But anyways, maybe I’ll talk about grad school more later. There is too much to say, I think.
After the walk with Dena, I watched more videos; including, I think, another Billie Eilish video, although it may have simply been one I had watched around that time.
It was called ‘You Should See Me in a Crown,’ and the video is by Murakami.
It starts with a lime green screen and a white stick figure man, like the ones on bathrooms, whose shoulders tilt so that the left side is lowered and the head rolls to the left.
The it fades to a cartoon Billie with long purple hair and a t-shirt and basketball shorts covered with a pattern of this man, and thick green basketball shoes.
She’s has really oversized blue eyes, and is in a virtual space.
She also wears something metal around her neck, like a chain.
She starts off crouched, and then stands up to sing and dance, and wherever she steps, spider webs show up in the void.
The lyrics are sort of like a darker version of a lot of typical rap boasts about running the streets: “Bite my tongue, bide my time, wearing a warning sign. Wait 'til the world is mine. Visions I vandalize. Cold in my kingdom size. Fell for these ocean eyes.”
When she stands up and starts to dance, she sings “You should see me in a crown. I'm gonna run this nothing town. Watch me make 'em bow one by one by one, one by one by. You should see me in a crown. Your silence is my favorite sound. Watch me make 'em bow one by one by one, one by one by one.”
Then seven dummy people come out of lighted portals in the space, one of which glows red and the rest of which glow white, and the red one has a dummy with a black sweatshirt and a red figure on the back, which becomes distorted to have six arms instead, and she also wears black sweat pants. Putting her arm through the sweatshirt, they show her wearing a large gold ring on the second finger.
As she is doing this, she is singing “Count my cards, watch them fall. Blood on a marble wall I like the way they all scream. Tell me which one is worse: living or dying first. Sleeping inside a hearse. I don't dream. You say: come over baby. I think you're pretty. I'm okay. I'm not your baby, if you think I'm pretty.”
Then a virtual city appears in the space, but it’s all lit green. Then rainbow flowers with bright, fake-looking smiles all grow up in it and look at Billie, who starts to morph into a very distorted-looking spider, which reminds you of the scary one in ‘Toy Story.’
She grows really scraggly teeth, hair, and has something like a skull with eyeballs with colorful concentric circles on it, and she has a really long neck that extends.
She starts eating up some green stick-figure people that are walking around, which are the same as the ones that were on her clothes before, and then barfs them up in this rainbow goo that overflows over all the city, and the rainbow flowers droop down and frown, and are overtaken by the goo.
As this is happening, she is singing the main refrain again.
Then red glowing portals open up, and the six-armed red people emerge, and then the whole body of the ‘Billie spider’ is shown, over a larger red portal.
This video was intended to, and succeeded in, having a very disturbing effect.
I also watched a video of an aria from a Vivaldi cantata, called ‘Cessate, omai Cessate,’ which means ‘cease now cease.’
It was sung by countertenor Andreas Scholl, or at least the version of this I’d heard before was, and the video thumbnail was of a woman in flowing robes and headscarf, reaching out her hand, who looked kind of like the women in Bernini sculptures.
Bernini was an Italian artist of the baroque who tended to make very explicitly sexual sculptures, depicting rapes from mythology such as ‘Apollo and Daphne,’ and ‘Rape of Persephone,’ as well as Catholic subjects with highly sexual context, such as ‘Ecstasy of St. Teresa.’
A photograph of the St. Teresa sculpture was on the cover of the book I had from Peter at one time, “The Catholic Imagination,” and this sculpture was famous for its innovative mixture of materials, like gold to form rays over the two figures; one of whom simply looks like the god Cupid, although the subject is supposedly Christian; and windows above, to create a light effect. In a manner typical of the Italian baroque, the figures look to be flying or suspended in air, with their robes billowing around them
Bernini also designed a number of interior elements for St. Peter’s Bascilica, including a large bronze baldachin that sits in the center which I guess is intended to serve as the altar.
He also designed the window which is above the throne of St. Peter, in the apse, which depicts a dove, and which has gold rays and sculptures all around, made to look like rays and cherubs.
This is a moment when Seraphim would say “Lord have mercy.” And it would be a very good time to say it.

