Dog Grill

Located directly across from the Save Mart Center, Dog House Grill provides customers with a venue that is perfect before or after the big event. Come see why Dog House is the best bar and grill in the Valley. Group/Large Orders Available. 24 hour notices, pick-up in Fresno only The Candery Hot Dog Roller - Sausage Grill Cooker Machine - 6 Hot Dog Capacity - Household Hot Dog Machine for Children and Adults. 4.5 out of 5 stars 199. $63.99 $ 63. 99. Get it as soon as Wed, Sep 23. FREE Shipping by Amazon. Located at 235 North St., near the intersection with York Street, is the Hog n' Dog Grill. Partners Al Brunner and Amanda Pinckney opened the business about three weeks ago. Keep the good times and hot dogs rolling! Cooks eight regular-sized or four foot-long hot dogs at a time. The stainless steel rollers continuously rotate to evenly cook hot dogs, while the adjustable heat settings makes cooking hot dogs simple and quick. The Black Dog Grill 1635 Paris Ave, Port Royal, SC 29935 843-379-3664 COVID update: The River Dog Grill has updated their hours, takeout & delivery options. 99 reviews of The River Dog Grill 'This place has a number of promotions during the week, including car shows and motorcycle gatherings. The interior is somewhat small and they have an outdoor seating area for smokers. The food is pretty good and they have an excellent selection of beer. Currently being ran on only its 3rd ownership in the last 38 years, The Dog Bar & Grill continues to be a staple in the Cuchara Valley. Named 'One of the Top 12 Best Outdoor Patios in Colorado' by the Denver Post, The Dog Bar & Grill is the best place to connect with new and old friends, indulge in the best food and cold beverages in the valley ...

Are we really making this a thing now

2015.05.25 23:20 Brewster_The_Pigeon Are we really making this a thing now

Notorious for bullies.
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2018.04.25 08:01 Kesha_Paul PEE IN HE BUTT

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2012.06.12 00:19 3insteel Michigan Beer Enthiusists

Subreddit for Michigan craft beer enthusiasts and Brewers guild members.
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2020.09.26 08:01 ptfefilm REUSABLE HOT DOG BAGS

REUSABLE HOT DOG BAGS

https://preview.redd.it/mcytj3w3nfp51.jpg?width=800&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=2852b3f652c1c9b924a9843c39726716a60f3cda

REUSABLE HOT DOG BAGS

Production Capacity: 120000PCS per week
Type: Baking Tools & Accessories
Material: PTFE coated fiberglass fabric
Colour: Brown/Black/Beige
Temperature Resistance: -60~260
Transport Package: Colour Box and Carton
Specification: Size can be customized
Thickness:0.06-0.08mm,can be customized
Other:Reusable, more than 100 times, No need for grease, suitable for all ovens (gaselectric, AGA, hot-air, microwave,grill)
submitted by ptfefilm to u/ptfefilm [link] [comments]


2020.09.26 05:12 Ruthieroo18 **Does he have feelings for me, or am I being manipulated? 35M, 34F**

At the end of February, I met Luke on Bumble. As it turns out, he lives a mile down the road from me, and I've known his best friend, Zach, since we were 11. His other best friend, Jake, I'm not on such good terms with. I dated Jake's brother 12 years ago and he cheated on me, so I've tried to avoid that family since.

Luke is a former underwater welder, who spent most of his 20's on a ship at sea. He hasn't had many long term relationships, because he's been on a ship 10 months out of every year. (Red flag, I know). So I asked Luke what he wanted the first night we texted, and he said, "Casual sex is boring, I want to find my person." Zach also confirmed Luke told him several times he wanted to settle down. I feel like I'm getting too old for the fuck buddy thing, but I met him to see if he had potential to be more.

We hit it off instantly; we spent 4-6 days a week together. He'd grill dinner for us or we'd go on dates (he called them that, but never asked me to be his girlfriend). It was extremely easy hanging out with him, which was a first for both of us. We made each other laugh a lot and had deep conversations about our lives. Getting to know him though, I realized he seems emotionally stunted, maybe because his mother passed away when he was 14. He's very guarded and doesn't handle emotions well, it makes him uncomfortable. Sometimes he would do something sweet for me, and then reel it back and tell me I shouldn't get feelings for him because he's "too fucked up to let someone in." (his words). Or he would tell me I was a "solid girl" who he enjoyed being around him, and that I was special and irreplaceable. But then he told me Jake was talking shit about me to him, and that he shouldn't care what Jake thinks, but he does. It was always lots of gray areas with Luke; nothing was ever black and white.

Then Luke talked about us getting serious. He offered to have me meet his grandparents and talk about history with his grandpa, since he knows I enjoy that. He offered to rotate my tires. He even asked me to move in with him on 3 different occasions. The problem is, none of this ever came to fruition. It seemed to me like he was all talk and no action. But he was like that about a lot of things in his life, so I didn't take it personally. It seemed like he had the intention to do something, but not the discipline to follow through.

This summer, my elderly dog had to be put to sleep. Luke was very supportive in trying to comfort me, which I thought was big of him, since he hates dealing with emotions. The next day, I was in a bad mood and was snippy with him. He apologized and said he wished he could be there for me, but he had a hard time being there for himself. I decided to take a break from everything until I can start feeling better mentally and emotionally about my dog and some life changes I had to make.

My question is, does Luke really have feelings for me, or was he just bullshitting me about everything to get me to continue to sleep with him? I feel like he uses Jake not liking me as a cop-out, that he's scared to be in a relationship but he doesn't know how to say it. I feel like if Jake were a true friend, he should be happy Luke found someone to vibe with, instead of trying to interfere.

Luke has slept with a couple girls since we split up, but hasn't seen them more than once or twice. I feel like maybe he wasn't bullshitting me, and maybe I was special to him since he can't seem to make it work with anyone else for as long as we were together. He texts me occasionally when he's drunk, comparing me to other girls, and says that he misses me. I don't know what to do. I can't go back to the gray areas, I need black and white. He doesn't seem to understand how confusing he is.
submitted by Ruthieroo18 to datingoverthirty [link] [comments]


2020.09.26 04:35 Ruthieroo18 **Does he (35M) have feelings for me, (34F) or am I being manipulated?**

At the end of February, I met Luke on Bumble. As it turns out, he lives a mile down the road from me, and I've known his best friend, Zach, since we were 11. His other best friend, Jake, I'm not on such good terms with. I dated Jake's brother 12 years ago and he cheated on me, so I've tried to avoid that family since.

Luke is a former underwater welder, who spent most of his 20's on a ship at sea. He hasn't had many long term relationships, because he's been on a ship 10 months out of every year. (Red flag, I know). So I asked Luke what he wanted the first night we texted, and he said, "Casual sex is boring, I want to find my person." Zach also confirmed Luke told him several times he wanted to settle down. I feel like I'm getting too old for the fuck buddy thing, but I met him to see if he had potential to be more.

We hit it off instantly; we spent 4-6 days a week together. He'd grill dinner for us or we'd go on dates (he called them that, but never asked me to be his girlfriend). It was extremely easy hanging out with him, which was a first for both of us. We made each other laugh a lot and had deep conversations about our lives. Getting to know him though, I realized he seems emotionally stunted, maybe because his mother passed away when he was 14. He's very guarded and doesn't handle emotions well, it makes him uncomfortable. Sometimes he would do something sweet for me, and then reel it back and tell me I shouldn't get feelings for him because he's "too fucked up to let someone in." (his words). Or he would tell me I was a "solid girl" who he enjoyed being around him, and that I was special and irreplaceable. But then he told me Jake was talking shit about me to him, and that he shouldn't care what Jake thinks, but he does. It was always lots of gray areas with Luke; nothing was ever black and white.

Then Luke talked about us getting serious. He offered to have me meet his grandparents and talk about history with his grandpa, since he knows I enjoy that. He offered to rotate my tires. He even asked me to move in with him on 3 different occasions. The problem is, none of this ever came to fruition. It seemed to me like he was all talk and no action. But he was like that about a lot of things in his life, so I didn't take it personally. It seemed like he had the intention to do something, but not the discipline to follow through.

This summer, my elderly dog had to be put to sleep. Luke was very supportive in trying to comfort me, which I thought was big of him, since he hates dealing with emotions. The next day, I was in a bad mood and was snippy with him. He apologized and said he wished he could be there for me, but he had a hard time being there for himself. I decided to take a break from everything until I can start feeling better mentally and emotionally about my dog and some life changes I had to make.

My question is, does Luke really have feelings for me, or was he just bullshitting me about everything to get me to continue to sleep with him? I feel like he uses Jake not liking me as a cop-out, that he's scared to be in a relationship but he doesn't know how to say it. I feel like if Jake were a true friend, he should be happy Luke found someone to vibe with, instead of trying to interfere.

Luke has slept with a couple girls since we split up, but they aren't his type. I don't feel like he's trying to replace me, or that he'll find the connection we had with someone else. He texts me occasionally when he's drunk, or after he fucked a girl, comparing me to them, and says that he misses me. I don't know what to do. I can't go back to the gray areas, I need black and white. He doesn't seem to understand how confusing he is.
submitted by Ruthieroo18 to dating_advice [link] [comments]


2020.09.25 20:32 tsuitstocks Must-have accessories for trailer camping

Hey all,
My mother's birthday is coming up and I've got a couple gifts picked out, but I was looking around for ideas for a little something extra. They've recently bought a trailer camper and have been using it like crazy (a trip every week or so to state parks), so I was wondering if you guys had any recommendations for some lesser-known gadgets, gizmos, or fun stuff that you've been using that you wish you had from the beginning. In addition to some non-camping related gifts I've already got some motion detector lights picked out for their cabinets, but would greatly appreciate any ideas you may have, as I don't have the experience to know what is too gimmicky and won't be used versus something that they'll utilize every trip. If it helps any, they're in Alabama, recently bought kayaks, and always bring their two dogs with them.
I've searched around a bit on similar threads in this sub, and nothing has really popped out at me on them. Chocks, beer, grills and tool-sets seem to be popular recs, but I'd rather save those for my dad :)
Any ideas are welcome, I'd appreciate the help.
submitted by tsuitstocks to GoRVing [link] [comments]


2020.09.25 18:15 Aoric_ Need some karma so I can post on other subreddits so here's a picture of my dog on a grill

submitted by Aoric_ to FreeKarma4U [link] [comments]


2020.09.25 16:54 greghersh outdoor seating

For those that are comfortable going out to eat, but prefer to sit outdoors, lets try to create a list of places with outdoor seating.

* vinyl walls can be rolled up/opened to create an area completely open to fresh air
(edit) - copying places from comments into this top post & adding more as I think of them
submitted by greghersh to alpharetta [link] [comments]


2020.09.25 16:37 Iskander_Khan Soul of a Man [Part One]

Summer on the I-75…
Heat shimmers danced over miles upon miles of baking tarmac as temperatures climbed into triple digits.
The south Florida sun hung heavy in a cloudless sky, weeks of intense heat leaving scorch marks on the crabgrass at the side of the highway. And in a single pickup with busted air conditioning that sped down a lonely stretch of road, the draft of an open window was the only thing keeping the driver from passing out with heatstroke.
He gripped the wheel with palms that were drenched with perspiration. His mouth was dry, his stomach ached with hunger. He’d lost track of the number of hours he’d been awake for back around fifty, hardly taken his foot off the gas for the most of that, stopping only to fill up at some one-shack, Mom and Pop gas pump on a side road.
But it wasn’t the truck that was about to run out of gas this time, it was him. He was crashing, so hard that he almost didn’t notice the little fleck of colour appear in his rear-view mirror. But when he did, not even the Florida heat could prevent the chill that shot up his spine.
It was a Florida Highway Patrol vehicle, and it was gaining on him.

The driver took a hand off the steering wheel and reached for the glove compartment. Inside was a loaded .38 revolver, one that he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to use. He placed it in his lap, just out of sight of the driver’s window, and waited for the State Trooper to make his move.
Behind him, the Trooper kept minimum distance for a minute or two. In the driver’s rear-view, he is just a silhouette, a dark shape behind the wheel; the driver silently begs him to keep off the lights and sirens.
Don’t do it, he thought, don’t you do it. I don’t want to make your kids salute a flag draped coffin, but I will, God help me, I will.

It was with sinking stomach and pounding heartbeat that the driver watched as red and blue flashes illuminated his rear-view.
He looked down into his lap, at the .38 that would seal his and the State Trooper’s fate. It didn’t have to come to this, none of it did. But still, he began to drift over to the side of the road, ready to slow to a stop, turn off the engine, and lure the State Trooper into an ambush.
Only the Trooper didn’t mirror his movements, it didn’t tail him to the side of the road. The State Trooper simply accelerated and drove straight past him. Yet as he did so, the driver felt no kind of relief, only the need to vomit, for he had not escaped his fate, only delayed it.

As not to arouse any suspicion, the driver continued to crawl over to the side of the highway, slowing gradually until the truck finally came to a complete stop. The old, rusted door handle screeched as he opened the truck’s door just enough to empty the yolk-yellow lining of his stomach onto the tarmac outside.
He wiped his mouth, smearing bile onto the knee of his jeans, then reached for the glove compartment again, this time to swap the loaded .38 for a small, glass pipe. There was enough half burnt Crystal clinging to the filthy glass to make him feel normal again. But as he brought the pipe to his lips and fished around a pocket for a disposable lighter, something on the side of the road caught his eye.
It was a young girl, no more than eight or nine years old. Her eyes flickered from his face, to the meth-pipe, and back again, but no expression registered on her small, soft features.
The driver hesitated, feeling the warm glass slip from between his lips and into a waiting hand. And in an act so foreign that it scared him, he let the pipe drop onto the tarmac, before it crunched under the weight of his boot.
By the time he’d shut the truck’s door and started up the engine, the little girl was gone. He was renewed with adrenaline, but he doubted the jitters would take him any further than the next truck-stop. Just a few miles more, then he could let go; eat something, drink something, sleep like the dead.
And so, his hands still shaking, he torched the end of a cigarette pursed between his lips, pushed his foot gently onto the acceleration, and carried on down the highway.

