High school girls locker room hidden camera

2020.09.24 21:07 ThemThorntons Girls locker school camera high hidden room

“I wish you’d just fucking die.”

The boy’d already stamped his way up half of the narrow steps leading to his angled attic room by the time the curse left his sneering face. It was but a half-breath later that he heard the desperate gurgle and wheeze of his mother down there in the family room, and by the time he came bounding down and arrived at her side she was already dead, spittle and froth caking the corners of her carping mouth. The funeral was mercifully short and sweet. She was disliked by most and had few friends. Scant family was in attendance, scanter tears shed in her honor. Her own son was not among that demonstrative minority and—though he obsessed day and night, wondering if his muttered curse could have somehow supernaturally triggered her death—any guilt he felt was but a shallow pang at finding that he missed her not at all. Not one bitching bit. He couldn’t even remember what it was that precipitated the fight that led to her enigmatic expiration (it was always something) and in truth the days had passed much smoother and quieter with the truculent nag dead and buried—though the nights were less solid in their footing; his callous father’s already prodigious drinking had been rationalized and justified to dizzying heights in the wake of the harpy’s mysterious and most convenient demise. So in the following weeks as his father disappeared into the bottle only to surface in unannounced fits of Mephistophelean angst, the boy brought himself after much consideration to experiment with this newfound power by conveying that simple string of words to whatever unsuspecting small animals crossed his path, starting with an errant backyard squirrel and progressing to a ratty, tailless alley cat before eventually making a subject of the neighbor’s aging, swayback beagle… but all still stood after he said the heinous words. He began to ponder the mechanics of this mysterious, theoretical gift (if it did indeed exist, as he felt and hoped it did)—how it appeared that only a creature of higher intelligence might comprehend the lethality of the language. Having failed with such lesser forms, he one day braved the gauntlet of commuters and bums and ratchets on the public bus line for a truant trip to the city zoo, and after staring long and hard into the eyes of that most intelligent and chromosomally adjacent of primates, the chimpanzee, the boy finally looked both ways and back over his shoulder once more before stating the deadly phrase to the most cognizant of the troop. He held his breath, waited for the hairy humanoid to drop but… nothing. Perhaps there was no power coursing through him after all, he thought... perhaps it was just the cruelest of cosmic coincidences that his mother was struck down and dead a mere moment after he’d wished aloud for that very event to transpire. On the bus ride home following the failed experiment at the zoo the boy’s eyes fell on a slumbering homeless man and he thought of trailing the wayward vagabond, once awake, to his surely wretched flop where the boy would corner him and state the damning words before running off when his suspicions were confirmed by the old mendicant collapsing to the ground in a gasping, gesticulating heap of soiled linens and atrophied limbs. But no... after once more surveying the bored, sullen faces that populated the bus he decided the hour was not right, the eyes too many. In the meantime the boy attended school by way of corners and shadows and spoke to hardly a soul and even then only if spoken to. During this period of macabre deduction he stuck to back halls and alleys between classes and on the trek to and fro, careful to avoid the husky, meat-eating bully who’d leveled crosshairs on him since the previous summer. He had no idea what it was that provoked the brute to single him out that sweltering August day, only that he was once randomly confronted and had been most days since. And though he would still quickly turn back ‘round a corner or slink between the teeming after-school busses when he saw the swinish punk loping around with his perpetually cocked fist and too-big lips, he secretly fantasized about uttering the same venomous words that precipitated his mother’s otherwise unexplainable widowermaker of a heart attack (according to the befuddled coroner’s report). The rumors were already swirling around his school and neighborhood: “Hey, did you hear? They say the freak poisoned his own mom.” Oh, that particular dirty deed had crossed his mind a time or two, make no mistake. He went so far as to open and peer into the cupboard below the kitchen sink on more than one occasion, taking inventory of the chemicals below and even reading up on them online in the deep dark reaches of the night in an attempt to find the ideal slow killer solvent to be doled out in perfectly miniscule, undetectable increments until they compounded in her body and led her to expire frothing on the floor—an effect he’d somehow seemingly willed into existence without so much as a single drop of poison stirred into her sweet tea which often sat on the counter long unattended. As for the impenitent ogre who haunted the halls and alleys and tormented the boy for the better half of a school year, even after the death of the victim’s mother, he was to meet his maker or the void of nothingness soon enough. It was a Tuesday and the wind blew cold and cutting that fateful afternoon when the bully stepped out from behind a leaning dry-rot garage and hemmed the boy in where the alley met the street, giving the slight teen no passage, shoving him into the overflowing trashcans of the Hmong family that slept six to a room in the corner house with their unmowed lawn that caught breeze-blown fast food litter like flies in a silken web. The monstrosity snatched the slender boy from the strewn, stinking garbage and heaved him mightily into a garage and it was at the foot of its rattling bay door that the boy looked up through eyes bleary with tears and seethed through grit teeth: “I wish you’d just fucking die!” The bully complied. His eyes rolled back into his head as his bastard heart seized. That insolent, thick-lipped mouth watered and frothed as if the brute had broken open a hidden secret chamber in a false tooth and swallowed its deadly contents rather than spill precious secrets—but there was no drug at play here, no secrets to protect—and though still unexplained a phenomenon as it was, this was a moment of confounding confirmation: the boy could indeed slay with words, as evidenced not only in the death of his mother following that most malicious pronouncement but now this hulking, convulsing asshole at his feet. He sprinted the three blocks home on legs swifter than any he’d ever known, buoyed and supercharged by the testimony of his dark power. It was real. He could do it. He had killed his mother, and now his chief antagonizer; both felled by highly unlikely and medically inexplicable acute heart attacks. But toxicology reports and autopsies saw no external agents at work in either death, and though the authorities liked neither his look nor demeanor they could do nothing more than question and release the young psychopath, who more than held his own under their glaring interrogatory lights. Despite the compounding rumors (“he’s a ninja assassin, he trained in Japan on foreign exchange”—“no he’s a witch”—“no I heard from this guy my cousin goes to school with that the freak sold his soul to Satan”), the boy found he now walked the halls proper and held his head high as he did so, no longer did he relegate and exile himself to second class citizenry in that inconsequential temple of social inbreeding they called Grover Cleveland High… for he now held the power. They didn’t have to like him, or respect him, or even treat him with common human dignity for he and he alone had the capacity to quietly, effortlessly kill them all—and as he mulled over the possibility inspiration struck in the form of a flyer advertising the school’s sixteenth annual student talent show. He signed up, and when the brace-faced snob overseeing the roster smirked at the sight of his scribbled “Stand Up Comedy” in the “Talent” column, the boy simply smiled back—for he knew the real joke was soon to play out and it would be on her and all the rest of them too. They were doomed, and their ignorance of this fact he found utterly delicious. In the weeks leading to the show, he kept his nose clean at school and avoided his father at home. He’d taken to breaking into half-built houses in an emerging subdivision down Plank Road, vandalizing them by way of graffiti, broken windows, piss and shit. Late one night he fell under the gaze of an interloping spotlight through a shattered window and arched his back at the stern policeman’s voice that ordered him to “come out of the residence with your hands behind your head.” He did just that, and as the officer fished in his pockets and procured identification the boy felt a sudden urge at further experimentation. He wanted to shorten the command, if possible, and wondered if it would have the same destructive effect if he did so. No time like the present, he thought, as he issued a singular, truncated mandate: “Die.” The constable immediately did as told, as had the others who succumbed to the longform command. His mouth frothed, pupils suddenly disappeared to take stock of the inner workings of his skull and he dropped to the ground so suddenly and at such an angle that his thighbone snapped and tore through both the meat of his leg and his navy blue trousers. The boy stood there, feeling like an old world God of plagues and thunder and floods and his eyes went from the astonishingly white exposed bone and seeping blood to the holstered pistol on the felled officer’s hip. He thought of taking it, but then laughed aloud—what use did a God have for a pistol? The big day arrived. The Grover Cleveland High Talent Show. Following a tackless strip mall boy band and several middling dance crews the boy’s showtime moment had come. His name was called and as he ascended the stage’s aluminum-sheathed steps a rousing murmuration ripped through the crowd like wildfire. “The freak’s doing comedy! Can you imagine?!” He toyed with them at first—before he spoke a single word he stepped to the microphone and adjusted it for height and lingered there, allowing the crowd to continue to sneer and gossip and shift in their seats in blithe anticipation. His eyes scoured the faces, fell on and singled out a handful… there was glacier-eyed Kelly March, a girl he’d had a crush on for four years, since the sixth