Emma, Leah, Max, and I had always been the closest of pals. We shared laughs and adventures in our tiny village. We spent our day exploring the nearby woods and fields, gathering wildflowers for our mothers, and playing games that only children can understand. We would climb trees, build forts from branches and logs, and collect colorful stones from the creek. When it was too cold or rainy to go outside, we’d stay in one of our homes and play board games or tell stories about a crackling fire.
Our parents were always supportive of our adventures, though they were often worried about us getting into trouble. They’d call us in when it started to get dark, but sometimes we wouldn’t come home until late at night with mud on our shoes and twigs in our hair. We never minded being scolded by them because we knew deep down that they were proud of us.
In the summertime, we’d go swimming in the lake near the town or catch fireflies in warm evenings. We had so much fun together that time seemed to stand still – it felt like each moment lasted forever. On especially hot days, we’d set up a lemonade stand near the village square to raise money for ice cream cones afterward.
On Sundays, after church services ended, we’d all gather at Emma’s house for lunch and then spend lazy afternoons playing tag or hide-and-seek until it was time to go home again. Evenings meant roasting marshmallows over an open fire as we watched shooting stars streak across the night sky above us.
It was a magical childhood filled with love and friendship.
Our little village was a special place, with its cobblestone streets, old-fashioned buildings, and the scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the air. We were blessed to have grown up in such an idyllic setting.
The people of our village were just as special as the place itself. Everyone knew each other and looked out for one another. Neighbors would often stop to chat in the street, or help each other with tasks like shoveling snow or chopping wood. They’d offer kind words of encouragement and support when times got tough, and we all felt their warmth and generosity.
On Saturdays during the summer, the townspeople would gather for a picnic on the village green, bringing homemade dishes to share. We’d eat together under a canopy of trees while listening to fiddle music from local musicians. Afterward, children would run around playing games while adults chatted until it was time to go home again.
These are the memories I cherish most about growing up in our small town – the friendship and kindness that surrounded us every day made it feel like home.
Everything was magical and beautiful until that man came to our town back in the summer of 2008.
***
First of all, our town is pretty boring but we have some occasional events. Every summer, we had a carnival with rides, games, and food stands. There were also occasional circuses that came to town, complete with clowns, acrobats, and colorful tents. On special occasions like holidays or important anniversaries, people from all over the county would come to watch fireworks displays in the village square.
Every autumn, there was an apple festival where local farmers brought in baskets of fruit for sale and we could sample freshly made cider while listening to live music. During the winter months, ice skating shows took place on frozen ponds while sleigh rides wound through the countryside.
In springtime, art exhibits popped up around town displaying works by local artists – it was always exciting to see what new pieces they had created! We’d also have theater performances at the community center showcasing plays written by our own villagers. And of course, there were parades galore throughout the year celebrating different milestones or achievements within our town.
These occasions were always a wonderful part of growing up in our small village – they brought us together as a community and gave us something to look forward to during each season.
That summer, something completely unusual happened. A man referred to as The Stone Master, whose true identity remained a mystery, built elaborate castles and sculptures out of stones in the country.
The long description of the brochure I was holding contained the following information:
"Attention all art lovers! After Nevada, a stunning stone castle with intricate sculptures is coming to your town in just a few days. Witness the incredible skill and craftsmanship of The Stone Master as he builds this magnificent structure in just three days! Don't miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see Gargoyle Grove, his beautiful creation comes to life before your very eyes. Mark your calendars and make sure to visit us at [location - I would rather not share it] from May 25 2008 to see the castle in all its glory. See you there!"
I found it hard to accept that the whole stone castle with all the intricate sculptures would be built in just three days. Such a task seemed impossible.
Max spread open the brochure on the sidewalk and his eyes lit up with excitement. “Look at these photos! Can you believe it?"We have to go," he said as his finger trailed over the image of a castle made out of stone on an area of 1500 square meters.
I peered over his shoulder, disbelief painted across my face. “We can go, but that's impossible. There's no way someone can build that,” I said, skeptically.
Emma and Leah leaned in, listening intently as we discussed our plan - to see the arrival of the Stone Master the next day. We couldn't wait to see Gargoyle Grove!
***
The next day, we arrived at the site of the exhibit early in the morning. Our town provided the sculptor with a temporary area where he could build up his castle. It was actually a rocky area near town. The place was littered with large stones and boulders, ranging in size from pebbles to boulders the size of cars. The terrain was uneven and rugged, with sharp ridges or loose pebbles in some places. The colors varied from earthy browns to deep reds and grays. There were pockets of trees and shrubs scattered throughout the area, providing a stark contrast to the surrounding rocky environment. The area was barren and desolate, the only sound was a faint whisper of wind.
As we approached the place, we noticed a small group of people gathered around a large truck with a tarp covering its contents.
Then, as if on cue, the man himself emerged from the crowd and stepped up onto the platform in front of us. He was tall and broad-shouldered with an air of confidence about him. His eyes were sharp and his hands were calloused from years of hard work carving stone. He held out his hands to us, beckoning us closer, and we all moved forward eagerly to get a better look at him.
The Stone Master then proceeded to unload his supplies from the truck - various stones and tools for sculpting them into works of art.
Max stared in disbelief at the pile of huge stones that the master was unloading from his truck.
"So...you are planning to build up a whole stone castle in three days by carving out these huge rocks?" He asked skeptically.
"That is right, boy!" The master replied, his voice deep and mellow."How will you do that?" Max demanded, his curiosity piqued.
"That is something that you will not see," The man replied, throwing a thick tarpaulin over the stones with one quick movement."What do you mean?" Max asked, and the master gave an enigmatic smile. "Whenever I go to a place, I am always covered by these huge tarps during the night, so nobody can see me how I work."Meanwhile, huge black tarps were being pulled up all over the area so nobody could see what was going on behind them. Even the local journalists were not allowed to film behind those tarps.
Max raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Really? And what if someone manages to take a peek?”
The man's expression grew stern and he leaned forward. “I strongly warn anyone who even thinks of doing such a thing not to try it.” His menacing and deep voice rumbled through the air.
I don't know why but at that moment, terror filled the air as we stared at the man. Our hearts beat faster, and I could feel the sweat on my palms. My voice quivered as I spoke, “Okay guys, let's get out of here. See you in three days then, Mr Stone Master!” I took my friends by the hands and pulled them towards the road, not daring to look back.
***
The next morning, the sun rose over the horizon, and with it came a feeling of mystery and anticipation. We all gathered around the area again, wondering what was happening behind those black tarps. We anticipated cranes or heavy machinery of some kind, but none were present.
The crowd of onlookers became increasingly impressed as they watched the event, however, there was nothing to see.
After an hour, he addressed the curious crowd and said,
'Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm giving you a taste of my work!'
Suddenly, a loud noise made us all jump. We looked up to see the tarps being removed and the Stone Master standing in front of us with a proud look on his face. We all gasped in awe as we saw what he had created overnight - an intricately carved stone castle that was breathtakingly beautiful! He had worked with incredible skill and precision, creating delicate designs and patterns all over the walls. However, the castle was not complete yet.
The castle still had several unfinished features, such as incomplete turrets, missing staircases, and large bare patches on the walls that have yet to be filled in with intricate carvings. Some towers were jutted outwards and gaps in the masonry. The carved designs were also incomplete, and the ground around the castle was still scattered with pieces of rubble and broken stones. Many of the sculptures remained unfinished and without details, with some having only basic outlines and shapes. The surfaces of these sculptures were left rough and jagged, with uneven edges and inconsistencies. Pieces of the stone were broken off or missing entirely, evidence of their incomplete state. Despite this, the beauty of the structure was still obvious and served as a testament to the Stone Master's skill.
Some onlookers even offered to help when the man but he politely declined their offers, insisting that he wanted to finish this project alone - a testament to his years of hard work and dedication but we did not believe it.
He was keeping something secret while the urge to know what it was kept growing stronger.
Max couldn't take it anymore, his face contorting with determination. He turned to us, his voice pleading like a desperate plea for mercy.
'I can't bear not knowing what he's up to! We have to sneak into his place tonight!'
As Max's eyes scanned their faces, the girls began to nod, eyes twinkling with excitement. Cheers of agreement and enthusiasm filled the air.
I stood rooted to the ground, mesmerized by the intricate architecture of the castle but too scared to come any closer. I just wanted to stay and simply admire the beauty of the castle from afar when it would be finished.
'It's too risky!' I said, trying to talk them out of it. We don't know what we're getting into.'
Max's voice was loud, insistent, and almost coming as he spoke to me. He held his hands on his hips and leaned in close as if daring me to join them.
'Oh come on Mark, don't be such a pussy! We should all go together to explore it!'
'No, I don't want to go. I have bad feelings about it.' I stepped back, shaking my head.
Max straightened up and set his jaw.
'Fine. Then we go without you. Tonight. If you changed your mind, you can call me at 10.'
His words echoed like a challenge in the stillness.
As they left, I watched them with a heavy heart; part of me wanted to join them on their adventure but a bigger part of me knew that it was too dangerous for us to take such risks.
***
It had been all evening that I had been struggling with indecision as to whether I should call Max or not. Half of me wanted to go while the other half wanted to stay. My curiosity about the unknown man was consuming me. I sit in my room in silence, mulling over the mysterious man and his project. Who was he? Where did he come from? How did he learn such an intricate craft? What was the purpose of this castle and what secrets were hidden within its walls?
Needless to say that I was so excited that I could not sleep that night. I was tempted to call them a few times but I did not want to get them in trouble in case their phones were not muted.
Instead, I just sent them an SMS message:
So? What's up? Did you go? On pins and needles! :D
And then I waited. And waited. But eventually, I dozed off.
The following morning, as soon as I awoke, I grabbed my phone and glanced at the time. It was 8 o'clock, so I knew that it was too early to reach out to any of my pals. Nevertheless, I couldn't contain my enthusiasm and I made the call anyway. What's the worst that could happen? I'd only wake them up from their slumber, so what?
I called Max first.
The person you have called is currently unavailable.
Well, he must have been sleeping, I supposed. Then I called Leah.
The person you have called is currently unavailable.
That was a bit odd, but I still had Emma to call.
The same message.
Now that was more than odd. Or was that possible that they were all sleeping? Did I just overreact? I decided to wait.
I spent the day waiting for their call, but nothing.