After driving for another hour or so, a small rest-stop came into view.
It was nothing more than a few small businesses, set up at the side of the road, but it would do for now. The driver could see signs for a liquor store, a bar and grill, but most importantly, a motel.
He drove the truck around the back of motel, just out of sight of the highway. As he got out of the cab, feeling blood returning to vessels long since cut off by the restrictive posture, a lone voice sounded over the hum of the cicadas.
“No puedes estacionar aquí!”
The driver didn’t say a word as an elderly Hispanic man approached him, his skin like leather, tanned in the sun.
“Eres sordo o qué?” the man spoke again as the driver reached into a pocket. He pulled out a crumpled ten dollar bill, sliding it into the man’s shirt-pocket before walking off towards the highway, and the bar on the other side.

The Hound Dog bar and grill was almost empty.
Pool balls clacked as they collided, cutting through the low drone of a jukebox that played some old Skynyrd song. Cigarette smoke hung thick in the air, mixing with the strong scent of fried food coming from the kitchen in the back.
The driver slid his aching body onto a bar stool, setting his eyes on a grubby, laminated menu that lay before him. As he tried to read it, the small, black lettering began to bleed together, melting and swirling until it made his head throb.
He pointed at the first words he recognised, sliding the menu over to the bartender as he did so. The bartender nodded, before heading off into the kitchen to prepare the driver’s order.
The food came quickly, bare-bones burger and fries. The driver felt like he could eat twice the amount set down in front of him, but still he ate slowly, too much too soon would make him sick. He took a sip from the neck of his beer bottle, feeling the cool, bitter liquid gracing his parched throat, but almost spat it out when he looked up at a small, box TV set up on a shelf above the bar.
The volume on the vintage looking set was turned down low, but the picture showed a news report, something about an incident up near Jacksonville. The shot changed to some helicopter-cam footage of a fire that raged through a tenement building, capturing the moment that a wooden support beam crashed through the second floor.
It then showed the faces of three men that were wanted by Police for questioning in relation to the fire.
The driver’s was one of them.

He felt nauseous with fear as he slowly turned and scanned the room.
Besides himself, there was just the bartender and a handful of patrons, and none were watching the TV. But it didn’t bring him any relief, because now, he was being hunted.
The driver finished his food in silence, not once looking up from the cheap, tin plate that now swam with grease. He slid back off the bar stool, put a crumpled twenty onto the bar-top, and began to walk towards to front entrance.
“Hey!” someone called after him, “hey, you, wait a second!”
Reluctantly, the driver turned, looking over his shoulder at the bar behind him. It was the bartender, looking back at him with a dead stare.
“Don’t you want your change?”
The driver exhaled a long, slow breath of relief, but couldn’t quite bring himself to smile as he shook his head. Soon the warmth of the sun was on his skin again as she shuffled back across the highway towards the motel. He fetched a large black duffel bag from his truck parked out back, then lugged it around to the reception area to rent a room.

Inside the small building attached to the motel forecourt, was the reception area.
The driver walked inside, carrying the heavy duffel bag by the straps. Sat in front of a luminous blue bug zapper was a tired looking woman with whom he swapped the $15 nightly rate for a room-key. He then dragged himself up the flight of stairs to room twenty-two, the duffel held tight in his grip.
After locking the room’s door behind him, he slid the duffel under the double bed, before unhooking the loaded .38 from his waistband and placing under a pillow. It was mid-afternoon by that point, a few hours’ sleep to recharge his batteries and he could be back on the road south before sundown.
As he lay himself down on the stained white bedspread, he felt as if he might sink into a sleep so deep that he’d never wake up at all. And if he did, it might well be looking down the barrel of a police issue shotgun, racked and ready to plaster his brains all over the pillow on which he currently rested his head.
Worry furrowed his brow for a moment after his eyes closed, before his breathing slowed and his head began to empty of thought. Then with the hypnotic, muted whisper of cicadas outside in his ears, he finally fell asleep.

When he opened his eyes again, there was fire.
A great, roaring furnace burned in front of him, so intensely hot that he smelled the acrid scent of his own singed hair in the air around him.
The blaze towered above him, and from deep inside the inferno, he could hear a woman scream. At first it was as quiet as a whisper, but as it grew, the bloodcurdling scream faded into a hoarse, grinding wail.
But they weren’t screams of pain; they weren’t the howls of a woman suffering the searing agony of being burned alive. It was grief, she was screaming out of grief.
The screams multiplied as hundreds of gaunt, charred faces appeared among the flames before him. He looked down, discovering that his jeans had caught alight. He swatted at the flames, trying to put them out, sweat pouring from his brow as he tried and failed to prevent himself from bursting into flames.
But just as he was about to be engulfed, the driver looked up, back into the fire, just in time to see a scorched, peeling arm, black as coal dust, erupt from the flames before it’s hand wrapped around his throat, and squeezed.

The driver jolted awake, eyes wide, gasping for breath.
He hadn’t had a nightmare since he was eleven years old. It was the withdrawals, it had to be. Nothing else could explain how lucid it felt.
A cold shower provided relief against the oppressive evening heat. He left the bathroom feeling like a new man, his mind focused, ready to get back on the road again.
He dressed himself, hooking the loaded .38 into his waistband again before kneeling on the carpet to fish the heavy black duffel out from under the bed. But as he did so, something felt wrong. It was heavy alright, but not nearly as heavy as it should have been.
In a panic, he wrenched open the zippers, only to have his worst fears confirmed.
What should have been inside the bag, stuffed into individual plastic bags, was just over twenty thousand dollars in cash; but that’s not what the driver found when he opened up the duffel. Instead, he found plastic bags stuffed with filthy, worn out children’s clothes. Only one of the bags contained any money at all, and it only amounted to a few hundred dollars.
Someone had swapped out the cash, and in his hasty escape, he’d neglected to check it was still there.

For a few moments, the driver stayed perfectly still, staring into the open duffel in utter disbelief.
He found he had to force himself to take a breath, white light creeping into the corner of his vision; all his plans, all his hopes, gone. Without the money, there was no ticket onto a ship leaving the US, no new life in the Bahamas, nothing.
He stuffed his face into a pillow, biting down on the cheap, coarse linen before he let out a guttural, primal scream. Then came the tears, the guilt, the anger. Everything he’d managed to keep inside of him on the road south came spilling out in one ugly torrent.
Suddenly, he stood up, pulling the .38 from his waistband and placing the barrel in his mouth. The steel tasted bitter on his tongue as he angled the muzzle to the roof of his mouth.
It would all be so easy, so goddamn easy just to check out there and then and not have to clean up the mess he’d left behind. But he’d never made a habit of going easy on himself, always took the hard road his Pa used to say, no matter where it took him,
It was that particular thought that made the driver take the revolver from out of his mouth and decide that there had to be another way.

The driver shuffled over to the motel room’s window and hooked a finger into the blinds.
Outside, the Hound Dog Bar and Grill was considerably busier than it had been earlier. A dozen or so Harley Davidson motorcycles were parked up outside, with the drunks almost as loud as the music.
A thought flashed through the driver’s mind. A busy bar would have a whole lot of cash on hand come closing time. All he had to do was walk over, spend a few hours nursing a few beers, and then hit the manager’s office come closing.
His mind was made up. He stuffed what money he had left into the pocket of his jeans, left his motel room, and headed back across the highway.

What had only a few hours ago been a sleepy, roadside burger joint was now swarming with scum and villainy.
One-percenter motorcycle clubs held court around small tables overflowing with empty beer bottles and shot glasses. Small time dealers barely concealed nickel and dime deals in front of bartenders that had long since ceased trying to prevent them. All while trailer-park pimps arranged back alley meets between oxy-dumb hookers and their johns.
The driver waded through the crowd until he found himself a spot at the bar. He ordered a beer, waited, and watched.

Over the course of the next few hours, the driver watched as the crowds grew more and more intoxicated, laughing and bickering among themselves, sharing drinks and stories with an almost constant stream of people going to and from the bathrooms.
At one point, something caught his eye from across the room. A small figure stood alone in a corner of the bar, holding something in their hand. It was a child, the same little girl he’d seen on the highway. No one was paying any attention to her, but it didn’t surprise the driver that there were parents neglectful enough to leave their kid alone in a late night dive.
Only, that wasn’t what was so odd.
It wasn’t so much that the beer swilling patrons weren’t paying attention to her; it was as if they couldn’t see her at all. People walked right past her, drinks in hand, without giving her so much as a look. It was then that the driver saw what was in her hand. It was a teddy bear, and it was burned to a crisp.
Suddenly a huge, leather clad biker blocked his view of the girl for a moment, and by the time he had moved, she was gone.

Around two in the morning, the drunks began to slowly file out into waiting taxis. The driver kept his head down, biding his time until resistance would be minimal. Half the patrons would be carrying, and it was likely the main office had a piece tucked away somewhere.
If he was going to strike, it had to be surgical.
When there was only a handful struggling to stand, the lone security guard began to issue a ten minute drink-up warning. The driver nodded lazily but compliantly when it was his turn to be told, watching as yet more of the patrons finished their drinks and stumbled out of the front doors.
Slowly, once the security guard’s back was turned, the driver began to reach for his waistband. But as his right hand slipped under his filthy t-shirt, and his fingers began to curl around the .38’s grip, he heard a voice behind him.

“You don’t want to do that, my friend”, a hand shot out, gripping the arm that reached for the .38; “no one has to die here tonight”.
The driver turned with fury in his eyes, trying to wrestle out of the stranger’s grip, but he was strong, very strong.
“You can try it, friend, but that security guard there will put two or three in you before I even hit the ground. He’s an off-duty cop, mean as hell too”.
The driver stopped struggling and slowly took his hand away from the revolver. He was shaking from the adrenaline, furious at the unwelcome intervention of the stranger, but he wasn’t stupid. The stranger let go of his wrist, smiling before he spoke.
“If its money you need, I can get you money, a hundred thousand for just a day’s work”, the stranger had the driver’s ear.
“Hey, I told you, get outta here, we’re closed!” the bouncer barked in their direction.
“Me and my friend here were just leaving”, the stranger said, nodding in the driver’s direction. “Walk with me friend, we have some business to discuss”.

The driver followed the stranger out of the bar, parking lot gravel crunching underneath their boots until they reached a black, four seater pick-up. It was only out in the florescent light of the bar’s parking lot that the driver could get a good look at him.
He was huge, African American, light skinned with blue-green eyes. He wore practical, dark coloured clothing, having a vague air of the military about him.
The stranger climbed into the cab of his truck, inviting the driver around to the passenger side.
“What’s your name, friend?” the stranger asked.
“Cole”, the driver croaked. It was the first time he’d spoken in days.
“Nice to meet you, Cole, I’m Reeves”, the strange replied, offering the driver a hand to shake. “You spent much time outdoors, Cole?”
“Sure, when I was a kid”, he replied, “why?”
“My employers by will pay handsomely if I can locate a certain – collector’s item, down in the Everglades”, Reeves replied.
“What kind of collector’s item?”
“Something extremely valuable, my friend, something not just anyone would be willing or able to locate”
“And what makes you think I can?” Cole asked sceptically.
“Your whole life, you’ve been looking for something in a place you’ll never find it. Put to the right task, I think you’ll be able to help me find just about anything”.
“You don’t know dick about me”, he spat back.
“I know a lot more than you think, friend”, Reeve’s reply came with a wry smile.
“If you got something you wanna tell me, asshole, do it now”, Cole shifted in the passenger’s seat, his whole demeanour now one of confrontation.
“I’m not a Cop, if that’s what you’re thinking” Reeves grinned.
“Then who the hell are you?”
“Your last, best hope”, the smile left Reeve’s face as a serious look entered his eyes.
Cole sighed, the guy was right. Without his help, he could be locked up in the County Jail within forty-eight hours. Accept it, and he might just make it to the Bahamas.
“Alright, I’m down” he finally said, “just tell me exactly what we’re getting into”.
“Forgive me if I’m not forthcoming with all the details, wouldn’t want you getting cold feet”, Reeves began, “but the long and the short of it, is that we’re headed down to Everglade City to hook up with the rest of the team, then we head off into the swamps.”
“The rest?” Cole asked, feeling the overdue exhaustion setting in once again.
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with just yet”, Reeves replied, “now, you got a vehicle you want to follow me down in, anything in that motel room you need to pick up?”
“How did you know -?”
“It’s my job to know things, my friend. Now, grab what you need so we can get going”.
Cole took a moment to think. There was nothing in the motel room that belonged to him, and it was only a matter of time before the Cops put out an APB on the truck he’d ‘borrowed’.
“Nah, don’t need nothin’, let’s go”
“Well alright then”, Reeves replied, turning the truck’s key and gunning the engine, “you better get some sleep though, you look a little worse for wear”
But Cole eyes were already half closed. And as Reeves’s truck began to disappear on that long, dark stretch of the I-75, he drifted off into another deep sleep.
submitted by Iskander_Khan to samridingwrites [link] [comments]


2020.09.25 16:27 mathdanse Voting is now open for The Pitch's Best of Kansas City 2020. There are so many great vegan and veg-friendly entries. You nominated them; now let's vote for them! (Deadline is 9/30/20, 5PM.)

Great job, friends! So many wonderful vegan and veg-friendly entries were nominated for the Pitch's Best of Kansas City 2020. Let's support these amazing people by voting for them! Voting is open until Wednesday 9/30/2020, 5pm.
Link to Vote for Best of Kansas City:thepitchkc.com/bestofkc20

Best Bagels
Best Buffet
Best Bakery (Gluten Free)
Best Bakery (Sweets)
Best Burger
Best Cheap Eats
Best Chili
Best Food Truck
Best Gluten-Free Restaurant
Best Hot Dog
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submitted by mathdanse to VEGKC [link] [comments]


2020.09.25 07:33 PrettiestFrog Culinary Monstrosities

A couple of my players have been learning to cook. A while back I made apple cider glazed pork loin, and it was a hit with these players. So Fighter decides he's going to make it and bring it. I give him the recipe, and tell him I'll make some garlic mashed potatoes to serve with it for game meal.
Day of, he comes in and presents his masterpiece. And the pork loin looks beautiful. He did it in the oven, but also gave it a couple minutes on the grill to get that additional flavor and get the glaze on properly. There is drooling as we sit down to feast and game.
Bard takes the first bite...
And promptly chokes and all but spits the pork back out of his mouth. Similar reactions are occurring around the table. Fighter looks both like he wants to cry and to start throwing plates at people.
I take a bite, then quickly confer with my husband and we reach the same conclusion.
The glaze calls for apple cider.
Fighter used apple cider... vinegar.
It wasn't quite the worst thing I've ever eaten, but my mother once literally made a meatloaf the dogs wouldn't eat.
For the entire evening, every time someone Nat 1'd, apple cider vinegar was somehow involved.

