Wzzm school closings

For anonymity purposes, I’ll call him Ares. Ares and I met one another around a year and a half ago through a mutual friend, let’s call her Catalina. I moved to the same city as Ares and Catalina (they attend the same school) at the beginning of this year, and have been going out with the two of them on most weekends.
Since moving here, I’ve developed feelings for Ares; however, he’s been in a long-distance relationship for over a year (I think?). The two of them seem to have a pretty toxic relationship, repeatedly on and off - sometimes “on a break” for weeks and then back together.
What I’ve realized is that, most times they’re “on a break”, Ares seems to start giving me a special kind of attention. If we’re at a party/club together, he’ll start getting sexually suggestive in how he’s dancing with me and making remarks to my friend Catalina.
Since I’ve began having feelings for him, these moments are like, “holy shit, let’s get it!!” (kinda a reduced version but you get the point.) But, when I come to find out him and his boyfriend get back together, I spiral into a ¿depressive? episode lasting several days. I know, it’s extremely unhealthy and I shouldn’t be dedicating so much of my mental energy/health to a single individual - fuck me, im trying tho.
Fast forward to two weeks ago… I bring up to Ares and Catalina how I’m seeing a guy from their school. Ares instantly starts asking questions about this guy: What’s his name? Which house is he in? and stating he doesn’t really like the idea of that. I straight up respond and tell him he could change that if he wanted to, but he has a boyfriend - to which he responds “No, I don’t.” Obviously, I sense that euphoric feeling creeping up again and start thinking “nice, I’m back in the game.” Fucking mind games.
Fast forward to this past weekend… Catalina, Ares, and I are at loud and packed house party. Eventually, I notice Ares is starting to get much closer that night with how we’re dancing and talking. Music was 10/10 and the vibes with him just felt really, really good overall (yes the alcohol definitely enhanced it, but my point stands). Even so to the extent where our friend Catalina could tell something was up between the two of us.
After the party, the three of us headed back to Catalina’s room to wind down for a bit. Eventually, Ares says he’s going to head back to his room and begins making his way out. He stops at the door, looks directly at me and says “So you’re staying?” Immediately I realized what was going down. I stood up, said bye to Catalina, and dipped with him. She was gagged.
We head back to his room and things start escalating. Soon enough, pants are coming off, we’re making out in his bed, and so on. We didn’t have sex (also hold the alcohol responsible for that). We start spooning and he brings my hand close to his chest. He brings it in closer to him and we fall asleep with our arms and legs intertwined - literally wtf. The morning after, I woke him up and let him know I had to head out to meet with a friend for breakfast. He grabs my arm and pulls me into bed with him, signaling me to stay for longer.
Part of the odd dynamic is that we don’t have each other’s phone numbers/social media. So, besides the times we see each other in person, we have zero communication. Yesterday, Catalina told me that she spoke with him and suspects the two of them are getting back together, given that his bf’s coming to visit/stay with him soon.
Ngl, I’m pretty hurt - yet not surprised in the slightest. Issue is, the entire night felt very intimate. Am I fooling myself? It’s hard to think of it all as a lie - it’s kinda fucking me up psychologically. In reality, I should’ve known better not to go back to his room with him.
I’ve had a really difficult time with situations like these throughout my romantic/sexual life - specially my first time being intimate with another male. Over the years, it’s kind of left me feeling empty inside. I know - I’m young and I’ve got a lot more to experience. But, sometimes, it’s very, very difficult to break out from the self-deprecating mentality these prior experiences have instilled in me. I’ve tried seeking a therapist since arriving here, but my constraints with work and insurance have made it really difficult to find one that is the right for me.
How should I tackle this situation? I don’t know if bringing it up to him is a good idea at all - I honestly don’t think it will be. I still have feelings for him and don’t really know how to stop them. It’s difficult to not see him since, Catalina, one of my very few friends up here, is really close with him as well. I also wouldn’t want to get in the way of the relationship the two of them have.
At this point, I’ve come to think he’s been using me for attention during moments of distress in his current relationship. He finds comfort in knowing he has someone to fall back on in case his Plan A fails. Is this someone I’d even want to be with romantically in the first place?

One of my husband’s uncles passed away, one of those relatives you only see at Christmas, so our two kids were not close at all to him. My husband and I were not close to him either.
The visitation is during the hours they work Thursday, and the funeral is in the middle of the school day Friday.
Our kids are 15 and 16 and both have jobs at the same place. My son has been there almost two years, my daughter just started a few months ago. They only work 3 days a week, and they already missed work yesterday due to my daughter’s band concert. They also miss school at least once a month due to therapy appointments.
If they hadn’t already missed Tuesday, I would have had them go to the visitation. But because of the situation this week, and the monthly missed school, I don’t see a good solution.
I wanted to ask on here, because I have trouble sometimes with understanding societal norms, and don’t know if this is a good enough “excuse” to the rest of the family. I know funerals are for the living, and my mother in law would really be the only person I wouldn’t want to offend, but I also feel like she would understand. If it makes any difference, I plan on going to both the visitation and funeral, and my husband will also be at the funeral.
Thoughts, concerns? Thank you!

Long rant ahead. This sucks. I have a bestfriend ever since Grade 9 kami and up until now, 1st yr college, but I guess not anymore. I understand that we're busy and may kanya-kanyang buhay talaga esp since magkaiba na kami ng school. But didn't expect her to forget my birthday. Or maybe on purpose siyang hindi nagreach out. Kahit simple na bati lang naman sana kasi bestfriend mo yun, sa kanya ko pa unang inaasahan na matanggap yun, tas wala. Normal na naman kasi samin na hindi magusap ng matagal, we would still have that same closeness if we did. We even sometimes ignore each others' chats since busy lang talaga and pareho kaming introverts so nakakadrain makipaginteract, kaya I'd understand. Di ko alam baka yun nga yung reason why she didn't even reach out, or I may have wronged her, but still I consider her as my bestfriend so I expect her to be open with me. I guess she doesn't consider me as one anymore. I just feel hurt. Still waiting for her until midnight to atleast greet me tho :(( I dunno what I should do or if I should talk to her pa. Parang nakakahiya na tuloy kausapin sya :((

I work at a very small university and the other faculty I work with very much do not like me. Largely because I moved into teaching from the corporate world and was very excited about my job and they felt that this made them look bad. I actually ended up filing a complaint after some very inappropriate things were said by them a month into working there.
This action basically isolated me from the department and I'm not invited into any meetings or planning sessions. I didn't care too much as I'm there to teach and the students really loved my classes. However, the 2 other people in my department are extremely close to a few students in the program - they text each other at night and during the weekends and act like their close friends.
These students now very much dislike me and I've noticed others students who I taught and had a good relationship want nothing to do with me. One of these students who is close to the faculty who hate me is in my very small class and I walked in one time and I think she was talking about me to the class. Now, the class has turned on me. No one is showing up, I get a lot of attitude and hostility, and I'm feeling very uncomfortable now being at school.
Has anyone been in a situation where other professors have gossiped about you to students and if so, what did you do?