The metallic trill of the telephone echoed through the house just before noon and I tensed, recognizing the distinct sound of my mum's voice. I waited with bated breath, hoping against hope that it was not the call I was expecting. Then I heard it—the one name that sent chills down my spine: Ann, Max’s mother.
She called up to me from the first floor.
'Have you seen Max?'
'Nope, not at all.'
'Do you have any idea where they might be?'
'No, I don't,' I lied.
I descended the stairs to the kitchen, where I found my mother washing dishes. With a concerned expression on her face, she told me, 'Max is missing and his mother is worried.' Later, when Leah and Emma's mothers called us, we heard the same worried tone in their messages.
At that moment I decided that I needed to take matters into my own hands. I was not going to just sit around and wait for them to come back; I was going to march up to the mysterious man's castle, disregarding my own safety, and find out more about his project.
***
When I arrived at the exhibit, two security men were blocking my way.
I rushed to the entrance of the castle, hopeful to find my friends. I approached a burly guard standing behind an iron gate, his intimidating stance blocking my way, the tarp was pulled up.
'I am looking for my friends!' I said.
'No one is allowed inside the castle. I suggest you turn back and return home. Come back, when the master's work is complete.' the guard said, shaking his head, denying my request.
'Please, sir. I need to find my friends. They've been missing for days and I believe they may be inside the castle. Can you please let me in?' I begged, my voice shaking with worry.
'I'm sorry, but I cannot allow it. The castle is off-limits to outsiders while the master is working on it.' the guard said.
'I understand that, but I promise I won't cause any trouble. I just need answers about my friends. Please, let me in.'
'I'm sorry, but I cannot. No one is allowed to enter the castle.'
The guard's words left me stunned and heartbroken. I had no choice but to turn back and leave without any answers or clues about my friends. As I walked away, I looked up at the castle one last time, wondering what secrets lay behind its walls and why the mysterious man was so determined to keep everyone out.
As I began to walk away, I was startled by a deep voice calling out to me. I spun around to see a man holding a chisel and a hammer, his face hidden by the shadows of an orange tarp. His figure was framed by an enormous stone wall behind him, and he declared sternly, “Your friends haven't been here!”
I warily took steps towards him, asking skeptically, “Are you sure?” He nodded slowly and replied, “I've posted security guards to make sure no one comes in while I'm working. Even if your friends wanted to enter, they would not be able to.”
He could read the disbelief on my face and offered with a gruffness that belied his kindness,
“Come in and check yourself!” He stepped aside and swept the tarp aside, revealing a narrow entranceway.'Be careful on your way inside.' he said with a gruffness that belied his kindness.
The castle stood tall and imposing, its walls were made of grey stone that had yet to be finished. The entrance was guarded by two huge gargoyles. Their long, sharp claws looked like they could come to life at any moment, ready to strike. They had fierce and scowling faces that seemed to stare down at me Their wings were spread wide, showing an intimidating presence. Inside in the dim light, serpents and other carved figures seemed to come alive, their eyes were staring at me as I passed by. The air was thick with dust from the chisels and hammers of the sculptor working on the unfinished statues and walls, their faces are hidden in the shadows of their black tarps.
'See, there is nobody here,' the sculptor said behind me and encouraged me to take walk inside.
There was a labyrinth made from a wall and I just could not believe one man was capable of building it up in two nights. What kind of black magic was present there, I wondered.
The atmosphere around the sculptures was tense, filled with a sense of dread.
As I was walking among the walls, the sculptures were imposing and intimidating. They had sharp claws, sharp teeth, and beady eyes that seemed to follow me as I was moving around. The figures were grotesque and menacing, with claws and fangs bared as if poised to strike. Some had wings, with feathers and scales that gave them an even more threatening form.
However some of them were still unfinished, and most of them were grotesque and disfigured, depicting demons and monsters with sharp claws and fangs. I felt them real and alive and I just could not wait to get the hell out of there.
Besides these strange feelings, I found nothing out of the ordinary inside the castle, so I decided to say goodbye and thanked the sculptor for his help.
"No problem." - he answered.
I walked back outside, feeling relieved that I had not found any sign of my friends in the castle. As I walked away from the castle, I glanced back one last time at its imposing walls and mysterious sculptures, wondering if there was any truth to what the sculptor said about keeping outsiders away while he worked on it. With a heavy heart, I made my way down the path and left this place behind me.
***
I was tempted to go to the police but I decided against it. After all, if my friends were not there, then nothing would be gained from involving them in this mystery. I just hoped that wherever they were, they were safe and sound.
So I made my way to Max's place, hoping that he would be there. As I arrived at the door, I knocked and waited for an answer. It was opened almost immediately by his mother whose face was drawn and pale.
'Mark? Come inside!'
I went inside and she gestured to a seat in the living room where I could see that his father was also in worry and discussion.
'Max had left two nights prior and hadn't been heard from since. Have you seen him?' - she asked.
The tense atmosphere made the time seem to stretch in a way that felt unending.
I filled her in on the plan my friends had cooked up—entering the castle at night to carry out some kind of plan.
Mrs Baker's face was red and her voice was tight. She leaned forward, her hands clenching the edge of the kitchen counter. "'Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" Her eyes searched my face, waiting for an answer. I looked down, feeling my cheeks flush with shame."I'm sorry, Mrs Baker," I stammered, my throat dry with fear. "I wasn't sure..."
But she did wait for my answer. Instead, she immediately made calls to Leah and Emma's parents, and soon enough the sheriff caught wind of it.
At the same time, I felt guilty for not being there for them, for not being able to protect them from whatever danger may have befallen them. I should have never left my friends alone.
***
The same afternoon, the sheriff approached me at home and began to ask questions.
We were huddled together in the living room, the air filled with an uncomfortable tension. My parents sat on either end of the couch, eyes darting back and forth as if expecting something sinister to appear.
'Tell the truth, Mark!' my father encouraged me.
The sheriff, Luke Grant was tall and broad-shouldered with a stern expression on his face. His presence was intimidating but I answered his questions truthfully, telling him everything that I knew about the situation. I told him about our first visit to the Stone Master, our weird conversation with him, and my friend's plans. However, I did not have any proof that they had gone there or Max was just showing off in front of the girls because I did not talk to them afterward.
He listened intently as I described what had happened, scribbling down notes on a small pad he had brought with him. When I finished my story, he looked up at me with piercing brown eyes and said:
'Well, boy. I dispatched a special team to the castle and we searched the structure. However, there was not much to see besides some walls and carvings. I have to tell you though, that guy is not joking. He is a very good one. But unfortunately, no signs of your friends were seen. The sculptor even allowed my officers to search his truck, yet still, there was no sign of them.' His voice trailed off and he slumped back in his chair in defeat.
'Really?' I said, my confusion clear in my voice.
I knew about a police investigation but I was too scared of going back to the place even with the police team because I was not sure what he might do to me if I showed my face there. I betrayed him and I didn't want to risk facing him again. In the end, I had to consider that I may have been completely wrong and my friends could have gone somewhere else instead. I might have accused that man wrongly.
The sheriff adjusted his hat, lifting one hand to wipe the sweat from his brow as he continued.
'So we began to investigate other potential places where Max, Emma, and Leah could have gone. We interviewed people from the area, asking questions about anyone who had seen anything that might lead them to their whereabouts. We followed up on any leads we got, but still, we came up empty-handed. My men even searched the nearby forests and abandoned buildings, hoping that someone could provide a clue as to where they had gone. Unfortunately, all of our efforts were fruitless.' - the sheriff said and sighed heavily.
He seemed to have lost all his hope, yet still had some strength in him to keep looking for it.
As time passed, I grew increasingly guilt-ridden. I had been the one present when they were discussing going to the stupid castle and now they were missing. My mind was filled with questions and doubts as I replayed our conversation in my head. What if something bad had happened? What if something happened to them on the way there or on the way home instead?
I felt a wave of relief wash over me at his words as he made his way out of the house. He had given me hope that maybe my friends would be found safe and sound after all.
The sheriff said his goodbyes and departed, reminding me to keep in touch. I went back to my bedroom, eager for the next morning and the grand opening of the stone castle. I was hopeful my friends would turn up, but little did I know the day would unfold entirely differently from what I had anticipated.
***
Streamers and banners of various colors waved proudly in the wind, giving a celebratory feel to the occasion. Music played from an old bandstand in the corner, adding to the festive atmosphere. Locals of all ages and genders had gathered to celebrate this momentous occasion, some dressed in traditional costumes and others wearing more modern attire. The towering stone walls of the castle loomed overhead like a majestic sentinel, a reminder of days gone by when castles were a symbol of power and strength.
The castle built by The Stone Master was really intricate and awe-inspiring. Towers and spires reached up to the sky, with detailed carvings in every corner. The castle was intricate and detailed work of art, constructed of a variety of stones in different shapes and sizes. They ranged from small towers with soaring spires to massive fortresses with large courtyards and multiple levels. Some carvings had been left in their natural state to show off the unique patterns and textures of the stones. Many of the castles even featured moats filled with water.
I asked myself again: how the hell could he build this castle in three nights?
The other strange thing was that the Stone Master was nowhere to be seen. I asked a woman where he was.
'Oh, he left. He always leaves after his artwork is done and his creation is a gift to the locals.' - she said.
That was another red flag to me. Anyway, I stepped inside.
The sculptures ranged from abstract art to lifelike figures of animals and people, some of which looked as if they could come to life at any moment. Each one was unique and stood as a testament to the creativity of the artist. Up close, the details of each piece were astounding, with tiny patterns and shapes that captured my imagination.
The weird thing was that none of the sculptures looked as menacing today as they did when I had walked through the walls the day before. Now, the serpents, monsters, and demons seemed more lifeless. Maybe it was because there were so many other people around me: families were strolling nearby, and children were running around in excitement.
As I surveyed the place, something caught my attention. A strange feeling told me to visit the end of a hallway. I followed it and found myself in the hall. It was empty and quiet, with only a few human-like sculptures.
And this room was different.
Their faces had detailed eyes and noses that looked as if they could move. Some of them had body armor, swords, and spears in their hands that added to their intimidating aura. Their eyes were filled with emotion, their hands were clenched as if they were ready to move. The positions they stand in and the intricate clothing they wear make them look like they could come to life at any moment.
The sculptures had lifelike features, from the wrinkles in their clothing to the expression on their faces. Some had soft eyes and gentle smiles, while others had stern or even fearful looks. Each one was carved with fine details and exquisite craftsmanship, with intricate lines and curves that enhanced the realism of their features.
As if I might have seen them somewhere. Did they remind me of the work of Michelangelo or Bernini?
As I stood there, realization began to dawn on me as to why those three statues felt so familiar. There they were: Max, Emma, and Leah, turned to stone, stilled in time forever.
^More

