stood there, seemingly waiting for something. After seven seconds or so of absolute torture, the Michelle clone grabbed the knob with one hand, and with her other, she lifted her finger to her lips in shushing motion. Then she giggled and closed the door.
I was once again in the dark.
Note 6
Michelle was gone. And judging from the circumstances surrounding her disappearance, I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that Shelby and Tony might have had a run in with the demon as well. I sat on the couch for a long time, contemplating what I should do. If I was right, then the only common denominator in all three of their disappearances is me.
But why?
I looked in the mirror again and saw that my eyes were almost completely red. My teeth were also starting to yellow, and while I've never had any cavities, I could see quite a few hollowed out holes in my molars. My fingernails were growing much faster than normal. I had only cut them last week and now they were so long it seemed like I was wearing acrylics. Was I becoming a monster? Was I becoming that monster?
No, I couldn't take that.
I called my work and told them I was quitting. They didn't seem very surprised, moreso annoyed that I had spent a week calling out before I decided to just up and leave. I didn't stay on the line to explain my circumstances. I was too busy plotting for tonight. You see, if I really was this monster, then it wouldn't be able to hurt me without hurting itself. On the contrary, I could hurt others without knowing it. I had created a kind of blood pact with me somehow, and now it was tied to me. At least that was my working theory. So, I just needed to confront it and either bring it or myself close enough to death so that it was no longer worth staying fixed to me.
I gathered up the tools I thought I'd need, including every lumable appliance in the apartment (and some bonus lights from the store) all connected to a single switch, a knife (sharpened), a box of matches (just in case), and a whole bunch of caffeine pills. I set up the lights so they were facing the door. There were 3 LED lanterns, two remote spotlights, a halogen work light, and a bunch of Christmas lights which I used to decorate the ceiling. Then I took the sharpened butcher knife and placed it underneath the pillow next to me. Finally, I set the box of matches on the nightstand.
At around 9:00 PM I took a few caffeine pills. I didn't know if I actually needed to be asleep or not for the entity to come, but I was hoping if I feigned it, that would be enough. Especially because I think falling asleep is how it claims control over me.
I watched videos on my phone until around 1:30 in the morning. Despite the caffeine, my eyes were starting to feel heavy. It took a conscious effort to keep my eyelids from shutting, and when they shut, it felt like climbing up a hill to open them back up. Another ten minutes passed. Then another ten minutes. Then I was counting single minutes, then seconds. Then…
I was back in the office, standing by the vending machine, when all the lights went out.
"Hello?" I called out.
But there was no answer. I waited to see if the lights would come back on, but instead I heard the sound of footsteps shuffling maybe ten feet in front of me. They were running away from me. Further and further, into the next room.
"Hello?" I called again.
The footsteps froze. Then, slowly, they walked back in my direction. A nice, slow walk. Then a speed walk. And then they were sprinting at full speed directly at me.
I shot up in bed and saw the faceless figure staring at me from the doorway. This time it didn't have a facade.
"Got you, bitch," I scorned and pressed the switch, activating all of the lights. They turned on in a glorious beam, and I saw the faceless demon actually recoil from them and back up into the hallway. I ran to the door and slammed it shut.
It's been maybe ten minutes since I scared the thing away. At least I know its weakness now. I think… hang on, I still hear it behind the door. What is it doing?
The following is a voice recording saved to Maddie's phone at approx 3:17 AM:
Guys, can you hear me? I don't know if I'll be able to write this, so I want you to listen. I'm going to try and kill it.
[Door banging in distance]
You hear that? It's trying to get in. The bitch forgot I have light. I—hang on, the lights are flickering. Fuck, what's happening?
[Door banging gets louder]
Shit, okay, plan B.
[Shuffling sounds]
Okay, I got the knife. I'm going to see if hurting myself will work.
[Door slams open and lights audibly click off]
Take this! Ow, ow—damn, that hurts.
[Lights click back on]
Oh, shit, it's not—wh—what is it doing? Oh, it's laughing.
[Laughter audible as low gurgling sound]
Yeah? Well laugh at this, bitch.
[Strikes match, flares. Entity releases an anguished roar]
Yeah, back the fuck up. I mean it. Back up. Back—
[Enraged roar. The lights click off again. The sound of furniture crashing against the walls]
Hey, cut that out. Cu—
[High pitched whirring sound]
No—please, no. Not that
[silence, followed by gurgling sounds]
[sounds of flame billowing]
Audio cuts out
***
The police responded to a 9-1-1 call at 3:46 AM claiming their neighbor's apartment was on fire. The fire department showed up and confirmed this at around 3:54 AM. The fire was promptly extinguished, and rescue men entered the premises, looking for survivors. There were no bodies found.
Maddie's phone and laptop were recovered from the wreck, and after searching both for clues as to her whereabouts, these files were found. The most eerie thing about the files is that they make repeated mention to a "Michelle", who was supposedly Maddie's roommate, but there was no indication that Maddie had been living with anyone. There was not a second name on the apartment's lease, and any attempts to locate Michelle led to dead ends. Even Maddie's family had never heard of her before, leading to confusion as to who Michelle really was. Or if there really was a Michelle at all. Which begs the question:
Who was looking into Maddie's room?