grade. And Mister Hurd, the barrel-chested gym teacher and rugby coach who routinely shamed him for not dressing out in the boy’s locker room; and there was Miss Allen, the English teacher who once offered kind words of encouragement when he wrote a poem about a fishing trip with his grandfather. He would be sorry to see her go, but this needed to be done. They were, for the most part, a sea of assholes and imbeciles and he figured the world would not miss them at all. Not one bitching bit. He cleared his throat. The crowd fell silent, captivated by the thought of this heretofore seemingly tongueless freak who haunted the back halls trying his hand at humor. Little did they know, it was but a single word he would utter— “Die.” It was comedy at its finest, he thought: set-up and punchline and tag all rolled into one, and as soon as he said the word the crowd went into stitches. For a fleeting moment it actually looked as if they were indeed laughing in unison, so closely did the dance of death resemble that most inarticulate act. But no, they were not laughing. They were dying. In droves—boys, girls, men and women… hundreds of them there in the auditorium, capitulating to his savage command like frothing rabid animals. And then he saw them: half a row of bewildered, horrified faces… The deaf kids. They’d escaped his wrath, not because they were any less intelligent than their dying peers, but simply because they did not hear the command that carried it. Whatever metaphysical work was at play, it relied on auditory perception and thus the severely hard of hearing and the fully deaf were spared. Looking to the right side of the stage he found that their interpreter, however, was not. This was a turn of events he’d not accounted for in his fantasies of mass murder. Panicked, the boy fled. It was not long before they were at the door of his home, the stormtroopers, and he was driven downtown in the back of a paddy wagon with his wrists zip-tied and his murderous mouth plugged with a leather-strapped ball gag. The police of course were familiar with the boy by way of the previous two deaths (though they had not yet fingered him in the mysterious fatality of one of their own), and when a deaf girl who was particularly skilled at the reading of lips told the police her account of the tragedy at Grover Cleveland, they made sure to silence him one way or another when they came for him. Black-hearted, calculating, capable of great evil—the boy was all of these things, but stupid he was not. Once the ball was removed and officers interrogated him with their ears plugged he knew better than to admit to anything, let alone say the deadly words. There was nothing they could do with him, no legal precedent set for such a supernatural occurrence let alone a standard charge to file and thus he was released into the custody of his inebriated father within twenty-four hours. As soon as the front door was closed and the tumblers fell he instructed his worthless, bottle-swimming father to die and the man promptly did so. The boy stepped over his convulsing body and up the narrow stairs to his room as he had after the fight with his mother that started it all. Once there, he fired up his computer and sat down before it and logged onto Chatroulette. The bodies dropped like leaves from a dying tree; an endless revolving door of new faces, new ears to inform with his now singular mantra of death. He grew bored with it, and instead used his web camera to record and upload a simple backlit five-second clip of him uttering “die” to the world. It took a day or so before it went viral, and as it did he sat and drank the last of his father’s cheap vodka and watched the video’s views climb like some sick, runaway stock in a bull market of death. Hundreds, then thousands before the warnings hit—this was no hoax. Once it was common knowledge, a hot ticket item on the twenty-four hour news cycle, they were back at the door. Pounding, firing pellets of teargas through windows as he’d once hurled rocks through those of the half-built houses off Plank Road. With stinging eyes and searing lungs he made his way down out of the attic and into the bathroom where he stared at his reflected countenance as the chaos built around him and the last thing he heard, other than the splintering of the door as the black booted SWAT team breached it, was his own seething voice aimed at the young man in the mirror: “Die.” 
submitted by ThemThorntons to stayawake [link] [comments]


2020.09.23 00:54 Tomas-T Camera school high hidden locker room girls

Scream is my favorite film and my favorite film franchise. After the announcment of scream 5 (thing I would never thought will happen) and finish the casting, I decided just for fun to write synopsis for Scream films but now with TD characters and slighly diffrente plot. Tody I will begin with Scream 1, my favorite film ever!
Two best friends, Katie and Sadie, are sitting at Katie's house at night and watching a horror movie. A few moments later the phone rings and Katie answers to a stranger who is initially flirting with her. But soon the conversation takes a dark turn when the girls discover that the caller can see them. After Katie hangs up she hears a strange noise upstairs and goes upstairs to see while Sadie stays downstairs. When Katie returns Sadie is nowhere to be found. The phone rings again and this time the caller from the other side starts threatening Katie's life. The caller orders Katie to turn on the yard lights and when she does she sees Sadie's dead body on a chair. Soon a person dressed as Ghostface breaks into the house from the door and after a short chase they kills Katie.
That night Bridgette Mclean receives a surprising visit from her boyfriend Geoff, who comes through the window. Bridgette hides goeff under the bed when her father Chris enters the room to say goodbye to her before he goes to a bussinestrip for a week outside of Wawanakbro
The next morning Bridgette meets up with her two best friends, Gwen and Courtney and they tell her about the murder of Katie and Sadie. The timing of the tragedy is difficult for Bridgette as it is the anniversary of the disappearance of her mother, Milliecent. While Bridgette's friends understand and support her, the mean girl of high school, Heather, mocks her about it. The girls all decide to go to sleep at Courtney's home so that Bridgette will feel safe. That evening while waiting for Courtney to pick her up, Bridgette get a phone call from the killer who starts teasing her and then attacks her. After a brief chase Bridgette manages to lock herself in the room and call the police. When the killer disappears goeff appears through the window and tells that he heard Bridgette screaming. But when a cellphone falls out of his pocket Bridgette suspects him and tries to escape through the door where she encounters Harold, a dorky cop who rents a room in Courtney's house, grabbing the killer's mask he found on the floor.
Bridgette is taken to testify by police while Goeff is arrested. Gwen and Courtney arrive to the police station to pick her up. When the girls and Harold leave the police station, they come across the news reporter Leshawna Edwards and her cameraman Owen. Leshawna has previously written a book crediting Devon Joseph, the boy suspected of Millicent's disappearance and calling Bridgette a liar. Leshawna behaves insensitively and teases Bridgette who punches her back.
At Courtney's house Bridgette gets a phone call from the killer saying that "she pointed at the wrong person ... again!" This means that Devon Joseph is probably not responsible for the disappearance of her mother and that Goeff cannot be the killer since he is arrested. The next day after Goeff is released he and Bridgette argue and as a result Bridgette goes to the bathroom to relax. There she hears Heather and her friend Lindsay gossiping about her. Heather actually suspects that maybe Bridgette is the killer and she is lying while Lindsay is disgusted by these accusations. The killer is then revealed to be in the other toilet cubicle, grabs Bridget and stabs her in the stomach, but then it turns out to be a prank (so the knife is fake and Bridgette is fine) of the two high school jokers Ezekiel and Cody. Principal Dwyan is very angry at both of them and sends them straight to their home.
In Cody's house, Ezekiel is quite concerned about the fact that there is a killer on the loose, but Cody reassures him, claiming that "this is a killer who only follows women." A few moments later Cody gets a phone call from the killer who starts teasing him. Cody teases him back to Ezekiel's anxiety. A few moments later the killer appears from above and kills Ezekiel. Cody tries to escape but fails and the killer kills him as well.
In the evening Sheriff Chef Hatchet informs Harold that he has contacted the hotel where Chris was supposed to arrive and understood from them that Chris never came so he is marked as a murder suspect. Harold has decide to tell Bridgette about it to not upset her.
The next day Harold meets Leshawna near the school and they start flirting with each other and Harold hints that the main suspect is Chris.
In order to keep the residents of Wawankabro safe, a curfew is imposed on the town and the school is closed until further notice. As a result Duncan (Courtney's boyfriend) and Goeff decide to throw a party at Duncan's house. The girls are also invited to the party along with Noah, Duncan's cousin and Trent, Gwen's musucian boyfriend. Meanwhile at school Heather and her boyfriend Alejandro decide to have their sexual fantasy in school locker room in the shower. While they were in the locker rooms, manager Dwyn was murdered in his office. Before Heather and Alejandro start having sex Heather gets a phone call. She ties naked Alejandro with toy handcuffs to the showerhead so he "won't run away" while she wears a robe and goes to answer the phone. It turns out that the person who called her is the killer who starts teasing her. Heather does not take his threat seriously, is rude to him and hang off the call. When she returns to the shower she sees Alejandro's dead body. After a brief chase around the school, Heather also falls victim to the killer.
In the videogame store where Noah works, he talks to Trent and points out that he suspects that either Goeff or Duncan (or both together) is the killer. Duncan overhears this conversation and he threatens Noah not to "talk nonsense." Later at home, Trent organizes his band's van. He gets a phone call from the killer. Trent threatens the killer and gets into the car only to find that the killer was sitting in the back seat and even before Trent is maneged to escape the killer slits his throat.