Emma, Leah, Max, and I had always been the closest of pals. We shared laughs and adventures in our tiny village. We spent our day exploring the nearby woods and fields, gathering wildflowers for our mothers, and playing games that only children can understand. We would climb trees, build forts from branches and logs, and collect colorful stones from the creek. When it was too cold or rainy to go outside, we’d stay in one of our homes and play board games or tell stories about a crackling fire.
Our parents were always supportive of our adventures, though they were often worried about us getting into trouble. They’d call us in when it started to get dark, but sometimes we wouldn’t come home until late at night with mud on our shoes and twigs in our hair. We never minded being scolded by them because we knew deep down that they were proud of us.
In the summertime, we’d go swimming in the lake near the town or catch fireflies in warm evenings. We had so much fun together that time seemed to stand still – it felt like each moment lasted forever. On especially hot days, we’d set up a lemonade stand near the village square to raise money for ice cream cones afterward.
On Sundays, after church services ended, we’d all gather at Emma’s house for lunch and then spend lazy afternoons playing tag or hide-and-seek until it was time to go home again. Evenings meant roasting marshmallows over an open fire as we watched shooting stars streak across the night sky above us.
It was a magical childhood filled with love and friendship.
Our little village was a special place, with its cobblestone streets, old-fashioned buildings, and the scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the air. We were blessed to have grown up in such an idyllic setting.
The people of our village were just as special as the place itself. Everyone knew each other and looked out for one another. Neighbors would often stop to chat in the street, or help each other with tasks like shoveling snow or chopping wood. They’d offer kind words of encouragement and support when times got tough, and we all felt their warmth and generosity.
On Saturdays during the summer, the townspeople would gather for a picnic on the village green, bringing homemade dishes to share. We’d eat together under a canopy of trees while listening to fiddle music from local musicians. Afterward, children would run around playing games while adults chatted until it was time to go home again.
These are the memories I cherish most about growing up in our small town – the friendship and kindness that surrounded us every day made it feel like home.
Everything was magical and beautiful until that man came to our town back in the summer of 2008.
***
First of all, our town is pretty boring but we have some occasional events. Every summer, we had a carnival with rides, games, and food stands. There were also occasional circuses that came to town, complete with clowns, acrobats, and colorful tents. On special occasions like holidays or important anniversaries, people from all over the county would come to watch fireworks displays in the village square.
Every autumn, there was an apple festival where local farmers brought in baskets of fruit for sale and we could sample freshly made cider while listening to live music. During the winter months, ice skating shows took place on frozen ponds while sleigh rides wound through the countryside.
In springtime, art exhibits popped up around town displaying works by local artists – it was always exciting to see what new pieces they had created! We’d also have theater performances at the community center showcasing plays written by our own villagers. And of course, there were parades galore throughout the year celebrating different milestones or achievements within our town.
These occasions were always a wonderful part of growing up in our small village – they brought us together as a community and gave us something to look forward to during each season.
That summer, something completely unusual happened. A man referred to as The Stone Master, whose true identity remained a mystery, built elaborate castles and sculptures out of stones in the country.
The long description of the brochure I was holding contained the following information:
"Attention all art lovers! After Nevada, a stunning stone castle with intricate sculptures is coming to your town in just a few days. Witness the incredible skill and craftsmanship of The Stone Master as he builds this magnificent structure in just three days! Don't miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see Gargoyle Grove, his beautiful creation comes to life before your very eyes. Mark your calendars and make sure to visit us at [location - I would rather not share it] from May 25 2008 to see the castle in all its glory. See you there!"
I found it hard to accept that the whole stone castle with all the intricate sculptures would be built in just three days. Such a task seemed impossible.
Max spread open the brochure on the sidewalk and his eyes lit up with excitement. “Look at these photos! Can you believe it?"We have to go," he said as his finger trailed over the image of a castle made out of stone on an area of 1500 square meters.
I peered over his shoulder, disbelief painted across my face. “We can go, but that's impossible. There's no way someone can build that,” I said, skeptically.
Emma and Leah leaned in, listening intently as we discussed our plan - to see the arrival of the Stone Master the next day. We couldn't wait to see Gargoyle Grove!
***
The next day, we arrived at the site of the exhibit early in the morning. Our town provided the sculptor with a temporary area where he could build up his castle. It was actually a rocky area near town. The place was littered with large stones and boulders, ranging in size from pebbles to boulders the size of cars. The terrain was uneven and rugged, with sharp ridges or loose pebbles in some places. The colors varied from earthy browns to deep reds and grays. There were pockets of trees and shrubs scattered throughout the area, providing a stark contrast to the surrounding rocky environment. The area was barren and desolate, the only sound was a faint whisper of wind.
As we approached the place, we noticed a small group of people gathered around a large truck with a tarp covering its contents.
Then, as if on cue, the man himself emerged from the crowd and stepped up onto the platform in front of us. He was tall and broad-shouldered with an air of confidence about him. His eyes were sharp and his hands were calloused from years of hard work carving stone. He held out his hands to us, beckoning us closer, and we all moved forward eagerly to get a better look at him.
The Stone Master then proceeded to unload his supplies from the truck - various stones and tools for sculpting them into works of art.
Max stared in disbelief at the pile of huge stones that the master was unloading from his truck.
"So...you are planning to build up a whole stone castle in three days by carving out these huge rocks?" He asked skeptically.
"That is right, boy!" The master replied, his voice deep and mellow."How will you do that?" Max demanded, his curiosity piqued.
"That is something that you will not see," The man replied, throwing a thick tarpaulin over the stones with one quick movement."What do you mean?" Max asked, and the master gave an enigmatic smile. "Whenever I go to a place, I am always covered by these huge tarps during the night, so nobody can see me how I work."Meanwhile, huge black tarps were being pulled up all over the area so nobody could see what was going on behind them. Even the local journalists were not allowed to film behind those tarps.
Max raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Really? And what if someone manages to take a peek?”
The man's expression grew stern and he leaned forward. “I strongly warn anyone who even thinks of doing such a thing not to try it.” His menacing and deep voice rumbled through the air.
I don't know why but at that moment, terror filled the air as we stared at the man. Our hearts beat faster, and I could feel the sweat on my palms. My voice quivered as I spoke, “Okay guys, let's get out of here. See you in three days then, Mr Stone Master!” I took my friends by the hands and pulled them towards the road, not daring to look back.
***
The next morning, the sun rose over the horizon, and with it came a feeling of mystery and anticipation. We all gathered around the area again, wondering what was happening behind those black tarps. We anticipated cranes or heavy machinery of some kind, but none were present.
The crowd of onlookers became increasingly impressed as they watched the event, however, there was nothing to see.
After an hour, he addressed the curious crowd and said,
'Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm giving you a taste of my work!'
Suddenly, a loud noise made us all jump. We looked up to see the tarps being removed and the Stone Master standing in front of us with a proud look on his face. We all gasped in awe as we saw what he had created overnight - an intricately carved stone castle that was breathtakingly beautiful! He had worked with incredible skill and precision, creating delicate designs and patterns all over the walls. However, the castle was not complete yet.
The castle still had several unfinished features, such as incomplete turrets, missing staircases, and large bare patches on the walls that have yet to be filled in with intricate carvings. Some towers were jutted outwards and gaps in the masonry. The carved designs were also incomplete, and the ground around the castle was still scattered with pieces of rubble and broken stones. Many of the sculptures remained unfinished and without details, with some having only basic outlines and shapes. The surfaces of these sculptures were left rough and jagged, with uneven edges and inconsistencies. Pieces of the stone were broken off or missing entirely, evidence of their incomplete state. Despite this, the beauty of the structure was still obvious and served as a testament to the Stone Master's skill.
Some onlookers even offered to help when the man but he politely declined their offers, insisting that he wanted to finish this project alone - a testament to his years of hard work and dedication but we did not believe it.
He was keeping something secret while the urge to know what it was kept growing stronger.
Max couldn't take it anymore, his face contorting with determination. He turned to us, his voice pleading like a desperate plea for mercy.
'I can't bear not knowing what he's up to! We have to sneak into his place tonight!'
As Max's eyes scanned their faces, the girls began to nod, eyes twinkling with excitement. Cheers of agreement and enthusiasm filled the air.
I stood rooted to the ground, mesmerized by the intricate architecture of the castle but too scared to come any closer. I just wanted to stay and simply admire the beauty of the castle from afar when it would be finished.
'It's too risky!' I said, trying to talk them out of it. We don't know what we're getting into.'
Max's voice was loud, insistent, and almost coming as he spoke to me. He held his hands on his hips and leaned in close as if daring me to join them.
'Oh come on Mark, don't be such a pussy! We should all go together to explore it!'
'No, I don't want to go. I have bad feelings about it.' I stepped back, shaking my head.
Max straightened up and set his jaw.
'Fine. Then we go without you. Tonight. If you changed your mind, you can call me at 10.'
His words echoed like a challenge in the stillness.
As they left, I watched them with a heavy heart; part of me wanted to join them on their adventure but a bigger part of me knew that it was too dangerous for us to take such risks.
***
It had been all evening that I had been struggling with indecision as to whether I should call Max or not. Half of me wanted to go while the other half wanted to stay. My curiosity about the unknown man was consuming me. I sit in my room in silence, mulling over the mysterious man and his project. Who was he? Where did he come from? How did he learn such an intricate craft? What was the purpose of this castle and what secrets were hidden within its walls?
Needless to say that I was so excited that I could not sleep that night. I was tempted to call them a few times but I did not want to get them in trouble in case their phones were not muted.
Instead, I just sent them an SMS message:
So? What's up? Did you go? On pins and needles! :D
And then I waited. And waited. But eventually, I dozed off.
The following morning, as soon as I awoke, I grabbed my phone and glanced at the time. It was 8 o'clock, so I knew that it was too early to reach out to any of my pals. Nevertheless, I couldn't contain my enthusiasm and I made the call anyway. What's the worst that could happen? I'd only wake them up from their slumber, so what?
I called Max first.
The person you have called is currently unavailable.
Well, he must have been sleeping, I supposed. Then I called Leah.
The person you have called is currently unavailable.
That was a bit odd, but I still had Emma to call.
The same message.
Now that was more than odd. Or was that possible that they were all sleeping? Did I just overreact? I decided to wait.
I spent the day waiting for their call, but nothing.
The metallic trill of the telephone echoed through the house just before noon and I tensed, recognizing the distinct sound of my mum's voice. I waited with bated breath, hoping against hope that it was not the call I was expecting. Then I heard it—the one name that sent chills down my spine: Ann, Max’s mother.
She called up to me from the first floor.
'Have you seen Max?'
'Nope, not at all.'
'Do you have any idea where they might be?'
'No, I don't,' I lied.
I descended the stairs to the kitchen, where I found my mother washing dishes. With a concerned expression on her face, she told me, 'Max is missing and his mother is worried.' Later, when Leah and Emma's mothers called us, we heard the same worried tone in their messages.
At that moment I decided that I needed to take matters into my own hands. I was not going to just sit around and wait for them to come back; I was going to march up to the mysterious man's castle, disregarding my own safety, and find out more about his project.
***
When I arrived at the exhibit, two security men were blocking my way.
I rushed to the entrance of the castle, hopeful to find my friends. I approached a burly guard standing behind an iron gate, his intimidating stance blocking my way, the tarp was pulled up.
'I am looking for my friends!' I said.
'No one is allowed inside the castle. I suggest you turn back and return home. Come back, when the master's work is complete.' the guard said, shaking his head, denying my request.
'Please, sir. I need to find my friends. They've been missing for days and I believe they may be inside the castle. Can you please let me in?' I begged, my voice shaking with worry.
'I'm sorry, but I cannot allow it. The castle is off-limits to outsiders while the master is working on it.' the guard said.
'I understand that, but I promise I won't cause any trouble. I just need answers about my friends. Please, let me in.'
'I'm sorry, but I cannot. No one is allowed to enter the castle.'
The guard's words left me stunned and heartbroken. I had no choice but to turn back and leave without any answers or clues about my friends. As I walked away, I looked up at the castle one last time, wondering what secrets lay behind its walls and why the mysterious man was so determined to keep everyone out.
As I began to walk away, I was startled by a deep voice calling out to me. I spun around to see a man holding a chisel and a hammer, his face hidden by the shadows of an orange tarp. His figure was framed by an enormous stone wall behind him, and he declared sternly, “Your friends haven't been here!”
I warily took steps towards him, asking skeptically, “Are you sure?” He nodded slowly and replied, “I've posted security guards to make sure no one comes in while I'm working. Even if your friends wanted to enter, they would not be able to.”
He could read the disbelief on my face and offered with a gruffness that belied his kindness,
“Come in and check yourself!” He stepped aside and swept the tarp aside, revealing a narrow entranceway.'Be careful on your way inside.' he said with a gruffness that belied his kindness.
The castle stood tall and imposing, its walls were made of grey stone that had yet to be finished. The entrance was guarded by two huge gargoyles. Their long, sharp claws looked like they could come to life at any moment, ready to strike. They had fierce and scowling faces that seemed to stare down at me Their wings were spread wide, showing an intimidating presence. Inside in the dim light, serpents and other carved figures seemed to come alive, their eyes were staring at me as I passed by. The air was thick with dust from the chisels and hammers of the sculptor working on the unfinished statues and walls, their faces are hidden in the shadows of their black tarps.
'See, there is nobody here,' the sculptor said behind me and encouraged me to take walk inside.
There was a labyrinth made from a wall and I just could not believe one man was capable of building it up in two nights. What kind of black magic was present there, I wondered.
The atmosphere around the sculptures was tense, filled with a sense of dread.
As I was walking among the walls, the sculptures were imposing and intimidating. They had sharp claws, sharp teeth, and beady eyes that seemed to follow me as I was moving around. The figures were grotesque and menacing, with claws and fangs bared as if poised to strike. Some had wings, with feathers and scales that gave them an even more threatening form.
However some of them were still unfinished, and most of them were grotesque and disfigured, depicting demons and monsters with sharp claws and fangs. I felt them real and alive and I just could not wait to get the hell out of there.
Besides these strange feelings, I found nothing out of the ordinary inside the castle, so I decided to say goodbye and thanked the sculptor for his help.
"No problem." - he answered.
I walked back outside, feeling relieved that I had not found any sign of my friends in the castle. As I walked away from the castle, I glanced back one last time at its imposing walls and mysterious sculptures, wondering if there was any truth to what the sculptor said about keeping outsiders away while he worked on it. With a heavy heart, I made my way down the path and left this place behind me.
***
I was tempted to go to the police but I decided against it. After all, if my friends were not there, then nothing would be gained from involving them in this mystery. I just hoped that wherever they were, they were safe and sound.
So I made my way to Max's place, hoping that he would be there. As I arrived at the door, I knocked and waited for an answer. It was opened almost immediately by his mother whose face was drawn and pale.
'Mark? Come inside!'
I went inside and she gestured to a seat in the living room where I could see that his father was also in worry and discussion.
'Max had left two nights prior and hadn't been heard from since. Have you seen him?' - she asked.
The tense atmosphere made the time seem to stretch in a way that felt unending.
I filled her in on the plan my friends had cooked up—entering the castle at night to carry out some kind of plan.
Mrs Baker's face was red and her voice was tight. She leaned forward, her hands clenching the edge of the kitchen counter. "'Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" Her eyes searched my face, waiting for an answer. I looked down, feeling my cheeks flush with shame."I'm sorry, Mrs Baker," I stammered, my throat dry with fear. "I wasn't sure..."
But she did wait for my answer. Instead, she immediately made calls to Leah and Emma's parents, and soon enough the sheriff caught wind of it.
At the same time, I felt guilty for not being there for them, for not being able to protect them from whatever danger may have befallen them. I should have never left my friends alone.
***
The same afternoon, the sheriff approached me at home and began to ask questions.
We were huddled together in the living room, the air filled with an uncomfortable tension. My parents sat on either end of the couch, eyes darting back and forth as if expecting something sinister to appear.
'Tell the truth, Mark!' my father encouraged me.
The sheriff, Luke Grant was tall and broad-shouldered with a stern expression on his face. His presence was intimidating but I answered his questions truthfully, telling him everything that I knew about the situation. I told him about our first visit to the Stone Master, our weird conversation with him, and my friend's plans. However, I did not have any proof that they had gone there or Max was just showing off in front of the girls because I did not talk to them afterward.
He listened intently as I described what had happened, scribbling down notes on a small pad he had brought with him. When I finished my story, he looked up at me with piercing brown eyes and said:
'Well, boy. I dispatched a special team to the castle and we searched the structure. However, there was not much to see besides some walls and carvings. I have to tell you though, that guy is not joking. He is a very good one. But unfortunately, no signs of your friends were seen. The sculptor even allowed my officers to search his truck, yet still, there was no sign of them.' His voice trailed off and he slumped back in his chair in defeat.
'Really?' I said, my confusion clear in my voice.
I knew about a police investigation but I was too scared of going back to the place even with the police team because I was not sure what he might do to me if I showed my face there. I betrayed him and I didn't want to risk facing him again. In the end, I had to consider that I may have been completely wrong and my friends could have gone somewhere else instead. I might have accused that man wrongly.
The sheriff adjusted his hat, lifting one hand to wipe the sweat from his brow as he continued.
'So we began to investigate other potential places where Max, Emma, and Leah could have gone. We interviewed people from the area, asking questions about anyone who had seen anything that might lead them to their whereabouts. We followed up on any leads we got, but still, we came up empty-handed. My men even searched the nearby forests and abandoned buildings, hoping that someone could provide a clue as to where they had gone. Unfortunately, all of our efforts were fruitless.' - the sheriff said and sighed heavily.
He seemed to have lost all his hope, yet still had some strength in him to keep looking for it.
As time passed, I grew increasingly guilt-ridden. I had been the one present when they were discussing going to the stupid castle and now they were missing. My mind was filled with questions and doubts as I replayed our conversation in my head. What if something bad had happened? What if something happened to them on the way there or on the way home instead?
I felt a wave of relief wash over me at his words as he made his way out of the house. He had given me hope that maybe my friends would be found safe and sound after all.
The sheriff said his goodbyes and departed, reminding me to keep in touch. I went back to my bedroom, eager for the next morning and the grand opening of the stone castle. I was hopeful my friends would turn up, but little did I know the day would unfold entirely differently from what I had anticipated.
***
Streamers and banners of various colors waved proudly in the wind, giving a celebratory feel to the occasion. Music played from an old bandstand in the corner, adding to the festive atmosphere. Locals of all ages and genders had gathered to celebrate this momentous occasion, some dressed in traditional costumes and others wearing more modern attire. The towering stone walls of the castle loomed overhead like a majestic sentinel, a reminder of days gone by when castles were a symbol of power and strength.
The castle built by The Stone Master was really intricate and awe-inspiring. Towers and spires reached up to the sky, with detailed carvings in every corner. The castle was intricate and detailed work of art, constructed of a variety of stones in different shapes and sizes. They ranged from small towers with soaring spires to massive fortresses with large courtyards and multiple levels. Some carvings had been left in their natural state to show off the unique patterns and textures of the stones. Many of the castles even featured moats filled with water.
I asked myself again: how the hell could he build this castle in three nights?
The other strange thing was that the Stone Master was nowhere to be seen. I asked a woman where he was.
'Oh, he left. He always leaves after his artwork is done and his creation is a gift to the locals.' - she said.
That was another red flag to me. Anyway, I stepped inside.
The sculptures ranged from abstract art to lifelike figures of animals and people, some of which looked as if they could come to life at any moment. Each one was unique and stood as a testament to the creativity of the artist. Up close, the details of each piece were astounding, with tiny patterns and shapes that captured my imagination.
The weird thing was that none of the sculptures looked as menacing today as they did when I had walked through the walls the day before. Now, the serpents, monsters, and demons seemed more lifeless. Maybe it was because there were so many other people around me: families were strolling nearby, and children were running around in excitement.
As I surveyed the place, something caught my attention. A strange feeling told me to visit the end of a hallway. I followed it and found myself in the hall. It was empty and quiet, with only a few human-like sculptures.
And this room was different.
Their faces had detailed eyes and noses that looked as if they could move. Some of them had body armor, swords, and spears in their hands that added to their intimidating aura. Their eyes were filled with emotion, their hands were clenched as if they were ready to move. The positions they stand in and the intricate clothing they wear make them look like they could come to life at any moment.
The sculptures had lifelike features, from the wrinkles in their clothing to the expression on their faces. Some had soft eyes and gentle smiles, while others had stern or even fearful looks. Each one was carved with fine details and exquisite craftsmanship, with intricate lines and curves that enhanced the realism of their features.
As if I might have seen them somewhere. Did they remind me of the work of Michelangelo or Bernini?
As I stood there, realization began to dawn on me as to why those three statues felt so familiar. There they were: Max, Emma, and Leah, turned to stone, stilled in time forever.