TLDR: 1 1/2 cups apple cider, 1/4 cup maple syrup, 1tbsp dijon mustard, 1/2 - 1 tsp red pepper flakes or one sliced serrano depending on how spicy you like your food (a ghost pepper if you are making it only for Wizard player), brush over the meat as it grills on the BBQ. Goes great over a nice brown sugachili powdegarlic rub. Also works great on chops.
submitted by PrettiestFrog to rpghorrorstories [link] [comments]


2020.09.25 04:33 WD_Stevenson The Story of the Hunter. Chapter 4: Breathing Fire (Part 2)

Branches and limbs scraped against the sides of the truck and trailer as Clay forced the vehicle into the curtainous undergrowth. We'd have to be more stealthy than usual as this time our expedition wasn't exactly sanctioned. We searched for an old logging road or mine right of way, something that was semi open that we could drive down, and somewhere we could stage a trap. After several hours of pounding the woods we arrived at a geographic funnel of sorts. Older growth trees rimmed a marshy glade that was grown up with smaller saplings. It would have to do. We parked and immediately got to work, peeling loops of the cable from the spool and winding it through the larger trees. Clay used spikes, a sledgehammer, and a hand winch to tighten everything. We shoveled and compacted dirt in front of the trailer opening as a ramp. We'd essentially created a partial corral by the time we were done. I admired the trap, still having my doubts on the efficacy, but Clay swore the theory was sound. We chose the interstice beneath a willow tree for our camp, concealed from above by the drooping canopy. It was a rough camp. Bedrolls on a ground sheet, a canvas tarp stretched over the top to fend off the rain and mosquito netting hung to dissuade the incessant black flies. I'd never missed the wall tent and cot so much.
We didn't rest much those first days. When we did we slept in shifts. I generally took the first watch and Clay took the second. The monsters we were watching out for were of the human variety. Clay still had hard copies of his credentials so we hoped that if a ranger stumbled upon us we could talk our way out of it. We explored the mines and caves that pockmarked the forest and were long forgotten. The river was murky and brown, and after every crossing we stopped to scrape the leeches from our legs. Rain came and went, leaving the riparian woodland constantly damp. Each night we dried off beside a small fire and I picked Clay's brain about the contents of his book. He usually allowed a string of questions but cut them off at his discretion. When he was done talking that's all there was to it. We boiled rainwater and made pine needle tea, often propped up with a slug of bourbon that was never in short supply. We ate deer and elk jerky that he'd taken from the freezer at his home. He seemed to survive fine off of it but it left me still ravenously hungry and I picked handfuls of gooseberries and when I could them. It was exhausting work and it seemed that everyday I was tightening my belt another notch. The shotgun and pistol felt light in my hands as I'd become accustomed to the weight. Clay had filled the cat gun with home rolled incendiary rounds. He still carried the mighty Nitro double rifle, but had an AR-10 and magazines also loaded with incendiaries stashed close to camp. Fire was to be our tool. Empty bourbon bottles were filled with gasoline and shredded soap then wrapped in cordage soaked in a secretive concoction. Upon drying it resulted in a powdery film. Vials of drain cleaner high in sulfuric acid content were taped to the outside of the cocktails, which were designed to self ignite through chemical reaction. These too were stashed around the edges of our cable corral. We were as prepared as we could possibly be.
Another day came and went. I'd lost track by then of how long we'd been in that forest. Days, maybe weeks. I wasn't sure. Rations were running low to the point we'd taken to fishing with crude handlines in the early mornings and snaring rabbits to supplement our meals. We had spike camps lining the river banks to help conserve energy and not have to hike to base camp every evening if we didn't need to. I was beat. And hungry. So very hungry. Most of the time I felt hollow and drained. The lean meat didn't seem nourishing anymore and I found myself dreaming about burgers, fries, pizza, and all things greasily filling. Visions of cheese curds and fatty steaks were ballet dancing in my subconsciousness when I heard a cry. It was faint. A high pitched voice laden with agony and desperation. "Help..me..!" It called. I looked around for Clay who was nowhere to be seen. "Help..me..!" I heard it again. It sounded like a woman in distress. I slung the shotgun over my shoulder and took a step towards it. From nowhere a hand clamped onto my shoulder as Clay slipped soundlessly from the brush. He slowly shook his head as he looked me in the eye. The comprehension hit me as I thought back to the pages I'd read. We'd found what we were looking for, or it had found us. I wasn't sure which. Clay slipped his hand from my shoulder and cupped it to his mouth, throwing his voice and calling back. "We hear you, we're coming to help!"
We spun around and took off at a jog in the opposite direction. The creature would have honed in on us after Clay had answered the call. There was no need to pursue it. We were effectively being hunted. I found that I wasn't quite as terrified as I thought I would be. I was probably just too tired. It was by the good grace of adrenaline and peer pressure that I was able to keep pace with Clay. The calling remained a constant distance. It seemed to be moving as we were. Clay called back intermittently. We paused for breath after passing the spike camp. Clay looked at me as he wiped sweat from his face.
"It's not onto us yet. When it figures out what's going on shit is gonna get western. You got another mile or two in you?" He asked me.
"Yeah." I nodded. I didn't have much of a choice. "How are we gonna know when it catches on?"
"It's gonna come like a bat out of Hell. We just gotta hope we're near the trailer when it does."
"Great."
We started beating feet again. The cries were becoming more angst ridden and desperate sounding, but also like they were getting closer. I cast glances over my shoulder as we jogged. I thought I could see a flash of movement here and there, could hear the snapping of sticks and see the swaying of the hemlocks. We hit the path we'd worn down in the foliage and had a half mile more to go when the branches parted and a towering, sickly yellow looking creature shot from the depths like it was flung from a catapult. The sound it made was was a gross mixture of torment and rage, belting through the air to slap me across the ears like a pair of wretched hands. I cringed under the pressure as it felt like the air was growing thin. I heard Clay yell "Run faster!" from ahead and I did so, facing forward and battling against the tremors that undulated beneath my skin. I could feel the monster behind me, gaining ground. It didn't move fluidly like the Dogmen had, nor with stoic purpose as did the Sasquatch. It flailed and crawled on double jointed legs, dragging and hurling itself forward with gangly yet powerful arms. The speed at which it moved should have been impossible. I saw Clay raise the big rifle and fire a single round. I heard the bullet strike that sounded like driving a blunt axe into an old hickory tree. The Wendigo faltered and shrieked. Clay and I continued to run. He was awkwardly jamming another round from his bandolier into the breech of the rifle and snapped it shut. The glade was ahead and I could see the dark hole in the trees where the open trailer waited. I felt the wind from grotesque claws swiping at my back and smelled the stench of death and decay that permeated the area like a noxious cloud. Clay whirled and fired again, over my head. My ears rang from the concussion of the rifle and the pungent smoke of burned powder instantly made my eyes water. Again the monster slowed enough that I was able to gain ground. Clay had stopped at the edge of the glade, waving me to keep going. "Remember the plan!" He yelled as he dunked two more cartridges in the Nitro. I nodded and ran as fast as I could, looking back just long enough to see the giant beast rising before Clay.
Behind my back there was a volley of fire and unrelenting, tortured roars. I dove to the ground and crawled beneath the lowest strand of cable before I turned around, raising the shotgun. Clay fired one last shot with the big rifle before he discarded it. I saw that he'd been firing at the extremities of the monster. Thick skin along thighs and shoulders were flayed and oozed a fluid I didn't recognize. It moved much slower that it had initially, but was still lightning quick as it reached out to snatch at Clay. He was in full sprint as he crossed the glade, barreling towards the open door of the trailer. The Wendigo looked only seconds from snagging him with it's wicked claws when it stopped. It milled in place and screeched. Clay had distanced himself and was attempting to catch his breath next to the cables, reaching through to grab the stashed semi auto and satchel of spare magazines. I took this as my cue and slunk around a tree at the rim of the funnel we'd created. I leveled the shotgun and clicked the safety off. I saw Clay glance over to make sure I was in place. The Wendigo spun towards Clay again who had a rifle in one hand and a bottle in the other. Clay yelled at it and moved forward, arcing the bottle high into the air so that it landed behind the creature. When it hit the ground it did so with an explosion. Fire spiraled upwards and outwards with a deep 'whoosh' that sent a shockwave of heat across the marsh. I took another cocktail into hand and did the same, sparking another burst of flame. Fire leapt and the orange glow interrupted by force the dusk that was trying to settle peacefully upon the land. I grabbed another bottle and threw it before I leveled my shotgun, firing as I advanced, belching flame like a dragon across the back of the monster to urge it forward. Clay was still acting as human bait. When the Wendigo tried to spin to face me and the wall of flame Clay peppered it with the AR to keep it's attention. It screamed, roared, and wailed against the forces we were putting on it, and in it's fury it finally focused again on Clay. Charred flesh fell like tree bark from it's body as he lunged forward, ripping and pulverizing the ground, bearing down on him. He ran again, up into the trailer, lingering on the edge of the ramp and shooting into what I supposed would pass as the monster's shins. He disappeared into the darkness as the creature fell to all fours and writhed into the trailer after him. I watched the trailer rock and sway, heard the muffled bellows and the scraping of steel. I skirted what was left of the flames and sprinted forward, grabbing the gate of the trailer with both hands to slam it shut. I latched it quickly and hoisted my shotgun as I rounded the corner. Clay was standing there, leaning against the pitching trailer, his hands on his knees. He'd made it out the access door at the front. As was the plan. We both stood there sucking air, and out of nowhere we both grinned.
"Told you it'd work." Clay said as his chest heaved.
"I never doubted you." I said, then asked. "This thing gonna hold it?"
"Yeah, for a while at least. The plating is lined with some alloy that I can't pronounce just for shit like this. Courtesy of Uncle Sam. It'll be good for as long as we need it, at least." Clay pushed himself up from the trailer side and walked back towards the scene of the battle, speaking to me over his shoulder as he did. "Work on breaking camp. Make it quick, we gonna need to get out of here pretty quick. Easy part's over with." He walked back to where he'd dropped the big double rifle and picked it up. I wondered how much harder this was going to get as I immediately set myself to the task of clean up. We had a lot to do, and likely little time to do it before the commotion would have the rangers swarming the area. That wasn't something we wanted to be around for.
Cables were unstrung and looped back around the spool, camp was hastily deconstructed and weapons were shoved beneath seats. It wasn't as neat or organized as when we'd set out, but time was of the essence, and it was good enough. The glade was wet enough that the fire was already burning itself out, leaving blackened scars behind. There were tracks along the narrow openings of the side slats of the trailer and Clay dodged clawed fingers as he slid heavy deadeners into them and pinned them into place. They greatly muffled the unholy sounds that the Wendigo emitted and I found that comforting. Once everything was done the truck bucked and pitched back through the woods and after an hour or better we were on a paved road that stretched the length of the river valley. We'd gone perhaps thirty winding miles when Clay eased the rig to a stop, and it shook as the monster in the trailer thrashed. Clay ignored it as he looked out the window into the night.
"This isn't far from that cluster of mines we found on foot the other day. I think this is where we need to set up. I guarantee Golden Boy has satellite imaging of the area, so he'll know they're there. Makes the whole thing believable."
"So how do we do this?" I asked as I leaned forward in my seat.
"We'll stash the trailer and chain it down so dipshit back there doesn't flip it over, then drive into town. You're gonna make a phone call to the field office in Bloomington and cry about getting attacked by a monster. Most people call the local sheriff but we're cutting out the middle man. Lay it on thick, tell'em you got a kid or a wife or something still out there and you're going back out presently to try to find them. I'd guess within a day or two the troops are gonna roll in. Golden Boy doesn't work alone, he'll have his lackeys with him but that's actually gonna work in our favor." Clay explained all of this as we dove off into the trees again. We didn't have to go very deep before we were concealed.
"I can do it, just got one requirement." I said decisively.
"What?"
"We're gonna stop somewhere and eat in town. I'm sick of jerky and need something greasy."
"Deal."
The closest town according to the map was Crane Lake, and we immediately pointed the front bumper of the truck in the appropriate direction. Our precious cargo had been secured with cables and chains amid audible protests. Clay said that if we ran across any road kill deer we'd bring back what we could to somewhat pacify the monster before it did manage to break free of our ad hoc mobile cryptid prison. As was usual Clay didn't so much drive down the road as weave between the lanes as he was more focused on writing down the phone number I'd need on an old fuel receipt. It was late and I'd likely end up leaving a message, but that was good enough. The word would spread at the beginning of the next work day. The only bar and grill in town would suffice perfectly for our purposes. The truck clattered into silence in the parking lot. The charisma possessed between the two of us was overwhelmingly stacked on my side so Clay volunteered me to go in first. He'd follow after a bit. The place was relatively quiet. I placed a drink order and asked for a menu as I jammed a crinkled twenty dollar bill into the tip jar as obviously as I could without also looking arrogant. I bemoaned a story about my lost cellphone, and would they please let me use their landline quickly. The hostess was accommodating. I did as Clay had asked of me, leaving a message at the director's extension. It wasn't hard to sound exhausted and frantic, it was only hard to do it loud enough to be believable but quiet enough so that everyone in the bar didn't think I was insane. I felt as though I'd accomplished my mission and as if on cue as I hung up the phone Clay walked in. I saw his eyes dart around and he kept his head down, skirting the room. There was a single camera over the cash register and he was making sure to avoid it. He selected a table by the wall and faced towards the door. I thought about joining him, but decided to keep up the charade of traveling solo while we were here. I flirted with the bartender, ate copious amounts of assorted fried food, and drank beer until last call. I felt somewhat normal again. When I rose to leave I noticed that Clay had already gone.
I walked outside, buzzing and obscenely full. The air was crisp and chilly. I'd talked the bartender into selling me a six pack to go and dropped the tailgate of the pickup. I hopped up and sat on it, drank my beer, only partially wondering where he'd run off to. I wasn't exactly in a hurry to get back to the woods and our vengeful captive. Rested against a gear box and swung my feet as they dangled, basking in the blue and orange lamp light of the parking lot like some kind of half drunk nocturnal lizard. I waved to the bartender and assured her I wasn't up to anything nefarious as she locked up the establishment and headed to her car. She left me to my transient dereliction without fuss. Her brake lights flashed as she backed up and turned out of the parking lot. Her headlights swept briefly over a walking figure before she disappeared down the street. It was Clay, walking back towards the truck at a steady clip. I was glad to see his return, mainly because I was down to my last beer and would have hated to sit there much longer without one. He hit a button on his key fob and I heard the doors of the truck unlock. We both entered the cab and settled into our seats as he fired the vehicle up.
"I booked you a room at the hotel lodge down the road." He said unexpectedly.
"Uh..thanks. Why?" I replied, confused. Clay shrugged.
"You been working hard. Earned some downtime. All we're doing now is waiting so take a breather."
"You're staying too, aren't you?" I asked.