This story needs to be told. Those who have suffered must understand why. It’s not as simple as some have made it to be, which is why it needs to come from the person most responsible… me.
It began when I was least expecting it. But then don’t things always seem to happen that way?
***
“I’m tellin' ya, doc, people just don’t understand,” Frederick said while rocking back and forth in the chair.
“What exactly don’t they understand?” I said, trying to look more relaxed than I felt.
“There’s just something that takes over. You can’t stop it.”
“Impulse control?”
“What’s that mean?” Frederick said, struggling against his straight jacket, trying to get comfortable.
“It means that when you want to do something, you try your hardest not to. It means you try to control or suppress the urge to do things you know are bad.”
Frederick’s mouth lolled open. He narrowed his eyes in confusion.
“Why would I want to do that?”
I suppressed the urge to sigh.
“Because that’s what people do,” I said. “They think about doing bad things, but then they control themselves and don’t do them because those things are wrong and could hurt other people.”
“Hurting people is wrong?” he said.
“Yes, Frederick, hurting people is wrong.”
He shook his head as if he were trying to shake away a fly that was annoying him.
“Why?”
“Why is hurting people wrong?”
“No, why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re saying I’m bad,” he said trying to rise from his chair. “You’re saying I didn’t need to hurt those people. That I’m a bad person.”
I got up from my chair and started backing toward the heavy metal door.
“I’m not bad!” he yelled at me. “You’re bad!”
I knocked on the door and the orderly opened it as Frederick got to his feet.
I slipped through the door as it slammed shut from the impact of his body slamming into it.
“Bad, bad, bad,” he screamed.
“Badbadbadbadbadbadbadbad!”
Spit flew from his mouth landing on the small observation window with metal grates embedded in it.
“You ok, doc,” the orderly said, startling me.
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”
I turned and walked down the white hallway, hoping the orderly wouldn’t notice the quickness in my step. I ignored the sound of Frederick beating on the door. I ignored all the sounds I heard. I just wanted to get away.
It was a long walk to my office, through many security gates. At each one, the nurse buzzed me through and gave me an acknowledging look that used to be a smile.
I suppose this place gets to everyone eventually.
I finally reached my office, closed and locked the door behind me, and collapsed into my chair. I breathed out a sigh of relief at reaching relative safety. I turned and looked out my window to the beautiful flowers blooming on the trees in the courtyard. I looked up at the tree stretching toward the sky.
I remember when they planted those.
I turned back to my center, my means of solace, the only thing that mattered in this cruel, unfair world. I picked up the picture of my lovely wife and smiled. She was the one who kept me sane all these years. She kept me seeing the best in people. Or at least trying. Sometimes there was no good to see—especially in my patients.
It takes a special kind of doctor to care for the mental needs of those who have done heinous things that are so bad they don’t even bother sending them to prison. They send them to me.
I’m like the dumpster for the dregs of society. Just drop them in the asylum and forget about them.
I kissed my wife and set her back on the bare desk, then turned on my computer and added notes from today’s session. There was never a recommendation for release. Once patients came here the only way they left was in a body bag. There was no curing them, only trying to make them docile until they left.
Oh, there were experiments. That was a large part of how we were funded. Companies would pay for certain tests to be done. Some might call it torture, but we called it research.
I finished typing my notes and leaned back in my seat. The diplomas and degrees stared down from their perches on the bare walls, mocking me. Demanding why I hadn’t gotten a better job.
As usual, I didn’t have an answer.
My office suddenly felt stuffy. I closed down my computer and left. Driving down the packed freeway, all I could think about was collapsing on the couch beside my lovely Elizabeth. Not telling her about my day until she dragged it out of me, then listening to her encourage me to help those who have been left in my care, because I’m the only hope they have.
Traffic was bumper to bumper and not helping my overall opinion of humanity much. Especially when a car that was swerving from lane to lane, nearly sideswiped me. It kept going on in front of me, nearly hitting several other cars.
The driver and passenger seemed to be having a disagreement about how to drive the car and it looked like it was about to come to blows.
Fortunately, they were soon out of sight, and someone else’s problem.
For the next few miles, I kept watching the side of the road waiting to see the offending car sitting in a ditch. However, they surprised me. They must’ve turned off to go terrorize some neighborhood streets with their reckless driving.
I hummed to myself, not wanting to have whatever dreck was on the radio forced on me.
When I was nearly to my exit, my phone rang. I immediately recognized the number as work. I contemplated answering it for a moment, then thought better of it. There had never been a time when work called with good news. And I was in no mood for bad news.
I hummed a little louder, trying to drown out the sound of the ring before it finally stopped.
The closer I got to home the less I thought about work and the more I thought about Elizabeth. Until I turned off at my exit, I had nearly forgotten work altogether. Maybe I would take tomorrow off and go do something with my wife. We hadn’t been out for a while. The weather had been lovely and I know she would adore a walk down by the lake.
My thoughts were interrupted when I turned down our driveway and saw a car in front of the house. It wasn’t quite in the driveway, it was sitting at an angle halfway in the front yard.
I parked my car and slowly got out. Something struck me about this car, but I hadn’t figured out what. I approached the driver’s side to have words with the person still sitting at the wheel.
“Excuse me,” I said staying a few steps back from the driver’s door.
He didn’t answer me.
“Excuse me,” I said a little louder.
Still no answer.
I tapped on the window and he ignored me.
I opened the door.
“Okay, look… “ I said.
But it was I who would do the looking. The man fell out of the car, thudding on the grass. The inside of the car was covered in blood. I looked down and the man’s throat had been cut.
“Oh my God!” I said jumping back.
I watched to see if the man was breathing, but the way his neck was bent at an unnatural angle against my yard told me everything I needed to know.
I glanced through the car but didn’t see the passenger.
It was then my eyes drifted to my front door.
It was open.
I stepped through the shrubs and up onto the porch, walking in a daze. The surrealness of the moment had yet to sink in. I was going inside to check on my wife and make sure everything was ok.
It didn’t strike me as anything more than that.
‘Oh, she just left the door open, that’s all.’
My mind kept trying to tell me that. I wanted desperately to believe it. Even though she had never been that careless during the entire time we’d been married. I had pushed aside all reason and common sense in favor of pure denial.
Everything was going to be ok. With Elizabeth, everything was always ok. She could literally light up a room with her positivity. She was the best person I ever knew. I have no idea how I got so lucky as to know her, let alone be her husband.
I floated in through my front door on my cloud of denial and looked for my wife.
It didn’t take me long to find her.
There was one wall of the living room she was constantly redecorating. She always said it looked bare and empty no matter what she did with it.
She was hanging from that wall, naked, her beautiful body desecrated by slices and rips. Her throat had been slit and blood still poured from it.
I ran to her.
Tried to take her down.
Screamed her name.
And then it was my turn to scream.
I looked down and saw a knife blade sticking out from my abdomen. It was part of the cutlery set I had gotten for Elizabeth three Christmases ago.
I screamed as I slowly turned to face my attacker.
“What’s up, doc?” Frederick said wearing a maniacal grin.
The shock had punched a hole in my reasoning. I saw him standing there, but I couldn’t accept it any more than I could accept my beautiful wife strung up like a macabre painting hanging on our living room wall.
My eyes tried to focus on his face. To make me recognize him as a threat.
“How’s that impulse control workin’ for ya, doc?”
He ripped the knife out of my back.
The pain, along with his arrogance woke me from my shock-induced stupor.
“Now do you understand?” he said, as he shoved the knife into my belly.
I did understand. I understood at that moment that I was already as dead as my wife. I knew that this piece of human garbage had taken something beautiful from this world. I knew I had to do something about it before there was nothing I could do. Before my body succumbed to injuries and I was unable.
I grabbed him by the throat. He tried to laugh, but my grip was fueled by desperation.
He tried to free himself but couldn’t. He began stabbing me over and over. I refused to release him. I carried him by his neck over to the kitchen counter and began bashing his head off the marble.
I was rewarded with spots of his blood. I knew at least I had made him bleed and that made me smile. His eyes grew wide as my grin grew maniacal. I smashed him repeatedly, crushing him against the sink, breaking the faucet, and causing water to spray into the air.
His eyelids fluttered as he lost his grip on the knife.
He was nearly gone. I would take him with me and that would be my parting gift to the world, removing something so evil.
Suddenly, my body wouldn’t obey commands. My grip loosened. I tried to tighten it, but I had lost all control. I looked down and I was standing in a pool of my own blood.
His eyes fluttered open and he coughed.
‘Nonononononono!’ I thought. ‘He can’t live. He can’t win. I had him.’
He stood as I sank to the floor.
“Looks like maybe you do understand, doc,” he said from what seemed like miles away. “Too bad you won’t be around to discuss it. We could have a session and evaluate how it makes you feel.”
His foot came down on my spine. I felt a crack. He started kicking me in the side repeatedly. Splashing water and blood on me as I felt my ribs crack.
I fought with everything I had.
My body didn’t even twitch.
‘Nooooo!,’ I screamed. ‘It can’t end like this.’
I heard a sizzling sound and then there was darkness.
***
I could feel movement.
Wasn’t I dead?
Was this what happened after?
It was still dark.
‘Hello?’ I tried to say.
Nothing. Just the sensation of movement.
Am I in a body bag? Am I on my way to the morgue or the grave? Please don’t let me be buried alive.
But I’m not alive, am I?
I don’t feel any pain. That’s a good thing, but not a good sign. The last thing I remember was lots of pain.
Suddenly there’s light and my movement stops.
I look up from the floor of a house I don’t recognize.
‘Where the hell am I?’
I’m on the floor next to a wall, looking up at an electrical outlet. Nothing around me seems familiar. I try to stand but it feels weird. It isn’t difficult, and there’s still no pain, it just carries an odd sensation with it. Like my body is just relearning things. Just like when I was a toddler. I teeter back and forth as I rise, but eventually, I’m upright.
My first few steps are tentative, but after that, I gain confidence with each stride.
Aside from the strange surroundings, there’s a sensation, like ants crawling all over me.
I pass a bathroom and glance inside. The reflection in the mirror draws me back. I slowly approach it, seeing something unique and terrifying.
It looks like someone drew an outline of a human form using a lightning bolt. The electricity shimmers and crackles as it races around the empty form of the being.
I wonder if it will hurt me.
Not sure if I want to test the limits of my newfound lack of pain, I hesitantly reach for this creature. It reaches for me at the same time. I’m mesmerized by this mutual curiosity.
My hand is about to touch the electric pulse shaped like its hand. I tremble with anticipation and fear as we touch.
Surprisingly, I don’t feel any pain. I don’t feel anything except a hard surface.
I move my hand back and forth. The creature does the same. I make quicker movements, and so does it.
Finally, out of frustration, I reach back and strike at the creature.
My hand strikes the hard surface and it splinters. There are now multiple creatures staring back at me.
I step back and come to the horrible realization.
I am the creature.
***
One month later…
“And police have been unable to find any credible leads in the string of brutal killings that began shortly after the patient escaped from the mental hospital last month,” the handsome anchorman stated from behind his desk. “They are asking people to call in if they know the whereabouts of Frederick Winston, now known as, ‘The Mangler’.”
“In other news, the Larsan Electric Company has issued a statement that the recent power surges are no cause for alarm. These surges seem to be random in people's homes and certain businesses. An LEC spokesman stated that there appears to be no pattern to the surges and that so far no one has reported them causing any harm. LEC is tracking down the problem and should have it under control soon.”
The anchorman shifted in his seat and turned to another camera.
“And on a lighter note, with Halloween months away, it seems that reports of ghosts are on the rise,” he said, wearing a half grin. “Several area residents have reported what they call a ghostlike figure, outlined in light, visiting them. Reports vary as to the duration and location of the visits, but they do seem to have a few things in common. The visits are usually short. In fact, most people say that if they blink the figure is gone. No one has reported the ghost doing any harm. And it seems like anyone within close proximity feels a tingling sensation and their hair standing on end.”
“Maybe I should be visited instead of my next hairdresser’s appointment,” the attractive woman anchor said with a laugh.
“Schedule me a visit too,” the male anchor said smiling. “And that’s our news for the evening, good night.”
Jimmy switched the channel.
“Gimme a break,” he said to the TV. “Ghosts? Who’s playing what? This’s some marketing scheme to sell Halloween crap. Like that stunt they pulled a few years back with the clowns hanging around the schools to promote that stupid movie.”
He switched off the TV and rolled over in his bed.
It wasn’t long before his breathing slowed. But before sleep could take him, he noticed a glow in the hallway. He didn’t remember leaving any lights on when he came to bed. Living alone had its advantages. If he heard someone in his apartment, he knew they weren’t supposed to be there. He slowly reached over to the bedstand and pulled out his Glock 9mm handgun, then held it close and listened.
He watched as the glow moved. It seemed like someone was looking around. But for what? He didn’t really have anything aside from his TV, phone, and video games. If anyone wanted those, they would be in a world of hurt. He had been lucky to get this apartment. If he was honest with himself, it cost more than he could afford, but when he had the chance he took it. It was too bad the opening came because the person who lived there before him was one of The Mangler’s victims. That’s probably why he was able to rent the place so quickly and get the price down to where he could almost afford it.
Maybe the glow was one of the street people who were stupid enough to see if there was an empty apartment to claim. That wasn’t gonna fly either. Jimmy had jumped on this apartment to get away from the dingy rat hole he used live in on the other side of town. And there was no way he’d let some bum come in here and take what was his.
The glow crept closer. He could feel the hairs on his arms raise. There was a sound too. It wasn’t loud, almost felt more than heard. A soft crackle, like electricity when it sparked.
The sensory input was almost too much for Jimmy to take. He pointed the gun in the direction of the glow and saw the barrel was shaking. His resolve, that he could deal with anyone as long as he had his gun, was beginning to fade.
The glow became so bright that it finally took form.
Jimmy’s eyes widened. It was the form of a person, just like the news had said.
It seemed to look around the room, then settle its gaze on the bed. Jimmy began to sweat as it approached and stared into his eyes.
It was the oddest thing, staring into what should be eyes, but nothing was there. The flashes of mini lightning bolts formed shapes that looked almost human, but it was just an outline, there was nothing inside what should be the body.
He shoved the shaking gun out from under the blanket and pointed it at the glowing figure.
The figure noted the presence of the gun, then continued to advance.
“S… stop,” Jimmy said. “I’m w… warning you.”
The figure ignored the warning.
Jimmy squeezed the trigger, setting off a deafening shot that went right through the face of the figure.
It acted as though nothing had happened, continuing to advance. The ringing in Jimmy’s ears made all sound seem muffled.
The figure stopped two inches from Jimmy’s face.
“Mangler… “ it said, sounding less like a voice and more like a transmission over an old staticky radio.
“I… I’m not the Mangler,” he said. “The person who used to live here was killed by him.”
It seemed to ponder this for a moment.
“Find Mangler… “ it said.
“I d… don’t know where to find him.”
It moved an inch closer. As the flashes of electricity arced, licked hungrily at Jimmy’s face.
“Find… him… “
“Ok, ok, I’ll find him,” Jimmy said, feeling the heat from the electricity.
The figure seemed to consider that for a moment then backed away. It moved toward the bedroom wall. Then, like someone had turned on a vacuum, it was sucked into an electrical outlet and disappeared.
Jimmy laid back in bed, breathing hard. His eyes darted left and right all around the room. But the only evidence of the figure that remained was the bullet hole in his bedroom wall.
***
The trips through the electrical conduits had become easier. There were still times when I came out someplace I didn’t intend to, but I was usually able to recover quickly and get to where I wanted to go.
But where did I want to go? At first, I wandered around, lost in this new form I found myself trapped inside. It was only after I had overheard a news report about the serial killer they called The Mangler that I gained my purpose.
Of course, Frederick was going to keep killing. Of course, they weren’t going to be able to catch him. He’d been inside away from his victims before and he didn’t like it. Not being able to torture and kill innocents was like a normal person not being able to breathe. Not that I know much about normal or breathing anymore.
I suppose on some level I should thank him. I thought about it for a long time and the only thing that makes any kind of sense is when we were fighting, somehow the water and blood I was laying in got splashed into the electrical socket. Instead of killing me, it bonded with me, making me able to become the electrical current. To ride it like a wave to wherever I wanted.
I became faster than any person ever was. And yet, I wasn’t a person anymore. I have no idea how I retained my consciousness, let alone my memory. But somehow…
I justify it by the old adage, ‘I think therefore I am.’
My life has become an endless hunt for the person who destroyed me, the person I must destroy. I don’t even know what I’ll do when I find him. But I will find him. I will stop him. This time, I won’t fail. I’ll end him like I should’ve before.
I owe it to the people he’s tortured and killed since my failure. Most of all, I owe it to my wife. I know she wouldn’t approve of my bloodlust. She would say there must be some other option. But if she would be able to see her dead body hanging naked from our living room wall, I think she just might change her mind.
My thoughts are interrupted as I arrive at my next destination, another victim’s house. I’m not sure what I’ll find that the police haven’t, but I have to try. Maybe I can pick up his scent somehow. A plan almost assuredly doomed to failure since I lost all sense of smell in the transformation.
I’m surprised though that I can still see and hear. I suppose waves of light and sound somehow intersect with my electrical body and it senses them. I don’t question it. I’ve learned to just go with it.
On the plus side, I don’t have to worry about eating, drinking, or using the bathroom. I guess there’s an upside to everything. Elizabeth would be so proud of me.
I arrive at the room where the victim was murdered. Looking around there’s still blood everywhere, along with evidence markers where they took pictures.
The sheer amount of blood tells me he took his time. He desecrated this girl in her own room. Her parents must’ve been out because there’s no way they didn’t hear the struggle. There were books on the floor, a chair overturned, and blood everywhere. The room was a disaster. It looked like she fought him. I wish she would’ve succeeded where I had failed.
But then, I wish I hadn’t failed, and this girl was still alive.
There’s nothing I can do now except find him and end him.
Finding him was proving more difficult than I thought. I had unlimited access to anywhere with electricity, but I couldn’t use a computer or a GPS. I was limited to transportation only through electricity. Granted that still made me the fastest being alive. I say being because I don’t think I qualify as human anymore. But I was limited to traveling to a place and then trying to find out where I was and if he was there.
If he knew I was searching for him all he would have to do is live the rest of his days in a cabin in the woods with no electricity. I’d never be able to reach him.
I believe two things worked in my favor with that theory.
First, I don’t think he’s that smart, and second, I don’t think he knows I’m looking for him. I believe that surviving our fight only further empowered him to kill. When someone feels invincible, they’re bound to make a mistake.
An officer walked into the room and I ducked back into an outlet. I was able to hang on where I was and watch from inside the outlet without being transported somewhere else.
The officer looked startled and stared at the empty air that I had just vacated. She looked like she was unsure if she trusted what her eyes had seen in the instant before I vanished.
She slowly stepped over to the corner and bent down to peer into the outlet. For a moment I wondered if she could see me, and what exactly she would see. But then her radio squawked calling her to another scene. When I heard the voice on the radio say the address and that they might have the killer cornered, I didn’t waste any time.
It was maybe fifteen seconds until I was across town at the address I’d heard. There was a lot of screaming and crying going on. I came out of the outlet and saw blood on the floor beside a body that wasn’t moving.
There was a girl being beaten by a man with his back to me. He turned to take another swing and I knew my search was over.
“My psychiatrist used to tell me I needed to work on my impulse control,” he said calmly as he slapped her. “I think I’m doing pretty good. I’ve been here ten whole minutes and you’re still alive.”
I shot across the room and knocked him to the floor. He jumped back up and looked around for what had hit him.
“What the hell?”
I saw the fear in his eyes when he saw me. I know Elizabeth would’ve been ashamed, of me, but I was enjoying his anxiety. After all he had done to me and so many others, I drank it in like an elixir.
He started edging toward the door. I was there in a heartbeat. His eyes darted back and forth between where I used to be and where I now stood. The panic in his eyes doubled.
I wanted to make him suffer, but I didn’t want to make the same mistake I’d made before and let him escape with his life.
I lashed out with a bolt that used to be my arm. The energy slashed through his shirt and fried a hole in his shoulder.
He screamed in pain and horror as he looked at the smoking hole in his skin. He tried to run but in an instant, I was there in front of him firing another bolt and searing the skin across his waist to his jeans.
His screams of pain and rage were only matched by the feral desperation in his eyes.
Not knowing what do to, he went with the familiar. Attack the innocent. He grabbed the girl who had been crawling away from the scene.
He grabbed her again and held her in front of him like a human shield.
What a waste of skin.
I fired a bolt into a ceiling light beside me which ricocheted and hit him full force in the leg, nearly severing it.
He went down like a ton of bricks, trying to hold on to his hostage, but she was fighting to get away from him. She broke free and he crumpled to the floor.
“What do you want?” he screamed at me.
With everything that is within me, I wanted to tell him who I was, what he had taken from me, and what I was about to take from him.
But I didn’t want to give the satisfaction. I wanted to give him only uncertainty and fear to cling to.
I could feel the seconds ticking away. I knew I had to make the most of this opportunity or he would get away again. And after this, I might never find him.
I unleashed every ounce of energy at him. I couldn’t even see him, he was only a smoking pillar of frying skin.
Just then, the police burst through the door.
“FREE… “ the first officer started then the shock of what he was seeing stole the rest of the word from his mouth.
He stood there, mouth agape when the female officer stepped in behind him. She looked at me and her wide eyes narrowed as she put two and two together and recognized me from the last crime scene.
I had no reason to fear. I didn’t know if I could even be harmed in my current state. But when you see that blue uniform burst through a door with a gun aimed at you, all rational thought takes a vacation.
I dove for the outlet and was gone. I didn’t even care where I was going. I knew I had done what I wanted to. The monster was destroyed.
Something felt different. Was it pride at finishing my crusade? Was it shame knowing Elizabeth wouldn’t have wanted me to do it?
I don’t know but there was something else. It was like there was added weight to my existence. I guess you can have a conscious in whatever you’d call this existence.
I appeared in the place that made the most sense, ironically. It was my old home. The one where everything I loved died, including me. It was where I took on this unintended new existence.
Is that why I felt this extra weight? Was it some cathartic aftereffect of my search for revenge that was finally over?
I looked around the charred debris of what used to be my home. In my mind's eye, I didn’t see the burned-out shell of what was left. I saw it as it was when we first moved in. When Elizabeth and I started decorating. When the interior was finally finished and I turned to her and said, “For now.” Knowing she would decide to change everything at some time in the future when she was bored, just like all women seem to do.
I remember getting a paintbrush across the mouth for that comment. I smiled remembering kissing her with my freshly painted mouth and ending up in the bedroom.
As I turned toward where I’d entered the house, my smile quickly faded. For some reason, I was still connected to the outlet. That had never happened before.
Another curiosity arose when I noticed the color of my electrical body was now tinged purple. It had always been blue before.
The tail of what had yet to come out of the outlet was red. As I pulled and it came the rest of the way out, it merged with me and turned purple.
“What the hell?” I heard someone say.
I whipped around but no one was there.
“Where am I?” the voice said.
“Who are you?” I said to the air.
There was a long silence.
“Doc?” the voice said.
As far as I knew it wasn’t possible for my spine to turn to ice, since I no longer had a spine, but the feeling seemed the same.
“Frederick?” I said.
“What happened?” he said. “This crazy electric thing attacked me and now… wait a minute. How am I talking to you? You died months ago.”
My shock gave way to utter despair. My enemy was now part of me.