Emma, Leah, Max, and I had always been the closest of pals. We shared laughs and adventures in our tiny village. We spent our day exploring the nearby woods and fields, gathering wildflowers for our mothers, and playing games that only children can understand. We would climb trees, build forts from branches and logs, and collect colorful stones from the creek. When it was too cold or rainy to go outside, we’d stay in one of our homes and play board games or tell stories about a crackling fire.
Our parents were always supportive of our adventures, though they were often worried about us getting into trouble. They’d call us in when it started to get dark, but sometimes we wouldn’t come home until late at night with mud on our shoes and twigs in our hair. We never minded being scolded by them because we knew deep down that they were proud of us.
In the summertime, we’d go swimming in the lake near the town or catch fireflies in warm evenings. We had so much fun together that time seemed to stand still – it felt like each moment lasted forever. On especially hot days, we’d set up a lemonade stand near the village square to raise money for ice cream cones afterward.
On Sundays, after church services ended, we’d all gather at Emma’s house for lunch and then spend lazy afternoons playing tag or hide-and-seek until it was time to go home again. Evenings meant roasting marshmallows over an open fire as we watched shooting stars streak across the night sky above us.
It was a magical childhood filled with love and friendship.
Our little village was a special place, with its cobblestone streets, old-fashioned buildings, and the scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the air. We were blessed to have grown up in such an idyllic setting.
The people of our village were just as special as the place itself. Everyone knew each other and looked out for one another. Neighbors would often stop to chat in the street, or help each other with tasks like shoveling snow or chopping wood. They’d offer kind words of encouragement and support when times got tough, and we all felt their warmth and generosity.
On Saturdays during the summer, the townspeople would gather for a picnic on the village green, bringing homemade dishes to share. We’d eat together under a canopy of trees while listening to fiddle music from local musicians. Afterward, children would run around playing games while adults chatted until it was time to go home again.
These are the memories I cherish most about growing up in our small town – the friendship and kindness that surrounded us every day made it feel like home.
Everything was magical and beautiful until that man came to our town back in the summer of 2008.
***
First of all, our town is pretty boring but we have some occasional events. Every summer, we had a carnival with rides, games, and food stands. There were also occasional circuses that came to town, complete with clowns, acrobats, and colorful tents. On special occasions like holidays or important anniversaries, people from all over the county would come to watch fireworks displays in the village square.
Every autumn, there was an apple festival where local farmers brought in baskets of fruit for sale and we could sample freshly made cider while listening to live music. During the winter months, ice skating shows took place on frozen ponds while sleigh rides wound through the countryside.
In springtime, art exhibits popped up around town displaying works by local artists – it was always exciting to see what new pieces they had created! We’d also have theater performances at the community center showcasing plays written by our own villagers. And of course, there were parades galore throughout the year celebrating different milestones or achievements within our town.
These occasions were always a wonderful part of growing up in our small village – they brought us together as a community and gave us something to look forward to during each season.
That summer, something completely unusual happened. A man referred to as The Stone Master, whose true identity remained a mystery, built elaborate castles and sculptures out of stones in the country.
The long description of the brochure I was holding contained the following information:
"Attention all art lovers! After Nevada, a stunning stone castle with intricate sculptures is coming to your town in just a few days. Witness the incredible skill and craftsmanship of The Stone Master as he builds this magnificent structure in just three days! Don't miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see Gargoyle Grove, his beautiful creation comes to life before your very eyes. Mark your calendars and make sure to visit us at [location - I would rather not share it] from May 25 2008 to see the castle in all its glory. See you there!"
I found it hard to accept that the whole stone castle with all the intricate sculptures would be built in just three days. Such a task seemed impossible.
Max spread open the brochure on the sidewalk and his eyes lit up with excitement. “Look at these photos! Can you believe it?"We have to go," he said as his finger trailed over the image of a castle made out of stone on an area of 1500 square meters.
I peered over his shoulder, disbelief painted across my face. “We can go, but that's impossible. There's no way someone can build that,” I said, skeptically.
Emma and Leah leaned in, listening intently as we discussed our plan - to see the arrival of the Stone Master the next day. We couldn't wait to see Gargoyle Grove!
***
The next day, we arrived at the site of the exhibit early in the morning. Our town provided the sculptor with a temporary area where he could build up his castle. It was actually a rocky area near town. The place was littered with large stones and boulders, ranging in size from pebbles to boulders the size of cars. The terrain was uneven and rugged, with sharp ridges or loose pebbles in some places. The colors varied from earthy browns to deep reds and grays. There were pockets of trees and shrubs scattered throughout the area, providing a stark contrast to the surrounding rocky environment. The area was barren and desolate, the only sound was a faint whisper of wind.
As we approached the place, we noticed a small group of people gathered around a large truck with a tarp covering its contents.
Then, as if on cue, the man himself emerged from the crowd and stepped up onto the platform in front of us. He was tall and broad-shouldered with an air of confidence about him. His eyes were sharp and his hands were calloused from years of hard work carving stone. He held out his hands to us, beckoning us closer, and we all moved forward eagerly to get a better look at him.
The Stone Master then proceeded to unload his supplies from the truck - various stones and tools for sculpting them into works of art.
Max stared in disbelief at the pile of huge stones that the master was unloading from his truck.
"So...you are planning to build up a whole stone castle in three days by carving out these huge rocks?" He asked skeptically.
"That is right, boy!" The master replied, his voice deep and mellow."How will you do that?" Max demanded, his curiosity piqued.
"That is something that you will not see," The man replied, throwing a thick tarpaulin over the stones with one quick movement."What do you mean?" Max asked, and the master gave an enigmatic smile. "Whenever I go to a place, I am always covered by these huge tarps during the night, so nobody can see me how I work."Meanwhile, huge black tarps were being pulled up all over the area so nobody could see what was going on behind them. Even the local journalists were not allowed to film behind those tarps.
Max raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Really? And what if someone manages to take a peek?”
The man's expression grew stern and he leaned forward. “I strongly warn anyone who even thinks of doing such a thing not to try it.” His menacing and deep voice rumbled through the air.
I don't know why but at that moment, terror filled the air as we stared at the man. Our hearts beat faster, and I could feel the sweat on my palms. My voice quivered as I spoke, “Okay guys, let's get out of here. See you in three days then, Mr Stone Master!” I took my friends by the hands and pulled them towards the road, not daring to look back.
***
The next morning, the sun rose over the horizon, and with it came a feeling of mystery and anticipation. We all gathered around the area again, wondering what was happening behind those black tarps. We anticipated cranes or heavy machinery of some kind, but none were present.
The crowd of onlookers became increasingly impressed as they watched the event, however, there was nothing to see.
After an hour, he addressed the curious crowd and said,
'Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm giving you a taste of my work!'
Suddenly, a loud noise made us all jump. We looked up to see the tarps being removed and the Stone Master standing in front of us with a proud look on his face. We all gasped in awe as we saw what he had created overnight - an intricately carved stone castle that was breathtakingly beautiful! He had worked with incredible skill and precision, creating delicate designs and patterns all over the walls. However, the castle was not complete yet.
The castle still had several unfinished features, such as incomplete turrets, missing staircases, and large bare patches on the walls that have yet to be filled in with intricate carvings. Some towers were jutted outwards and gaps in the masonry. The carved designs were also incomplete, and the ground around the castle was still scattered with pieces of rubble and broken stones. Many of the sculptures remained unfinished and without details, with some having only basic outlines and shapes. The surfaces of these sculptures were left rough and jagged, with uneven edges and inconsistencies. Pieces of the stone were broken off or missing entirely, evidence of their incomplete state. Despite this, the beauty of the structure was still obvious and served as a testament to the Stone Master's skill.
Some onlookers even offered to help when the man but he politely declined their offers, insisting that he wanted to finish this project alone - a testament to his years of hard work and dedication but we did not believe it.
He was keeping something secret while the urge to know what it was kept growing stronger.
Max couldn't take it anymore, his face contorting with determination. He turned to us, his voice pleading like a desperate plea for mercy.
'I can't bear not knowing what he's up to! We have to sneak into his place tonight!'
As Max's eyes scanned their faces, the girls began to nod, eyes twinkling with excitement. Cheers of agreement and enthusiasm filled the air.
I stood rooted to the ground, mesmerized by the intricate architecture of the castle but too scared to come any closer. I just wanted to stay and simply admire the beauty of the castle from afar when it would be finished.
'It's too risky!' I said, trying to talk them out of it. We don't know what we're getting into.'
Max's voice was loud, insistent, and almost coming as he spoke to me. He held his hands on his hips and leaned in close as if daring me to join them.
'Oh come on Mark, don't be such a pussy! We should all go together to explore it!'
'No, I don't want to go. I have bad feelings about it.' I stepped back, shaking my head.
Max straightened up and set his jaw.
'Fine. Then we go without you. Tonight. If you changed your mind, you can call me at 10.'
His words echoed like a challenge in the stillness.
As they left, I watched them with a heavy heart; part of me wanted to join them on their adventure but a bigger part of me knew that it was too dangerous for us to take such risks.
***
It had been all evening that I had been struggling with indecision as to whether I should call Max or not. Half of me wanted to go while the other half wanted to stay. My curiosity about the unknown man was consuming me. I sit in my room in silence, mulling over the mysterious man and his project. Who was he? Where did he come from? How did he learn such an intricate craft? What was the purpose of this castle and what secrets were hidden within its walls?
Needless to say that I was so excited that I could not sleep that night. I was tempted to call them a few times but I did not want to get them in trouble in case their phones were not muted.
Instead, I just sent them an SMS message:
So? What's up? Did you go? On pins and needles! :D
And then I waited. And waited. But eventually, I dozed off.
The following morning, as soon as I awoke, I grabbed my phone and glanced at the time. It was 8 o'clock, so I knew that it was too early to reach out to any of my pals. Nevertheless, I couldn't contain my enthusiasm and I made the call anyway. What's the worst that could happen? I'd only wake them up from their slumber, so what?
I called Max first.
The person you have called is currently unavailable.
Well, he must have been sleeping, I supposed. Then I called Leah.
The person you have called is currently unavailable.
That was a bit odd, but I still had Emma to call.
The same message.
Now that was more than odd. Or was that possible that they were all sleeping? Did I just overreact? I decided to wait.
I spent the day waiting for their call, but nothing.
The metallic trill of the telephone echoed through the house just before noon and I tensed, recognizing the distinct sound of my mum's voice. I waited with bated breath, hoping against hope that it was not the call I was expecting. Then I heard it—the one name that sent chills down my spine: Ann, Max’s mother.
She called up to me from the first floor.
'Have you seen Max?'
'Nope, not at all.'
'Do you have any idea where they might be?'
'No, I don't,' I lied.
I descended the stairs to the kitchen, where I found my mother washing dishes. With a concerned expression on her face, she told me, 'Max is missing and his mother is worried.' Later, when Leah and Emma's mothers called us, we heard the same worried tone in their messages.
At that moment I decided that I needed to take matters into my own hands. I was not going to just sit around and wait for them to come back; I was going to march up to the mysterious man's castle, disregarding my own safety, and find out more about his project.
***
When I arrived at the exhibit, two security men were blocking my way.
I rushed to the entrance of the castle, hopeful to find my friends. I approached a burly guard standing behind an iron gate, his intimidating stance blocking my way, the tarp was pulled up.
'I am looking for my friends!' I said.
'No one is allowed inside the castle. I suggest you turn back and return home. Come back, when the master's work is complete.' the guard said, shaking his head, denying my request.
'Please, sir. I need to find my friends. They've been missing for days and I believe they may be inside the castle. Can you please let me in?' I begged, my voice shaking with worry.
'I'm sorry, but I cannot allow it. The castle is off-limits to outsiders while the master is working on it.' the guard said.
'I understand that, but I promise I won't cause any trouble. I just need answers about my friends. Please, let me in.'
'I'm sorry, but I cannot. No one is allowed to enter the castle.'
The guard's words left me stunned and heartbroken. I had no choice but to turn back and leave without any answers or clues about my friends. As I walked away, I looked up at the castle one last time, wondering what secrets lay behind its walls and why the mysterious man was so determined to keep everyone out.
As I began to walk away, I was startled by a deep voice calling out to me. I spun around to see a man holding a chisel and a hammer, his face hidden by the shadows of an orange tarp. His figure was framed by an enormous stone wall behind him, and he declared sternly, “Your friends haven't been here!”
I warily took steps towards him, asking skeptically, “Are you sure?” He nodded slowly and replied, “I've posted security guards to make sure no one comes in while I'm working. Even if your friends wanted to enter, they would not be able to.”
He could read the disbelief on my face and offered with a gruffness that belied his kindness,
“Come in and check yourself!” He stepped aside and swept the tarp aside, revealing a narrow entranceway.'Be careful on your way inside.' he said with a gruffness that belied his kindness.
The castle stood tall and imposing, its walls were made of grey stone that had yet to be finished. The entrance was guarded by two huge gargoyles. Their long, sharp claws looked like they could come to life at any moment, ready to strike. They had fierce and scowling faces that seemed to stare down at me Their wings were spread wide, showing an intimidating presence. Inside in the dim light, serpents and other carved figures seemed to come alive, their eyes were staring at me as I passed by. The air was thick with dust from the chisels and hammers of the sculptor working on the unfinished statues and walls, their faces are hidden in the shadows of their black tarps.
'See, there is nobody here,' the sculptor said behind me and encouraged me to take walk inside.
There was a labyrinth made from a wall and I just could not believe one man was capable of building it up in two nights. What kind of black magic was present there, I wondered.
The atmosphere around the sculptures was tense, filled with a sense of dread.
As I was walking among the walls, the sculptures were imposing and intimidating. They had sharp claws, sharp teeth, and beady eyes that seemed to follow me as I was moving around. The figures were grotesque and menacing, with claws and fangs bared as if poised to strike. Some had wings, with feathers and scales that gave them an even more threatening form.
However some of them were still unfinished, and most of them were grotesque and disfigured, depicting demons and monsters with sharp claws and fangs. I felt them real and alive and I just could not wait to get the hell out of there.
Besides these strange feelings, I found nothing out of the ordinary inside the castle, so I decided to say goodbye and thanked the sculptor for his help.
"No problem." - he answered.
I walked back outside, feeling relieved that I had not found any sign of my friends in the castle. As I walked away from the castle, I glanced back one last time at its imposing walls and mysterious sculptures, wondering if there was any truth to what the sculptor said about keeping outsiders away while he worked on it. With a heavy heart, I made my way down the path and left this place behind me.
***
I was tempted to go to the police but I decided against it. After all, if my friends were not there, then nothing would be gained from involving them in this mystery. I just hoped that wherever they were, they were safe and sound.
So I made my way to Max's place, hoping that he would be there. As I arrived at the door, I knocked and waited for an answer. It was opened almost immediately by his mother whose face was drawn and pale.
'Mark? Come inside!'
I went inside and she gestured to a seat in the living room where I could see that his father was also in worry and discussion.
'Max had left two nights prior and hadn't been heard from since. Have you seen him?' - she asked.
The tense atmosphere made the time seem to stretch in a way that felt unending.
I filled her in on the plan my friends had cooked up—entering the castle at night to carry out some kind of plan.
Mrs Baker's face was red and her voice was tight. She leaned forward, her hands clenching the edge of the kitchen counter. "'Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" Her eyes searched my face, waiting for an answer. I looked down, feeling my cheeks flush with shame."I'm sorry, Mrs Baker," I stammered, my throat dry with fear. "I wasn't sure..."
But she did wait for my answer. Instead, she immediately made calls to Leah and Emma's parents, and soon enough the sheriff caught wind of it.
At the same time, I felt guilty for not being there for them, for not being able to protect them from whatever danger may have befallen them. I should have never left my friends alone.
***
The same afternoon, the sheriff approached me at home and began to ask questions.
We were huddled together in the living room, the air filled with an uncomfortable tension. My parents sat on either end of the couch, eyes darting back and forth as if expecting something sinister to appear.
'Tell the truth, Mark!' my father encouraged me.
The sheriff, Luke Grant was tall and broad-shouldered with a stern expression on his face. His presence was intimidating but I answered his questions truthfully, telling him everything that I knew about the situation. I told him about our first visit to the Stone Master, our weird conversation with him, and my friend's plans. However, I did not have any proof that they had gone there or Max was just showing off in front of the girls because I did not talk to them afterward.
He listened intently as I described what had happened, scribbling down notes on a small pad he had brought with him. When I finished my story, he looked up at me with piercing brown eyes and said:
'Well, boy. I dispatched a special team to the castle and we searched the structure. However, there was not much to see besides some walls and carvings. I have to tell you though, that guy is not joking. He is a very good one. But unfortunately, no signs of your friends were seen. The sculptor even allowed my officers to search his truck, yet still, there was no sign of them.' His voice trailed off and he slumped back in his chair in defeat.
'Really?' I said, my confusion clear in my voice.
I knew about a police investigation but I was too scared of going back to the place even with the police team because I was not sure what he might do to me if I showed my face there. I betrayed him and I didn't want to risk facing him again. In the end, I had to consider that I may have been completely wrong and my friends could have gone somewhere else instead. I might have accused that man wrongly.
The sheriff adjusted his hat, lifting one hand to wipe the sweat from his brow as he continued.
'So we began to investigate other potential places where Max, Emma, and Leah could have gone. We interviewed people from the area, asking questions about anyone who had seen anything that might lead them to their whereabouts. We followed up on any leads we got, but still, we came up empty-handed. My men even searched the nearby forests and abandoned buildings, hoping that someone could provide a clue as to where they had gone. Unfortunately, all of our efforts were fruitless.' - the sheriff said and sighed heavily.
He seemed to have lost all his hope, yet still had some strength in him to keep looking for it.
As time passed, I grew increasingly guilt-ridden. I had been the one present when they were discussing going to the stupid castle and now they were missing. My mind was filled with questions and doubts as I replayed our conversation in my head. What if something bad had happened? What if something happened to them on the way there or on the way home instead?
I felt a wave of relief wash over me at his words as he made his way out of the house. He had given me hope that maybe my friends would be found safe and sound after all.
The sheriff said his goodbyes and departed, reminding me to keep in touch. I went back to my bedroom, eager for the next morning and the grand opening of the stone castle. I was hopeful my friends would turn up, but little did I know the day would unfold entirely differently from what I had anticipated.
***
Streamers and banners of various colors waved proudly in the wind, giving a celebratory feel to the occasion. Music played from an old bandstand in the corner, adding to the festive atmosphere. Locals of all ages and genders had gathered to celebrate this momentous occasion, some dressed in traditional costumes and others wearing more modern attire. The towering stone walls of the castle loomed overhead like a majestic sentinel, a reminder of days gone by when castles were a symbol of power and strength.
The castle built by The Stone Master was really intricate and awe-inspiring. Towers and spires reached up to the sky, with detailed carvings in every corner. The castle was intricate and detailed work of art, constructed of a variety of stones in different shapes and sizes. They ranged from small towers with soaring spires to massive fortresses with large courtyards and multiple levels. Some carvings had been left in their natural state to show off the unique patterns and textures of the stones. Many of the castles even featured moats filled with water.
I asked myself again: how the hell could he build this castle in three nights?
The other strange thing was that the Stone Master was nowhere to be seen. I asked a woman where he was.
'Oh, he left. He always leaves after his artwork is done and his creation is a gift to the locals.' - she said.
That was another red flag to me. Anyway, I stepped inside.
The sculptures ranged from abstract art to lifelike figures of animals and people, some of which looked as if they could come to life at any moment. Each one was unique and stood as a testament to the creativity of the artist. Up close, the details of each piece were astounding, with tiny patterns and shapes that captured my imagination.
The weird thing was that none of the sculptures looked as menacing today as they did when I had walked through the walls the day before. Now, the serpents, monsters, and demons seemed more lifeless. Maybe it was because there were so many other people around me: families were strolling nearby, and children were running around in excitement.
As I surveyed the place, something caught my attention. A strange feeling told me to visit the end of a hallway. I followed it and found myself in the hall. It was empty and quiet, with only a few human-like sculptures.
And this room was different.
Their faces had detailed eyes and noses that looked as if they could move. Some of them had body armor, swords, and spears in their hands that added to their intimidating aura. Their eyes were filled with emotion, their hands were clenched as if they were ready to move. The positions they stand in and the intricate clothing they wear make them look like they could come to life at any moment.
The sculptures had lifelike features, from the wrinkles in their clothing to the expression on their faces. Some had soft eyes and gentle smiles, while others had stern or even fearful looks. Each one was carved with fine details and exquisite craftsmanship, with intricate lines and curves that enhanced the realism of their features.
As if I might have seen them somewhere. Did they remind me of the work of Michelangelo or Bernini?
As I stood there, realization began to dawn on me as to why those three statues felt so familiar. There they were: Max, Emma, and Leah, turned to stone, stilled in time forever.