"Nah. Not much of a hotel guy." He handed me a key card in an envelope with a phone number written on it. "They got food, booze, the whole nine. Go crazy. That's the number to the burner if you need to get ahold of me." He told me as we pulled up to the front of the lodge. It was definitely higher end than I had expected. Two single story wings stretched out from a center lobby that was made of polished log, plate glass, and marble. A bronze statue of a moose was prominently displayed in front. Clay had spared no expense as he kicked me out of the truck and drove away. I carried my things inside and nodded to the receptionist who offered a polite smile. My room was on the end of the east wing next to a wide pair of heavy one way doors that led to the outside. I swiped my key and entered, flipping the lights on and immediately scanning for the location of a complimentary minibar. The rest of the night was a blur.
I didn't feel much of a need to leave my room the next morning. The sunlight peaked around the blackout curtains and felt like sand in my eyes. My head acutely throbbed and I grunted as I sat up. I'd never welcomed a hangover more in my life. My spirits were recharged and the long shower helped to alleviate the worst of the pounding. I'd slept breakfast away but an early lunch was within the realm of possibility. I got dressed and opened my door, taking a hard right to walk down the hall towards the dining area by the lobby. Everything was modernly rustic and spotless. The photos on the wall displayed decades worth of fishermen and other outdoor enthusiasts who seemed to come from all over the country to enjoy their recreational pursuits in the area. It made sense. The scenery was gorgeous, and the fishing superb. I turned my attention back to my quest for lunch and settled at a corner booth out of habit. The waiter was quick to take my order and bring me both water and a breakfast beer. Hair of the dog and whatnot. I felt a bit strange sitting there with no phone, no computer and no company. I was detached. It was strange and liberating. Left alone with my own thoughts and a journal to write them down in the old fashioned way. I scrawled passages and revisited others until my food arrived. I didn't dive in as I had the night before. I ate distractedly as I focused primarily on my writings, reaching to take a bite without ever looking up and at a very slow pace. It was the parade of heavy boots falling upon the marble floors of the lobby and in turn on the hardwood of the dining hall that caused me to glance up. I knew then why Clay had chosen this hotel, and why he'd staged me in it.
There were five in all. They dressed in black as one would think a cryptic paramilitary fire team would. I reckoned that there was a reason for the stereotype after all. They weren't exactly subtle and four of them gathered around a table not far from my booth. I kept my head down and my ears open. I caught snippets of various subjects. Mainly they bitched about the all night drive it had taken to get there. Their voices lowered and they leaned in. I strained to eavesdrop but they fell silent as the fifth man strode towards the table. They all looked towards him with reverence. He wore the same black ACU's as the rest of the team but with gold insignia above the left breast pocket that I couldn't read. The rest of the table addressed him as 'sir'. That had to be him. The infamous Golden Boy that Clay so deeply despised. I must've stared for a bit too long because his eyes caught mine and he glared harshly. I looked away and sank into my booth, forcing myself to focus on my plate without looking even more suspicious than I already was. When the man spoke it was in a gravely voice with a prominent northeastern accent that I couldn't readily place. He left the men at the table and turned on heel to walk out. When he rounded the corner of the dining room I counted to fifteen in my head, then got up and followed. I snuck a glance out of the corner of my eye at the subordinates, they were ignoring me. I stepped up my pace as casually as I could and swerved around corner to see Golden Boy disappear into a room down the same hallway as mine. I made a mental note and kept walking forward, out the front door and into the parking lot. I stretched my back and looked around. It was a beautiful afternoon. The line of three jet black SUVs with government tags backed neatly into parking spots near the door was the only thing that seemed out of place. I wonder what lies they'd come up with the justify their presence. The whole thing was a game of lies. At least Clay had some integrity. I almost felt dirty to be in the same hotel as the group. But, alas, it was part of a plan. Evidently Clay needed a pair of eyes in town and chose to let me believe I was getting a mini vacation out of the goodness of his heart. I tried to be mad about it but wasn't. I walked back to my room and flopped down on the bed. I drug the phone off of the nightstand and punched in the number to Clay's burner. He picked up on the third ring.
"They're here, dickhead." I said.
"Ok. Stay close to the phone. I'll call you tonight." I'm fairly certain he was in the process of hanging up before the last word was completely out of his mouth. I sighed and dropped the phone on a pillow. I closed my eyes and encouraged a nap to ambush me.
I woke up a couple hours later feeling much better. The hangover was all but completely gone. I explored the dresser drawers of my suite. Complimentary gym shorts and a white t-shirt. That meant there was a gym. I changed and walked out, looking for the facilities. It was small, consisting of a couple of treadmills, a few cable machines, and a pitiful looking rack of rubber dumbbells. It would do. I stretched and climbed onto a treadmill, jogging at an easy pace to warm up. I wasn't alone for long, however. Golden Boy showed up. Naturally. I averted my gaze and hit the incline button, my socked feet slapping against the belt as I increased my speed enough to drown out any effort he might have considered putting forth to talk. I felt his sharp gaze crawling over me like the legs of a spider. I ventured the briefest of glances and gave in return the flash of the friendliest smile I could muster. He looked away, annoyed, but didn't seem suspicious. The tension that hung about us broke and he focused on piling all of the dumbbells onto his lap and proceeded to do an infinite amount of tricep dips facing away from me. I continued to run until the meter read three miles. Good enough. I was ready to get out of there.
I slipped out of the little gym and wiped sweat from my eyes, making a beeline towards my room. I heard laughter from the dining area and paused to look through the archway as I passed. The other four men were there, drinking and joking, looking decidedly happy and approachable. I looked back towards the gym and saw the bouncing shadow of Golden Boy against the opposite wall. He'd likely be in there for awhile. With confidence born of stupidity I walked to the bar and planted myself on a stool next to the men. I flashed another wide smile, ordered a water and a bourbon, and when there was a lull in their conversation I interjected my way into it.
"You fella's the new game wardens?" Play dumb and friendly, I thought. And drunk. Drunk people are always curious and uninhibited. I hoped they were drunker than I.
"No. SWAT, here on a training exercise with the Sheriff's office. Helping them out." The answer finally came from the one who sat farthest from me. The other three had fallen silent and eyed me, but he seemed jovial. They had rehearsed their story. I scoffed on the inside, but nodded deeply and tried to seem fascinated.
"Well, in that case, the next round is on me, I appreciate what you do." I hailed the bartender and motioned for him to bring on another tray of beers and had him add shots of whiskey. The expressions of the men softened and a couple of them grinned. I lifted my glass in salute and took a drink. They did the same. Before long it was like we were old friends. They lied to me about who they were and what they were doing, albeit poorly. These men were young and green. I have no doubt they'd cut their teeth on distant clandestine battlefields, but they didn't seem like hunters. They seemed like soldiers. They hadn't seen the things Clay had seen. Or likely even the things I'd seen. It made me feel sorry for them. Still, I matched their lies with my own and concocted a story about being a recreational fisherman escaping the throes of a nasty divorce that they believed more and more with every shot of whiskey and tequila I slid in front of them. They warmed up to me rather quickly. Being stateside in a hotel had their guard was low. Our conversation was cut short by the bartender who beckoned me near, cupping his hand over the receiver of a phone. He asked me if I was a 'Mr. Stray'. It took a moment for the recognition to set in and I answered in the affirmative. He held the phone out to me and I took it, hunching over in the corner to speak quietly.
"I told you to stay near the goddamn phone. Getting the bar extension was like pulling teeth." Clay said from the other side.
"Yeah, sorry about that. What's up?" I asked as I heard the voices fall silent and felt the crawling gaze again. Golden Boy was rounding his team up behind me and herding them to their rooms with gruff commands.
"Prop the door open at the end of the hallway next to your room and go inside. I'll be there shortly."
He hung up before I could say anything else. I was annoyed but handed the phone back to the bartender with a nod of thanks and tabbed out, leaving a generous tip that would be charged to whatever prepaid card Clay had on file with the desk. I reached down and quickly swiped a doorstop on my way out of the dining area and wandered back down the hall towards my room. I looked over my shoulder before nudging the big glass door open a crack and wedging the doorstop in it. I swiped the keycard and entered my room, bolting the door behind me. I changed out of the gym clothing and back into my normal hiking clothes that I'd washed in the sink and let dry over the shower rack. Still damp, but tolerable. As an after thought I opened my travel bag and pulled out my chest rig and revolver and ducked into it, adjusting it and I settled on the edge of my bed, waiting for Clay to knock on my door.
I thought I could faintly hear the rumble of a diesel engine but wasn't quite sure. It stopped and idled. I watched the door. I heard the pin on the large exterior door jiggle and expected to hear my name called. It wasn't. The engine spooled up and faded away. I reached for the phone and was halfway through dialing the burner number when I felt an impact that shook the entire wing. The crash was deafening. I could hear the shatter of glass and the ripping of steel and concrete. Lights flickered on and off. I jumped up from the bed and put a hand on my pistol. Then came the roar. The primeval bellowing of hatred and rage. It resonated through the walls and I could feel it in my entire body. It was acrimony and violence of the purest form. I was nearly overcome by delirium as the monster swept through the hall. The human shouts and screams paled in comparison as they wound through the palpable fog of animosity. I almost didn't hear the window breaking behind me. I whirled around and had my pistol halfway out of my holster when I saw Clay fling the curtains to the side, clutching a tire iron in one hand. He looked at me and I ran across the room towards him.
"What room is he in?" He asked before I could utter a word. The look on his face was callous and calm.
"What the fuck did you do, Clay?" I screamed as he shot a hand out and grasped my neck. He hauled me towards the window, looking into my eyes.
"What room?" He growled again. That was the first time I'd ever been afraid of him.
"Uh..uh..104. Six rooms down.." I stammered. Clay released me and vanished from the window. The last thing I heard him say before he sprinted through the perfectly landscaped flowerbeds that lined the edge of the building was simple and haunting.
"Get as many out as you can."
The gunfire had begun. I didn't dare open the door and venture into the madness that lay beyond. I grabbed my travel bag and draped it over my shoulder before vaulting out of the broken window. I didn't follow Clay, I instead advanced around the front of the building towards the lobby doors. There was a string of people in the parking lot, scattering into the night as they made their escape. Luckily it was off season and there weren't many guests or staff, but there were still some. I felt ill at the prospect of innocent bystanders getting caught up in this invisible war. I flung the main door open and kicked a rock in front of it before ducking inside. Golden Boy's team was doing a semi satisfactory job of keeping the Wendigo hemmed up in the hallway, but they were falling back clumsily. I regretted buying them the drinks. The bartender and receptionist were cowering behind the front desk and dodging the debris with their hands over their heads. I shouted at them to run to me, but they couldn't hear. I sucked in a deep breath and ran across the lobby sliding to them. I motioned for them to follow me as I peaked around the corner. I watched the monster soaking up bullet after bullet and witnessed as it drove a clawed hand into the chest of the soldier who had been first to speak to me only an hour before. He was instantly eviscerated and the beast scooped handfuls of his innards to it's maw and greedily inhaled them. I led the pair across the floor and to the relative safety of the parking lot.
"Who else is in there?" I demanded to know.
"No one. Cleaners got out the side doors and the only other guests were down the west wing. They got out when it started. What is that thing?" The bartender had gathered up the fortitude to speak on behalf of the two of them.
"It's a figment of your fucking imagination. You two get out of here." They didn't need to be told twice.
The truck and trailer was clanging and banging as it rounded the hotel parking lot. Rubber tires squelched against the asphalt and the trailer rocked up on to wheels as it barreled towards the front. Clay locked up the brakes with a screech and jumped out with the AR-10 and a heavy duffelbag that caused him to grunt in exertion to heft it into his shoulder. He walked with purpose past me, looking like a man possessed. I started to follow and he yelled for me to get in the truck. It was not up for discussion. He walked into the mouth of the Hell he'd created when he crossed the threshold of the lobby and was soon swallowed by the accumulating smoke.
I could hear concentrated fire and saw bright flashes of yellow, orange, and blue. The creature roared but it seemed to be in pain rather than fury. Windows blew out as fire lashed against the glass and the walls. The smoke was thick and acrid, billowing upwards into the night sky and concealing the moon and stars. There was only one rifle barking in the chaos by then. When it ceased I felt anxiety grip me like cold fingers. A lone figure came running out breathing heavily with a suspended rifle bouncing against his hip. Clay gathered himself as he swung around the grille of the truck and clawed his way into the drivers seat. He shoved the truck into gear and we peeled away with the entire rig fishtailing before the tires were able to find firm purchase upon the street. In the mirrors I saw the glow. A series of explosions illuminated the trees until settling into a wreath of fire. By the morning the lodge would be nothing more than a pile of ash.
The flashing reds and blues flew by us with sirens wailing. We were already on our way out of town. Any trace of our ever being there was being eaten away piece by piece by the fire. We drove for the rest of the night in absolute silence. I didn't speak to Clay, and couldn't bring myself to look at him. I folded my arms across my chest and looked out the window. We'd gone a few hundred miles before the sun started threatening to peak over the eastern horizon. Clay spotted a gas station that wasn't open yet and devoid of life. He pulled into it to fuel. He swiped his card and began pumping diesel. I got out to stretch my legs. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore. I walked around the truck and looked at him.
"What the fuck, man?" Roiling emotions didn't allow me to say anything other than that.
"What?" His eyes snapped up to me.
"Fuck you mean, 'what'..you let a fucking Wendigo loose in a hotel." I was exasperated and I screamed in his face. "That wasn't the plan! The plan was to do that in the mines!"
"Plans change. Had to flush them out. It was a four man fire team made up of SF operators and their commander against us, Adam. What did you expect?" He leveled his words with an unsettling calmness devoid of remorse that made me want to strike him.
"I..I don't know. Maybe not burn down half the town. What did you even do? You kill them? Did you kill Golden Boy?" I put a hand on the truck and leaned into it, trying to gather myself as the diesel pump clicked off.
"No. Them boys were dead when I got in there. And I didn't kill Golden Boy." Clay said as he hung the pump up. I didn't believe him. Not this time. In my heart and soul I knew he was the one who ended them. I'd never have proof but it didn't matter. I watched as he walked to the back of the trailer and pressed one of the tail lights that was hanging by a wire back into place. I said as much too, when I joined him at the back.
"I don't believe you did all that and didn't kill them. You're fucking crazy, man." Clay eyed me. Like he was considering ripping me apart. I flinched as his hand shot out and he grasped the latch of the trailer gate. He snatched it up and outward, swinging the door open. I recoiled reflexively as he did so. He jerked his head towards the trailer. I looked in. Laying on the floor, bound with rope, zip ties, and duct tape was Golden Boy. He looked like he'd had the brakes beaten off of him but he was very much alive. His muffled yells leaked around the dirty rag that was shoved into his mouth and taped in place. Clay slammed the trailer door shut.
"Can't get intel from a corpse." He said as he turned on heel and walked back to the drivers side door.
I shook my head and rubbed my face. My feet felt heavy as I trudged back towards my side of the truck. I had to drag them and carefully consider every step. When I sat down I leaned back with a sigh and said the only thing I could think of.
"Nope..I suppose you can't.."
submitted by WD_Stevenson to DrCreepensVault [link] [comments]


2020.09.24 21:29 vegvag F27 Post Salp Hooray!