This story needs to be told. Those who have suffered must understand why. It’s not as simple as some have made it to be, which is why it needs to come from the person most responsible… me.
It began when I was least expecting it. But then don’t things always seem to happen that way?
***
“I’m tellin' ya, doc, people just don’t understand,” Frederick said while rocking back and forth in the chair.
“What exactly don’t they understand?” I said, trying to look more relaxed than I felt.
“There’s just something that takes over. You can’t stop it.”
“Impulse control?”
“What’s that mean?” Frederick said, struggling against his straight jacket, trying to get comfortable.
“It means that when you want to do something, you try your hardest not to. It means you try to control or suppress the urge to do things you know are bad.”
Frederick’s mouth lolled open. He narrowed his eyes in confusion.
“Why would I want to do that?”
I suppressed the urge to sigh.
“Because that’s what people do,” I said. “They think about doing bad things, but then they control themselves and don’t do them because those things are wrong and could hurt other people.”
“Hurting people is wrong?” he said.
“Yes, Frederick, hurting people is wrong.”
He shook his head as if he were trying to shake away a fly that was annoying him.
“Why?”
“Why is hurting people wrong?”
“No, why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re saying I’m bad,” he said trying to rise from his chair. “You’re saying I didn’t need to hurt those people. That I’m a bad person.”
I got up from my chair and started backing toward the heavy metal door.
“I’m not bad!” he yelled at me. “You’re bad!”
I knocked on the door and the orderly opened it as Frederick got to his feet.
I slipped through the door as it slammed shut from the impact of his body slamming into it.
“Bad, bad, bad,” he screamed.
“Badbadbadbadbadbadbadbad!”
Spit flew from his mouth landing on the small observation window with metal grates embedded in it.
“You ok, doc,” the orderly said, startling me.
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”
I turned and walked down the white hallway, hoping the orderly wouldn’t notice the quickness in my step. I ignored the sound of Frederick beating on the door. I ignored all the sounds I heard. I just wanted to get away.
It was a long walk to my office, through many security gates. At each one, the nurse buzzed me through and gave me an acknowledging look that used to be a smile.
I suppose this place gets to everyone eventually.
I finally reached my office, closed and locked the door behind me, and collapsed into my chair. I breathed out a sigh of relief at reaching relative safety. I turned and looked out my window to the beautiful flowers blooming on the trees in the courtyard. I looked up at the tree stretching toward the sky.
I remember when they planted those.
I turned back to my center, my means of solace, the only thing that mattered in this cruel, unfair world. I picked up the picture of my lovely wife and smiled. She was the one who kept me sane all these years. She kept me seeing the best in people. Or at least trying. Sometimes there was no good to see—especially in my patients.
It takes a special kind of doctor to care for the mental needs of those who have done heinous things that are so bad they don’t even bother sending them to prison. They send them to me.
I’m like the dumpster for the dregs of society. Just drop them in the asylum and forget about them.
I kissed my wife and set her back on the bare desk, then turned on my computer and added notes from today’s session. There was never a recommendation for release. Once patients came here the only way they left was in a body bag. There was no curing them, only trying to make them docile until they left.
Oh, there were experiments. That was a large part of how we were funded. Companies would pay for certain tests to be done. Some might call it torture, but we called it research.
I finished typing my notes and leaned back in my seat. The diplomas and degrees stared down from their perches on the bare walls, mocking me. Demanding why I hadn’t gotten a better job.
As usual, I didn’t have an answer.
My office suddenly felt stuffy. I closed down my computer and left. Driving down the packed freeway, all I could think about was collapsing on the couch beside my lovely Elizabeth. Not telling her about my day until she dragged it out of me, then listening to her encourage me to help those who have been left in my care, because I’m the only hope they have.
Traffic was bumper to bumper and not helping my overall opinion of humanity much. Especially when a car that was swerving from lane to lane, nearly sideswiped me. It kept going on in front of me, nearly hitting several other cars.
The driver and passenger seemed to be having a disagreement about how to drive the car and it looked like it was about to come to blows.
Fortunately, they were soon out of sight, and someone else’s problem.
For the next few miles, I kept watching the side of the road waiting to see the offending car sitting in a ditch. However, they surprised me. They must’ve turned off to go terrorize some neighborhood streets with their reckless driving.
I hummed to myself, not wanting to have whatever dreck was on the radio forced on me.
When I was nearly to my exit, my phone rang. I immediately recognized the number as work. I contemplated answering it for a moment, then thought better of it. There had never been a time when work called with good news. And I was in no mood for bad news.
I hummed a little louder, trying to drown out the sound of the ring before it finally stopped.
The closer I got to home the less I thought about work and the more I thought about Elizabeth. Until I turned off at my exit, I had nearly forgotten work altogether. Maybe I would take tomorrow off and go do something with my wife. We hadn’t been out for a while. The weather had been lovely and I know she would adore a walk down by the lake.
My thoughts were interrupted when I turned down our driveway and saw a car in front of the house. It wasn’t quite in the driveway, it was sitting at an angle halfway in the front yard.
I parked my car and slowly got out. Something struck me about this car, but I hadn’t figured out what. I approached the driver’s side to have words with the person still sitting at the wheel.
“Excuse me,” I said staying a few steps back from the driver’s door.
He didn’t answer me.
“Excuse me,” I said a little louder.
Still no answer.
I tapped on the window and he ignored me.
I opened the door.
“Okay, look… “ I said.
But it was I who would do the looking. The man fell out of the car, thudding on the grass. The inside of the car was covered in blood. I looked down and the man’s throat had been cut.
“Oh my God!” I said jumping back.
I watched to see if the man was breathing, but the way his neck was bent at an unnatural angle against my yard told me everything I needed to know.
I glanced through the car but didn’t see the passenger.
It was then my eyes drifted to my front door.
It was open.
I stepped through the shrubs and up onto the porch, walking in a daze. The surrealness of the moment had yet to sink in. I was going inside to check on my wife and make sure everything was ok.
It didn’t strike me as anything more than that.
‘Oh, she just left the door open, that’s all.’
My mind kept trying to tell me that. I wanted desperately to believe it. Even though she had never been that careless during the entire time we’d been married. I had pushed aside all reason and common sense in favor of pure denial.
Everything was going to be ok. With Elizabeth, everything was always ok. She could literally light up a room with her positivity. She was the best person I ever knew. I have no idea how I got so lucky as to know her, let alone be her husband.
I floated in through my front door on my cloud of denial and looked for my wife.
It didn’t take me long to find her.
There was one wall of the living room she was constantly redecorating. She always said it looked bare and empty no matter what she did with it.
She was hanging from that wall, naked, her beautiful body desecrated by slices and rips. Her throat had been slit and blood still poured from it.
I ran to her.
Tried to take her down.
Screamed her name.
And then it was my turn to scream.
I looked down and saw a knife blade sticking out from my abdomen. It was part of the cutlery set I had gotten for Elizabeth three Christmases ago.
I screamed as I slowly turned to face my attacker.
“What’s up, doc?” Frederick said wearing a maniacal grin.
The shock had punched a hole in my reasoning. I saw him standing there, but I couldn’t accept it any more than I could accept my beautiful wife strung up like a macabre painting hanging on our living room wall.
My eyes tried to focus on his face. To make me recognize him as a threat.
“How’s that impulse control workin’ for ya, doc?”
He ripped the knife out of my back.
The pain, along with his arrogance woke me from my shock-induced stupor.
“Now do you understand?” he said, as he shoved the knife into my belly.
I did understand. I understood at that moment that I was already as dead as my wife. I knew that this piece of human garbage had taken something beautiful from this world. I knew I had to do something about it before there was nothing I could do. Before my body succumbed to injuries and I was unable.
I grabbed him by the throat. He tried to laugh, but my grip was fueled by desperation.
He tried to free himself but couldn’t. He began stabbing me over and over. I refused to release him. I carried him by his neck over to the kitchen counter and began bashing his head off the marble.
I was rewarded with spots of his blood. I knew at least I had made him bleed and that made me smile. His eyes grew wide as my grin grew maniacal. I smashed him repeatedly, crushing him against the sink, breaking the faucet, and causing water to spray into the air.
His eyelids fluttered as he lost his grip on the knife.
He was nearly gone. I would take him with me and that would be my parting gift to the world, removing something so evil.
Suddenly, my body wouldn’t obey commands. My grip loosened. I tried to tighten it, but I had lost all control. I looked down and I was standing in a pool of my own blood.
His eyes fluttered open and he coughed.
‘Nonononononono!’ I thought. ‘He can’t live. He can’t win. I had him.’
He stood as I sank to the floor.
“Looks like maybe you do understand, doc,” he said from what seemed like miles away. “Too bad you won’t be around to discuss it. We could have a session and evaluate how it makes you feel.”
His foot came down on my spine. I felt a crack. He started kicking me in the side repeatedly. Splashing water and blood on me as I felt my ribs crack.
I fought with everything I had.
My body didn’t even twitch.
‘Nooooo!,’ I screamed. ‘It can’t end like this.’
I heard a sizzling sound and then there was darkness.
***
I could feel movement.
Wasn’t I dead?
Was this what happened after?
It was still dark.
‘Hello?’ I tried to say.
Nothing. Just the sensation of movement.
Am I in a body bag? Am I on my way to the morgue or the grave? Please don’t let me be buried alive.
But I’m not alive, am I?
I don’t feel any pain. That’s a good thing, but not a good sign. The last thing I remember was lots of pain.
Suddenly there’s light and my movement stops.
I look up from the floor of a house I don’t recognize.
‘Where the hell am I?’
I’m on the floor next to a wall, looking up at an electrical outlet. Nothing around me seems familiar. I try to stand but it feels weird. It isn’t difficult, and there’s still no pain, it just carries an odd sensation with it. Like my body is just relearning things. Just like when I was a toddler. I teeter back and forth as I rise, but eventually, I’m upright.
My first few steps are tentative, but after that, I gain confidence with each stride.
Aside from the strange surroundings, there’s a sensation, like ants crawling all over me.
I pass a bathroom and glance inside. The reflection in the mirror draws me back. I slowly approach it, seeing something unique and terrifying.
It looks like someone drew an outline of a human form using a lightning bolt. The electricity shimmers and crackles as it races around the empty form of the being.
I wonder if it will hurt me.
Not sure if I want to test the limits of my newfound lack of pain, I hesitantly reach for this creature. It reaches for me at the same time. I’m mesmerized by this mutual curiosity.
My hand is about to touch the electric pulse shaped like its hand. I tremble with anticipation and fear as we touch.
Surprisingly, I don’t feel any pain. I don’t feel anything except a hard surface.
I move my hand back and forth. The creature does the same. I make quicker movements, and so does it.
Finally, out of frustration, I reach back and strike at the creature.
My hand strikes the hard surface and it splinters. There are now multiple creatures staring back at me.
I step back and come to the horrible realization.
I am the creature.
***
One month later…
“And police have been unable to find any credible leads in the string of brutal killings that began shortly after the patient escaped from the mental hospital last month,” the handsome anchorman stated from behind his desk. “They are asking people to call in if they know the whereabouts of Frederick Winston, now known as, ‘The Mangler’.”
“In other news, the Larsan Electric Company has issued a statement that the recent power surges are no cause for alarm. These surges seem to be random in people's homes and certain businesses. An LEC spokesman stated that there appears to be no pattern to the surges and that so far no one has reported them causing any harm. LEC is tracking down the problem and should have it under control soon.”
The anchorman shifted in his seat and turned to another camera.
“And on a lighter note, with Halloween months away, it seems that reports of ghosts are on the rise,” he said, wearing a half grin. “Several area residents have reported what they call a ghostlike figure, outlined in light, visiting them. Reports vary as to the duration and location of the visits, but they do seem to have a few things in common. The visits are usually short. In fact, most people say that if they blink the figure is gone. No one has reported the ghost doing any harm. And it seems like anyone within close proximity feels a tingling sensation and their hair standing on end.”
“Maybe I should be visited instead of my next hairdresser’s appointment,” the attractive woman anchor said with a laugh.
“Schedule me a visit too,” the male anchor said smiling. “And that’s our news for the evening, good night.”
Jimmy switched the channel.
“Gimme a break,” he said to the TV. “Ghosts? Who’s playing what? This’s some marketing scheme to sell Halloween crap. Like that stunt they pulled a few years back with the clowns hanging around the schools to promote that stupid movie.”
He switched off the TV and rolled over in his bed.
It wasn’t long before his breathing slowed. But before sleep could take him, he noticed a glow in the hallway. He didn’t remember leaving any lights on when he came to bed. Living alone had its advantages. If he heard someone in his apartment, he knew they weren’t supposed to be there. He slowly reached over to the bedstand and pulled out his Glock 9mm handgun, then held it close and listened.
He watched as the glow moved. It seemed like someone was looking around. But for what? He didn’t really have anything aside from his TV, phone, and video games. If anyone wanted those, they would be in a world of hurt. He had been lucky to get this apartment. If he was honest with himself, it cost more than he could afford, but when he had the chance he took it. It was too bad the opening came because the person who lived there before him was one of The Mangler’s victims. That’s probably why he was able to rent the place so quickly and get the price down to where he could almost afford it.
Maybe the glow was one of the street people who were stupid enough to see if there was an empty apartment to claim. That wasn’t gonna fly either. Jimmy had jumped on this apartment to get away from the dingy rat hole he used live in on the other side of town. And there was no way he’d let some bum come in here and take what was his.
The glow crept closer. He could feel the hairs on his arms raise. There was a sound too. It wasn’t loud, almost felt more than heard. A soft crackle, like electricity when it sparked.
The sensory input was almost too much for Jimmy to take. He pointed the gun in the direction of the glow and saw the barrel was shaking. His resolve, that he could deal with anyone as long as he had his gun, was beginning to fade.
The glow became so bright that it finally took form.
Jimmy’s eyes widened. It was the form of a person, just like the news had said.
It seemed to look around the room, then settle its gaze on the bed. Jimmy began to sweat as it approached and stared into his eyes.
It was the oddest thing, staring into what should be eyes, but nothing was there. The flashes of mini lightning bolts formed shapes that looked almost human, but it was just an outline, there was nothing inside what should be the body.
He shoved the shaking gun out from under the blanket and pointed it at the glowing figure.
The figure noted the presence of the gun, then continued to advance.
“S… stop,” Jimmy said. “I’m w… warning you.”
The figure ignored the warning.
Jimmy squeezed the trigger, setting off a deafening shot that went right through the face of the figure.
It acted as though nothing had happened, continuing to advance. The ringing in Jimmy’s ears made all sound seem muffled.
The figure stopped two inches from Jimmy’s face.
“Mangler… “ it said, sounding less like a voice and more like a transmission over an old staticky radio.
“I… I’m not the Mangler,” he said. “The person who used to live here was killed by him.”
It seemed to ponder this for a moment.
“Find Mangler… “ it said.
“I d… don’t know where to find him.”
It moved an inch closer. As the flashes of electricity arced, licked hungrily at Jimmy’s face.
“Find… him… “
“Ok, ok, I’ll find him,” Jimmy said, feeling the heat from the electricity.
The figure seemed to consider that for a moment then backed away. It moved toward the bedroom wall. Then, like someone had turned on a vacuum, it was sucked into an electrical outlet and disappeared.
Jimmy laid back in bed, breathing hard. His eyes darted left and right all around the room. But the only evidence of the figure that remained was the bullet hole in his bedroom wall.
***
The trips through the electrical conduits had become easier. There were still times when I came out someplace I didn’t intend to, but I was usually able to recover quickly and get to where I wanted to go.
But where did I want to go? At first, I wandered around, lost in this new form I found myself trapped inside. It was only after I had overheard a news report about the serial killer they called The Mangler that I gained my purpose.
Of course, Frederick was going to keep killing. Of course, they weren’t going to be able to catch him. He’d been inside away from his victims before and he didn’t like it. Not being able to torture and kill innocents was like a normal person not being able to breathe. Not that I know much about normal or breathing anymore.
I suppose on some level I should thank him. I thought about it for a long time and the only thing that makes any kind of sense is when we were fighting, somehow the water and blood I was laying in got splashed into the electrical socket. Instead of killing me, it bonded with me, making me able to become the electrical current. To ride it like a wave to wherever I wanted.
I became faster than any person ever was. And yet, I wasn’t a person anymore. I have no idea how I retained my consciousness, let alone my memory. But somehow…
I justify it by the old adage, ‘I think therefore I am.’
My life has become an endless hunt for the person who destroyed me, the person I must destroy. I don’t even know what I’ll do when I find him. But I will find him. I will stop him. This time, I won’t fail. I’ll end him like I should’ve before.
I owe it to the people he’s tortured and killed since my failure. Most of all, I owe it to my wife. I know she wouldn’t approve of my bloodlust. She would say there must be some other option. But if she would be able to see her dead body hanging naked from our living room wall, I think she just might change her mind.
My thoughts are interrupted as I arrive at my next destination, another victim’s house. I’m not sure what I’ll find that the police haven’t, but I have to try. Maybe I can pick up his scent somehow. A plan almost assuredly doomed to failure since I lost all sense of smell in the transformation.
I’m surprised though that I can still see and hear. I suppose waves of light and sound somehow intersect with my electrical body and it senses them. I don’t question it. I’ve learned to just go with it.
On the plus side, I don’t have to worry about eating, drinking, or using the bathroom. I guess there’s an upside to everything. Elizabeth would be so proud of me.
I arrive at the room where the victim was murdered. Looking around there’s still blood everywhere, along with evidence markers where they took pictures.
The sheer amount of blood tells me he took his time. He desecrated this girl in her own room. Her parents must’ve been out because there’s no way they didn’t hear the struggle. There were books on the floor, a chair overturned, and blood everywhere. The room was a disaster. It looked like she fought him. I wish she would’ve succeeded where I had failed.
But then, I wish I hadn’t failed, and this girl was still alive.
There’s nothing I can do now except find him and end him.
Finding him was proving more difficult than I thought. I had unlimited access to anywhere with electricity, but I couldn’t use a computer or a GPS. I was limited to transportation only through electricity. Granted that still made me the fastest being alive. I say being because I don’t think I qualify as human anymore. But I was limited to traveling to a place and then trying to find out where I was and if he was there.
If he knew I was searching for him all he would have to do is live the rest of his days in a cabin in the woods with no electricity. I’d never be able to reach him.
I believe two things worked in my favor with that theory.
First, I don’t think he’s that smart, and second, I don’t think he knows I’m looking for him. I believe that surviving our fight only further empowered him to kill. When someone feels invincible, they’re bound to make a mistake.
An officer walked into the room and I ducked back into an outlet. I was able to hang on where I was and watch from inside the outlet without being transported somewhere else.
The officer looked startled and stared at the empty air that I had just vacated. She looked like she was unsure if she trusted what her eyes had seen in the instant before I vanished.
She slowly stepped over to the corner and bent down to peer into the outlet. For a moment I wondered if she could see me, and what exactly she would see. But then her radio squawked calling her to another scene. When I heard the voice on the radio say the address and that they might have the killer cornered, I didn’t waste any time.
It was maybe fifteen seconds until I was across town at the address I’d heard. There was a lot of screaming and crying going on. I came out of the outlet and saw blood on the floor beside a body that wasn’t moving.
There was a girl being beaten by a man with his back to me. He turned to take another swing and I knew my search was over.
“My psychiatrist used to tell me I needed to work on my impulse control,” he said calmly as he slapped her. “I think I’m doing pretty good. I’ve been here ten whole minutes and you’re still alive.”
I shot across the room and knocked him to the floor. He jumped back up and looked around for what had hit him.
“What the hell?”
I saw the fear in his eyes when he saw me. I know Elizabeth would’ve been ashamed, of me, but I was enjoying his anxiety. After all he had done to me and so many others, I drank it in like an elixir.
He started edging toward the door. I was there in a heartbeat. His eyes darted back and forth between where I used to be and where I now stood. The panic in his eyes doubled.
I wanted to make him suffer, but I didn’t want to make the same mistake I’d made before and let him escape with his life.
I lashed out with a bolt that used to be my arm. The energy slashed through his shirt and fried a hole in his shoulder.
He screamed in pain and horror as he looked at the smoking hole in his skin. He tried to run but in an instant, I was there in front of him firing another bolt and searing the skin across his waist to his jeans.
His screams of pain and rage were only matched by the feral desperation in his eyes.
Not knowing what do to, he went with the familiar. Attack the innocent. He grabbed the girl who had been crawling away from the scene.
He grabbed her again and held her in front of him like a human shield.
What a waste of skin.
I fired a bolt into a ceiling light beside me which ricocheted and hit him full force in the leg, nearly severing it.
He went down like a ton of bricks, trying to hold on to his hostage, but she was fighting to get away from him. She broke free and he crumpled to the floor.
“What do you want?” he screamed at me.
With everything that is within me, I wanted to tell him who I was, what he had taken from me, and what I was about to take from him.
But I didn’t want to give the satisfaction. I wanted to give him only uncertainty and fear to cling to.
I could feel the seconds ticking away. I knew I had to make the most of this opportunity or he would get away again. And after this, I might never find him.
I unleashed every ounce of energy at him. I couldn’t even see him, he was only a smoking pillar of frying skin.
Just then, the police burst through the door.
“FREE… “ the first officer started then the shock of what he was seeing stole the rest of the word from his mouth.
He stood there, mouth agape when the female officer stepped in behind him. She looked at me and her wide eyes narrowed as she put two and two together and recognized me from the last crime scene.
I had no reason to fear. I didn’t know if I could even be harmed in my current state. But when you see that blue uniform burst through a door with a gun aimed at you, all rational thought takes a vacation.
I dove for the outlet and was gone. I didn’t even care where I was going. I knew I had done what I wanted to. The monster was destroyed.
Something felt different. Was it pride at finishing my crusade? Was it shame knowing Elizabeth wouldn’t have wanted me to do it?
I don’t know but there was something else. It was like there was added weight to my existence. I guess you can have a conscious in whatever you’d call this existence.
I appeared in the place that made the most sense, ironically. It was my old home. The one where everything I loved died, including me. It was where I took on this unintended new existence.
Is that why I felt this extra weight? Was it some cathartic aftereffect of my search for revenge that was finally over?
I looked around the charred debris of what used to be my home. In my mind's eye, I didn’t see the burned-out shell of what was left. I saw it as it was when we first moved in. When Elizabeth and I started decorating. When the interior was finally finished and I turned to her and said, “For now.” Knowing she would decide to change everything at some time in the future when she was bored, just like all women seem to do.
I remember getting a paintbrush across the mouth for that comment. I smiled remembering kissing her with my freshly painted mouth and ending up in the bedroom.
As I turned toward where I’d entered the house, my smile quickly faded. For some reason, I was still connected to the outlet. That had never happened before.
Another curiosity arose when I noticed the color of my electrical body was now tinged purple. It had always been blue before.
The tail of what had yet to come out of the outlet was red. As I pulled and it came the rest of the way out, it merged with me and turned purple.
“What the hell?” I heard someone say.
I whipped around but no one was there.
“Where am I?” the voice said.
“Who are you?” I said to the air.
There was a long silence.
“Doc?” the voice said.
As far as I knew it wasn’t possible for my spine to turn to ice, since I no longer had a spine, but the feeling seemed the same.
“Frederick?” I said.
“What happened?” he said. “This crazy electric thing attacked me and now… wait a minute. How am I talking to you? You died months ago.”
My shock gave way to utter despair. My enemy was now part of me.