To be honest I like a lot of things about my job. It's a small team, I don't get micromanaged, I enjoy the tech that I work with, it's remote, and my coworkers are nice. But I can't stand the amount of time that I work.
Nine hours a day is not that long (but considering what they pay me I think I'm a little undervalued), and it doesn't really bother me when I'm working, but as soon as I'm not working, I can't stop looking at the clock. It takes me about 90 minutes to walk my dog and work out. It takes me 30 minutes to have dinner. I'm starting to wish I didn't have to shit so I could save 15 minutes or so a day. I spent the first hour of the day showering, dressing, shaving and eating breakfast, so now I'm down to about 3-4 hours depending on how much I want to sleep.
That's honestly not that bad for free time. I don't have to grocery shop or commute, I don't have kids to drive around, but all I can think about during those 3-4 hours is how I'm running out of free time before I have to go back to work. It's usually not enough time for me to feel like I've accomplished anything. Every weekend I think about quitting and finding a job that pays me more and gives me 2 more hours of free time, or how I can somehow become my own boss one way or another.
I use an app on my phone that locks me out of time wasting apps so I don't waste my free time, and a lot of my time outside of work is spent building resume projects. It's starting to drive me crazy that every week I count down until Friday when I have a long interrupted block of free time until Monday, and then every night until then I worry that I didn't get as much out of my free time as I wanted.
I didn't make as much progress on my side project as I'd hoped, now next weekend I have to go to my sister's graduation, which should be exciting, and all I can think about is how I have to go 2 weeks without a long enough block of free time.
I don't know what to do. My free time is what I use to really explore my interests and it's what brings me fulfillment in life, and it feels like I haven't done anything that wasn't either a resume project or something to try to unwind from work in the 6 months since I started working here.
I am quite confident that I am on the spectrum and this behavior aligns pretty well with something called demand avoidance. I am just a little bit overwhelmed trying to figure out what to do to and how I can survive as an adult in the US if I can't even work a decent job in a field I like for 6 months without feeling like I'm about to hit burnout.

I've been watching Death in the Dorms S1 and S2 (I know I'm late, it just happened to pop up on disney plus), and I got to thinking about what happens to the perpetrators on the show that don't get life in prison. I'm specifically referring to the two fraternity hazing episodes - S1EP4 the murder of Michael Deng and S2EP4 the murder of Max Gruver.
I think its the fact that the majority of the perpetrators are a unique combination of really young + college educated/ambitious(?) + the crime they commit is disporpotionately violent AND the incidents are very publicized that makes them stand out so much.
So I'm wondering what these people end up doing with their lives after the sentencing, and I'm especially curious about those sentenced for Michael Deng's case because if the victim's background was any indication, it seemed like the frat was primarily made up of first/second gen Asian kids who might not have the same legal and financial safety net/family connections as, say, Brock Turner (the rapist) who apparently was able to secure a job in Ohio. Do they go back to college? How are they able to bypass company background checks when a quick Google search tells you all you need to know?
I don't like focusing on the perpetrators in general when talking about true crime, but idk I guess this also comes from an irrational fear that these people might just be sitting in traffic next to us or something.