I am officially sterile and I couldn't be happier!

My doctor told me he was willing to sterilize me since I was of medical background (registered nurse) and that he could tell I had my mind made up. Though, I do not believe these factors should have played a part, I used them to my advantage. I also fall in the category of being terrified of pregnancy which comes from witnessing a c-section and natural birth while in nursing school. There were obvious questions of "you are aware this is permanent" and "are you sure?" up until even right before the procedure. He also asked twice if my husband was on board at two separate appointments.
My Experience:
Week prior: Anxiety... because I am fearful of all medical procedures (having seen too much go wrong as a nurse). Was given a one time prescription of clonazepam to help me sleep the week prior.
Pre-Op: Arrived, changed into a bear-hugger gown which had warm air blowing through it. Having the IV placed in my hand was slightly uncomfortable. Spoke with anesthesia and my doctor prior. About 15 minutes prior to taking me back, Anesthesia showed up, was given IV versed which burned going in. Shared my fear of dying with the OR nurse who calmed me down by saying she would not let that happen. Was wheeled back to the OR where they placed a mask on my face and I saw the foot stirrups. The last thing I remember is the Anesthesiologist patted my lower leg and said lets get started.
Post-Op: Woke up disoriented. I vaguely remember telling the nurse "I need to pee, I'm going to throw up, and I'm hurting" all at the same time and apologizing for being an inconvenience. She gave me more meds through my IV and slid a bedpan underneath me. The initial feeling of having to pee is where they removed my catheter prior to me waking up. These initial feelings were probably worsened by my "freaking out" mode. The medicine calmed me pretty quickly though. She slid my pants on me and shoes and sat me up. I did not feel ready to leave but out I went in a wheelchair to my husband who had been waiting in the waiting room. (Not allowed back to pre or post op due to COVID.) I highly recommend bringing loose clothing and easy to put on shoes.
Day 0 at Home: Horrible gas pain in my right shoulder. Took 5 mg of Oxycodone every 4 hours as ordered for the first day and Gas-X (have this one hand). Lying on my left side (opposite of gas pain) in fetal position with warm towel on my right shoulder helped. (Buy a heated blanket prior if you can - or warming a towel in the dryer helps) I napped a lot. My amazing mother sat on the bed reading while I slept and then made me the most amazing grilled cheese when I woke up. Looking in the mirror, I had two small incisions below the bikini line the length of my pinky nail and one belly button incision that is hidden in my navel. All closed with skin glue. Make sure you have full backed underwear so you can wear a pad if needed for spotting, you will not want to wear a thong or any snug underwear.
Day 1 Post Op: Still took Oxycodone but more spaced out about every 6 hours. Received beautiful sunflowers from a childfree friend that I actually met through Reddit. I sat on the couch most of the day or napped. I slept with two full sized pillows, a small lap pillow, and two square couch accent pillows to get comfortable at night. A small lap pillow to carry around to apply pressure when standing or maneuvering around the house is super comforting.
Day 2: My mom drove me to the park. She walked my dog while I walked to a bench and sat down to read. I sat on this bench for 40 minutes and was exhausted and hurting by the time I got home.
Day 3: Decided to ride in the car to pick up donuts. You do not realize how much you use your abdominal muscles just sitting in the car but I was sore again afterwards. Also, SC roads are not the best if you want a smooth ride. Bring your lap pillow for car rides. Slept again in the afternoon.
Day 4: My parents left to go back home (about 4 hours away) and I napped a lot after they left.
Day 5: (Yesterday) Cried over everything and nothing at the same time. My husband went back to work and I cried. I am not someone who cries so he was definitely caught off guard. I watched a romance movie on Netflix and cried because it made me happy. I cried again when he came home from work because I didn't feel like he missed me enough. I knew my feelings were irrational but I couldn't stop the stream of tears. My mom thinks this it was related to anesthesia. I think it might have been related to the fact that they removed my IUD while in surgery (maybe my hormones were attempting to regulate themselves.)
Day 6: (Today) Much better emotionally! I woke up and baked banana bread, made coffee, worked on the computer, cleaned part of the master bathroom, and walked up and down the street. I also went out to lunch with my husband. I am sore again but nothing terrible. The weirdest feeling has to be the belly button incision where there is skin glue. It just pulls kind of weird sometimes.
I'm a floor nurse so I definitely could not have gone back to work this week since I do a lot of walking and moving up patients in the bed. I would say if you work a desk or less physical strenuous job you could return to work tomorrow (Day 7 Post Op.) I am sure everyone is different so listen to your body.
The few friends I told sent flowers and cards. I know not everyone will support my decision but I think we should surround ourself with people who do. My experience was absolutely worth it and I recommend it to everyone (even if you want to have kids) haha -- Thankful for this supportive reddit and childfree friendships reddit!
submitted by vegvag to childfree [link] [comments]


2020.09.24 18:03 rotsoil We took our dog, Noodles, to housesit for my boyfriend's parents. Now we don't talk to his family anymore.