I turned out gay, but I don’t know about my childhood classmate. I feel like there’s always an unspoken rule between us. I just want to meet with him to jerk off because I’m not into the anal stuff. We used to be in the same group of friends but were never close. We have tried in a few occasions but were never successful, but I always felt like it’s a secret between us two.
In 6th grade, he always talked about comparing and showing his dick to me. During a camp, while everyone was gone, he showed me the outline of his penis. Then a girl came back to our cabin. We stopped.
On the last day of 6th grade, when I asked the teacher to use the bathroom, he told the teacher that he wanted to go with me. I knew instantly what he meant. He was hard when we walked to the bathroom. We went to the urinals and we were both nervous. People kept coming in and out. He went inside the toilet to play with himself to get hard, while I was soft in the urinal. Someone came in and we both just awkwardly left.
In 8th grade, one time when he and I happened to walk before everyone to the locker, he asked if I wanted to see his penis. I nervously told him that I did. When we got to the locker, he pulled down his shorts and was in his boxers. He was starting to touch his penis and someone walked in. We didn’t talk much in middle school, so it was interesting that we both still remembered what we were both interested in.
In 9th grade, one time during class, he came to talk to me about pussies. I got hard but didn’t show it to him. He told me to just focus on pussy then he later said he will show me his penis sometimes. We never had the privacy since there were always people around us.
It never happened. My family moved to the other side of town and I transferred high school. I went to college and left for many years. I am 23 now and back in town.
I haven’t contacted him for a long time. We don’t follow each other on social media. Would it be weird for me to message him? If so, how do I initiate and see if he’s still interested? Honestly, he is not the kind that would hang with me one on one since we don’t have anything in common. We just used to be in a big group of friends. He’s way cooler. Now, we both can rent a room if needed. It’s weird that he hasn’t dated since middle school. It’s a conservative town so I wonder if he is stuck with dealing with his curiosity or if it was just a phase for him.