In the last few years, there seems to be this growing craze of people (largely men) who are absolutely obsessed with sneakers and sports shoes, almost to the same and similar extent that you often see fashion-driven women who are obsessed with high-heels and fancy shoes. Not only that, but many are trying to assert these sneakers are HIGH ART! If you think a shoe is "cool" or "amazing" or whatever, that's fine, more power to you, but when you start trying to assert that a sneaker is "art", please, let's not confuse a mass-production consumer good made in a sweat-shop in China with "art"... that is just absurd and ridiculous. If you want to engage in your little hobby of shoe collecting, keep it up if it makes you happy, but there is no need to try to exalt or propel a mere shoe to some wild degree of achievement as if it is exemplifying the giddy heights of human creative potential. It is just a shoe... not a Bernini sculpture or Guernica.

In several weeks, I shall be releasing a Hot Take^tm that is definitely not that Giani should have a sane path. I repeat, I will not under any circumstances say that the people's Duce who is the only one that can lead Italy to glory over all her foes should have a sane path. None-a that. But I do have some Italy for y'all, so let's get to it.
Italo Balbo, potential "moderate" Duce of Italy, was born on June 6th, 1896 in the city of Fererra. He was politically active at a younger age than anybody I've featured on this series so far, joining a revolt in Albania(led by Ricciotti Garibaldi, son of the legendary Giuseppe Garibaldi) at the tender age of 14. After the outbreak of World War One, Balbo was a strong proponent of Italian participation on the Entente's side. Following Italy's declaration of war on Germany in 1915, he joined the army, serving as an officer in the elite Alpini mountain infantry. Balbo earned the Silver Medal for Military Valor twice, the Bronze Medal for Military Valor once, and had been promoted to captain by war's end. Balbo obtained a law degree after the war and remained active in politics-being known as a committed republican but an enemy of socialists and the unions he saw as their territory. In 1920 he joined a Masonic lodge, before leaving in 1923. This is notable because, just three days after his departure, the Grand Council of Fascism, at the time simply the governing body of the National Fascist Party, voted to ban party members from having Masonic ties.
Balbo was fortunate to have left before the ban took effect, as he had joined the NFP two years before, right after the party itself was founded. Rising quickly through the formation of fascist gangs that would attack their communist counterparts, Balbo was a member of the original Quadrumvirate, the four men who planned the infamous March on Rome that would see Mussolini installed as dictator of the nation. In 1923 he became a founding member of the Grand Council of Fascism. At around this time, Balbo was also charged with the murder of Father Giovanni Minzoni, a Fererran priest who had begun his own form of scout group to teach the local youths the values of Catholicism, as well as those promoted by the wider scouting movement, as opposed to the principles promoted by the various fascist youth organizations. Father Minzoni was killed by a pair of hitmen on Balbo's orders. Though these charges caused him to flee Rome, they did not prevent him from holding several mid-ranking government positions in the years immediately following this event.
In 1926, Balbo became Italy's Secretary of State for Air. Despite having little to no aviation experience, he took to the field like a duck to water, with his crowning achievement being the flight of the "Italian Air Armada" of twenty four seaplanes from Rome to Chicago. He was given a parade in his honor upon arrival, and the former 7th street was renamed to Balbo Street, a name that it maintains to this day despite an attempt to alter it. In addition, an ancient Roman column was donated to the city by Mussolini in Balbo's honor, where it remains to this day as the Balbo Monument. He was presented the Distinguished Flying Cross by President Roosevelt, and was even honorarily adopted as "Chief Flying Eagle" of the Sioux. Upon his return, he was promoted to the newly-created rank of Marshal of the Air Force.
In late 1933, Balbo was made Governor-General of Libya, created out of the colonies of Tripolitania, Cyrenaica, and Fezzan. In the leadup to the Italian invasion of Abyssinia, Balbo was a proponent of extreme demonstrations of force against any potential British intervention, to the point of proposing a pre-emptive strike on British Egypt, although this never came to be. With a momentary cessation of tensions brought about by the Munich Agreement, Balbo turned his efforts towards road construction, attempts to attract Italian immigrants to Libya, and even to draw Muslims to support the fascist cause. When the Italian Racial Laws of 1938 were passed, significantly curtailing the rights of Jews, Balbo was the only senior member of the regime to be outspoken in his opposition to it.
Following the German invasion of Poland, Balbo returned to Italy to express to Mussolini his displeasure at the latter's enthusiastic support for Hitler. He argued for an alliance with Great Britain, but was alone in this endeavor. Upon learning of the signing of the Pact of Steel, he made his famous declaration to his compatriots that "You will all wind up shining the shoes of the Germans!" Nevertheless, when war broke out Balbo, who had become commander-in-chief for all North African forces in addition to his other duties, began planning the Italian invasion of Egypt. But he would not live to see it carried out. On June 28th, 1940 Balbo was onboard an Italian military aircraft coming in for a landing at Tobruk, which had just been attacked by British planes. As his plane began its landing, anti-aircraft batteries from the cruiser San Giorno, as well as those at the airfield, attacked the craft, killing all onboard. Balbo was 44.

Hello, looking to sell these few items. Every payment shall be made through PayPal invoice only, shipping from EU. Add ship and fees for every price. Multiple items=discount. Peace Here is my repvouch: https://www.reddit.com/RepVouch/comments/k5ggfb/xcloud/
Tagged and timestamped pics here
Reps:
- Dsquared2 print jeans, 15 euros: got a year ago from wongwood and almost never worn, beautiful piece, size on tag is 33 but has been tailored (waist 41cm-lenght 96cm) and now fits a 31-32. Good fit and good quality;
- Palm Angels flames top, 20 euros: DS, just washed once. Size S, can fit an M (pit-to-pit 52cm);
- Vlone Friends Hoodie, 25 euros: condition 9/10, beautiful piece, got from Caesar. Size M, fits over (classic vlone fit), pit-to-pit 57cm;
- Nike x Off-White Jordan 1 UNC, 110 euros: condition 9/10, size US 9.5, OG all. Got from Tony in September (you can see QC pics on my profile). Nothing else to say. Bangers;
Retail:
- CDG Play long sleeve, 40 euros: condition 9/10, size L but fits more S-M;
- Off-White Bernini long sleeve, 150 euros: one of my favourite pieces, selling as i dont have any red shoes to match them (man's broke :c). Size M fits TTS

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Versace. Donatela Versace had big shoes to fill, but she certainly proved that she was above and beyond just "Giani's sister". Her designs in a position to just a tad more feminine and a little more wearable (read: not so "high fashion"), but tend to be we to argue if it was good enough for Madonna?
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I think that most of you went through this to some extent during the messed up times we live in. Strict rules imposed on social interactions, cancelled events, obligatory masks, etc. But I don’t think that many of you experienced such draconian quarantine as people from my part of the world. For weeks we were unable to leave our homes, allowed only to do some necessary shopping once or twice a week and walk our dogs. We had a kind of martial law, controlled by police and forbidden to be away from home after dark.
Beside those restrictions we had a really hard time. For most of you, The Virus is some remote possibility, the thing that’s unharmful, some you may even not believe in its existence. But in my region, it struck hard. Day after day we lost our elder relatives, friends, acquaints. We felt so helpless, not being able even to attend their funerals.
But where our civilization crumbled, the nature regained their position. My town lays close to a big old forest, protected by authority as National Park. While me and my neighbors were hiding inside our four walls, the animals, one after one, started to come closer to our houses.
I remember my first encounter with a returning wildlife. It was March. I walked up and down my street fearing that I would get fined if I walk any further from my door. My dog, Osso, was confused and sad that we were not going his favorite path through a forest around the town. I walked him slowly, breathing in a fresh air, listening to the birds singing their best songs to lure a partner.
Everything around was so calm that I almost jumped when I heard a weird sound resembling barking. Osso also heard that sound cause he rushed in the sound’s direction only to be stopped by the leash. He wanted to chase the sound so abruptly that he would definitely pull leash from my hand if he wasn’t rather small.
I called Osso by name to calm him down, but he barked louder and louder. Finally Osso’s barking startled an animal hiding in the woods. To my surprise it was roe who ran from the bushes on the other side of the road and escaped in the direction of the woods. After a while everything went calm again.
A day or two after that I and Osso met a fox. The other time it was a young badger. Finally, we started meeting wild animals on a daily basis and I had to walk Osso on short leash and with mazzle.
‘You see, if we all die out, the nature would take our place in no time.’, my dad used to repeat every time I told him about the animals I encountered. We all realized at the time that The Virus is too weak to wipe us out, but it was still a grim remark considering all those elder and sick people whose life came to faster end because of it.
The stories about animals roaming our streets spread in our town. Even my friend living in the town center where you could meet no wild animals beside pigeons and rats (those are actually half-domesticated, to be honest), wrote me about a deer that passed by his window in the middle of the day.
In a few weeks we slowly got used to the animals, it made us as excited as a view of a homeless cat or crow. But suddenly the events took an unexpected turn.
One night I got woken up by a message from my friend Laura. She lived in the outskirts, on the other side of town. Her house was on the edge of the oldest part of the forest. The one that was most protected for environmental reasons.
‘There’s SOMETHING in my garden.’, she wrote.
‘Why d’you wake me up. Ain’t it fox? Or anything else?’, I wrote half-awaken and a bit mad at her.
‘No. It’s some other animal. Or I think it is.’
‘Then, what’s all the fuzz about.’
‘The thing is… I can’t recognize any of its features. Lights in our garden are bright enough. It’s like it was made of the bare shadow.’
I looked at a calendar widget. It was 1st April.
‘Really? Poor joke, cutie.’, I wrote back, turned off the notifications and went back to sleep.
In the morning I found out that Laura called me a few times.
It worried me a bit. Maybe she really saw something in the garden, freaked out and now she was mad at me for ignoring her. To be honest, I crushed on her a bit.
I tried to call back but I heard no signal after choosing the number.
Eh, dad forgot to pay the phone bill… again…
‘I am sorry. I really thought it was a joke.’, I wrote her on Messenger. But the message wasn’t sent.
I tried to load a random website. No success.
I went downstairs. My dad was standing next to our TV nervously pressing and moving antenna and receiver cables. Still, the screen was black with a tiny text ‘No signal’ in the right upper corner.
‘Merda…’, he mumbled.
‘Have you paid the bill?’, I asked him.
‘Of course. I did yesterday. Fucking idiots.’
There was nothing that could piss off my dad more than lack of TV signal. I decided that I can’t help him so I called Osso and went out.
The morning was beautiful, sun was shining bright. But it was silent as in the middle of the winter. Birds weren’t singing anymore and I didn’t see any of them flying around. Feeling a bit uneasy I took Osso down the street. Good fella has finally got used to shorter walks and he calmly walked near my leg. As I passed house of a police officer, Mr. Giani, I saw his wife standing in front of the house with a cell phone. She seemed really nervous.
‘Good morning, Mrs. Giani. Is everything fine?’, I asked.
‘It’s 9 a.m. and Giovanni isn’t back home yet. He ended his shift on 6 a.m. I tried to call but I can’t reach him. Or anyone. Is your phone working?’
‘No. I’m sorry. It seems it’s a network failure. It should be repaired in no time.’
But it wasn’t. A whole day passed and there was still no TV or cell phone. Dad closed himself in garage. My mother couldn’t come back home yet. It was her turn for a duty as nurse in local hospital. Unable to reach my friends, I felt lonelier than ever during that whole madness.
I spent an afternoon sitting in the front of my house and re-reading King’s The Stand (I think I chose it because of my twisted sense of humor) but I couldn’t focus on it. My mind roamed around the paranoid thought that strange behavior of Laura, Mr.Giani not returning from his shift and the lack of signal had something in common. But every time the thought crossed my mind, I explained myself that paranoia must be an effect of stress caused by lockdown.
I spent almost whole day sitting on veranda. It must have been 7 p.m. or so when I saw something that ruined my belief that there was no coincidence between the events.
A few military trucks passed by my house.
Until this day, quarantine was successfully controlled by a bunch of local policemen supported by carabinieri. I never expected things to become so serious that the army would be necessary. It might have been explained by the fact that the virus was still widespread in my area. But they arrived on THAT particular day.
Maybe it was out of bore but a crazy plan came to my mind. I decided to visit Laura and check whether she’s ok. I knew that it would be a risky thing that may result in a huge fine so I decided that it would be best to do it in the darkness and to travel through the woods. It was two times longer road but I could easily avoid all the patrols on the streets.
When the sun went down, I sneaked past my dad snoring on coach and went outside. It was quiet as usual. I cautiously came to the fence and saw a pair of soldiers patrolling my area. I waited for a few seconds until they disappeared behind the corner of my street and quietly opened the gate.
I started walking towards the forest. I did my best to avoid the streetlamps, so I walked hidden in a shadow of the bushes growing on the other side of the road. It must have been a common place for homeless as it smelled of urine and I found a bunch of empty bottles. I had a heart up my stomach during those fifteen minutes when I walked through brake afraid of meeting both patrol or a stray. I felt relieved when I finally reached the forest.
It was really dark between trees, so I turned on a flashlight on my phone. Of course, I instinctively glanced on the internet and network icon. Still, there was no signal.
I walked for about two kilometers or so. The forest was calm. I heard only a melody of crickets playing their tunes and a gentle rustle of crushed needles and moss under my feet. Once I almost fell on my knees when I stumbled on salient root of a tree. Despite my expectations, I saw no animals. One time I thought that I catch a glimpse of something big, probably deer, with the corner of my eye.
In the darkness everything looked different. I walked this road dozens of times, yet I couldn’t recognize my exact location and I started to wonder whether I’m lost.
My doubts ended when I saw a thin stream cutting through bedding. It was a landmark for me that I’m close to Laura’s house.
I rushed toward the stream. When I was a few meters away, I noticed that an animal was standing over it. Instictively, I directed light of a flashlight on it. I know I shouldn’t have scared animal with sudden burst of light but I think I paid my price for the reckless behavior.
It wasn’t an animal.
I was looking at the silhouette resembling some four-leg animal, I don’t know whether there is animal of precisely that shape, but it had no features. It was a semi-transparent shape, not a shadow, through which I could see trunks behind it.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck...’, nothing beyond a series of swear words slipped through my mind.
Thing’s head was near a surface of the stream as if it was drinking but after a few seconds of standing in light it raised its head.
If it had the eyes, they would stare at me.
The forest was still quite silent but now I could hear the thumping of my own heart and my short nervous breath.
Not sure whether it works with such a creature I started going backwards trying to look slightly below the place where the eyes should have been. It worked fine until one of my feet crushed a tiny branch and it caused a far too loud crack.
The entity rushed in my direction, without making any sounds at all. While it didn’t look material enough to be able to trample me, I didn’t want risk that thing would touch me. Also it was to terrifying to let it come closer to me. I ran towards town hoping that proximity of buildings would repel it.
The ground in this place was wet and slippery. Every time my shoe touched the ground I felt as if I was going to fall. However, adrenaline must have sharpened my sense of balance as somehow I managed to keep running.
Only one time I dared to look back. The creature was still following me in its noiseless pursuit.
After making my unbeatable record in one kilometer run, I finally reached the town. It wasn’t area of Laura’s house, I left the forest too early. I turned around. to see the phantom was behind so I didn’t stop. I wasn’t in a too good shape after spending many days at home and I felt that I could no longer outrun the beast.
I thought that my last chance would be to make a sudden turn into a side alley. As soon as I found myself on the crossroad I swiftly turned left into ‘’ street.
Blinded by the fear, I bumped against a policeman who was standing there and landed on the ground. He and his partner looked at me surprised. I saw it in their eyes, the rest of their faces was covered by the cotton masks, of course.
‘Something’s after me. We have to run.’, I gasped.
It didn’t impress them at all. They grabbed me from the ground.
‘You have to believe me! It’s going to be here any second.’
I looked back expecting the beast to be right behind me. But the street was empty.
‘Are you drugged, boy?’, one of policemen asked. ‘We take you to the station.
I tried to free myself from policemen grip. But I was too weak. I had to give up and allow them to take me to the station.
I knew I was in a big trouble… And that it wouldn’t be the last trouble I was about to encounter in the near future… This thing hiding in the woods gave me a bad feeling.