“So, I talked to my mom,” my boyfriend said, joining me in the kitchen where I had been washing the dishes.
I turned off the water and looked at him. “And…?”
“They’re not sure they can keep the dog,” Tyler sighed.
“Is that a nice way of saying they’re giving up?” I raised an eyebrow. He didn’t need to answer. “So what now?”
We had discussed this already. We had known it would be a possibility; his parents not being able to handle a puppy.
Last fall, we had rescued a dog. Shortly after that, Tyler’s sister had moved out, and then we bought a house and moved in together at the beginning of the year. Tyler’s mom had been a preschool teacher at one point, but spent the last ten years or so as a stay-at-home mom while Tyler’s dad worked some important, high paying job.
When both kids moved out within months of each other, Tyler’s mom was suddenly left all alone in their big, empty house. They had decided a dog might be a good idea, partly because we had gotten one, and partly because they wanted an extra set of eyes and ears.
Before Noodles, Tyler had never had a pet before, so his parents had no idea what to expect. During the last couple of months, Tyler’s mom had called me constantly to ask whether they should use a harness or a collar, what kind of food to feed their new puppy, what vet did we take Noodles to, and other questions. She seemed uncertain and frequently expressed her concerns to me. I got the feeling they were going to back out at any given moment. Even days before they were supposed to pick up their pup, they seemed on the fence about the whole thing.
But they hadn’t. They had picked up an Alaskan malamute, a little fluff-ball. Despite having been a teacher and raising two kids of her own, Tyler’s mom soon found herself in over her head. Both of his parents complained that the puppy had them up at all hours of the night, cried constantly when left alone, and how they didn’t seem to have any time to get anything done around the house anymore.
I wasn’t really sure what they had expected. I had warned them that a puppy would be a lot of responsibility, and despite all the research his parents had done prior to their decision, they were still very unprepared. They seemed more on the fence now than they had been before they brought the puppy home. They hadn’t even named him yet, not wanting to get too attached in case the whole thing hadn’t worked out.
We had been discussing the possibility of getting another dog ourselves and decided that if it came to it, we would take his parents’ dog in if they ultimately decided to give him up.
“Well, they said they’re going out of town this weekend. They asked us to watch the house and the dog for them.” Tyler answered. “They said we could bring Noodles and see how they get along before we make any decisions.” At the mention of her name, Noodles came trotting into the kitchen. Her ears perked up and she looked back and forth between us expectantly, head tilted slightly.
--
Before we knew it, the weekend arrived. Noodles danced around and whined with excitement as we gathered what we would need. When we pulled on our shoes, she went to stand by the door as if to say, “Can I come?” and she could barely contain her excitement when I slipped her harness over her head as an answer to her question. She eagerly hopped into the back seat of my car and we were off.
“Hi! Good to see you!” Tyler’s mom greeted us warmly as she pulled each of us into a hug. Tyler’s father waved from the backyard. Beside him, a little brown and white puffball rolled in the grass, oblivious to the rest of the world.
I had only been to their house a few times, but I was always envious of how big their yard was. At home, our neighbor’s house was right at the edge of our property line and we felt like we had no privacy. But in this neighborhood, all of the houses sat on larger, rolling pieces of land, and none of the houses were right on top of each other.
Before I had first met them, Tyler had told me his parents were very religious. He told me there were several times when he was younger, that his parents had taken him and his sister on an hour-long car ride out of state to go to a certain church for service because in their opinion none of the churches in the area were good enough.
I was wary that they would be the type to eat, sleep, and breathe God, but it hadn’t been that bad. For people so deeply religious, they were far milder than I had expected. They were very generous people and were always willing to help us with anything we needed. They had a vital hand in helping us navigate the housing market, and helped us on moving day. I never felt unwelcome in their home.
“So, have you guys been redecorating since we moved out?” Tyler asked. “What did you do with my room?”
“Oh, we just turned it into a guest room,” his dad answered. As Tyler caught up with his parents, I turned my attention to the puppy.
Noodles stood behind me, watching as the puppy tried to climb up everyone’s legs, obviously frustrated that everyone towered over him. I crouched down and held my hand out to him to sniff and as he licked and nibbled my fingers, Noodles decided he wasn’t a threat. She stepped over to him, sniffing and wagging her tail.
“We have to get on the road pretty soon, so why don’t we go inside and we’ll show you where all the puppy’s things are,” Tyler’s mom said.
Once taken off his leash, the puppy ran over to a water bowl and started drinking from it, spilling more water on the floor than he was probably getting into his mouth. The house was far messier than I had ever seen it. Normally it was spotless, but now there were things everywhere. Boxes and bags were piled to try and corral the puppy to one area of the house. Puppy toys spilled from a milk crate onto the floor.
There was something off about the house too, the way it smelled. I couldn't quite place the odor, but it wasn't pleasant, and it wasn't anything I had smelled during any of my previous visits, but I chalked it up to smells associated with having a dog and kept quiet about it.
“So here’s a list of things we need you to do while we’re gone. We’ll be back sometime tomorrow night,” his mom continued. Tyler’s parents thanked us for house sitting, said their goodbyes, and then left.
“So what do we gotta do?” I asked, coming to the counter where the list had been left.
“Not much, really,” Tyler answered.
  1. Get the mail from the mailbox.
  2. Puppy eats three times a day. If hungry, he can have chicken livers in the fridge.
  3. Be sure to take him out to the bathroom every couple of hours.
  4. Keep the doors shut.
  5. Do not go in the office upstairs.
  6. This is god's country. No sleepovers!
  7. When you leave, turn the salt lamp off. The lamp in the hall can be left on.
  8. Help yourself to anything in the fridge!
“God’s country? Really?” I snickered. I knew Tyler’s parents were religious, but that seemed a little weird. “How is that supposed to work? Are we just supposed to leave the puppy here overnight by himself?”
“I don’t know,” Tyler frowned. “I guess when they call, I’ll ask them if we should just take him home with us.”
I shrugged. “Their house, their rules. At least they seem to be getting along,” I mused as I nodded towards the dogs. We looked over to see Noodles was playing with the puppy. He had part of her leash in his mouth and she was running back and forth, dragging him across the floor. Both dogs were wagging their tails furiously.
“Weird that he doesn’t have a name,” Tyler said.
“I guess they weren’t sure they wanted to keep him. Your mom sounded like she was still on the fence right up until they brought him home. Maybe we should name him, in case we end up keeping him…” I let my voice trail off, hoping Tyler would agree to another dog.
“Lucky!” Tyler tried.
I shot him a look. “Really? Lucky? That’s what you want to name him?”
“What’s wrong with Lucky?”
“We are not naming our dog something common like “Lucky”. It’s like how every black and white cat or dog is named Oreo,” I rolled my eyes. “Dewberry!” The puppy didn’t respond. He was too busy trying to chase Noodles’ tail.
“What the heck is a dewberry?” Tyler laughed. “Mozzarella?”
The puppy stopped in the middle of trying to chomp on Noodles’ tail and looked at us. He tilted his head to the side and his ears flopped with the movement. Noodles looked at us as well, her ears alert, like she was trying to understand what we were saying.
“Is your name Mozzarella?” I cooed as he came running over to me. He tripped over his own feet and rolled onto his back. I smiled and buried my fingers in his thick fur and rubbed his belly.
We spent the next few hours tossing toys around the room and teaching Mozzarella to sit and lay down. When it was time for them to go out, Noodles sat patiently and waited for us to open the door, and Mozzarella copied her. The two of them were already inseparable.
When we came in, something odd caught my attention.
“Hey, why is that door open?” I pointed to a door I knew led down to the basement. I had never been allowed to go upstairs or into the basement, but I knew all that was down there was another bathroom and laundry appliances.
“I don’t know,” Tyler said as he took the leash off of both dogs. Mozzarella immediately tried to pounce on Noodles’ tail, causing them both to start chasing each other around again. Tyler stepped over them and closed the basement door, but shot me an unsettled look. I jumped as something hit the floor.
Noodles had accidentally knocked a book off of the coffee table with her tail. Both dogs froze and waited for my reaction.
“What the hell is this?” My blood ran cold as I picked up the book.
“I don’t know,” Tyler murmured as he flipped through the pages. On the outside, it looked like a normal bible, bound in black leather. It even said “Bible” on the front. But what covered the inside pages were weird symbols and letters that didn’t seem to be in English.
“I thought your parents were religious. Like Jesus-religious,” I said.
“They are,” he answered. He frowned and shut the book and placed it back on the table. “We should feed the dog.” His face showed no emotion, but I knew him well enough to sense that he was unsettled. I was too.
I joined him in the kitchen while we fixed Mozzarella a bowl of food. Noodles looked at us with her head tilted. It was her “Can I have a snack?” face. I took out a second bowl and opened the fridge, looking for the chicken livers. A container with lumps of smooth, red flesh was shoved in the back of the fridge. I opened it and gagged as I spooned some out into the bowl. The meat plopped into the bowl, splashing a red liquid everywhere.
“Nope. No.” I turned and swallowed my nausea while Tyler laughed at me. He gave both dogs their snacks, but Noodles just sniffed her's. She wouldn’t even try it. She looked at us and let out a soft whine.
“You don’t like chicken livers?” Tyler asked as he ruffled her big ears. Noodles looked at him with big, pleading eyes.
“Do they have any cheese?” I asked, opening the fridge again. “Do you want grilled cheese?”
“Sure.”
I pulled out the fixings for a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches and tossed Noodles a piece of cheese. She laid down and watched me, waiting for me to drop food on the ground. Mozzarella was curled up right next to her. His little belly rose and fell with the breaths of sleep. Kibble was scattered on the floor around his bowl.
“I’m gonna go get the mail,” Tyler said as he pulled on his shoes. The front door shut, and then I was only left with the sound of the sandwiches sizzling in the pan. Coupled with the sound of a clock ticking somewhere in the house, it was hypnotic. I flipped the sandwiches, starting up another chorus of hissing from the pan.
A door slammed and I froze.
It hadn’t been the front door. It sounded like it had come from upstairs. My heart raced as I turned to look at Noodles. Mozzarella was still sleeping soundly, but Noodles had her head turned, ears up and alert. She was staring at the steps and the hallway upstairs.
I stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do. I wasn’t supposed to go upstairs, but what if someone else was in the house?
The longer I stood in the kitchen alone, the more unsettled I started to feel. I felt a presence in the house besides the dogs' and my own. Like there was someone else with us.
The front door swung open and startled me. In my fright, I dropped the spatula I had been holding. I immediately put my finger to my lips. Tyler put the mail down on a table in the hallway and came over to me.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“T-There’s something upstairs. The door just slammed.” My voice trembled.
“Stay here,” was all he said. Not wanting to stand around and wait for something bad to happen, I picked the spatula up off the floor and got a new one. I took the sandwiches from the stove and plated them. They were a little darker than I wanted them to be. Tyler came back a couple of minutes later.
“There’s nothing up there,” he said.
“Nothing?”
“All the doors are shut. Maybe there’s a window open and the breeze just blew the door a little too hard.” He bit into his sandwich, but I just stared at mine. If they wanted all the doors shut, wouldn’t they have been shut in the first place?
“Did you check the rooms?” I asked.
Tyler shook his head and bit into his sandwich. “They didn’t really want us up there in the first place and nothing seemed out of place. I didn’t hear or see anything weird. You think I should have?”
“I don’t know. If there’s an open window, maybe we should shut it.”
Tyler nodded and we finished eating in silence. I followed him quietly as he headed up the stairs. The house was completely silent and my heartbeat was so loud, I was sure if there was anyone inside the house, they would hear it too.
I waited at the bottom of the steps as Tyler disappeared down the upstairs hallway. I held my breath and waited for him to call out “all clear.” But there was only silence.
Seconds ticked by, followed by more silence.
My eyes strained to see if anything was happening upstairs. I placed a foot on the first step. Still nothing.. I pushed off from the floor and stood with both feet on the first step. I still couldn’t see anything. I stood on my tippy-toes and stretched up and….
“WOOF!” My heart skipped and beat and I jumped. I whirled around but both dogs were gone. I rushed to the living room where I found both dogs staring at a wall. Noodles was growling and barking, the same way she did when she saw someone outside the house. Her hackles were raised, puffing up the fur on the back of her neck. I could see every muscle in her body was tense like she was made of stone. Mozzarella watched her let out a yip.
Tyler ran down the stairs to see what the commotion was. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” I said, trying to be heard over the barking. “Did you find anything upstairs?”
“I only looked in my parents’ room but there’s no one up there. Everything looks fine. What are they barking at?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I went over to Noodles and put a hand on her back to soothe her. She looked at me and whined and then went back to staring at the wall.
Somewhere in the house, another door slammed shut.
My blood turned to ice.
I looked at Tyler, my eyes full of panic. He stared back at me with wide eyes. Neither one of us dared to move.
Another door slammed shut.
Then another.
And another.
Soon the house was filled with the sound of doors repeatedly slamming shut upstairs. Mozzarella was cowering under the coffee table, his ears back and he seemed to be trembling. Noodles looked at me with her ears back as well, and her tail curled between her legs.
I grabbed Tyler's hand and found both of our palms were sweaty. I gripped his hand, squeezing tightly as we tip-toed to the stairs and slowly ascended. My stomach clenched with dread as we neared the top of the stairs, and then, just as suddenly as it started, everything went silent.
“What the fuck…” I whispered. My skin prickled with the sudden silence. Tyler took another step up onto the landing despite my protesting tugs on his arm. He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze back and I swallowed hard. My mouth had gone dry and a heavy lump had started to form in my throat.
He approached the first door on the left across from his parents’ room. He had told me before that it had been his sister’s bedroom. He reached out and placed his hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath before twisting it and pushing the door open.
I immediately wished he hadn’t.
We were met with an awful, nauseating stench. My stomach rolled and twisted as Tyler froze in the doorway. He was pale, like all the blood had been drained from his body.
I peeked around him and bile rose in my throat.
There was blood and viscera everywhere. Strange symbols were painted on the walls in something that I could only assume was dried blood. There was a desk pushed against one wall, and bits of sinew and organs were piled on top of it. Large jars were piled in one corner, filled with something lumpy and a dark liquid.
Against one wall sat some sort of shrine. A human skull was placed atop a pile of bones. More blood had been smeared on the floor around it in alien glyph-like symbols similar to what we had seen in the "bible".
I turned and stepped into the bathroom next door just in time to empty my stomach into the sink. My skin felt clammy and I was shaking. When I looked up, my heart lurched. The mirror was smeared with blood. I opened my mouth to call out for Tyler when something caught my eye.
The shower curtain in the tub just a few feet away from me was stained red. With a trembling hand, I pulled it back to find it was full of blood. My attention turned from the bloody bits of flesh floating in the tub, to the blood spatter sprayed across the tile on the wall.
Then in an almost dreamlike way, blood began to rise out of the tub. It dripped as if running down an invisible figure. Fear overcame me as I watched on in horror. The invisible creature towered over me and let out a low guttural growl that turned my veins to ice.
On legs made of jelly, I stumbled back into the hallway where Tyler was. He took a step towards me and I shook my head, pushing him towards the stairs.
“W-we need to leave” I choked out.
Another low, feral growl came from the living room. We scrambled back to the dogs to find Mozzarella curled into a ball under the table and Noodles crouched in front of him in a protective stance. Her ears were flattened and her teeth were bared. She looked more menacing than I had ever seen her before.
Dreading what I would see, I turned to look at the wall she was growling at. Goosebumps broke out across my skin as a bloodied handprint appeared on the wall. My scalp prickled as I watched another one appear next to it. The wall seemed to bend and billow as the handprints pushed out, as if the wall was made of rubber. More handprints appeared and soon the wall rippled and stretched, threatening to break at any moment.
Without thinking twice, I grabbed my things and scooped Mozzarella up. He shook and whimpered in my arms as Tyler grabbed Noodles’ leash. None of us hesitated as we ran from the house and piled into my car.
I threw the car into "drive" and stomped on the gas pedal but when the wheels squealed and the car didn't move, I frowned at Tyler as pure fear overcame me. It's not going to let us leave, I thought. A look of terror crossed his face as the car was slowly pulled backward, despite my frantic acceleration.
Suddenly, whatever was holding the car let go and we lurched into the street. I didn't think twice as I sped off towards the highway.
“What the fuck was that?” I demanded.
“I don’t know!” Tyler yelled. “I have no idea what the hell that was or what the hell they’ve been up to!” He looked just as shaken as I was. Tyler took Mozzarella from my lap and he immediately nestled against Tyler.
As I sped in the direction of our home, I tried to focus on the road ahead of me but something kept nagging at me. I glanced up at the rearview mirror and my heart stopped. A bloody handprint marked the glass of the back window.
**
Despite my protests, Tyler called his parents when we got home. Tyler paced angrily around the living room, arguing with his mom, while I sat on the couch and anxiously pet Mozzarella. He was fast asleep, obviously exhausted by the day's events. Noodles curled up next to me and watched Tyler with a worried look on her face.
I couldn't hear what excuses his mom was making but based on Tyler's reactions, it was all a load of crap.
"What the hell are you doing in that house?" he demanded.
There was a pause.
"I don't care what you say, we're never coming back! I don't want any part of whatever you're doing. Stay away from me, and stay away from my family," he continued.
At this point, Tyler was standing close enough for me to hear his mom's response and her words still haunt my dreams to this day:
"We warned you. We told you not to go upstairs. A new age is upon us. This is the god's country now."
Since then, Tyler's relationship with his parents has become strained. He doesn't talk to them and when they call, we don't answer. They've come to the house a few times but Tyler won't let them in.
But ever since that day, I don't feel comfortable in my home. It feels like there's something else here with us. In fact, I know there is. Because we keep finding bloody handprints on our windows and on the door.
submitted by rotsoil to nosleep [link] [comments]


2020.09.24 18:02 rotsoil We took our dog, Noodles, to housesit for my boyfriend's parents. Now we don't talk to his family anymore.