I am going to a public high school I have been having a couple of issues with this kid let's name him Ron, Ron is a dumb kid only going to school because of his pairents and is always looking for attention. Lately he's been spreading rumors about me sucking up to teachers well considering my relationship with the teachers it is very easy to believe the lie, no one confronts me about it but I hear them talking about me when I walk beside them. I have close relationships with the teachers because I understand the shit that they go through and just want to be there to know that they are being appreciated I understand how hard they work, after all most of my closest family members are teachers. I have been enduring it for 2 and ½ quarters I feel like I'm about to break. That is all I just need advice I guess.

Glenda Potter was 32-years old when she was found dead. She was stripped from the waist down and left on the grounds of Vine Church, Rochester, Kent.
The killer was never found and the case remains open.
Glenda was killed by strangulation, with sexual assault evident at the time of the killing.
Glenda left behind four children and her murder left little evidence, leaving the family unresolved at obtaining justice.
Shortly after the murder a man was arrested over the disposal of her body but he was ruled out in 2011 - 20 years after the murder. The man arrested and accused was just 16 at the time of the murder. His name was Malcoim Shipley, a man with a troubled future after Glenda’s death. .
Glenda was a vulnerable target. She worked as a prostitute at the time of her murder. She had a drug and drink addiction and was a bit of a loner around Rochester.
This was an era before CCTV and surveillance. So, the crux of the investigation went on eye witnesses and contemporaneous reports.
The show was profiled on Crimewatch, a popular British TV show (similar to America’s Most Wanted).
A gardener working in the church had arrived at about 9.30am and before that schoolboys had been at the church, a popular place to hang around and smoke before school, until about 8.30am.
Neither the boys or the gardener noticed anything suspicious while they were there and police concluded Glenda's body had been brought to the churchyard in daylight between 8.30am and 9.30am.
Police believe Glenda died two days before her body was found in the churchyard on that Tuesday morning.
Friends reported seeing Glenda on Friday, May 11, in The Kings Arms pub in Rochester, which was one of her regular spots.
Glenda was spotted at about 9.45pm in Rochester outside St Bartholomew's Chapel on the corner of the high street and Gundolph Street.
Police were extremely keen to establish who Glenda had spent the nights during that weekend after neighbours at the bedsit where she lived reported hearing her TV had been on continuously over the weekend but she had not answered the door.
Officers believed she had not returned home all that weekend.
But she was seen again just after 10am on the Sunday morning by a friend leaving a shop.
It is thought this is the last time she was seen alive and police later concluded she had died by the Sunday night.
Two incidents reported to police in the churchyard in the days before Glenda's body was found failed to yield any significant findings.
"It is important to remember no case is ever truly closed and should any new information become available it will be investigated..."
A boy trying to find his friends said he thought he had seen a leg sticking out but as he could not see his friends, left the church.
It was described as wearing a white training shoe with a black pattern on it and white sock with coloured band at the top.
Police ruled this out as being Glenda who was last seen wearing white socks and black ankle boots.
A couple of hours after the schoolboy's visit, two people were spotted in a car at the church by a man returning home from a day out.
The woman in the car was described as having short dark hair – a possible match for Glenda.
The man was said to have sandy-coloured hair.
Police were extremely interested in speaking to either of these two people to rule them out of inquiries.
The man in the Kings Arms the previous Friday night and seen by the taxi driver was also hunted for by police as a person of interest.
It was reported the man – who matched both descriptions – had been driving a red estate car which might have been a Volvo.
This detail was never confirmed.
"This case centred on prostitution but I felt the motive was actually the thieving that the girl used to do to satisfy her habit for drugs..."
But the unknown man was described as having balding grey hair, aged in his 60s and about 6ft tall. He was also wearing a suit, collared shirt and tie.
Police later said they did not believe robbery had been a motive in Glenda's murder.
But this was a theory not shared by Mr Tappenden, who joined the investigation eight weeks after Glenda's body was found to lead a review of the case.
In the 2010 interview with the Medway Messenger, he said he did not believe Glenda had been killed in the churchyard and that robbery could well have been a motive in the killing.
"This case centred on prostitution but I felt the motive was actually the thieving that the girl used to do to satisfy her habit for drugs," he said.
"Kent Police’s Cold Case team carries out periodic reviews into unsolved murders, rapes and other serious offences, however there is no new update for this particular investigation..."
"She had been living a life of stealing and the motivation was probably caused by that ancillary part of her career."
The case has been revisited numerous times by police in the past three decades.
THE SUSPECT
MALCOLM SHIPLEY
Malcolm was arrested for Glenda’s murder at just 16 years of age but was later released.
Malcolm had a litany of offences post-Potter. He pled guilty in 2019 for targeting a woman working in a charity shop. Making her fall for him and then robbing the safe (while asking her to make a false burglary claim). And then came back weeks later to rob the woman at knifepoint for £600.00.
Prosecutor Mary Jacobson said Shipley had befriended the mum-of-four in 2016 while she was working at the shop and “then deliberately manipulated things to take advantage”.
And prior to that case, he was placed on the sex offender’s register for molesting a teenage at a concert in 2009. The girl he attacked was aged 19 and was found ‘drunk and depressed’ because her boyfriend had recently died.
Malcolm molested her and then stole her bracelet before fleeing - for this crime he was put on the sex offender’s register and given a 14-month jail sentence.
But despite his transgressions and legal issues and a long investigation, Malcolm was formally cleared as a suspect in 2011.
“Even my own mum had this tiny part of her that believed it was me, but when I got the letter I told her how relieved I felt,” he said.
Although, we have no conclusive proof that ties Malcolm to Glenda’s murder. He clearly has a troubling legal history and a criminal history with women.
Sources;
https://youtu.be/8nUQfEftjCs
https://www.kentonline.co.uk/medway/news/30-years-on-and-no-closer-to-finding-womans-killer-247183/
https://www.kentonline.co.uk/medway/news/twenty-years-of-suspicion-over-g-a78296/
http://www.unsolved-murders.co.uk/murder-content.php?key=724&termRef=Glenda%20Potter