Moving out with my gf soon, so raising some funds. Help me out!

Prices are listed without shipping. I will calculate shipping for you when you buy. PMs containing paypal emails are given priority. Don’t miss these deals!

YES, I do ship EU and US, but it’s gonna cost you a lil more.

All pics, including tagged pic. (for some reason the images attached in a weird order)

Items and Prices

BALENCIAGA TRACK RUNNERS LED EU42.

•Batch: Lin P800
•Paid: ~£95 + 20 shipping
•YOUR PRICE: £60
•Only worn a few times. Great quality. Not really my style. LEDs work really well, but require a Micro USB to charge.

OW IMPRESSIONISM HOODIE M

•Batch: CWKFFM
•Paid £25
•YOUR PRICE: SOLD to u/zereece
•Only worn a few times. Great quality material and colour. A must-have for S/S!

Bape Tee L

•Batch: 0832Club
•Paid ~£20?
•YOUR PRICE: SOLD to u/zereece
•Material is almost identical to my retail bape pieces, and the colour is vivid and excellent. Doesn’t run in the wash!

OW BUSINESS CASUAL BERNINI HOODIE M

•Batch: Forgot, but high quality as shit.
•Paid: £50
•YOUR PRICE: £20
•Selling this for less than half price, because the print is fucked and an eyelet is missing. HOWEVER, The garment quality is fantastic, practically identical to my retail sweater, and it’s a great piece for layering other T shirts over.

RETAIL

OW Cards Long-Sleeve Tee S (slightly damaged)

•Paid: £150
•YOUR PRICE: £65
•Bought this piece for cheaper than usual (usually 275), due to holes in the back. However, I repaired the holes and it’s virtually unnoticeable. EITHER WAY, this is a great deal. Despite being size S, this fits me really well.

BOY LONDON HALF-ZIP DOUBLE SLEEVE HOODIE M.

•Paid: £100
•YOUR PRICE: £25
•Thick, warm and amazing material, plus it has a cool zip like a tracksuit, along with double sleeves for an awesome layered look.
Armani Exchange Shirts:
£15 Each or both for £25 - Lovely material and very cool designs. Can be worn with a lowkey, smart outfit for a design that really pops.

Y-3 KUSARI 7.5UK (Retail box and dustbag included!)

•Paid: £289
•YOUR PRICE £50
•These need a little bit of restoration, hence the super low price, but I’ve been complimented on these more than any shoe, and they’re so comfy. Must buy for anyone into the ninja look especially.

Kings Will Dream Sakura Hoodie M

•Paid £50
•YOUR PRICE: £20
•Awesome material that doesn’t bobble, and a very cool, embroidered back print. Gonna be hard to let this go!

SUPREME GONZ RAMM HEAD TEE (FW17) L

https://imgur.com/a/WCFCCpp
•YOUR PRICE: £60 (Based off previous sales on Ebay)
•Material and print are both in amazing condition. You probably won’t find this cheaper anywhere else!

PAYPAL INVOICE ONLY!

“BLOOD RED”
By
Janis Kent

The gala had been well attended thanks to the efforts of his long-time friend, Joseph. He considered Joseph only a bit pretentious and when he had so generously offered William the use of his art gallery on Julia Street as the venue for his much anticipated re-entry into the New Orleans art scene, William gratefully, if not graciously, accepted. Joseph had, indeed, been a good friend, more like a brother, but William had the distinct feeling that this would be the last time his friend would bail him out, the last time Joseph would take it upon himself to promote his work unless it was well received and, of course, financially lucrative. At one time, not that long ago, a new show by William Bacchus would have been crowded with eager buyers. Joseph would have seen a hefty commission from the sale of his friend’s works and William would have experienced a substantial increase in income as well as an inflated ego. One thing that William had never lacked was a healthy ego – that was, up until the evening of his new show at the gallery on Julia Street. It was a cool spring evening and the three-room venue was crowded with throngs of New Orleans’ “patrons of the arts”. The energy in the gallery was palpable, heavy with anticipation and expectation. Would-be buyers, wine glass in hand, stared intently at each painting and then moved on to another. The excitement began to chill. One could perceive the disappointment of the crowd although the fake smiles did not betray their dismay – their dashed hopes of finding a new Bacchus painting for the wall of their uptown dining room. The atmosphere in the gallery became almost embarrassing and the smiling women, clutching the arms of their much older husbands, made their way to the doors and disappeared into the New Orleans night, no doubt to lament the fall of yet another promising artist. The gallery emptied. The walls echoed with sudden silence, the unsold paintings screaming the disastrous failure of the evening. Not one painting had sold. Not one. 

William had overheard the chatter.

“Flat.” The older lady with thick, caked make-up and artificial breasts had lamented. “So one-dimensional,” another had quipped. “What a shame,” the handsome gay man sighed. William was one of the many who had departed the show early, trying not to be noticed as he slinked out the double glass doors onto Julia Street. He headed for the nearest bar. He had forty dollars in his wallet. That should be enough for two or three drinks in the trendy warehouse district of New Orleans. He sat, shoulders hunched, at the end of the bar, nursing a Bloody Mary garnished with a ridiculous amount of vegetables. He recognized with his usual sardonic wit that the damn vegetables took up valuable space in the tall glass – space that could have been used for a little extra vodka. The tomato juice was a weak, ugly red, and the liberal dose of Worcester sauce served only to transform the red into rust – another waste of space that would be better used for a bit of vodka. “What the fuck,” he thought, and ordered a double shot of Stoli – passe yes, but it would likely do the trick and without the damn superfluous blood-red tomato juice and obscene green bean garnishes. He shoved the tall glass across the bar with a little too much emphasis and the remaining rusty-red liquid spilled onto the bar, splashing onto the immaculate white sleeve of his best, and only, dress shirt. “Oh fuck me!”, he thought as he eyed the red stain on his sleeve. And then it came to him. So quickly. So easily. So obscenely. William knew exactly what he should do. He straightened his shoulders, drank the double vodka and honed his plan. He smiled at the hooker who sat, legs crossed, on one of the high-back, leather chairs at the bar. She was obviously out of her league, uncomfortable in the pretentious bar. Her skirt was too short and her fake fingernails too long. She was thin, possibly from some type of drug use, but that was not a problem, he thought. He would wear surgical gloves if need be. He sized her up. She would do, he thought. She would do nicely. William chatted up the hooker with charm he didn’t know still possessed. Soon, they were headed toward his French Quarter apartment and he held her arm lightly as a gentleman would do. 

*****

Angel couldn’t believe her luck. She had not really thought she would find a John in the fancy bar on Julia Street but she was desperate and would have tried just about anything for money. The rent was a week past due and she hadn’t had any blow in three days. She would do anything – well just about anything. Now, here she was, clicking her way down Chartres Street in her high-heeled shoes, this almost-handsome stranger steering her lightly into the walkway between two big houses. She had hit the jackpot, she thought, as the stranger with the soft touch guided her into the cobblestone courtyard flanked on either side by old slave quarters. Well, maybe he wasn’t big-house rich but he still had to have money as did anyone who could afford to live in the French Quarter. She felt a tremendous sense of relief as they climbed the wrought iron stairs to the second floor. She would be able to pay the rent after all and perhaps have enough cash left over for a little partying. It would be a productive night, she thought, relieved and ready for whatever may come. At least, she thought she was ready. William opened the french doors to his apartment and art studio. He had lived in the upstairs slave quarter for more than ten years and his rich patroness who lived in the front house had not the heart, or perhaps could not be bothered, to raise his rent. His living quarters would be considered lavish by most, and certainly expansive, consuming most of the upstairs building flanking the left side of the huge, opulent courtyard. The buildings on the right were used only for storage. He had the privacy he needed for his plan. He gestured his hooker friend toward the sofa and found the last bottle of wine hiding in the cupboard. He poured the red liquid into two crystal wine glasses purchased from Adler’s on Canal Street when the city was affluent, as he had been. His guest was impressed. Well, let’s let her enjoy herself a bit, while she can, he thought and smiled. He refilled her glass, having barely touched his drink. She should know better, being in her line of work, William mused. She should know never to let her guard down, especially when working. She sighed and rested her head against the green velvet throw pillow. Her eyes closed. Angel awoke to find her hands bound to the headboard. Her blouse had been removed but she was otherwise fully dressed. There was a dull burning sensation on her forearm where William had sliced into her flesh, draining what he could collect of her blood. It was a start, he thought but he would need more. 

*****

Angel began to sob. “Let me go!”, she tried to scream but her throat was so parched and she managed only a croak. The classic scene in every slasher film, William thought with a sick, sardonic smile. “What did you do to me?” Angel managed to ask. She knew she was in trouble. Was her John one of those ridiculous pseudo-vampires who roamed the city, thinking themselves ageless if they sipped a few drops of blood mixed in with their expensive Chardonnay? She instinctively knew this was different from a one-night vampire blood let. This felt heavy and morose and for the first time in her somewhat successful career as a hooker, Angel was frightened. She was terrified. “Shut up,” the John demanded as he plastered a piece of duct tape over April’s dry, cracked lips. It was dark in the large, lush room which had served as William’s guest room when he had been popular enough to warrant overnight visitors. The room had sat empty for months now and although somewhat musty, it would be his guest’s new home, at least for as long as he could bleed her. William had not really thought past that. 