Leshawna find out from Harold about the party that Duncan and Goeff are organizing, feels that there is going to be a sotry, she and Owen go to the party and she convinces Harold to help her come in. The entrance to the famous reporter excites everyone and while she distracts everyone Owen puts a hidden camera in the living room. After they leave Harold gets a report of a suspicious vehicle on the side of the road and he offers Leshawna to come with him and she agrees while Owen stays in their van. Meanwhile Courtney is going to get more beer from the garage where she's being attacked by the killer. She manages to fight back, opens the garage door in order to escape but then the killer presses the stop button and forcibly closes the gate on Courtney's neck and breaks it thus causing her death.
Goeff shows up at the party and he offers Bridget to go settle the relationship between them and Duncan accompanies them to his room. Meanwhile Noah explains to Gwen and the others party guests the rules of surviving a horror film.
Bridgette and Goeff forgive each other and decide to lose their virginity together. Meanwhile Noah gets a phone call that the bodies of principal Dwyne, Alejandro and Heather were found at the school and as a result almost all the party guests leave to see and leave Duncan, Noah and Gwen behind.
Harold and Leshwna find the car and Harold recognizes that it's Chris' car. The two immediately decide to return to Duncan's house. After Goeff and Bridgette finish and get dressed Bridgette talks to him again about her mother's disappearance and the suspicion she had of him. Immediately afterwards the killer appears behind Goeff and stabs him to death. Bridgette escapes from the killer out of the house and runs to Lesawna and Owen's van. Owen let her in and the two watch as the killer intends to murder the drunken Noah. But when the killer notices the camera he comes out and slits Owen's throat. Bridgette escapes out of van.
Harold and Leshawba return to the house and discover that there is no one there. Harold enters the house and orders Leshawna to return to the city and call the police. When Leshawna tries to drive she is surprised by Owen's body which is thrown on her windshield and as a result she almost run over Bridgette. Leshawna falls off the road and crush a tree and loses consciousness. Bridgette goes back to Duncan's house and finds Harold seriously injured on the floor. She takes the gun from him and then encounters Duncan and Noah blaming each other. She decides to lock them both outside. Gwen appears out of nowhere and soothes Bridgette. She suggests that it is better to bring in Noah as he is physically weaker and "if he is indeed the killer we can subdue him more easily". Bridgette agrees to this plan and she give the gun to Gwen. Gwen brings Noah into the house. Noah remarks that Duncan was completely loset his mind out. Gwen smiles wickedly and shoots hi,, thus revealing that she is the killer.
Duncan came in through the back door and Bridgette ran to him. But it turns out Duncan is also the killer and they both used a voice changer to sound over the phone like the same person. The two take Bridgette to the kitchen and reveal that they also kidnapped her father. When Bridgette asks if it has to do with her mother's disappearance Gwen replies they indeed framed Devon Joseph as the murderer but they did not know either what happened to her. Duncan explains that the murders are actually their revolt against modern society. When Bridgette asks why, in the case of Gwen's murder, she answers "why not?". The two reveal their plan to murder Bridgette and her father, injure each other and tell everyone that Chris is the killer and they are the only survivors. Leshawna appears with Harold's gun, threatening to shoot them both but safty plug is active so it fails and as a result Duncan attacks her and apparently kills her. Leshawna's apperance is a perfect distraction for Bridgette and Chris. She hides at home and teases them both on the phone. She then attacks Gwen and apparently kills her by stabbing her stomcah. Duncan as revenge begins to strangle Bridget but then Noah saves her when he hits his head with a chair. While Duncan tries to murder Noah Bridgette manages to knock him down and then Noah pushes the TV on him and electrocutes Duncan to death. Gwen turns out to be alive and she stabs Noah in the back. Just before she manages to murder Bridgette into a Leshawna wakes up and shoots her. Noah warns that this is the moment when the killer gets up for one last jumpscare. Gwen wakes up for a minute just to get a shot in the head from Leshawna again.
In the morning Harold, still alive, is taken to the hospital while Leshawna delivers an impromptu report of the night's events. Bridgette and Noah talks about them surviving the murderes. Bridgette still wonder what happened to her mother.
Next time - Scream 2
the survivor will meet the new (potential) victims: The cast of Revenge of the island.
submitted by Tomas-T to Totaldrama [link] [comments]


2020.08.09 22:45 welcometosouthapp Hidden room high school girls locker camera

Welcome to South App #2: https://preview.redd.it/yjkwcmvc22g51.jpg?width=2365&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=1aeb599b9653585277e9c705c7d6a935c1a144da
Sunday, August 9th, 2020
“Hall check! Wake yo' dumb asses up.”
Winston wiped the grit out of his eyes and checked his phone. 6 AM. He sucked last night’s Cheeto dust off his fingers and ripped a violent fart, causing Tai to spring up from his bed.
“What was that?!” Tai piped up. “And...what’s that smell?”
“Armadillos,” said Winston, lighting a cig. “Liberal town stinks of ‘em.”
Somebody pounded the hell out of the door. “Winston! Tai! I said hall check!”
“Fuuuck,” Winston slurred, hopping off the top bunk. He smacked his head on the way down, landed on his ankle, and dropped his cigarette.
“And that would be the new R.A.,” Tai sighed, shuffling to his feet. “Voice sounds kinda familiar. Welp, our shenanigans were fun while they lasted.”
They emerged into the bright hallway in pajamas. And to their surprise, every student stood next to their door at attention. Some were swearing. Others were sweating. And strangely, there was no R.A. in sight.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Winston muttered.
“Dude, get to attention before he comes back!” hissed Connor: a lanky, nerdy guy with a bowl cut and glasses.
“Is this some kind of joke?” asked Tai. “Somebody must be playing a prank on us or-"
Suddenly clothes, shoes, snacks, beer bottles, and a sex doll flew out of the room at the end of the hall. “Jackpot!” bellowed a voice from inside. “That’s a fuckin’ minor-in-possession charge right there!”
Then, it occurred to Winston: that voice was familiar. Suddenly, his taser mark burned like Spidey Sense. Winston jogged between rows of trembling students, ignoring the suffering cries of “Don’t do it!” and “He’s bigger than you!” In the doorway, Winston saw him: Lionell the bus driver. He sat with his back turned in a swivel chair, browsing his hallmate’s laptop. He appeared to be making himself right at home, his combat boots crossed on top of the desk.
“Looks like the simps in this room are fond of big-titty goth bitches!” he yelled out, scrolling through the browser history of 4K porn.
Winston took a deep breath. “Hey, uh...Mister Lionell?”
Lionell swiveled around to face him. His eyebrows furrowed like two lightning bolts beneath his freshly-waxed head. “Ah, Winston Panty-Pissin’ Beavers. Care to tell me why the fuck you ain’t in formation?”
Winston would rather swallow his own vomit than his pride. “Uh, yes sir. First of all, I wanna apologize for the way I acted on the bus. I was a bonafide douchebag. But I also wanted to ask: can I please get my gun back? My dad gave it to me, and-”
Lionell shot to his feet. He marched over to Winston like a true Marine. Slowly, he reached into his BDU pocket and withdrew the Colt Single-Action Army, cradling it in his calloused hands like Oliver Twist asking for porridge.
“Is, uh…this whatchu want, Mister Beavers?” Lionell mocked in a high-pitched voice.
“Yeah, man!” Winston chuckled nervously. “I’d mighty appreciate it.”
“Go on then!” Lionell snapped. “Take it. But if you do, I’m gonna charge yo’ ass with discharging a firearm near a public highway, destruction of private property, and attempted hijacking of a motor vehicle! And Lionell’s my government name. It’s Deputy Hardy to you.”
Lionell snatched Winston’s hand and placed the gun inside it. The warm muzzle fit his hand perfectly - exactly why his dad had chosen it for him. And it pained Winston that much more to hand the Colt back to Lionell. Winston had reluctantly made up his mind.
“That’s what I fucking thought,” Lionell sneered. “You’re a pussy, and daddy would be ashamed." Lionell pocketed the gun and marched out of the room, down the hall of petrified students. “Ya know, I’d say daddy shoulda left yo’ ass on a tissue. Then again, why waste a perfectly good tissue, ya dig?”
Lionell reached Room 309 and stepped inside.
“We gotta do something about this son of a bitch,” whispered Tai, as a seething Winston came to attention next to his room.
“Dude, there’s not shit we can do except comply,” whispered Connor, shaking his head. “Most of us have shit in our room way worse than alcohol." Connor pressed his finger against his nostril and pretended to snort cocaine. “Look, the way I see it: we just gotta let the R.A. do his thing. Let’s face it: we’re Lionell’s bitch.”
Holy fucking shit!” Lionell cheered. “I gots me some goodies in this room.” He walked out with a bag of Winston’s hand-cut tobacco, a jar of moonshine, and a few boxes of .45 ammo. But Winston’s anger paled in comparison to the sheer horror on Tai’s face. Under Lionell’s arm was a binder with big, bold letters reading HAWT BOOK. Tai’s eyeballs nearly popped out of his skull.