“So, I talked to my mom,” my boyfriend said, joining me in the kitchen where I had been washing the dishes.
I turned off the water and looked at him. “And…?”
“They’re not sure they can keep the dog,” Tyler sighed.
“Is that a nice way of saying they’re giving up?” I raised an eyebrow. He didn’t need to answer. “So what now?”
We had discussed this already. We had known it would be a possibility; his parents not being able to handle a puppy.
Last fall, we had rescued a dog. Shortly after that, Tyler’s sister had moved out, and then we bought a house and moved in together at the beginning of the year. Tyler’s mom had been a preschool teacher at one point, but spent the last ten years or so as a stay-at-home mom while Tyler’s dad worked some important, high paying job.
When both kids moved out within months of each other, Tyler’s mom was suddenly left all alone in their big, empty house. They had decided a dog might be a good idea, partly because we had gotten one, and partly because they wanted an extra set of eyes and ears.
Before Noodles, Tyler had never had a pet before, so his parents had no idea what to expect. During the last couple of months, Tyler’s mom had called me constantly to ask whether they should use a harness or a collar, what kind of food to feed their new puppy, what vet did we take Noodles to, and other questions. She seemed uncertain and frequently expressed her concerns to me. I got the feeling they were going to back out at any given moment. Even days before they were supposed to pick up their pup, they seemed on the fence about the whole thing.
But they hadn’t. They had picked up an Alaskan malamute, a little fluff-ball. Despite having been a teacher and raising two kids of her own, Tyler’s mom soon found herself in over her head. Both of his parents complained that the puppy had them up at all hours of the night, cried constantly when left alone, and how they didn’t seem to have any time to get anything done around the house anymore.
I wasn’t really sure what they had expected. I had warned them that a puppy would be a lot of responsibility, and despite all the research his parents had done prior to their decision, they were still very unprepared. They seemed more on the fence now than they had been before they brought the puppy home. They hadn’t even named him yet, not wanting to get too attached in case the whole thing hadn’t worked out.
We had been discussing the possibility of getting another dog ourselves and decided that if it came to it, we would take his parents’ dog in if they ultimately decided to give him up.
“Well, they said they’re going out of town this weekend. They asked us to watch the house and the dog for them.” Tyler answered. “They said we could bring Noodles and see how they get along before we make any decisions.” At the mention of her name, Noodles came trotting into the kitchen. Her ears perked up and she looked back and forth between us expectantly, head tilted slightly.
--
Before we knew it, the weekend arrived. Noodles danced around and whined with excitement as we gathered what we would need. When we pulled on our shoes, she went to stand by the door as if to say, “Can I come?” and she could barely contain her excitement when I slipped her harness over her head as an answer to her question. She eagerly hopped into the back seat of my car and we were off.
“Hi! Good to see you!” Tyler’s mom greeted us warmly as she pulled each of us into a hug. Tyler’s father waved from the backyard. Beside him, a little brown and white puffball rolled in the grass, oblivious to the rest of the world.
I had only been to their house a few times, but I was always envious of how big their yard was. At home, our neighbor’s house was right at the edge of our property line and we felt like we had no privacy. But in this neighborhood, all of the houses sat on larger, rolling pieces of land, and none of the houses were right on top of each other.
Before I had first met them, Tyler had told me his parents were very religious. He told me there were several times when he was younger, that his parents had taken him and his sister on an hour-long car ride out of state to go to a certain church for service because in their opinion none of the churches in the area were good enough.
I was wary that they would be the type to eat, sleep, and breathe God, but it hadn’t been that bad. For people so deeply religious, they were far milder than I had expected. They were very generous people and were always willing to help us with anything we needed. They had a vital hand in helping us navigate the housing market, and helped us on moving day. I never felt unwelcome in their home.
“So, have you guys been redecorating since we moved out?” Tyler asked. “What did you do with my room?”
“Oh, we just turned it into a guest room,” his dad answered. As Tyler caught up with his parents, I turned my attention to the puppy.
Noodles stood behind me, watching as the puppy tried to climb up everyone’s legs, obviously frustrated that everyone towered over him. I crouched down and held my hand out to him to sniff and as he licked and nibbled my fingers, Noodles decided he wasn’t a threat. She stepped over to him, sniffing and wagging her tail.
“We have to get on the road pretty soon, so why don’t we go inside and we’ll show you where all the puppy’s things are,” Tyler’s mom said.
Once taken off his leash, the puppy ran over to a water bowl and started drinking from it, spilling more water on the floor than he was probably getting into his mouth. The house was far messier than I had ever seen it. Normally it was spotless, but now there were things everywhere. Boxes and bags were piled to try and corral the puppy to one area of the house. Puppy toys spilled from a milk crate onto the floor.
There was something off about the house too, the way it smelled. I couldn't quite place the odor, but it wasn't pleasant, and it wasn't anything I had smelled during any of my previous visits, but I chalked it up to smells associated with having a dog and kept quiet about it.
“So here’s a list of things we need you to do while we’re gone. We’ll be back sometime tomorrow night,” his mom continued. Tyler’s parents thanked us for house sitting, said their goodbyes, and then left.
“So what do we gotta do?” I asked, coming to the counter where the list had been left.
“Not much, really,” Tyler answered.
  1. Get the mail from the mailbox.
  2. Puppy eats three times a day. If hungry, he can have chicken livers in the fridge.
  3. Be sure to take him out to the bathroom every couple of hours.
  4. Keep the doors shut.
  5. Do not go in the office upstairs.
  6. This is god's country. No sleepovers!
  7. When you leave, turn the salt lamp off. The lamp in the hall can be left on.
  8. Help yourself to anything in the fridge!
“God’s country? Really?” I snickered. I knew Tyler’s parents were religious, but that seemed a little weird. “How is that supposed to work? Are we just supposed to leave the puppy here overnight by himself?”
“I don’t know,” Tyler frowned. “I guess when they call, I’ll ask them if we should just take him home with us.”
I shrugged. “Their house, their rules. At least they seem to be getting along,” I mused as I nodded towards the dogs. We looked over to see Noodles was playing with the puppy. He had part of her leash in his mouth and she was running back and forth, dragging him across the floor. Both dogs were wagging their tails furiously.
“Weird that he doesn’t have a name,” Tyler said.
“I guess they weren’t sure they wanted to keep him. Your mom sounded like she was still on the fence right up until they brought him home. Maybe we should name him, in case we end up keeping him…” I let my voice trail off, hoping Tyler would agree to another dog.
“Lucky!” Tyler tried.
I shot him a look. “Really? Lucky? That’s what you want to name him?”
“What’s wrong with Lucky?”
“We are not naming our dog something common like “Lucky”. It’s like how every black and white cat or dog is named Oreo,” I rolled my eyes. “Dewberry!” The puppy didn’t respond. He was too busy trying to chase Noodles’ tail.
“What the heck is a dewberry?” Tyler laughed. “Mozzarella?”
The puppy stopped in the middle of trying to chomp on Noodles’ tail and looked at us. He tilted his head to the side and his ears flopped with the movement. Noodles looked at us as well, her ears alert, like she was trying to understand what we were saying.
“Is your name Mozzarella?” I cooed as he came running over to me. He tripped over his own feet and rolled onto his back. I smiled and buried my fingers in his thick fur and rubbed his belly.
We spent the next few hours tossing toys around the room and teaching Mozzarella to sit and lay down. When it was time for them to go out, Noodles sat patiently and waited for us to open the door, and Mozzarella copied her. The two of them were already inseparable.
When we came in, something odd caught my attention.
“Hey, why is that door open?” I pointed to a door I knew led down to the basement. I had never been allowed to go upstairs or into the basement, but I knew all that was down there was another bathroom and laundry appliances.
“I don’t know,” Tyler said as he took the leash off of both dogs. Mozzarella immediately tried to pounce on Noodles’ tail, causing them both to start chasing each other around again. Tyler stepped over them and closed the basement door, but shot me an unsettled look. I jumped as something hit the floor.
Noodles had accidentally knocked a book off of the coffee table with her tail. Both dogs froze and waited for my reaction.
“What the hell is this?” My blood ran cold as I picked up the book.
“I don’t know,” Tyler murmured as he flipped through the pages. On the outside, it looked like a normal bible, bound in black leather. It even said “Bible” on the front. But what covered the inside pages were weird symbols and letters that didn’t seem to be in English.
“I thought your parents were religious. Like Jesus-religious,” I said.
“They are,” he answered. He frowned and shut the book and placed it back on the table. “We should feed the dog.” His face showed no emotion, but I knew him well enough to sense that he was unsettled. I was too.
I joined him in the kitchen while we fixed Mozzarella a bowl of food. Noodles looked at us with her head tilted. It was her “Can I have a snack?” face. I took out a second bowl and opened the fridge, looking for the chicken livers. A container with lumps of smooth, red flesh was shoved in the back of the fridge. I opened it and gagged as I spooned some out into the bowl. The meat plopped into the bowl, splashing a red liquid everywhere.
“Nope. No.” I turned and swallowed my nausea while Tyler laughed at me. He gave both dogs their snacks, but Noodles just sniffed her's. She wouldn’t even try it. She looked at us and let out a soft whine.
“You don’t like chicken livers?” Tyler asked as he ruffled her big ears. Noodles looked at him with big, pleading eyes.
“Do they have any cheese?” I asked, opening the fridge again. “Do you want grilled cheese?”
“Sure.”
I pulled out the fixings for a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches and tossed Noodles a piece of cheese. She laid down and watched me, waiting for me to drop food on the ground. Mozzarella was curled up right next to her. His little belly rose and fell with the breaths of sleep. Kibble was scattered on the floor around his bowl.
“I’m gonna go get the mail,” Tyler said as he pulled on his shoes. The front door shut, and then I was only left with the sound of the sandwiches sizzling in the pan. Coupled with the sound of a clock ticking somewhere in the house, it was hypnotic. I flipped the sandwiches, starting up another chorus of hissing from the pan.
A door slammed and I froze.
It hadn’t been the front door. It sounded like it had come from upstairs. My heart raced as I turned to look at Noodles. Mozzarella was still sleeping soundly, but Noodles had her head turned, ears up and alert. She was staring at the steps and the hallway upstairs.
I stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do. I wasn’t supposed to go upstairs, but what if someone else was in the house?
The longer I stood in the kitchen alone, the more unsettled I started to feel. I felt a presence in the house besides the dogs' and my own. Like there was someone else with us.
The front door swung open and startled me. In my fright, I dropped the spatula I had been holding. I immediately put my finger to my lips. Tyler put the mail down on a table in the hallway and came over to me.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“T-There’s something upstairs. The door just slammed.” My voice trembled.
“Stay here,” was all he said. Not wanting to stand around and wait for something bad to happen, I picked the spatula up off the floor and got a new one. I took the sandwiches from the stove and plated them. They were a little darker than I wanted them to be. Tyler came back a couple of minutes later.
“There’s nothing up there,” he said.
“Nothing?”
“All the doors are shut. Maybe there’s a window open and the breeze just blew the door a little too hard.” He bit into his sandwich, but I just stared at mine. If they wanted all the doors shut, wouldn’t they have been shut in the first place?
“Did you check the rooms?” I asked.
Tyler shook his head and bit into his sandwich. “They didn’t really want us up there in the first place and nothing seemed out of place. I didn’t hear or see anything weird. You think I should have?”
“I don’t know. If there’s an open window, maybe we should shut it.”
Tyler nodded and we finished eating in silence. I followed him quietly as he headed up the stairs. The house was completely silent and my heartbeat was so loud, I was sure if there was anyone inside the house, they would hear it too.
I waited at the bottom of the steps as Tyler disappeared down the upstairs hallway. I held my breath and waited for him to call out “all clear.” But there was only silence.
Seconds ticked by, followed by more silence.
My eyes strained to see if anything was happening upstairs. I placed a foot on the first step. Still nothing.. I pushed off from the floor and stood with both feet on the first step. I still couldn’t see anything. I stood on my tippy-toes and stretched up and….
“WOOF!” My heart skipped and beat and I jumped. I whirled around but both dogs were gone. I rushed to the living room where I found both dogs staring at a wall. Noodles was growling and barking, the same way she did when she saw someone outside the house. Her hackles were raised, puffing up the fur on the back of her neck. I could see every muscle in her body was tense like she was made of stone. Mozzarella watched her let out a yip.
Tyler ran down the stairs to see what the commotion was. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” I said, trying to be heard over the barking. “Did you find anything upstairs?”
“I only looked in my parents’ room but there’s no one up there. Everything looks fine. What are they barking at?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I went over to Noodles and put a hand on her back to soothe her. She looked at me and whined and then went back to staring at the wall.
Somewhere in the house, another door slammed shut.
My blood turned to ice.
I looked at Tyler, my eyes full of panic. He stared back at me with wide eyes. Neither one of us dared to move.
Another door slammed shut.
Then another.
And another.
Soon the house was filled with the sound of doors repeatedly slamming shut upstairs. Mozzarella was cowering under the coffee table, his ears back and he seemed to be trembling. Noodles looked at me with her ears back as well, and her tail curled between her legs.
I grabbed Tyler's hand and found both of our palms were sweaty. I gripped his hand, squeezing tightly as we tip-toed to the stairs and slowly ascended. My stomach clenched with dread as we neared the top of the stairs, and then, just as suddenly as it started, everything went silent.
“What the fuck…” I whispered. My skin prickled with the sudden silence. Tyler took another step up onto the landing despite my protesting tugs on his arm. He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze back and I swallowed hard. My mouth had gone dry and a heavy lump had started to form in my throat.
He approached the first door on the left across from his parents’ room. He had told me before that it had been his sister’s bedroom. He reached out and placed his hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath before twisting it and pushing the door open.
I immediately wished he hadn’t.
We were met with an awful, nauseating stench. My stomach rolled and twisted as Tyler froze in the doorway. He was pale, like all the blood had been drained from his body.
I peeked around him and bile rose in my throat.
There was blood and viscera everywhere. Strange symbols were painted on the walls in something that I could only assume was dried blood. There was a desk pushed against one wall, and bits of sinew and organs were piled on top of it. Large jars were piled in one corner, filled with something lumpy and a dark liquid.
Against one wall sat some sort of shrine. A human skull was placed atop a pile of bones. More blood had been smeared on the floor around it in alien glyph-like symbols similar to what we had seen in the "bible".
I turned and stepped into the bathroom next door just in time to empty my stomach into the sink. My skin felt clammy and I was shaking. When I looked up, my heart lurched. The mirror was smeared with blood. I opened my mouth to call out for Tyler when something caught my eye.
The shower curtain in the tub just a few feet away from me was stained red. With a trembling hand, I pulled it back to find it was full of blood. My attention turned from the bloody bits of flesh floating in the tub, to the blood spatter sprayed across the tile on the wall.
Then in an almost dreamlike way, blood began to rise out of the tub. It dripped as if running down an invisible figure. Fear overcame me as I watched on in horror. The invisible creature towered over me and let out a low guttural growl that turned my veins to ice.
On legs made of jelly, I stumbled back into the hallway where Tyler was. He took a step towards me and I shook my head, pushing him towards the stairs.
“W-we need to leave” I choked out.
Another low, feral growl came from the living room. We scrambled back to the dogs to find Mozzarella curled into a ball under the table and Noodles crouched in front of him in a protective stance. Her ears were flattened and her teeth were bared. She looked more menacing than I had ever seen her before.
Dreading what I would see, I turned to look at the wall she was growling at. Goosebumps broke out across my skin as a bloodied handprint appeared on the wall. My scalp prickled as I watched another one appear next to it. The wall seemed to bend and billow as the handprints pushed out, as if the wall was made of rubber. More handprints appeared and soon the wall rippled and stretched, threatening to break at any moment.
Without thinking twice, I grabbed my things and scooped Mozzarella up. He shook and whimpered in my arms as Tyler grabbed Noodles’ leash. None of us hesitated as we ran from the house and piled into my car.
I threw the car into "drive" and stomped on the gas pedal but when the wheels squealed and the car didn't move, I frowned at Tyler as pure fear overcame me. It's not going to let us leave, I thought. A look of terror crossed his face as the car was slowly pulled backward, despite my frantic acceleration.
Suddenly, whatever was holding the car let go and we lurched into the street. I didn't think twice as I sped off towards the highway.
“What the fuck was that?” I demanded.
“I don’t know!” Tyler yelled. “I have no idea what the hell that was or what the hell they’ve been up to!” He looked just as shaken as I was. Tyler took Mozzarella from my lap and he immediately nestled against Tyler.
As I sped in the direction of our home, I tried to focus on the road ahead of me but something kept nagging at me. I glanced up at the rearview mirror and my heart stopped. A bloody handprint marked the glass of the back window.
**
Despite my protests, Tyler called his parents when we got home. Tyler paced angrily around the living room, arguing with his mom, while I sat on the couch and anxiously pet Mozzarella. He was fast asleep, obviously exhausted by the day's events. Noodles curled up next to me and watched Tyler with a worried look on her face.
I couldn't hear what excuses his mom was making but based on Tyler's reactions, it was all a load of crap.
"What the hell are you doing in that house?" he demanded.
There was a pause.
"I don't care what you say, we're never coming back! I don't want any part of whatever you're doing. Stay away from me, and stay away from my family," he continued.
At this point, Tyler was standing close enough for me to hear his mom's response and her words still haunt my dreams to this day:
"We warned you. We told you not to go upstairs. A new age is upon us. This is the god's country now."
Since then, Tyler's relationship with his parents has become strained. He doesn't talk to them and when they call, we don't answer. They've come to the house a few times but Tyler won't let them in.
But ever since that day, I don't feel comfortable in my home. It feels like there's something else here with us. In fact, I know there is. Because we keep finding bloody handprints on our windows and on the door.
submitted by rotsoil to rotsoil [link] [comments]