*****

The first letting had been comparatively easy. It had gone well. He simply cut the hooker’s arm deeply enough to elicit a nice flow of blood and captured it as well as he could in another clean, crystal wine class. He gleaned almost an inch of thick, burgundy blood and carried it devoutly into his studio. He would paint tomorrow. He would create paintings that would come alive in depth and color and, of course, in content. He wasted half an inch of the burgundy blood, trying to paint it directly onto his canvas. It was beautiful for the first five or ten minutes and then turned an ugly, rusty brown upon extended exposure to oxygen. He spent most of that day mixing the remainder of the blood in the wine glass with the acrylic colors he had always used and began to panic when his efforts depleted the red liquid in the glass. He didn’t really want to spend his time today bleeding the girl in his guest room. William was more than a little irked that his morning had been spent in the trivial tasks of having to feed the girl and then going to Walgreens to purchase adult diapers and protein drinks. He sighed as he mixed the last of the precious liquid with a “lipstick red” from one of his hundreds of acrylic tubes, adding only the tiniest smidgen of “blue bird purple”. As soon as the pigments began to mingle, William knew he had succeeded. The new concoction was beautiful and it glided onto the canvas like melted butter He named his new color “Blood Red”. His first painting was a reclining nude, her arms stretched back, over her head. Of course, he didn’t paint the chains that held her arms at length. Neither did he didn’t paint the face of his captive. He painted her bare chest and turned head, her thin arms extended, her body twisted in what might be misinterpreted as ecstasy. It reminded William of Bernini’s *Ecstasy of St. Teresa*, a face of pleasure and pain, or perhaps Joan of Arc at the post as she cast her eyes toward the heavens and embraced the flames. “What’s your name?” he asked the hooker chained to the bed. He had lowered the chains so she would bleed better. He had been using her arms as a matter of convenience. “Fuck you,” Angel managed to whisper. “Time for dinner,” he said, ignoring her remark. “Soup, okay?” he asked as he sat a tray on the end table next to the bed. He unlocked the chain holding her right wrist and allowed her to eat and drink to her content. He tried to feed her high protein meals and at first, she had eaten what he proffered. Today, she lay silent and still on the vinyl covered bed. It had taken her a while but she had finally figured out his game. He was worse than a pervert. He was going to bleed her dry and then what? Kill her? William had begun to wonder the same thing. Lately, she had been difficult to bleed from the arms and hands. He had carefully avoided any veins, not wanting a complete bleed-out in one cut. Should he start on the legs now? And then, what? “Please. Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone about you. Please,” she begged. “Oh, God! How many times have we heard that in a bad movie?” William said and stifled a laugh. “This is real life, man. I’m scared. I’m telling you the truth. I will never say a word. Just let me go.” Angel pleaded. “I’ll let you go when we’re done,” William promised. “Now, eat your soup. Maybe tomorrow if you’re good.” Angel ate the soup. It’s energy coursed through her weakened body and she thought maybe, just maybe, there was a way out of this nightmare. She knew she was being bled but she had no idea why and she wasn’t sure how much longer she would be of use to this madman. 

******

His painting was done. It was near perfect. He would do another. And another. He worked with an energy he had not had since he was a young, successful artist – “one destined for greatness”, one critic had written in *Care Forgot City Magazine*. That had been almost ten years ago. He had somehow slipped out of grace during those years of drinking and partying and having every woman he wanted. He had forgotten how to paint. His offerings say unsold and he was all but ostracized from the big art events around town. Yeah, well, all that’s gonna change, he thought. They’ve never seen like this. He would call his new show “Ecstasy.” William bled Angel for his next painting. He carefully mixed blood and paints and began his next piece. He had all but begged Joshua for one more chance and had taken his first piece, entitled “Angel” to the gallery in an effort to persuade his friend for space. Joshua had studied the painting for less than a minute and had acquiesced. William would have his show in two months and open on White Linen Night. Angel had stopped eating. She has stopped peeing into the diaper that he had provided her. She had apparently stopped all bodily functions with the exceptions of sleeping and breathing. It was obvious to William that he would soon need another source. He dug a make-shift grave in the flower bed that sprouted gardenias and jasmine in the back corner of the courtyard and unceremoniously dumped Angel and her meager belongings into the hole. He wasn’t sure if she had completely stopped breathing. He didn’t want to know. He was manic, his mind laser focused on her replacement. That shouldn’t be too difficult, he thought. There were plenty of two-bit hookers in New Orleans – girls just trying to get by – girls who were lost to the underbelly of the city, stray cats prowling the night. Angel felt the soft earth hitting her face, her torso, her legs. She lay still, her breath shallow. Her purse lay over her face, providing an inch or so of breathing space and the dirt of the flower bed was soft and porous. William was in a hurry and covered the body with about a foot of loose soil. He dampened it with his foot and left her there either dead or surely dying. When Angel heard his footsteps fade, she willed a single finger to burrow upward into the loose soil. She poked through the dirt and saw a dim remnant of daylight filtering through the crumbling soil. Fresh, sweet air trickled into her tomb. She breathed. She lay still. She waited. She watched the last of the winter sun fade through the tiny hole. Darkness enveloped her and when she finally saw the dim light from the man’s apartment go dark, she began to claw. The dirt gave way fairly easily and she climbed out of the shallow grave. Laying motionless under the cold, damp earth for six hours had given Angel plenty of time to think. She had decided not to run to the police. They would likely sigh and take a report but simply chalk the incident up to the hazards of being a hooker. Instead, Angel had hatched a plan and that plan was what gave her the strength she needed to rise from her grave. Angel stood, her stiff legs threatening to buckle. She drank greedily from the faucet over the sink in the laundry room and felt her legs steady a bit. Watching the windows of the man’s apartment, she washed herself, careful not to make a sound, managing to remove most of the residual soil from her body. She carefully navigated her way through the maze of greenery and onto the cobblestone courtyard. She quickened her barefoot pace through the walkway and saw the wrought iron gate that led to Chartres Street. She half-walked and half-ran the blocks to her By-water studio, uncovered the key from its hiding place, and fell onto her bed. She had been held and bled for exactly two weeks. 

The middle-aged landlady, Alma, took one look at Angel and almost screamed. Alma had climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor apartment with every intention of chastising her young tenant about the late rent payment, but after seeing the girl and hearing the horrific account of Angel’s two week absence, Alma gently chided the girl for not going to the hospital. She cleaned and dressed Angel’s wounds as well as she could. For the next few weeks she fed her young tenant healthy stews and juices and sat at her bedside. Alma gave insisted Angel stay in bed and not worry about the rent.

“It’s my gift to you,” Alma insisted. 

Angel cried from relief and from joy. It was the first gift she had ever received.
*****

William rented a room and gave the front desk clerk a hundred dollar bill for the room and another hundred for his “discretion.” It was an older hotel in the back section of the Quarter and one of the few that was not blanketed with the eyes of security cameras. The older man dressed in black who opened the front door, doubled as a bellman and security guard. It was not unusual for rooms to be rented by the hour (or two). The desk clerk handed the bellman one of the crisp bills, keeping the other for himself, and then went back to surfing the internet on the hotel computer. Room key in hand, William headed to the hotel bar. He ordered a vodka on the rocks and waited. He didn’t have to wait very long. “So, what’s your name?” William asked the petite blonde who had been eyeing him for at least ten minutes. “Bluebird”, the blonde answered sincerely. “Cut the crap,” William said as he handed her the gin gimlet for which she had asked. “Dianne,” the hooker answered. “Not that it’s any of your business, but my name is Dianne.” “Well, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to get to know you a little better. I sort of like knowing who I take into my bed, if you know what I mean,” William sipped his vodka and managed to smile just enough to seem genuine. He wanted to be a bit certain she was a loner, as were most of the working girls. “I don’t have any diseases, if that’s what you mean,” answered. “Neither do I,” William answered. He had no idea if he had any diseases or not. It was, after all, New Orleans. “Are you from here?” William asked, once again attempting innocent conversation. “No. Mobile. I’ve been here six months. You wanna know my shoe size, too?” 

Dianne's irritation raised a red flag for William and he realized he should back off. He began telling her about his job and how he needed another three accounts before he could return to Memphis. He realized he was a fluent liar.

“You’re a good-looking guy,” Diannenoted. “Why would you need to pay for sex?” she asked. “Now, you’re the one getting personal,” William quipped. “Let’s just say I am into some things that the girls I know in Memphis can’t appreciate. So, you wanna come with me, or not?” he asked, pretending to be a tiny bit annoyed. “Sure.” Dianne said. “Let’s go. It’s two-hundred an hour – a hundred more for kinky stuff.” 

William was pretty certain she had never gotten over a hundred in her life but said, “Two hundred, it is.” He didn’t want to scare her off.

Dianne proved to be more savvy than Angel. She refused the wine William offered but acquiesced to the handcuffs after counting the three hundred dollars and stuffing the crisp bills into her cheap bag. She had seen pretty much everything in the six months she had hooked in New Orleans and being handcuffed to a bed was comparatively vanilla. William pulled out the large syringe he had obtained from the medical supply place on Tulane. “Whoa. Wait a minute! What’s that?” Dianne demanded. “Shut up and be still. I’m just going to draw some blood. We can do it the hard way or the easy way.” Dianne was not in a position to argue and let her left arm be loosened from the cuff. The man obviously had no prior experience in drawing blood and after four failed attempts, he finally hit a good vein. The large syringe filled quickly. He undid the remaining locks and , without saying a word, put her shirt back on and left, clutching her bag to her chest. It was 2 a.m. on a week-night and the streets of the Quarter were hollow and empty, save for the homeless man on the corner. called for an Uber but no one responded so she walked hurriedly to her apartment on St. Claude, trying to forget this night and silently promising herself to get a real job. 

*****

William had enough supply now to finish his final works for the gallery. His last piece, he thought, was his masterpiece. The blonde woman, body supine, one arm sheltering her forehead, the other extended toward something outside the canvas, at first glance, lay upon what looked to be a blood-red, velvet covered bed. Upon a more careful inspection of the painting, however, one began to question whether she lay enveloped in red velvet or in her own blood. It was the perfect “visual illusion” and of this William was extraordinarily proud. It was his piece de resistance. Joseph agreed. The show would no doubt be divine. Absolutely breath-taking. 

*****

Angel had stayed alive in her grave by thinking about the revenge she would exact upon her kidnapper. She would haunt him, she thought. She would drug the vodka he kept in the freezer. She would enter his bedroom at night, stand over him and then disappear into the night – a shadow – a ghost. She would drive him insane, haunting him until he cut his wrists or blew his head off with a gun. She knew he had one He had threatened her often enough with it. He had almost robbed her of her life but she was alive and for that, she was grateful, but she could never forget those horrific two weeks he had kept her prisoner, chained and cut at will, his personal blood bank. In the weeks that followed her escape from the madman’s grasp, she had changed her plans. She had not wanted to chance that the asshole would check her “last resting place.” She thought he was too much of a coward but she had to be certain. 

She had been out one evening – one of the first that Alma had allowed her out alone – and she had seen him. She stood stock still, staring across the park until he had seen her. Once she was certain, once they had locked eyes, she found her way down Frenchmen Street and disappeared into one of the side streets. He had tried to follow her, to prove to himself that it was a simple case of mistaken identity but she escaped him easily this time. He must have been mistaken, he told himself. He had to have been mistaken.

Within a month or so, Angel was well enough to attend White Linen Night, a huge event in the always eventful city. It was a night of snow-white fashion and gallery crawls, particularly on St. Claude and in the Warehouse District. Julia Street was particularly awash in white. The gallery was packed. William charmed his guests, all of whom were gushing with compliments and accolades. His broad smile was as white as his collarless linen shirt. He was a striking figure, posing in front of one of his blood-red paintings, a vision in white shirt and trousers – absolutely stunning. He shook hands, smiled, quipped, and accepted the exorbitant praise from his patrons. 

Across the snow-white sea of bodies, William saw the girl who had evaded him that day on Frenchmen Street. Again, she stood motionless, not fawning over his paintings as were so many, but staring across the room directly at him. He moved gracefully through his admirers and weaved his way across the crowded room, adamant that he not lose sight of this woman again. He had to know that she was simply a look-alike and not a ghost.
No one noticed when the slight, dark-haired woman in white stood directly in front of William, smiling wanly. No one noticed when she drew the knife from her white glove and shoved it with all her might into William’s gut. No one saw her twist it left and right and then withdraw it and slip it back into the glove she held so demurely. She easily made her way through the white cloud of the crowd and out the door. She was already in another gallery on the next block by the time William collapsed onto the floor, holding his hands over the blood-red stain that crawled over his white shirt and trousers.

An ambulance was called. William was rushed to the Grace of God hospital on Canal Street where surgeons and the ER staff worked for over twelve hours on the man who had lost so much blood. It was touch-and-go. The gallery sold every one of his paintings within two hours. Should William die, his paintings would double in price within the day. Should he survive, William would be a very rich man. This was good news for as he did, indeed, survive – thanks to the skilled surgeons who pieced his stomach back together. It was, in fact, excellent news, for William would need lots of money to pay for his medical care, the cost of which would quickly cancel out any proceeds from the sale of his paintings. William had became painfully thin. His clothing sagged in a most unbecoming manner. He had survived the vicious and unprovoked attack, but his stomach had been severely and irreparably damaged. He had a difficult, if not impossible, time ingesting enough nutrients to sustain him and, consequently, he was severely anemic. The artist would require extensive and continued treatment for the remainder of his life. He was lucky to be alive, his doctors had told him. Joseph agreed and accompanied his friend to the Charity hospital on Tulane Avenue where William would receive a series of painful blood transfusions – every… two…. weeks.