Video I made;
https://youtu.be/8nUQfEftjCs
Glenda Potter was 32-years old when she was found dead. She was stripped from the waist down and left on the grounds of Vine Church, Rochester, Kent.
The killer was never found and the case remains open.
Glenda was killed by strangulation, with sexual assault evident at the time of the killing.
Glenda left behind four children and her murder left little evidence, leaving the family unresolved at obtaining justice.
Shortly after the murder a man was arrested over the disposal of her body but he was ruled out in 2011 - 20 years after the murder. The man arrested and accused was just 16 at the time of the murder. His name was Malcoim Shipley, a man with a troubled future after Glenda’s death. .
Glenda was a vulnerable target. She worked as a prostitute at the time of her murder. She had a drug and drink addiction and was a bit of a loner around Rochester.
This was an era before CCTV and surveillance. So, the crux of the investigation went on eye witnesses and contemporaneous reports.
The show was profiled on Crimewatch, a popular British TV show (similar to America’s Most Wanted).
A gardener working in the church had arrived at about 9.30am and before that schoolboys had been at the church, a popular place to hang around and smoke before school, until about 8.30am.
Neither the boys or the gardener noticed anything suspicious while they were there and police concluded Glenda's body had been brought to the churchyard in daylight between 8.30am and 9.30am.
Police believe Glenda died two days before her body was found in the churchyard on that Tuesday morning.
Friends reported seeing Glenda on Friday, May 11, in The Kings Arms pub in Rochester, which was one of her regular spots.
Glenda was spotted at about 9.45pm in Rochester outside St Bartholomew's Chapel on the corner of the high street and Gundolph Street.
Police were extremely keen to establish who Glenda had spent the nights during that weekend after neighbours at the bedsit where she lived reported hearing her TV had been on continuously over the weekend but she had not answered the door.
Officers believed she had not returned home all that weekend.
But she was seen again just after 10am on the Sunday morning by a friend leaving a shop.
It is thought this is the last time she was seen alive and police later concluded she had died by the Sunday night.
Two incidents reported to police in the churchyard in the days before Glenda's body was found failed to yield any significant findings.
"It is important to remember no case is ever truly closed and should any new information become available it will be investigated..."
A boy trying to find his friends said he thought he had seen a leg sticking out but as he could not see his friends, left the church.
It was described as wearing a white training shoe with a black pattern on it and white sock with coloured band at the top.
Police ruled this out as being Glenda who was last seen wearing white socks and black ankle boots.
A couple of hours after the schoolboy's visit, two people were spotted in a car at the church by a man returning home from a day out.
The woman in the car was described as having short dark hair – a possible match for Glenda.
The man was said to have sandy-coloured hair.
Police were extremely interested in speaking to either of these two people to rule them out of inquiries.
The man in the Kings Arms the previous Friday night and seen by the taxi driver was also hunted for by police as a person of interest.
It was reported the man – who matched both descriptions – had been driving a red estate car which might have been a Volvo.
This detail was never confirmed.
"This case centred on prostitution but I felt the motive was actually the thieving that the girl used to do to satisfy her habit for drugs..."
But the unknown man was described as having balding grey hair, aged in his 60s and about 6ft tall. He was also wearing a suit, collared shirt and tie.
Police later said they did not believe robbery had been a motive in Glenda's murder.
But this was a theory not shared by Mr Tappenden, who joined the investigation eight weeks after Glenda's body was found to lead a review of the case.
In the 2010 interview with the Medway Messenger, he said he did not believe Glenda had been killed in the churchyard and that robbery could well have been a motive in the killing.
"This case centred on prostitution but I felt the motive was actually the thieving that the girl used to do to satisfy her habit for drugs," he said.
"Kent Police’s Cold Case team carries out periodic reviews into unsolved murders, rapes and other serious offences, however there is no new update for this particular investigation..."
"She had been living a life of stealing and the motivation was probably caused by that ancillary part of her career."
The case has been revisited numerous times by police in the past three decades.
THE SUSPECT
MALCOLM SHIPLEY
Malcolm was arrested for Glenda’s murder at just 16 years of age but was later released.
Malcolm had a litany of offences post-Potter. He pled guilty in 2019 for targeting a woman working in a charity shop. Making her fall for him and then robbing the safe (while asking her to make a false burglary claim). And then came back weeks later to rob the woman at knifepoint for £600.00.
Prosecutor Mary Jacobson said Shipley had befriended the mum-of-four in 2016 while she was working at the shop and “then deliberately manipulated things to take advantage”.
And prior to that case, he was placed on the sex offender’s register for molesting a teenage at a concert in 2009. The girl he attacked was aged 19 and was found ‘drunk and depressed’ because her boyfriend had recently died.
Malcolm molested her and then stole her bracelet before fleeing - for this crime he was put on the sex offender’s register and given a 14-month jail sentence.
But despite his transgressions and legal issues and a long investigation, Malcolm was formally cleared as a suspect in 2011.
“Even my own mum had this tiny part of her that believed it was me, but when I got the letter I told her how relieved I felt,” he said.
Although, we have no conclusive proof that ties Malcolm to Glenda’s murder. He clearly has a troubling legal history and a criminal history with women.

I was fortunate enough to get accepted into both. COA is similar for both as well.
NJMS:
Pros:
-close to parents
-more NIH funding
-more departments/faculty for research (I have a strong research background and want to continue doing research)
-reported robust clinical training from residency PD’s
-faculty seem nice
-match list seems strong (although not sure if numbers are pre or post SOAP since I saw many match into EM)
-P/F for first 6 months
Cons:
-larger class size
-not sure how collaborative/nice/gunner-y the med school community is
-graded preclinicals after 6 months
Cooper:
Pros:
-faculty seem great! Got awesome vibes from the interview.
-smaller class size
-can live in Philly, close to my sibling and my partner (although I’m grateful my partner is flexible enough to move should she want to)
-got much better vibes regarding the class culture
-P/F preclinicals
-match list seems to be somewhat on par
Cons:
-may not be as renown as NJMS
-not sure how much research opportunities are available at Cooper compared to njms, but it is near Philly and I could maybe do research at other schools?

. U.S.

I love my mum. She was my favourite parent when I was little because I was her favourite. She treated me more as an equal rather than her child. But that wasn’t what it seemed. She would constantly flip. Sometimes she was cruel, isolating me from my friends & siblings, manipulating me, gaslighting me & then other times she would be so kind, supportive & caring that I would question everything.
During the covid lockdowns while she was at work I was at home- not doing my online schooling but helping my siblings with theirs. Bringing them food, running them baths. All by my mum's order. I became depressed- she weaponised my mental health, telling me my friends were toxic and making me like this. She took away my devices so that in a time with already limited contact with the world I had none. One time I stole my phone so I could message them, & mum caught me. I stood my ground- she threatened to kick me out.
I never did that again.
After that hit rock bottom, luckily my dad got me the help I needed. I became close with him- which mum hated. The cycle of supportive to manipulative continued & I realised that I needed to leave. My Dad said that I could move in with him after I finished year 12 when he wouldn’t have to pay child support which I promptly agreed to. Before I could tell mum, she pulled me into her room just before my finals in senior year & oh so casually told me she finally had money to buy a house; but there wouldn’t be room for my brother & I. I was crushed. Yes, I was planning to leave but the way she so mercilessly kicked me & my brother out when she would no longer receive child support- like that was what we were all along, income.
I know my Mum hasn’t had the easiest life & so I assumed therapy could help her as it did me. After I finished hs I told my Mum I was planning to move to Dad's, & I asked her to go to therapy so her relationships with her kids could improve. She went off at me, accusing me of calling her a ‘monster’, abandoning her and conspiring against her with my Dad. I left grabbing a couple of things. Later, I returned with my dad to collect my stuff & contact with my Mum was limited. She called me a couple times to ask me to do her favours- go to open houses during work hours, set up tutoring for my siblings, take them to appointments etc.
Now she wants to talk more regularly because “she doesn’t know what to tell people when they ask about me” I don’t know if I should. On one hand, she’s my Mum- I miss her & I love her. But on the other hand, she doesn't seem to care about me and only hurts me.
What should I do?

I'm at a loss. I had to move from my home town and state a year ago due to some serious family issues. I only had one or two close friends where I used to live, and now due to the distance we hardly talk to see eachother.
I can't afford a car at the moment and take the bus or my bike, and I work 7am to 3pm Monday through Friday. I tried jamming community college into the mix and all of the classes were online, I never had a chance to go to the campus.
No one in any of my classes seemed nice or promising because I'd never even met them or they were like 40+ year old women doing school later in life and whatnot.
I ended up having to drop it anyway because I couldn't juggle it on top of taking care of myself, apartment, and going to work.
I can't make friends at work either because I work in the kitchen of a private office building. I only have 3 coworkers, two of which are 60+ year old men.
I'm in kind of a cheap, run down city and there's not any nice cafés or shops or wherever I would think of meeting people. Anything remotely promising is 1+ hr by bus or just way out of the way. I looked at old posts in here saying try "community events" or things like yoga classes. I don't have the means to regularly do stuff like that hoping I get lucky.
I don't really know what to do. I don't know anyone here. I feel so isolated and I just want a girl friend to hang out with. I tried taking the bus to some college towns but the only people that approach me or seem to cross paths with me are guys that are looking to go out. I've been in a relationship for over a year with someone and I have to keep saying to these people that I'm not interested and it's just discouraging.
I see a lot of tips on the "how" to make friends here, and I can converse just fine. I just have absolutely no idea where to physically even start looking for someone to speak to.
Thanks

I been dealing with depression for a long time now, since I was about 12 or so, my teen years were the worse for me as that's when I actually felt suicidal as around that time my parents were having a divorce and I was failing school, never got the treatment I needed for this as my mother didn't like the idea of having to use drugs to make me better and never got me therapy either so I was left to somehow fix myself on my own for many years which I had to do many many google searches to figure out what is wrong with me. Right now my depression has been getting worse due to my godfather passing away on 2023 new year's and I had to put down my 16 year old cat 2 weeks ago and that has been hitting me hard. I also don't have a job sadly to keep me busy and I don't have too many friends that live close to me that I can go out and do stuff with(I do still try to talk to them through text tho), but I was thinking on finding some kind of distraction like exercise but I haven't found that motivation on moving forward yet. I did finally set up a therapy appointment for myself but it took a lot of work to even set it up.
I'm kinda just spitting word vomit out right now but one of my coping mechanism is Maladaptive Day Dreaming (which if you don't know what that means is a behavior where a person spends an excessive amount of time daydreaming, often becoming immersed in their imagination) lately I have been stuck in my head a lot making up a bunch of stories and just wishing I could be in my perfect world that I made up and sadly its just making me even more depressed because I know I would never be able to live in that world, like I would imagine myself being a superhero with powers but then I end realizing superpowers will never exist and I end up sad, so basically I was wondering if anyone else has dealt with this before and what you did to make it stop because I want this to stop very badly as with my own self-awareness I can see where our world is a nice place and you can experience a lot of things but I never have the energy or motivation to experience it.
Sorry if this is a lot to read but I'm at my breaking point and I don't know what to do with myself and I really want to make this emptiness inside me to go away, I'm tired of living in a dull boring world.