Sitting in a crowded meeting room, I caught myself zoning out. It was one of my usual client meetings where the agenda was to discuss the marketing strategy of a new product. Everyone was throwing around terms like 'engagement', 'lead conversion', 'click-through rate', etc. The percentage-filled PowerPoints and abstract diagrams were becoming a blur for me.
Suddenly, my boss eyed me and asked, "What do you think, Taylor?". My heart skipped a beat. I was lost and was not following the conversation. But then, I remembered something I had learnt in an online course - the Concept of Mental Models. What I understood about these models was that they allowed one to view problems from multiple perspectives and then arrive at probable solutions.
I took a deep breath and decided to use one of those models - The First Principles Thinking. This model is about breaking down complex problems into their fundamental parts. I decided to grasp the whole scenario by asking some basic questions. "What's the product? Who are we targeting? What's the core feature of our product?" I asked.
There was silence in the room and then the discussion resumed, but this time from a fresh perspective. Bookish terms were replaced with simpler language while complex diagrams were replaced with real-life examples. The whole room was now not just listening, but also understanding and engaging in the discussion.
The meeting turned out to be a success. We were able to chalk out the strategy effectively and I was appreciated for my approach. And all this was possible because of some critical thinking on my part.
Applying mental models for critical thinking improved my communication. It taught me that the key to clear communication is to break down complex concepts into simpler components and that jargon only makes understanding difficult. Since then, my meetings have become more interactive, my clients are happy, and I'm no longer zoning out during discussions.
P.S: Don't indulge too much in the story, it's hypothetical! Just wanted to make you feel the power of mental models! Remember, the next time you get lost in a meeting, you have a secret weapon! The First Principles Thinking! Wield it wisely! ;)

[VOLUNTEER] Join Our Dark-Fantasy RPG Team! Seeking Developers, Artists, Writers, and More!
Post:
Hey everyone,
We're thrilled to announce an exciting opportunity to join our game development team for a dark-fantasy RPG project! We're seeking passionate individuals to contribute their skills and creativity to help bring our vision to life. Whether you're a seasoned developer, a talented artist, a skilled writer, or someone with a passion for game design, we want to hear from you!
About the Project:
Our game is a dark-fantasy action RPG with elements inspired by the souls-like genre. It transports players to a rich and immersive world filled with challenging gameplay, captivating lore, and stunning visuals. We're dedicated to delivering a truly unique and unforgettable gaming experience that will resonate with players worldwide.
Roles Needed:

• Developers (Programmers)
• Artists (3D Modelers, Concept Artists)
• Writers (Narrative Designers, Lore Writers)
• Sound Designers (Audio Engineers, Music Composers)
• QA Testers (Quality Assurance)

What We Offer:

• Deferred Compensation: Please note that payment for team members will be deferred until after the project is completed and revenue is generated. Exceptions may apply if crowdfunding or Patreon support is secured.
• Revenue Share Options: In addition to deferred compensation, revenue share options may be available for certain positions.
• Flexible Work Arrangements: We offer flexible work arrangements and opportunities for career growth within the team.
• Passionate Team Environment: Join a collaborative team of passionate individuals dedicated to creating an exceptional gaming experience.

How to Apply:
If you're interested in joining our team, please send us a message with the following:

• Your resume/CV and portfolio (if applicable).
• A brief introduction outlining your skills, experience, and why you're interested in joining our project.

We're excited to hear from you and embark on this journey together! Feel free to reach out if you have any questions or would like more information.
[nightshadestudios@proton.me] [stealthassassins0 on discord]
DM here if necessary!

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