“He cannot...read...that book!” Tai whispered, gripping Winston’s shoulder.
“Sheesh, dude,” Winston said with a shrug. “Quit your bitchin’. He done took my Alabama moonshine. A few inbreds died making that batch.”
“Mine’s worse, roomie,” Tai’s voice cracked. “Much worse.”
***
Four floors up, Gigi opened her eyes to the sun in her face. She stared up at the ceiling, a visible heatwave cooking the room. One of these days, the paint would melt off the ceiling and coat her entire body while she slept.
Like Winston, Gigi was a member of the Top Bunk Club. And she too had rolled off the bunk and twisted her ankle more than once. On this day she sat up too quickly, feeling a rush of hard cider to the head. She felt herself tumbling down, down, down - landing squarely on the bean bag chair below.
The room spun above her head, her heart pounding in her throat. She slumped over, crawling across the soft, white shag carpet. Gripping the towel rack, she pulled her body up, bent over the sink, and threw up. She flopped onto the cold tile floor, smiling as the nausea left her body.
Somebody gently tapped on her door.
“Sarah?” Gigi called out, her voice hoarse and dry. “Um...can you grab me a Sprite?”
“Oooh, my-a Gigi!” called out an Asian lady. It was Kim Moon: Gigi’s mom. “How are you? Did you have much drink? I cannot wait hear everything!”
Gigi lay in a fetal position, covering her mouth. “M-mom?!”
“Yes, my-a Gigi!” replied Kim. “Please open door for hall check. I am your new R.A!”
Gigi projectile vomited on the shag rug.
Minutes later, Kim was on her knees scrubbing the rug while Gigi sat on the futon. Kim had raided Gigi’s cabinet for rubber gloves, bleach, and an old towel. She aggressively scrubbed the carpet until that one spot was much cleaner than the rest of it.
“Like I always tell-a you,” Kim said, looking up. “Cleanliness next to godliness." She smiled, displaying a row of pale yellow teeth. Her black, thinning hair draped down the back of her neck. She was even shorter than her daughter.
“Um...yep!” Gigi laughed nervously. She sipped a Sprite, pulling her knees to her chest. “So...what exactly is going on?”
“My-a Gigi,” Kim cooed, cradling her daughter’s face in her gloved hands. “My heart-a broke when you leave. I cry and cry, then I finally close up shop be with you!”
Back in suburban Atlanta, Kim ran a small farmer’s market out of a shed on her property. Gigi spent her adolescent and teenage years harvesting vegetables and selling them in exchange for a weekly allowance. Kim always swore that Gigi (or possibly her bratty little sister, Catherine) would someday inherit the house and family business.
“Why-a don’t we start our hall check? I bake-a cookies for all you ladies while we tell story of baby Gigi!”
***
Tai and Winston stood at attention, while Lionell paced the hallway with Tai’s HAWT BOOK in hand.
“I told y’all motherfuckers I done struck gold!” Lionell bellowed.
As Lionell approached, the students’ faces burned red. Lionell stopped in front of the room across the hall. “Now what’s...yo name?”
“C-C-Connor,” said the bowl-cut kid.
“Ah, mah’fuckin’ Connor! That right there’s a hwhite boy name." Lionell flipped through the binder. And while the other students stared in horror, Winston was the only one fighting to hold back a laugh.
“Ah, Connor in Room 308!” Lionell read from the binder. “Pros: tight ass; confirmed six-pack. Cons: probably not bi-curious; probably a top. Overall rating: 7/10.”
Winston exploded into laughter. “Damn, Connor, you’re tied with Fat Will!" William, the chunky neckbeard down the hall, gave a hesitant thumbs-up. In Tai’s binder, Will had also scored a 7/10 for having a size-13 shoe size and being a sloppy eater.
“I ain’t done yet, funny boy!” Lionell yelled in Winston’s face. “I done saved the best for last. The mah-fuckin’ creme-de-la-creme. Wiiinston Beavers!”
“Ha!” Winston interrupted, pointing at the 3/10 Leftward-Sloping-Penis-Rick down the hall. “That means you’re officially in last place, bitch!”
Earlier, Tai had been sweating bullets. But after having his deepest, darkest secrets broadcasted so theatrically, his expression was dull and lifeless.
Winston Beavers: my temporary college roommate,” Lionell read. “Cons: leaves his dirty boots on the carpet, doesn’t wash his sheets, doesn’t wash his scrotum, drinks milk from the carton, everything he touches turns into Cheeto dust, and the room smells like dead armadillos when he’s around.”
Winston stopped laughing.
Pros: good snacks,” Lionell sneered. “Final score: 0.5 out of 10.”
“This is horse shit!” Winston yelled, punching the wall. He stomped down the hall of cringing students. Tai trailed behind while the thunderous laughter of Deputy Hardy faded behind them.
“Wait, hold up!” Tai called out in the stairwell. “Just let me explain."
“Ain’t nothin’ to explain!” Winston shot back. “Apparently, I’m a temporary roommate. So I ain’t gonna show my armadillo ass around Firewater much longer.”
“Okay man, I admit it,” Tai said, throwing his hands up. “I’m not sorry for writing that, but I am sorry you had to hear it. Besides! It’s not like it’s something that can’t be fixed. I have a wide array of hygiene products that’ll help with at least a quarter of the things on that list!”
Winston scoffed like a wild hog. But his expression softened as he mulled it over. “You got any of that...sandalwood cologne?”
“Hell yes I do!” said Tai, perking up. “I’ve got creams, lotions, salves, colognes - you name it! Roomie, allow me to become your personal fabulous assistant! Why, I’ll have you looking spiffy for Miss Claire Dansby in no time.”
“Now you’re talking my language,” Winston said, shaking on it. “Deal.”
They entered the 700 Hall to the sound of giddy laughter. The ladies gathered around the petite Miss Kim, who sat in a stool in the middle of the hallway. Like Kindergarteners, they watched earnestly while the woman held a photo album.
“And dis one,” Kim squeaked, pointing at one of the photos, “is my-a Gigi during first birthday. She eat-a cake, and eat, and eat. She get very, very fat! And you no notice now, because she smaaall as Oompa Loompa now.”
The women howled with laughter while Gigi sat slumped against the wall, wishing she would melt into it.
“And how-a can we-a forget!” Kim gasped. “Dis one is my-a Gigi dressed-a like Neenja Turtle. She has-a Neenja Turtle jammies, Neenja Turtle bedsheets, and even-a Neenja Turtle potty!”
“Sorry Ma’am, we gotta go!” announced Winston, grabbing Gigi’s hand. “Sunday brunch is about to start.”
“Oh!” cried Kim. “Why, hello! Handsome gentlemen stay for my-a cookies?”
But the three freshmen were already out the door.
***
The Chubby Beaver Cafe rewarded Sunday brunch to hungover early birds on campus. A full spread of “Beaverific” entrees: bourbon maple chicken and waffles, crepes stuffed with fresh fruit puree, and virgin screwdrivers (i.e. BYOB). The main attraction: a giant hand-carved ice beaver statue.
But the distraught Winston, Gigi, and Tai were sickened by the thought of fine dining. Instead, they drowned their sorrow in a mile-high stack of bacon on a plate. While they silently munched on sadness and grease, Sarah swept by with a crepe and a screwdriver. She plopped down in the seat next to Winston.
“Helllo, lovelies!” she greeted. Unlike the other three pajama slobs, she wore a long, purple skirt and newly-braided dreadlocks. Sarah was rushing a week early, having spent the night stargazing with a co-ed hippie fraternity.
“What’s with the plate of animal carcasses, bro?” Sarah asked, sipping her drink. “Does a pig have to die for you to live?”
“Fuck it, I’m full,” growled Winston, pushing his plate across the table. Tai and Gigi turned away like dogs refusing to eat.
“Geez, who rained on your parade?” Sarah asked, cracking open a shot bottle of vodka and discretely pouring it into her orange juice.
Winston pointed at the entrance. “See for yourself.”
The freshmen watched a group of men and women stroll into the cafe, dressed in their Sunday-best attire of black tailored suits and dresses. And yet, in context, it seemed like they were marching to a funeral.
“Wait,” Sarah whispered. “That’s the-"
“Campus 5-0,” Winston finished. He stood on top of his chair. “Code red!”
Immediately, every student scrambled to hide their weed, mini liquor bottles, and pain pills. Several students pulled their hands out of their girlfriends’ panties. And the conversation shifted from scoring molly to scoring into the South App Honors Program.
“Wait, that’s the bus driver, right?” Sarah asked, pointing out the freshly-waxed bald head in the crowd. “God, tell me he’s not your R.A!”
“He is, oh God he is!” Tai moaned dramatically. He grabbed a handful of bacon, stuffed it into his mouth, and crawled under the table.