My mother passed of Cancer in May. I found myself lost. I felt isolated and alone, in a world that was not home. My family had moved to England after they had me, but my father moved back to Japan shortly after, due to falling into a depression brought on by a mixture of homesickness and his inability to find a job. That was thanks to his struggle with speaking English, and no one would hire him. He split with my mother upon moving back, so when she passed, I had no family left.
To honour her memory, and hope to find a sense of peace again, I decided to move back to her home town, Okinoshima, on the Oki Islands (Shimane prefecture). I found myself on a small, private hire boat just a few months later with two others plus the captain and his crew. Each person had a small room with a bed and a nightstand to themselves, but considering the size of our vessel, it seemed as if the bed would burst out of the walls of the room. I spent most of our month long journey in my assigned room, reminiscing and grieving. I loved everything about my mother. She was kind, and loving to all creatures and had an immense love for the ocean - hence why I decided to take a month long boat trip rather than a twenty-one hour plane. Little bit dramatic in hindsight, I know, but I needed a lifestyle break. My mother had always wanted a career in marine biology, but had never made her dream come true for various reasons I won't get into. Mostly familial. Mammals were her favourite, with whales in particular. Even on her death bed she always insisted the nurses let her listen to whale calls to help her rest, but they weren't ordinary whale calls. She once let me listen to her tape when I was little and was struggling to sleep for weeks on end after my parents divorce. The calls had something else in them: a sense of eternity, and a feeling of hope, love and loss all at once. Noises that would put you in a state of solitude, and would wake you feeling as if you had already lived a thousand lives and had just been reborn.
She put the tape in her will; stating that only her child (me), and my children were allowed to listen to the tape. After my children passed, it was to be destroyed. Wishing I had a chance to talk to her about it, I spent most of the first two weeks listening to it over, and over again. It was the only thing that could break me from my grief, even for a split second.
Until the last week on board, when we entered the East Sea. Honestly, I'm not sure what changed, but it was as if I had been splashed awake after a deep sleep. I began to spend every second watching the ocean, right up until we encountered the storm. It wasn't a rough storm, however it was enough to knock our petite boat around, risking the safety of those onboard. We were advised to stay in our cabins, but I refused. A new feeling of peace instilled within my soul, I felt connected to the storm and embraced every drop of rain that touched my skin. With the winds battering our sails, and desperately trying to steer the ship off-course, our captain fought with all his might. Rain felt like gunshots while splashes from the sea were stronger than any man you've ever met. So strong that I was swept overboard.
In a frenzy of waves and desperation I clung onto anything I could, clawing at the railings on the edge of the boat while everyone else shouted, screamed, and ran over desperately, but I slipped. My grip wasn't strong enough and I was tugged beneath the water. I tried everything I could to stay afloat, but every time I got to an arms reach of the surface another current would pull me back under. Adrenaline could only last so long though, and I quickly began to lose all strength within me, submitting to nature's will. I panicked, feeling more fear than I ever had in my entire life, praying to Gods that I didn't even know existed to help me out of this situation. I quickly lost hope, and sinking to the bottom of the ocean, savouring my last breath, all I saw was my mother. The last of my oxygen bubbling up around the imagine of her in her prime. Before chemo. When she was still happy. The light flickered from my eyes and all I could feel was guilt. I became one with the water. It's endlessness and I were all we had. A void of empty nothing. Pressure consumed me on all sides and a ringing sounded throughout my ears - similar to that of a trainline. Any consciousness I had left screamed throughout my head in an attempt to burst my skull.
A school of fish darted past me, and circled back. How deep was I?
I stared around in the deep silence for what seemed like an eternity until a light emerged. Thousand of fish, both tiny and as big as a shark, and following it… a whale. A whale emanating a beautiful blue aura, surrounded by glimmering fish. They swam around me, beginning to rip small chunks out of my skin until the whale urged closer and began to sing. Almost a cry of pain, and the fish darted away. It was a call I recognised, and had grown to love. The call on my mother's tape. As the whale grew ever so closer, and it's figure became clear through the ominously dark waters, I noticed it's skin was transparent, and it contained no organs. All that was visibly solid were its bones. Huge white masses, each one the size of my body. It was terrifyingly beautiful, and though I should've felt fear, I was filled with a sense of comfort. The whale recognised me, as I recognised it. It felt my mother's blood within me, and fought off any aquatic creature that sought out to harm me as I lingered on my last breath. I don't know how I survived for so long. It felt as if time slowed down, or maybe the whale helped me to hold the remaining oxygen with me. I had never been a frequent swimmer, but I knew my mother had dived without oxygen tanks for her whole life. Despite the whales docile behaviour I could tell it was not usually so calm. Gashes lined its skeleton like something from a museum. Cold turned to warmth as the dangerous, unnatural being reached within an arms length from me, and my eyes began to close. Desperately, I took in the scene for the last time, and remembered my mother - my lifeline.
And in that moment the whale changed course towards me. Its bones creaking and cracking as it crashed into me from below. With overwhelming strength, it threw me towards the surface in an effortless flick of its tail, and before I knew it, I was above the current. Waves became less murderous and I found the boat just 20 feet away.
Immediately, the crew spotted me and turned the vessel in my direction. Somehow, I floated with ease until I was heaved on board. The rest of the trip was a blur, and now I write this from my new house. One that feels more like home than England ever did, despite it's many, many flaws. Following in my mother's legacy I took up freediving, searching for the whale every day for 5 months until I almost gave up hope.
Last night I found her. She greeted me like an old friend.

Sooo this is a conversation I see pretty often. And I wanna talk about it.
I’m a gay white man that grew up poor and in the hood of Jacksonville FL.
Growing up in the hood and being surrounded by POC 24/7 I noticed in middle school I didn’t really talk like anyone in my family but I never saw it as a issue. I honestly thought it was normal because of the people I was around. I was never close with my family so I was never I guess, “influenced” by them.
I often would stay with my friends at there homes because of the bad relationship I had with my mother being a racist and alcoholic. It made it hard to be around her especially trying to have my friends over because all my friends were black. So due to this I was just really distant.
In my high school and middle school it was prominently black students I was one of the few white ones. So being around POC 24/7 I feel like it definitely effected the way I communicate. I never noticed that the way I talk could be offensive until somewhat recently. When these conversations online started happening ESPECIALLY with white gay men using AAVE.
Till this day all my friends are black and they never mentioned anything about the way I speak. So I never noticed this could be a problem until I noticed again the conversations online.
I know there’s many YT people who say the same thing I said here about growing up in the hood so that gives them a pass etc.
But I don’t want a pass I just want to be respectful and I don’t want to offend anybody.
This was very messy tbh but I’d really love feedback.