2020.09.24 14:40 MidnightPaper There's a strange newspaper that's only delivered at midnight...(Part 4)

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
11:50 PM. I sat behind the front door this time. The last few days had been bad enough for me to be a little more cautious. I was still taking aspirin to stave off the migraine that started as soon as the porch light when out on Friday night.
I wasn’t taking any more chances. There have been many comments asking me not to be outside when the paper comes, that maybe that’s what caused The Ledge Game to become real. I don’t know. I also don’t know if the people who say that it was my act of reading the papers that is changing things. But I can’t stop. Not yet. I need to read the paper to understand it, to understand how much my father knew, and how it affected him.
I’d lost touch with my dad. The funeral was hard on him, hard on all of us. He retreated after that, wouldn’t even want me over for Thanksgiving or Christmas. One thing he said back then, that I’ve been thinking about, was, “it’s my fault.” Did he mean the Midnight Paper? Did he think reading had done something to my mom?
Now he’s gone too. The doctors said he sustained several injuries. Some of them were old, already healed. Self-harm was suspected, as was some sort of mental breakdown. When I got here, most of the mirrors were either covered up, removed, or smashed. His TV’s screen was covered with cardboard and hidden under a comforter.
I’m still looking through my dad’s notebooks. He must have hundreds of them. Most don’t even make any sense, just scrambled words that I have a hard time deciphering because of his handwriting.
11:59 PM. It was time. Once again I didn’t feel ready. Once again I felt like I was doing something stupid. But I didn’t have a choice.
At midnight, on the dot, the porch light went out. Through the keyhole, I could see the already familiar patch of darkness form on the welcome mat. Then I blinked and the lights were on again. There, where it always was, was a brand new edition of the Midnight Paper.
I opened the front door…and hesitated. I was looking at that bundle of bound, black pages with the same kind of cautious respect reserved for dangerous animals and predatory pieces of machinery. You don’t put your hand anywhere close to a meat grinder. You don’t try to grab a rat or a raccoon with your bare hands. But I walked over and grabbed the Midnight Paper anyway. The second I felt its pages touch my skin, I thought that I should’ve worn gloves. Whatever. It probably didn’t make a difference. I was going to read it, and that was probably worse.
I repeated what was quickly becoming a sort of ritual: I took the paper inside, set it down on the worktable in my dad’s office, and used the knife from the kitchen to cut the twine. The paper unfurled itself slowly, and the headline popped out at me:
——————————————————————————————————————————
THE HUNGER: MASS HYSTERIA OR UNKNOWN CONDITION?
After a bizarre series of events that spanned only a few days, government officials and healthcare professionals are struggling to treat the residents of a small town in upstate New York. At their request, the name of the town is being withheld from all publications.
It started slowly. A few strange reports started trickling into the social media accounts of many of the town’s residents. Some were presented as cute: “my little guy was so hungry he got into the pantry and ate half of his new cereal box,” wrote one young mother. Others were presented as comedic: “if I eat another burger I’m gonna end up like that purple brat from Willy Wonka” wrote one girl. Lastly, on that first day, some people were writing in concern: “my baby won’t stop drinking milk. Four bottles and still crying like he’s hungry. What should I do?”
It seemed that, slowly, everyone in town was coming down with a monstrous case of hunger. Delivery orders skyrocketed. Supermarkets became crowded. With each passing hour, it seemed that nobody was immune to the sudden onset of paradoxical hunger. And it was getting worse.
People stuck at home ate through their entire bounties. Some even ate raw spices and garbage. Whatever was at hand, they tried to swallow, anything to quell that bottomless, nagging, painful feeling in their stomachs.
The town’s residents hardly slept that first few nights, choosing instead to continue eating anything they could get their hands on.
Soon, concepts such as self-restraint and societal norms seemed to crumble away. Restaurant staff left customers unattended and raided the kitchen and even the freezer, eating food and ingredients raw. Local businesses that served no food were abandoned, and those that did serve it were overrun. People could scarcely make it out the front door, sitting on the sidewalks with their bounty and eating through it on the spot.
The town’s only hospital was filled to the brim. The lucky few who were able to get a doctor to themselves were put through a gauntlet of medical tests. Every possible avenue was pursued, from parasites such as tapeworms to neurological conditions, to psychological breakdowns…and they all came back lacking evidence. The town’s water supply was tested for anything out of the ordinary, with nothing to show for it.
It wasn't long before violence erupted. Food was running out, and anything, even dog food, even the dumpsters behind butcher shops…even pet store cages, were now viable options.
People were trading blows over scraps on the street. Soon, fists and blunt objects weren’t enough. It was long before someone pulled a knife or a firearm. But knives and firearms were to be expected, to some extent. What wasn’t expected, what was downright unspeakable, was when people started using their teeth. It was less than a week before it happened and once it did, it was as if a line was crossed. One person did it, so it became an option for everyone else. Bundles of discarded, bloodied clothing became a common sight.
The residents were soon joined by several out-of-towners: concerned family members and friends, law enforcement agencies, medical experts. Most of these people were never seen again, and those that were had already joined in.
Through it all, a few social media accounts remained active. Most of them were incoherent or entirely mute, simply liking anything related to food, and soon just liking anything that showed a person or a pet.
One account, however, contained just enough coherent writing to quote in this publication. “Everr(y)thing (yo)u Eat has a soul,” the anonymous user wrote. “(Yo)U consume it when (yo)u eat it (.) We can Eat much more now (,) Eat something (and) take it into ourselves (.) We can eat life itself if we keep going. Some are eating the groun(d) and becomming this place (.) If the sun came dow(n) we could eat it too.”
Reports from the town have since gone dark. Local law enforcement agencies have established a barricade around the area, effectively cutting the town off from the rest of the world. There have been sightings of the military as well, with some rumors even stating that gunshots and explosions have been heard.
It’s troubling, then, that there has been a trend of social media posts of uncontrollable hunger from surrounding towns in the area. Government officials have stated that there’s nothing to worry about, “these posts are part of a social media frenzy. A sick joke,” said a representative whose name has since been pulled, “the people in (the town) are being treated and there’s absolutely no danger of other towns succumbing to the same condition.”
——————————————————————————————————————————
As soon as I was done reading, I backed away from my dad’s desk as if it had suddenly caught fire. This one was worse. Worse than The Ledge Game. Worse than The Removal Doctor. Worse than The New Kid. If this one became real…it was unthinkable. Horrible.
I grabbed a garbage bag from the kitchen and used the knife to push the Midnight Paper and the pieces of twine into it. I took the bag into my dad’s backyard and pulled the grill’s cover off.
The Midnight Paper made a dull smack as it landed on the grill’s metal bars. I screwed the cap off and flipped the bottle over. Before the lighter fluid even left the nozzle, the black pages began curling up and breaking into tiny motes and floating away.
I sprayed the lighter fluid anyway, but by the time it hit the grill, there was nothing left. The Midnight Paper had vanished in seconds, breaking up into pieces so small I couldn’t even see them fly away.
I collapsed onto my dad’s living room chair, the migraine already back at full blast. You were right. I shouldn’t have read it. I should’ve listened to my dad…because when I turned the TV on it was set to the news. And they were talking about several encounters with a strange man. A strange man who claimed to be a doctor.
submitted by MidnightPaper to nosleep [link] [comments]


2020.09.24 10:45 hanas_lin Petersburg: Pete's Grill is open, meaning you can still get three dogs

Petersburg: Pete's Grill is open, meaning you can still get three dogs submitted by hanas_lin to VATriCities [link] [comments]


2020.09.24 04:59 MrNoItAll99 A few things I learned from The Sopranos

Strip club parking lots are slippery. London broil is very aerodynamic. Never try to grill a trout with a downed power line. Cemetery dogs are especially dangerous. Always mix relish with ketchup. 46 years old is considered just a kid. Blood pressure medication will turn you gay. Trust all doctors named Kennedy. What have you guys learned from the show?
submitted by MrNoItAll99 to thesopranos [link] [comments]


2020.09.24 04:05 removalbot 09-24 02:05 - 'Lol horrific whataboutism, racism and overall retarded comments from our European mates, color me surprised :).. this thread once again shows us that when you hold them a mirror they are jjst like their retarded nationalist T...' by /u/neverdom removed from /r/europe within 229-239min

'''
Lol horrific whataboutism, racism and overall retarded comments from our European mates, color me surprised :).. this thread once again shows us that when you hold them a mirror they are jjst like their retarded nationalist Turkish counterparts and they can't even notice how similar they are in almost every way.
Well we did that but you did worse, it happens (holy shit grilling arms and legs cutting open pregnant women and putting dogs head between legs, is this your usual revolution?? ), Turks and other Muslims deserved to die because they were invaders. This sounds a lot like a typical retarded Turkish nationalist. I mean I always knew you were tards anyway but you don't have to scream out loud.
'''
Context Link
Go1dfish undelete link
unreddit undelete link
Author: neverdom
submitted by removalbot to removalbot [link] [comments]


2020.09.23 16:58 jessie2sexy Best charcoal grill for direct grilling?

Hey guys, so I am looking to get a charcoal grill that will primarily be used to grill over direct heat for things like burgers, steaks, hot dogs, chicken breast, etc. I have a pellet smoker that I use for smoking and low-n-slow so I don't imagine that I will be smoking too much on this charcoal grill. I've seen recommendations for both the Weber Kettle & an Akorn ceramic. What would be the best option for this? I'd like to stay under $250 if possible but am willing to spend more to get a great option.
submitted by jessie2sexy to BBQ [link] [comments]


2020.09.23 16:56 jessie2sexy Best charcoal grill for direct grilling?

Hey guys, so I am looking to get a charcoal grill that will primarily be used to grill over direct heat for things like burgers, steaks, hot dogs, chicken breast, etc. I have a pellet smoker that I use for smoking and low-n-slow so I don't imagine that I will be smoking too much on this charcoal grill. I've seen recommendations for both the Weber Kettle & an Akorn ceramic. What would be the best option for this? I'd like to stay under $250 if possible but am willing to spend more to get a great option.
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2020.09.23 16:16 MonstaEatsItAll [Dewey Burger] Cheeseburger topped with a grilled hot dog

[Dewey Burger] Cheeseburger topped with a grilled hot dog submitted by MonstaEatsItAll to burgers [link] [comments]


2020.09.23 11:22 atmaninravi Is there a difference between "awareness" and "spiritual awareness"?

Yes, of course, you may be aware that your dog is groaning because of something; you may be aware that the grass is getting wet due to rain, you may be aware that the kebabs are being burnt on the grill, but none of this is spiritual awareness. Spiritual awareness is being aware that you are the Divine Soul, being aware that you are not the body, being aware that you are not the mind, being aware that death is not the end,it is just a bend; being aware that God is not a statue or a saint, God is the power that is within - this is spiritual awareness.
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2020.09.23 06:53 mamamoclc How can I help my friend who’s being abused?

Sarah (14F) and I (18F) met through our parents and became good friends. We met two years ago and have been friends since then, but due to her living in another city we weren’t really super close. Until recently when I moved into the same neighborhood as them. Now we see each other almost everyday due to her house being like five houses down to ours. We walk her dog together most days and often go running in a nearby park.
We also recently slept over at each other’s house, this brought us closer. We got to know each other more and talked about struggles we have regarding our parents and abuse. Her parents are pretty narcissistic and her dad is constantly drunk and angry, yelling/abusing her and her younger brother (9M). My parents used to be the same so we were able to confide in each other. She’s like my sister and I’m glad we’re able to become closer.
Unfortunately this has been grossly misinterpreted by her mother. After we hung out today, Sarah texted me saying her mom yelled at her for hanging out with me too much and she told Sarah to “admit” she’s a lesbian. When she told me this, I was so surprised because I always believed her mom to be a wonderful lady who always stood up for her kids. Not to mention, she’s a FOURTEEN year old who’s being accused to being a lesbian for an EIGHTEEN year old. I’m so grossed out by the mental gymnastics her mom went through. She grilled Sarah and asked her why she was likes to which Sarah said “because she’s like my sister” but that was not good enough for her and she told Sarah she’s not allowed to have sleepovers with me anymore.
This doesn’t make any sense because her mom was the one always inviting me over, she was the one who let Sarah sleep over in the first place! Not to mention, Sarah has many other friends who are girls; she’s slept ovehung out with many of them. Sarah’s extremely angry and wants to start rebelling by hanging out with me even more just to go against her mom. I’m worried for her safety right now, as her parents have major anger issues and could lash out if she rebels.
But I don’t know what to do, I can’t confront her parents since I’m afraid they’ll get mad to Sarah for telling me, and I can’t tell my parents because they’re homophobic also. I’m not sure what to do now? Should I start seeing Sarah less and let everything blow over? Tell my parents? I would really appreciate advice on how to handle this and make sure Sarah is safe because what she’s going with her parents is what I went through. I wish I had someone there for me and I want to be there for her, but not if it means it’ll lead to her parents abusing her.
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Barbecued dog meat - Crispy Roast BBQ Whole Dog - Primitive Living Skills Join group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/lovesdogmeat/ How to Grill Sausages and Hot Dogs - Duration: 2:34. J. Kenji López-Alt Recommended for you. 2:34. HOTDOG TOP TRICKS - BBQ Tricks - Duration: 5:04. BarbecueTricks 85,927 views. This video is taken on Wednesday July 16, 2014 @16:03 this dog grill is shown about the dog has been killed and became food to be grilled, so dog grill is ve... My Dog Learns How to Grill a Steak Tucker has been begging for steak nonstop. Today he learns how to grill it for himself so he can stop begging me. What was... Hotdogs are one of the most popular snacks, whether you are at a large open air event or experience a pang of hunger in a hotel bar. You can buy this product... GRILLING HOT DOGS NINJA FOODI GRILL RECIPES Today I wanted to share a quick and easy way to make hot dogs in the ninja foodi grill using the grill function... Kevin Gates Makes Dog Lick His Grill Clean - Duration: 0:16. Kollege Kidd 55,485 views. 0:16. Adorable Babies Playing With Dogs and Cats - Funny Babies Compilation 2018 - Duration: 11:22.