Lionell reached into his pocket and made his hand into the shape of a gun. He aimed it at Winston, shut his left eye, and "fired." Winston didn’t so much as move a muscle while Lionell blew on his hand, placed the “gun” in his pocket, and got in line for waffles.
“Um...I’ve got it worse - tenfold!” Gigi laughed nervously. On cue, Momma Moon approached their table wearing a long, black dress.
“O-a, my-a Gigi and friends!” Kim greeted, folding her hands in front of her waist. “When you-a leave, I unlock your-a door and do all your laundry!”
“What?!” Gigi choked. “You have a key to my room?”
“My dear-a, I need keep an eye on you as your R.A! I not go anywhere! I need make sure you safe and clean. All your thong-a, and even your granny panty.”
With that, Gigi grabbed a handful of bacon, stuffed it into her mouth, and slipped under the table to join Tai.
And now only the two siblings remained. Kim reached over and stroked Winston’s beard. “It’s-a been long time since my-a Gigi have strong American friend take-a care of her. You make sure she-a be good girl while she get teeth degree.”
“Uh, sure thing ma’am,” Winston replied while Kim gave him a boop on the nose with her finger.
“You-a fluffy man. You look handsome if you no fat.”
Sarah burst into laughter, downing the rest of her screwdriver. But Kim picked up Sarah’s empty glass, traced the rim, and placed a finger in her mouth. “Oooh, naughty, naughty. I think you put alcohol in there-a. That means-a I impose 7 PM curfew for week.”
“What?!” screamed Sarah. “You bitch!”
“Oooh, careful,” Kim cooed, picking up a slice of bacon and pointing at Lionell across the room. “If you no comply, I tell big cop man that you minor in possession." She spun around and walked off, nibbling on the bacon like a chipmunk.
Sarah snapped the glass at the stem. “Let’s sabotage these fuckin’ R.A.'s!”
Winston narrowed his eyes, watching as Lionell poured a cup of runny batter into the waffle iron. He rotated the handle to start the timer, and his carb cake began to cook.
“Now’s our chance,” Winston said, springing up from his chair. “Follow me, sis.”
“What about them?” Sarah asked, pointing under the table.
Winston grabbed the plate of bacon and lifted the tablecloth. Tai and Gigi immediately snatched it up like cave trolls, feasting in their underground lair.
“All that pork and they’re skinny as rails,” Winston muttered to Sarah.
“Ah, I see Momma Moon hit a nerve with you,” Sarah teased, rubbing his belly. “Are you out to impress her now? Or is it her daughter you seek?”
Winston scoffed as he and Sarah weaved through tables of hungover students. “Nah, just Claire,” he replied.
“Ah, I knew it!” Sarah laughed. “Your southern damsel in distress. So, you wanna know a secret that only a woman would know?”
“Hit me.”
“It’s gonna take a lot more than good looks to score with a woman like her.”
“Explain.”
“The solution...is that there is no solution. You have to be born into it. Sorry!”
At the waffle station, Lionell lifted the handle and grabbed his waffle, imprinted with the S.A.U. Beaver logo. And as he searched for the maple syrup, Winston dangled it in front of his face.
“Got a wager for ya, Deputy,” Winston proposed, dousing his waffle with syrup while Lionell furrowed his brow. “And the stakes are mighty high.”
“You got ten seconds,” Lionell snarled, “Before I stomp yo’ ass in front of your sister." Sarah took a sip of her fresh screwdriver, middle finger up.
“Whoa, easy tiger,” said Winston. He poured a scoop of batter into the waffle iron and slammed it shut. “I’ll put it like this: you look like you’ve eaten from a pig trough once or twice in your life.”
“You got some fuckin’ nerve.”
“Hey, I have too! Nothin’ to be ashamed of. Your colleague over there called me out on my weight too. You’re an American. I’m an American. So let’s do what we Americans do best: have a good old-fashioned eating contest.”
Lionell paused. He swiped a knob of butter with his knife and slathered his waffle. “Now what’s in it for me?”
“Simple. If you win, you get to give me a 7 PM curfew for a month." Sarah suddenly spat out her screwdriver, clutching Winston’s sleeve. “And if I win, you get the fuck out of my hall.”
A gleaming smile washed across Lionell’s face. Students began setting their phones down to eavesdrop. The waffle iron alarm went off. Lionell swiped the fluffy waffle and dropped it on a plate.
“Aight, Beavers. But I get to decide what we eatin’. Annnd march!”
Lionell snapped to attention, about-faced, and marched down the buffet line. Winston quickly slathered his waffle with syrup and butter, following behind. At the chicken station, Lionell grabbed the tongs and swiped a piece of growth-hormone fried chicken for both of them. Five slices of bacon to top it all off.
That’s it? Winston thought. This is just any given Tuesday for me.
But instead of heading back to a table, Lionell about-faced to the waffle station again. “I ain’t through with you by a damn sight,” Lionell warned. “I’m about to get diabetic on yo’ ass!”
Lionell and Winston cycled through the buffet line, layering the waffles, chicken, and bacon three more times. By now, Gigi and Tai had joined the crowd of gossiping students. When Sarah recapped the challenge, Gigi crossed her arms, containing a large belch in her throat.
“Wow, how can Winston eat all of that?” Gigi groaned. “Is he from this world?”
“You’d be surprised,” Sarah chuckled, shaking her head. “My brother is a bonafide carnivore. Hell, he used to have this YouTube channel. What was it...ah, Feng Shui of the Gut. He’d upload these crazy eating challenges once or twice a week. My parents couldn’t keep a full pantry. And let’s just say it got to the point where they made Winston buy his own toilet paper.
That mental image seared in Gigi’s mind as the two competitors sat down with their two-foot-tall stacks of grease. And since Winston’s gut would certainly be “feng shui’d” this afternoon, Tai thanked God that their dorm bathrooms were down the hall instead of in their room. All eyes were on them. Not to mention, several live video feeds. Winston and Lionell placed their paper napkins on their laps, gripping a knife and fork in their fists.
“One last finishing touch,” Lionell declared. “Waiter! Bring me some ranch.”
Magically, a student worker swept by with a ladle of ranch dressing. Lionell drowned their chicken and waffles with the stuff. The color drained from both Winston’s and Sarah’s face. Even she knew he was doomed.
When Winston was a wee lad in Trinity, he’d grown up pouring ranch dressing on his school pizza, corn nuggets, and hot dogs. But all of that had come to a halt in middle school. One day, he’d brought a cobb salad for lunch to impress the football cheerleaders. And after taking his first bite, he had pulled a long strand of gray hair out of his mouth. Courtesy of a lunch lady who had always refused to wear a hairnet. Needless to say, Winston had never touched ranch dressing ever since.
“Go, fat boy!” Lionell barked.
Winston shook the memory and dug in. He tried to saw the soggy waffle stack with a butter knife. Lionell simply grabbed a handful of food and stuffed it into his mouth. So Winston tossed his silverware aside and went to town. The syrup, ranch, butter, and chicken grease coagulated in his stomach. But he trucked through, sickened by the thought of a sunset curfew. And by now, there was a clear divide in the crowd: the faculty and staff backing Lionell and the students cheering for Winston.
“Gonna beat that bitch ass!” Lionell scoffed between bites.
Lionell was a food machine, shoveling down the first layer like he was born for it. Now Winston could eat his way out of trouble too. But the watered-down expired ranch stuck to the back of his throat. He switched his approach, fetching his napkin and wiping off each piece of bacon and chicken. He scarfed those down with ease. But the longer the waffles sat there, the more they puffed up in size as they soaked in the ranch.
“Fuck me,” Winston groaned, washing his food down with a glass of Mountain Dew. Meanwhile, Lionell looked like a mental patient, his cheeks and chin coated in grease and dressing. Winston looked down at the sweet, salty, gooey, gelatinous pile of batter. His stomach churned as he felt something rise from his stomach to his throat...
“Drink this, bro!” Sarah yelled, tilting Winston’s head back. She poured a steady stream of Pepto-Bismol into his mouth. And now, the flavor of stale bubblegum was added to the milky, tangy ranch. Time stood still. Winston suddenly imagined a tiny lunch lady sitting in that pink bottle. Holding a fishing pole. Casting a fishing line down Winston’s throat. A line made of her own hair.
Winston turned to his side and threw up on the floor.
It was over. Lionell stood to his feet, holding up a clean plate and dragging his tongue across it. Winston panted on hands and knees while Sarah and Tai lay hands on him. Gigi rushed back with a refill of Mountain Dew.
“On the bright side...I got the whole thing on video so we can still put it on your YouTube channel!” Gigi cheered.
“Wh-what? Who told you about that?” Winston looked up, feeling a second wave coming.
Before Gigi could answer, Kim came by with a mop and a bucket full of chemicals. “I clean, I clean! Remember, my daughter: cleanliness next to godliness!”