I spend all of my daylight hours scared and alone in this musty old cellar.
It’s woeful, and I bet it smelled this bad even before everything around here turned to crap. Great. My second sentence and I’ve already resorted to swearing. When I decided I’d start this diary (five minutes ago when I got a tiny sliver of signal) I thought it would be my poetic and deeply-moving goodbye to the world. Maybe I’d write about love and loss, or maybe the splendour of nature. Then, when all is done and dusted, I’d have left something to be remembered by. As well as my corpse, of course.
This was a bad idea.
*
Okay, I’m an idiot. There’s nothing else I can do down here. I’ve rooted through every cardboard box a hundred times, organised and reorganised my supplies, I’ve even built a fort. So, I’m back. Hello. Again. God, this diary is going badly.
But there’s just enough light coming through the boards I nailed over the cellar’s tiny window to type by. So I may as well type. Stops me staring up at the window just waiting for a shadow to pass by.
Maybe I'll just write and not hit Submit. Right, where to start? Well, my name is – actually, I think I’m going to refer to myself as ‘X’. That sounds mysterious. If you’re reading this and want to know my real name, I still carry my purse. My railcard is in there and, if you really want to know who I am, go find me and fish it out. I won’t bite...
So, my name is X. I live in a little English village in the middle of nowhere. Before all this happened, I had a mum, a dad, a sister and there was a boy I liked, his name was Jonah.
*
I couldn’t think of anything else to write so I waited until I came back from my rounds. That’s the stupid name I have for when I go outside at night scrounging for stuff. Drinks are the hardest. I only trust bottles or cans, or did, and I was running out of places to search for them. But I guess that doesn’t matter now.
My leg is doing alright actually; didn’t hold me up at all. I saw Jonah too. He’s looked better, I have to say. It’s strange because this is only the second time I’ve seen him since we came here. Maybe his ears were burning.
Anyway, I found some tinned pineapple in a creepy old caravan I hadn’t searched yet. Had to bust the door open with Old Trusty – which I thought might attract some unwanted attention – but it was fine. I’m actually eating the pineapple right now, tastes good. I also found a radio in there. I already have three down here, but none of them work. Not that the caravan radio works either, all you get is static. It’s just nice to collect something. You know, to have a hobby.
*
I can tell the sun is rising. I managed to sleep for a couple of hours, but I woke up after a bad dream. I know some people can remember their dreams, but I never do. I wake up and grasp at them, but I never manage a hold before they fade away. It’s like trying to pinch the corner of a wisp of smoke; the harder you try, the quicker it fades to nothing. I’m just left with a sensation, a kind of imprint which sums up the most intense part of the dream.
And a cold sweat. That’s new.
*
I’ve been through the box of photo albums I found at the back of the cellar again. I’ve looked through them a few times now, but I always notice something new.
There’s a photo of this little girl playing with a pretend guitar. I can tell it’s pretend because it doesn’t have strings, only brightly-coloured plastic dials. Kind of like My First Guitar Hero or something. The girl has dark hair and she looks a tiny bit like my sister did a million years ago. I don’t have a picture of my sister. I suppose I could go and get one from my old house, but it’s right in the middle of the village. I’m lucky I wasn’t torn to shreds the last time I went back. So, what I’ve done is put this girl’s photo in my back pocket as a substitute.
I guess I should probably write something about my real sister now. But I don’t think that’s a good idea just yet.
*
Daylight is starting to fade and I’m getting ready to go out on my rounds. I always take my satchel with me, packed with useful objects. I have Old Trusty (a crowbar) which sticks out of the top for easy access, a small toolbox, a pair of heavy-duty gloves (there’s a good story about how I got those, I might write that one down later) and a hammer. I carry a penknife I found down here in my pocket, my purse and phone, and a torch in my hand.
I don’t like to use the torch because its battery is running out and there’s always the chance it might attract them. I probably shouldn’t have used it last night when I got back. Maybe I’m starting to enjoy this writing malarkey? I need to be careful with luxuries.
*
Okay, that could have gone better.
Picture the scene: I’m using Old Trusty to try and lever a kitchen window open, when one of them just walks right through the garden hedge. Seriously, straight through it. It’s not the mightiest of hedges but, still, it just appeared like it was walking through one of those Japanese paper walls. My satchel was on the ground, but I legged it anyway. I’m not stupid. I know I can go back for it tomorrow. I felt strangely naked without it on the way back here though.
Like I said before, I need to be careful with the torch so I think I’ll try and get some sleep now.
*
I slept pretty well last night; no nightmares or cold sweats. Maybe a midnight chase was just what I needed to blow away the cobwebs.
I actually woke up wondering about you. If you’re reading this, who are you? If you’re like me, living through this village nightmare, how have you managed to go this long without being killed or whatever? Maybe you’re Army or some such. Maybe you’re just some kid who’s played so many videogames that surviving all of this was already second nature to you. Or maybe you’re like me; living on borrowed time and searching for a good place to die. Maybe Future Me was brave enough to tap Submit on my diary and you're currently reading this on your phone or computer.
Here’s an idea. Maybe you can carry on this diary from wherever I left it at. God, I really hope this isn’t my last entry, although I suppose any entry might be. If you do carry the diary forwards, and I'm a corpse, maybe it will become cursed. Spooky.
*
I’ve been preparing for my next excursion.
If I know I’m going somewhere I’ll likely run into an ugly, I like to take extra precautions. And I want my satchel back. It was a present from my dad, and I know it cost him a lot of money.
So, I’m taking a pair of shears from the shelf of old tools down here. That way, if I lose Old Trusty, I’ll have a backup weapon.
If you are local, I wonder how you like to kill them? Pretty morbid question I know, but everyone around here seems to have their preferred method. The last villager I saw alive carried a pair of mini cricket bats and seemed to have bludgeoning down to an art form. He never saw me though, I was watching from a grove of trees as he killed his way along the main road near the village.
That was before I decided to stay inside during the daylight hours. We can at least see a little bit at night; ambient light and everything. They can’t though. I’ve seen them, they bump into things. It’s pretty funny to be honest. If they hear a noise, they walk in the direction of the sound, never trying to avoid any object in their path. They either bash said object out of the way, or, like that hedge, blunder right through it. Obviously bigger things stop them dead (ha!) though. If that happens, they sort of shuffle backwards and then try again a few times. Eventually – and I’ve seen this too – they just give up and stand there, waiting for something else to attract their attention.
That’s not how it works in the daytime though.
*
I think it’s about an hour before the sun sets so it’s nearly time to head out. I’m going to change my bandage. One minute.
Okay, it didn’t look that bad really. The original scratch wasn’t too deep and now the wound seems to be doing that scabbing thing I remember from normal injuries. It just doesn’t smell very good. A bit like when you walk past a bin that needs emptying.
Anyway, I’ve applied more antiseptic and redressed it. Time to go.
*
That was fun. I’m glad I had those shears with me.
I got my satchel back you’ll be happy to know. And I got inside that house I’d been trying to break into as well. More through necessity than choice in the end, but I’m pleased I did. I found more batteries! That means I can justify writing at night a bit more. In fact, the people who used to live there (I think the husband owned the local garage) were pretty well kitted out. There were a lot of tins in their cupboards, and they’d even left a shotgun. It wasn’t loaded though.
Not that I need a shotgun. I didn’t tell you this before, but I have my grandpa’s old service revolver. He always told me and my sister that it was decommissioned, but my dad apparently knew otherwise. I keep it tucked into the back of my jeans at all times. It had three bullets, one of them is gone, so only two left.
I’ll only be needing the one of course.
*
Morning. I’m feeling pretty low today. I think concentrating on getting my satchel back took my mind off things, but now I feel pretty deflated.
Surely that’s understandable? The village I knew and loved has been replaced with this sodding hell. I miss my family, my friends, TV and hot dinners and Instagram. Before all of this I was a pretty positive person. Sure, I had a bit of trouble getting up in the morning, but, once I was up, that was it. I’d meet the day’s challenges head on, try to enjoy myself as much as I could. Not today though.
Maybe if I write about Jonah I’ll cheer up. Not Jonah as he is now of course, Jonah when he was all smooth-skinned, curly-haired and bright-eyed. Now he’s like the anti-Jonah or something. His face looks like it lost a fight with an angry lobster. No, wait, I’m supposed to be writing about Jonah version one here.
He’s one of those people that I can’t remember meeting. My family has always lived around here and so there are lots of people who have just always been, if you get me. I always thought we would drunkenly get it together at a party – that’s what I’d usually do if there was a boy I liked. Classy.
*
I’ve perked up a bit. Out of sheer frustration I went upstairs (naughty, I know) and looked out of a window. Sure, I saw an ugly, wandering aimlessly as they always do, but I saw that the trees are starting to turn too. That means it’s nearly autumn, and I love autumn!
My sister and I always used to go out and kick leaves at each other in the autumn. I don’t know if it was because of her low centre of gravity, but my sister was amazing at it. She could somehow whip up a blazing whirlwind of golden-yellow and fire-red, surrounding us both in a leaf storm that I couldn’t help but flail my arms madly at. Then we’d both fall backwards into the leaves laughing, me wondering how on earth what had happened was possible. She was that good.
God, I let her down in the end.
*
I think I’ll stay away from the house with the shotgun tonight. It usually takes a day or two for a group of uglies to disperse once they’re all riled up. I could use the rest of that tinned food I suppose, but I’ve got plenty to be getting on with for now.
Instead, I think I’ll swing by another farmhouse I was scoping out before I decided to turn nocturnal. I never met the people who used to live there, but I remember Mum telling me they liked their privacy. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind me visiting now though.
Also, there’s a woodland between here and there and I might be able to find some leaves to kick about a bit. I think that would make me feel close to my sister again.
I’ll check back in later.
*
I’m still alive, but only just.
I made it through the woods just fine (only the odd leaf on the forest floor at the moment though, sadly), the trouble started at the farmhouse. I couldn’t get in – the doors and windows were barricaded – so I tried one of the outbuildings. Locked. It had a cat flap though.
My first instinct was to leave it, but then I wondered if there might be something useful inside. Lord knows what thinking about it now. I lifted the cat flap with one hand and shone the torch beam through with my other. That’s when an ugly dived at my pinkies. Luckily, it misjudged its leap and got a mouthful of plastic cat flap instead. As for me, I fell backwards onto my bum.
Next, the damn thing started bashing on the door from the inside. I don’t think it could ever have got out, but the noise attracted more uglies from out of nowhere. I only just managed to outmanoeuvre them and hightail it back into the woods.
That’s not the worst of it though. On the way back my leg started to hurt. A lot.
*
I woke up this morning and I’m walking with a limp. It’s funny, Dad had a limp when he and Mum died. He was nailing planks of wood across our windows and doors because there was no signal (as per bloody usual) and we thought that what was happening here was probably happening everywhere. It's only recently that I realised this was an isolated, local outbreak. Anyway, Dad dropped the hammer onto his toe, he always was useless at DIY. I think it was only a couple of hours after that when he and Mum were taken.
It was like a wave of death. No, not like, that’s exactly what it was. A hoard of uglies swept through the village, probably originating from the secret research facility in the woods we're not supposed to know about. My sister and I wouldn’t have had a prayer if Mum and Dad hadn’t charged down the first few that got into our house. They gave us just enough time to escape, to run away and leave them to die. My sister was screaming all the way and I had to drag her like she was four again.
She wouldn’t speak to me for a few days after that. I didn’t blame her, I hated myself too. But I would have hated myself even more if I hadn’t done what I did next. On my own, I snuck back into our house with the crowbar I found here. Then I dispatched my parents. I can’t bring myself to type it any other way. It wasn’t like in the movies, I didn’t pound their skulls into mush whilst sobbing, ‘Why?’ over and over again. I just found them, or what was left of them, forced the crowbar through each of their eye sockets, and came straight back here.
Then came the crying.
*
I haven’t told you about the heavy-duty gloves yet, have I?
After I got back from our old house, my sister started speaking to me again. A shared, day-long cry will do that for sisters. Once we felt up to it, we decided to explore the parts of the farmhouse we hadn’t searched yet. All the bedrooms were empty, only a few belongings flung about the place (I suspect the previous tenants left in a hurry). The problem came when we investigated the attic. Once we’d opened the ceiling panel in the upstairs hallway, once we’d pulled the compact staircase down, I went up. My sister stood at the top of the hatchway shining the torch beam over my shoulder. And that’s when it touched me. Terrified, I fell to my left, screaming as the thing came crashing down on top of me. I was yelling things like, ‘Shoot it!’ and, ‘Run!’ but my sister was just laughing her head off. I soon realised that my attacker was in fact a shop-window mannequin.
I think the people who previously lived here must have been arty (or into some seriously freaky stuff) because the mannequin was dressed in scarves, bandannas, ties, watches – loads of things. The rest of the attic was pretty empty but at least we got the mannequin’s gloves.
*
I’m not feeling good at the moment. I’ve got a sore throat and I’ve coughed up blood a couple of times. My leg pain is getting worse too.
I don’t think I’ll go out tonight. I have enough tins left and one of them is a Full English In A Can. Sounds pretty disgusting, but intriguing at the same time. I’ve been saving it for near the end. A sort of consolation prize.
*
There are two mattresses down here. Obviously one is mine, and the other one was my sister’s. After she died, I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it. I don’t have a photo of her, only Guitar Girl’s. Her bed is the only thing of hers I have left. And she didn’t even sleep in it that many times.
*
The tinned Full English was vile! You’ve got to laugh though, what else can you do?
*
I’m crying as I write this. Tears of sorrow, shame and regret.
It happened as we were searching a cottage just off of the main road. We’d used Old Trusty to get inside, and I’d rushed straight into the kitchen to find the food. We’d run out more than a day before and I was famished. My sister followed me into the kitchen, a wide grin on her pretty little face because I was sitting there with an open can of beans. Then one of them came at her from behind. I must have walked right past it on my stupid way to the cupboards. It bit into her neck and blood gushed over the tiles in a torrent. As she yelled out in agony, I leapt up and implanted the crowbar right into the thing’s skull. It crumpled to the floor, but the damage was done.
‘Don’t let me lose myself.’ That was the last thing my sister whispered to me before she passed out. Her wound was much more severe than mine is, and much closer to the brain. That seems to make it quicker. I took grandpa’s revolver from behind my back and blew her brains out.
I buried her in the back garden.
*
After my sister died I went kind of crazy. I took Old Trusty out across the fields and pulverised every ugly I could find. I don’t even remember it that well, it was just, find, kill, find, kill…
We’d only been going out in daylight before then but, in my anger, I carried on through the nights. That’s how I learned about their inability to evade in darkness. Eventually, though, one got me. I found three munching on a dead cow and ran straight at them. Took out the first two easily enough, but the third managed to scratch my leg with a bloody fingernail just before I clobbered it into oblivion. Once I realised its nail had broken the skin, it was like a switch had been flicked inside me. That’s it, I’m dead too. I lost my bloodlust and came back here.
*
If none of this had happened, I think my sister would have eventually gone into medicine. I was doing okay at College but she was top of her class at school. And she had a really kind nature too. She’d never squish any bugs that got trapped in our house; she’d get a glass, scoop the little critter up and seal it inside with a book. Then she’d take it outside and release it, even if it was a wasp.
*
I’ve decided that here’s not the place. I'll hit Submit and then I’m going to do it in those woods I wrote about; consider this diary as my Note. I’ll be able to find a nice spot to sit and look at the trees, some place that's calm and peaceful. I’m going to leave the picture of Guitar Girl in this cellar, she belongs in this house. The tree leaves will remind me of my sister more than any photo ever could anyway.
I guess all that’s left to say is thank you for listening.
I know it’s possible that no one will ever read this, but that’s not really the point is it?
Love,
X
*
Thanks for reading! If you want more from this universe check out The X and Wye Anthology Series
-- Jack
*