***
At 6:55 PM Sarah lay on her bunk reading an H.P. Lovecraft novel she borrowed from Evelyn. Gigi was organizing the massive pile of clean panties on the futon, courtesy of Kim. At the age of 18, she couldn’t bear the thought of her mom sorting through the different shapes, sizes, and colors. Once again, she wished lightning would just strike her dead where she stood…
Somebody knocked on the door.
“Oh, looks like curfew check,” Gigi said. “Good thing you’re already in the room!" Without looking up from the book, Sarah flipped her off. Gigi grabbed her comforter and draped it over Panty Mountain. But when she opened the door, it was Winston. He was holding a 6-foot metal pole.
“Howdy,” Winston said, slipping in and closing the door. “I heard you’re part of the Top Bunk Club, so I got ya a safety bar.”
“Oh, cool! That’s very thoughtful of you, Winston! I almost died this morning when I fell off.”
But Sarah saw right through his brother’s facade. “That’s obviously not why he’s not here,” she muttered, bookmarking her place and sitting up in bed. “He’s trying to avoid his curfew. Look, bro, can’t you just admit defeat every now and then? It sucks. But if I’m following the rules, then so can you.”
“Hey check this out, sis,” Winston proposed. He propped the safety bar against the wall and sat next to hidden Panty Mountain. “All I gots to do is hang out here for a little bit, and then we can all sneak out and go to trivia at that pizza joint downtown.”
Before they could consider it, there was a single, thunderous pound on the door. “Winston, I know yo’ ass is in there!” Lionell yelled.
“Shit,” Sarah hissed. “Quick, get in the closet!”
“Hey, I ain’t like my roommate, ya know." But Sarah grabbed Winston’s shoulders and shoved him in, closing the rasta sheet. Gigi took a breath and opened the door.
“Deputy!” Gigi greeted. “Quite the lovely post-curfew evening on campus. What say ye?”
But Lionell walked straight past her into the center of the room. He put his hands on his hips, admiring the clean and tidy living space. Sarah’s prog-rock band posters. Gigi’s bulletin board containing OCD-level to-do lists.
“Ya know, for such a cozy girls’ room,” Lionell pondered, “it sho’ smells like a boy came up in here and took a giant steamy shit.” He eyed the massive pile on the futon and grabbed a corner of the comforter. “There you are! So you think you can do whatever you want like you fucking own South App! Well, you’re fixin’ to have bruises on yo’ knees when I’m through with ya!”
Lionell flung away the comforter, revealing Gigi’s entire collection of panties. Her jaw hit the floor, and Sarah shot to her feet.
“Look, he’s not here!” Sarah asserted. “He’s back over at the cafe for wing night, stuffing his face as usual. Matter fact, he wants to meet ya there for a rematch, if you-”
But Lionell heard none of it. For the first time, the lines on his face softened, and his eyes nearly teared up at the beautiful sight. He picked up a pair of frilly, blue panties and held them in front of his face. Gigi stammered in absolute horror.
“G-get the fuck out of here, you f-fucking asshole!" Gigi spat.
Sarah lunged for the panties, but Lionell’s giant hand shoved her back onto the bed. He whipped out Winston’s revolver and pointed it square at Sarah’s forehead. “Now, now. This is between me and this little Asian piece of ass directly adjacent to me." Lionell casually gestured to Gigi with the gun before pointing it back to Sarah. “Now, Miss Gigi. Allow me to make a proposal.”
Winston watched everything unfold from behind the rasta sheet. With the closet being a few long strides away, he had no opening for a surprise attack. Especially against a Marine. He watched Lionell bring the panties up to his face and inhale deeply.
“You see,” Lionell casually explained to a mortified Gigi, tears welling up in her eyes. “I must admit, you have some mighty fine taste, as evidenced by the smorgasbord in front of me. But all I smell is detergent. Now say you...wore one of these for a few days, and then gave it back to me? Matta fact, how would you like to have your first year of tuition and books paid for? Why I’ll even sweeten the pot!" Lionell tightened the grip on his gun to remind Sarah not to try anything. “I’ll disappear from Firewater, and your two retarded boy-toys will neva have to see mah ass again. Thass right. Gigi Moon, yo’ entire tuition, fees, football tickets - everything paid in full. And you won’t eva have to work a day in a greasy dish pit or stocking shelves at Walmart. All’s you have to do is live with me in my apartment...and be my little yellow-bone slut."
Lionell reached into his tight pants and began touching himself. Winston crouched down behind the curtain. Lionell gritted his teeth, pressing the gun more firmly against Sarah’s forehead. Suddenly, Winston pushed off on his heel, emerging from behind the rasta sheet. As Lionell gasped, Winston speared him in the gut, tackling him to the ground. The gun flew out of Lionell’s hand, sliding under the futon.
“Fuck you, cunt!” Winston yelled, straddling Lionell and throwing punches at the face. Lionell struggled to free his hand, which was still stuck in his tight pants. But he caught one of Winston’s punches and rolled with him on the ground. Now Winston had a 300-pound man on top of him. Lionell struck him repeatedly with a ham-bone fist. All the while, he struggled to free his other hand from his pants.
“I take krav maga, bitch!” Sarah yelled as Gigi and Sarah took turns kicking Lionell in the ribs from either side. But Lionell shook them off like fleas, convulsing with anger in a steroid rage.
“Gigi...the gun,” Winston muttered through bleeding lips. Lionell flung Sarah against the wall, apparently knocking her out. Gigi nodded, dashing toward the futon, while Lionell finally freed his hand from his pants.
“Open yo’ mouth, motherfucka,” Lionell roared. He gripped Winston’s throat with one hand while raising that other smelly, sweaty hand to Winston’s mouth. “You gonna learn today,” Lionell whispered, jamming his entire fist, finger-by-finger, into his mouth. “You gonna taste what it means to be conquered by a motherfuckin’ BBC, you filthy little - *OOOF*!”
Lionell froze, his eyes shooting wide open. And slowly, he leaned to the side, capsizing like a ship. He fell unconscious. Through blurry eyes, Winston saw Gigi gripping the safety bar like a katana.
“Um...turns out that was a pretty thoughtful gift!” Gigi cheered.
***
An hour later, half of Firewater Hall congregated in the main lobby. They gossipped among themselves while a cop car drove off with former Deputy Lionell Hardy. The four freshmen sat on a sofa in the corner, sipping Starbucks.
“Holy shit,” Tai reacted after the others recapped the fight. “That asshole must have been roided up to be able to take all you guys on!”
“Tell me about it,” Winston groaned, pressing his Frappuccino up to his swollen cheek. “I don’t know if I’d be here if Gigi hadn’t gone Mark McGuire on his ass.”
Gigi sipped her Frappuccino as she tried to figure out whether that was the name of a Renaissance painter or NASCAR driver.
“Well, I would’ve saved the day with my deadly roundhouse kicks,” Sarah declared proudly, standing to her feet. “If only Gigi would have distracted him like I asked.”
Gigi took her shoe off and threw it at her. The four freshmen laughed. And interrupting the playful banter was a middle-aged blonde lady with a short bob haircut. She stood on top of a chair and cleared her throat.
“Excuse me, I need everyone’s attention, please. I’m Karen, Director of the Resident Assistants Program here on campus.”
“She totes looks like a Karen,” a sorority girl whispered. Another smart-ass in the crowd made a police siren noise with his mouth.
“Why, yes,” Karen continued. “Sometimes known colloquially as the, um...Campus 5-0. Now then! I see we have had quite the eventful evening in Firewater. And that is why I want to address the status of our…unmonitored 300 Hall." Winston and Tai suddenly perked their ears up. “Effective immediately, the 300 Hall will no longer be under direct R.A. supervision.”
Winston’s and Tai’s jaws dropped to their floor as they exchanged goofy-ass smiles.
Karen held her hand in the air to stop the commotion. “Yes, yes. I do want to advise you. That doesn’t mean that there will be no law and order on the 300 Hall. Underage drinking and weed are serious offenses that could have you expelled and put away in prison for the rest of your life. I assure you that the other R.A.’s are liable at any time to monitor the 300 Hall at their own discretion. Have a good night, and be safe.”
Most students began filing back up to their rooms. But an all-too-familiar face pranced up to Gigi and crossed her arms in front of her slim waist.
“Oh! My-a poor Gigi!” Kim cooed, wrapping her arms around her daughter and kissing her forehead. “I wish I still be here protect you from bad man. But it look like mah service no longer needed anymore.”
Gigi tilted her head to the side, staring at Kim’s cheerful expression. Then Gigi slowly panned over to Sarah, whose face tensed up, trying to hold back a laugh.
“What’s...what’s going on?” Gigi asked them.
“It worked!” Sarah snickered. “Oh, my God, it fucking worked!" Winston and Tai stopped discussing hallway Slip-and-Slide plans to listen in.
“I’m so confused?” Gigi laughed nervously.
“Oh, Gigi...you are almost as naive as you are kind!” Sarah said condescendingly. “Why, Kim was never your R.A. in the first place. Alas, t’was all a masterful plan concocted by yours truly. And Kim played the part beautifully, I might add.”
Sarah gave Kim a golf clap while Kim crossed her legs and gave a polite curtsy.
“But Mom! If you’re not my R.A….then who is?”
“I am,” interrupted Evelyn, the front desk security. She set down her book and walked over to them. She was looking a little less emo than usual with her curly jet-black hair. Yet, she still found it in her heart to don ripped jeans and grey painted nails. “Now don’t you worry, kid,” Evelyn said, putting her arm around Gigi’s shoulder. “If you’re gonna smoke and drink, just keep it out of plain sight. If I see it, then you have to share it. Capiche?"
Gigi slowly nodded her head, her throbbing head trying to process it all. “Oh, and one more thing,” Evelyn added. “No threesomes in the bathroom, please. We don’t have HAZMAT suits, ya know. Just keep that shit in the room, and we’ll be good." Evelyn gave Sarah a side-eye. “Unless it’s a female threesome, of course.”
***
Back in the girls’ room, Gigi’s laundry was put away, Winston’s blood was cleaned up, and the safety bar was secured on the top bunk. At her desk, she typed away at her Honors Program admissions essay. Sarah and Evelyn lounged on the futon, swearing at each other over an intense Mario Kart race. And as Gigi tried to form a thesis on why dental hygienists were more important than brain surgeons, her phone buzzed. A text from Winston.
Hey, can you come down here and bring me my gun? My hands are tied right now. It’s under the futon, right?
Gigi walked over to the futon and got down on hands and knees, blocking the gamers’ view of the TV. Sarah scoffed while Gigi crawled under the futon and reached as far back as she could, feeling around for the gun.
“Damn it, Gigi - you messed up my blue shell!” Sarah complained, flinging her controller across the room.
“Aww, don’t fuss at her,” Evelyn teased, staring down at Gigi’s smooth, toned legs that stuck out from beneath the futon. “She’s so fun-sized!”
Gigi crawled out and shot to her feet with the revolver in hand. “Careful what you say, roomie,” she said. “You were knocked out, so you didn’t bear witness to my epic sword skills! I don’t think you wanna provoke a ninja with a gun!”
“You’re holding it upside down,” Sarah sighed.
“Oh.”
Gigi stashed the revolver in her purse and headed down to the 300 Hall. She raised her hand to knock...then decided that, after today, the four of them were officially on a “no-knock” basis.
“Hi, boys!” Gigi cheered, opening the door. Winston sat in a chair in front of the mirror while Tai stood behind him, styling his hair to the side with pomade. Winston was dressed in a white collared shirt, a grey tie to match his dress pants, and snakeskin cowboy boots. “Wow, Winston,” Gigi mouthed in awe. “You look....um, different! Is that sandalwood?”
“Yeeep,” Tai answered, pulling out a razor and trimming Winston’s beard. “Our man no longer smells like a gym locker room. And I’m sure she will appreciate that.”
“Oh...and who might that be?” Gigi asked suspiciously.
“Miss Claire Dansby,” Winston answered, lighting a cigarette while Tai worked behind him. “I reckon we’ll be running into her tonight.”
“Oh, um...cool! Is she going to be on our trivia team? I mean, after today I think the four of us make a pretty good team, but another brain couldn’t hurt!”
Tai and Winston averted their eyes. An awkward silence while the razor buzzed.
“Yeah, Gigi,” Winston trailed off, taking a drag. “There’s been a change in plans. Claire is actually hosting karaoke at a bar downtown. It’ll just be me and Tai tonight. We’ll have to take a rain check on trivia. Sorry ’bout that.”
“I’m his wingman for Claire!” Tai interjected, wiping Winston’s face with a hot towel.
Gigi just stood there as Tai worked his magic, transforming this good ole country boy into a future country star. And as the scent of sandalwood flooded her nostrils again, she knew she had to leave the room. Not because she hated it, but because she was afraid to admit that she loved it.
“Well, in that case,” Gigi began, placing her hand on the doorknob. “I hope you find immediate gratification in crafting twangy southern anthems for a bonafide like-minded Alabama ten! I do regret to inform you that the proper authorities have confiscated your metal-projecting apparatus!”
Blank stares from Winston and Tai.
“I mean...have fun with your woman! And it looks like the police took your gun as evidence.”
Before Winston could respond, Gigi was already in the stairwell, heading back up to her room. Sarah and Evelyn were on their feet with controllers in hand, screaming at Mortal Kombat.
“Get over here, you fucking asshole!” Sarah yelled, mashing buttons.
“I don’t think I shall!” Evelyn retorted in a British accent. “Looks like you’re…frozen in fear!”
Gigi silently walked past them. She sat down at her computer and typed the first thing that came to her mind: My name is Gigi Moon, and I should be in the Honors Program because I have no fucking social skills whatsoever. But tonight, I proved that I can make up for it with my epic ninja skills!
Only 4,963 words to go, she thought.
But very little writing was done that night while Sarah and Evelyn mashed buttons and took turns screaming “Fatality!” at the top of their lungs. Finally, Gigi put her headphones on. She pulled up YouTube and searched for Feng Shui of the Gut. A hundred videos of Winston’s old ridiculous eating challenges.
One of the most popular videos caught Gigi’s eye: I F@#KED UP! STRANDED ON THE TOILET. She clicked Play. Right away, there was a close-up of a younger and skinnier Winston, no older than 16. The camera was zoomed on his clean-shaven face. And yes, he was clearly sitting on the toilet.
Yee-haw, fellers!” greeted Young Winston, sweat dripping down his forehead. “Welcome back to Feng Shui of the Gut. Earlier today, I decided to scarf down a five-pound bag of Sugar-Free Haribo Gummy Bears! I’m sorry, did I say today?" Winston leaned forward until his face filled the entire frame. “I meant yesterday! I’ve been stuck on this (BLEEP)ing toilet for 24 (BLEEP)ing hours!
Maybe it was procrastination that kept Gigi glued to the screen. Maybe it was morbid curiosity. But while Sarah and Evelyn took turns ripping each others’ spines out and lighting each other on fire, Gigi binged through all 100 of Winston’s old videos. Most revealing were dozens of fast food reviews. In these videos, Winston would eat a burger in his truck while talking about politics, religion, and women. He even went on a 10-video spree chronicling his war against a yellow jacket colony at his mom’s place.
When Gigi’s head hit the pillow at 3 AM, she felt as if she knew Winston Arnold Beavers better than she knew herself. Most notably: chicken wings was his favorite food, curry would make him dig a hole if there wasn’t a toilet nearby, and he absolutely positively despised ranch dressing.
submitted by welcometosouthapp to welcometosouthapp [link] [comments]


2020.07.18 14:27 18Jlulslow High school girls locker room hidden camera

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submitted by 18Jlulslow to Home_Made_Fun [link] [comments]


2020.06.27 23:10 -Percival- High school girls locker room hidden camera

Rain lapped at the tinted windows of the SUV. I leaned over, head against it, looking out at the woods that lined the road, occasional flares of lightning lit the road ahead. My back felt restless, aching with the need to move. We had been in the car for hours at this point.
The woman driving the SUV had long brown hair, streaked with grey. Faint lines had etched themselves into her brow and under her eyes. She pulled a phone off the mounted holder in the dashboard. “You feel like stretching your legs?” She asked.
I nodded.
“We’re almost at a rest-stop.” She put the phone back in the mount. Up ahead four pin-pricks of light illuminated a small brick building in the distance.
As the car approached, I could see it had roofed parking spots leading off of it, street lamps were placed at all four corners of the lot. Which was a good thing, because the rain had picked up made it all-but-impossible to see. It was so dark that it almost seemed that anything not in the head-beams didn’t exist.
Gravel crunched under the wheels of the SUV, the sudden change from paved-concrete to loose-gravel jostling the car. The U-Haul that my dad was driving went on.
My mother pulled the car under one of the roofed lots. My hand was on the latch to open the door almost before the car was fully stopped. I sighed in relief as I stretched my legs.
Somewhere beyond this place, was my new home.
It occurred to me that, through this whole moving process, that I didn’t know where we were going. I mean, I knew we were moving because my dad got a job offer to work at some newspaper in his hometown in rural West Virginia, and that my mom was also offered a job in the adjacent area. But I never once asked what the town was called. I looked at the wall of the brick building, eager to find some sign of where we were going. So, when I couldn’t find anything I walked to the edge of the canopy, gazing out at the darkness shrouded forest.
Lightning flashed and ignited the sky so that, for the briefest second, it almost looked like day. One thing stuck out to me…
Along the road that we had just pulled off, there was a simple wooden sign. It was almost five feet high, and it said, in a tidy scrawl:
“Welcome to Hallows, the most haunted town in the USA”
Est: 1692
I won’t bore you with the process of moving in, but let’s just say it was really boring. So after a week and a half of doing nothing but moving boxes from U-haul and car, to the house, I was happy to get some time to myself. Even if that time was just walking around my new town. Something that became very obvious very quickly, is that the entire town is a tourist trap. As I walked around the cluster of buildings that was the unofficial town-proper, I noted that half, if not more of them, were shops designed to sell paranormal related merchandise.
From going inside one of these shops I discovered that the quaint little town of Hallows had ‘the most known sightings of any Cryptids in the U.S.’ and was the ‘Sasquatch capital of the world’
As I walked along the building-lined sidewalk, passing the gimmicky buildings, I wondered if everyone actually believes in the paranormal like they put on, or if it’s just to attract tourists. I didn’t even notice I was lost until my foot stumbled over a rock, and I tripped. I looked around, hoping to find some sort of semi-familiar landmark.
A wrought-iron fence stood to my left side, beyond I could see stone-structures poking up, out of the ground. A cemetery. Ten-feet ahead stood a gate, swinging on its unlocked hinges.
I walked toward it, my hand tracing a line down the cool-iron. Where the bars intersected what I originally thought was just a by-product of the welding, were actually small skulls inlaid in the metal.
The interior of the graveyard was similar to the outside. Pale-green grass, that almost looked yellow, stood sickly, still recovering from the harsh winter that was just on the brink of ending. Stone and marble tombstones stood disorganized as if some giant being had thrown and scattered a bunch of rocks like playing-die. A very morbid game of roulette. The skyline was tinged red, I should’ve probably turned around, but something pulled me forward.
As I walked along the path, before my eyes the graves began to get older and more decrepit. Sickly colored vines crept up and over the stones, consuming them like the earth consumed the body of the grave-holder. I knelt down in front of one of the better-preserved ones. “Victor West…” I said, aloud. “Eighteen ninety, to nineteen thirty-seven…” I dusted it off as best I could, and set off back to my new home.
But before I could- A black shape dashed through the woods, never quite coming into view. I jumped at the sudden noise and crouched, the tombstone looming above me. Minutes passed and it stayed silent, so I worked up the courage to look over the stone. Nothing. I signed and cursed myself for being so dumb, It was probably just an animal or something. Yeah, an animal.
But as I walked back toward the gate, I tried to convince myself that the figure I saw wasn’t walking on two legs…
The school building was smaller than I was used to, but the loud jostling crowd was pretty much the same. The bell stationed above the doorway to English class hadn’t finished ringing before the entire class was out and in the hall. It was mid-day at this point. Sunlight filtered through the high-arched windows that lined the hall. Tall metal-lockers lined the right side. Signs that rallied for ‘School-Spirit’ and posters for the school groups that needed members lined the left, were placed between the windows, some large, and others small.
Other classes that were just letting out added to the small flood of students leaving English, so that the hall was filled with rambunctious and loud teens. I was being pushed along with the current of bodies.
Some were able to escape down side halls and into bathrooms, but I had started this trek in the very middle, and was at the mercy of the crowd. Until it funneled out into the lunchroom.
Rows and rows of plastic tables filled the room. To the left was the line where the lunch-lady was waiting to scoop something that vaguely resembled food. Straight ahead were more windows, these larger than the ones in the hall. The room was large enough that people could spread out, and I regained some personal space. I got a plastic tray and got some not-food and looked for somewhere to sit.
When I finally found a mostly-empty table and started to eat, a group of people walked over.
There were about four of them, each dressed in what could be called 'urban clothes' but I could tell that they all came from families with money. You could tell by the way they looked at everything, with the absolute confidence that ‘no matter what happens, I’m always going to be above you’ They looked at everything like they owned it, even if they were dressed in stylishly-ragged clothing.
The one at the head of the group took another step forward.
“Well, well, well…” He said. He was thin and had long-ish blond hair framing a sharp face. His eyes were so brown that they almost looked black. “You must be new.” He finished.
I could sense trouble coming, but I nodded anyway, and said. “And you must be the cliched-highschool-bully coming to pick on the new kid?” Scattered laughter.
He flushed. “What did you just say to me?”
“Look, I’m really not in the mood to do this, so let's just skip ahead.” I shifted on the bench to face him, and put my hands, pointer fingers down, on the side of my face in an attempt to imitate long hair. “Hey newbie, this is my school.” I said, in a basso, almost passable, imitation of the bully’s voice. I raised my hands miming someone threatened. “Oh geez mister bully, please don’t hurt me.” I turned back to my food. “And then you ask for my lunch money or something.” More laughter.
“What did you just say to me...” He walked toward me in a manner that suggested violence-
-but tripped over a pink shoe.
“I’d get moving if I were you.” Said the owner of the shoe, nonchalantly. “Like,” She looked up at me, one eyebrow raised. “Today.” So I made my way back to the hall.
It was much more pleasant without all the hyper-active teens elbowing me in the ribs.
Right as I turned the corner, I heard the lunch-room door fly open and the rapid squeak of shoes running on the linoleum floor. I figured that the bathroom was the best place to stay until he cooled down. I opened the door quietly.
Black in white checkered tiles patterned the floor, gave way to white glossy walls, dirtied with age. Light-grey stalls lined the wall to my right. I walked in slowly, fearing that my pursuer might have thought to look for me here. I shut the door as quietly as I could and was met with a very odd smell. It took me a few seconds to identify said-smell as weed.
“Hello?” I asked.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…” The voice muttered panickedly, and trailed off. The handicap stall opened, and a scrawny teen came out.
He had a mop of black hair, his thinly pointed face was dotted with acne. His eyes were hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses, giving them the appearance of being much larger than they actually were. And to top the cliched-nerd look off, he was wearing a Star Wars tee. “Uhh, hi…” His voice was high and nasally.
I arched an eyebrow at him. “I don’t suppose you were just admiring your yellow crayon collection?”
“Please don’t tell…” His face was blanched, and his voice quavered.
I made a soothing gesture. “I just transferred from New Jersey, and believe me. People were doing much, much worse stuff in the bathrooms.”
He sighed in relief. “Thanks, man,” He held out a hand, then pulled it back awkwardly, scratching the nape of his neck. “My name’s Oliver.” I put my hands in my pockets.
“Mine’s Alex.”
“Let me guess,” He said “Matthew Stone?”
“If that’s the Cobain wanna-be, then yeah.” He shook his head.
“He’s the worst.” Oliver agreed. Then added. “Uhh, he’s not looking for you, is he?” I nodded, and he went white again. “Oh. Well,” He started to leave. “It was nice meeting you Adam, but-” He ran out of the room before he could finish his sentence.
I sagged my shoulders. “Alex. My name is Alex…”
Time passed, and school continued as usual. Until…
I was in the hall, just leaving Biology. The school day was finally over. Students were milling around in the hall, trying, and failing, to not look eager to leave when I heard someone behind me yell: "Hey newbie!” And heard the squeaking pitter-patter of running shoes pounding on the hard floor.
“Shit!” I dashed through the crowd. We were near the front entrance, so I ran out.
I sprinted down the flight of brick stairs that led into the building two at a time. The noise of running behind me never faded, but changed from the squeaking linoleum, to the damped sound of solid brick. Three figures were already at the base of the stairs, cutting me off from escape. He must have sent them to guard the front entrance, assuming that I would exit that way. The people getting ready to leave turned to watch the exciting event unfolding in front of them.
I could see it now. 'New student pummeled by the school bully, live on pay-per-view'
“Is it too late, to apologize?” I said, hopelessly
"What's wrong?" Matt said, a wicked gleam in his eye. He jumped down the last two steps, looked around at the students watching, and smiled. "No one's going to be coming to your rescue this time, newbie..." His goons spread out around me, forming a loose half-circle, standing just far apart from each other to keep me from getting through.
“Looks like it’s just gonna be you and me…” He finished. I stared back at him, only just realizing that he was a foot taller than me.
“Well I’m flattered Matt, and I hate to tell you this, but I don’t swing that way.”
He stopped his slow approach. “What?” Then he realized, and replied, ever so witty:
“You little shit.”
“It’s not you,” I paused to think. “Oh wait, it’s definitely you.”
Now you may ask why I’m egging on the bully who is about to beat me up. My old school wasn’t the nicest place, and I got picked on pretty often. It wasn’t that I was really super-dorky, it was more to do with the fact that I wasn’t really super-anything. I was just an easy target. Sure I enjoy a good book, video game, or superhero-blockbuster, but I didn’t advertise it. So I wasn’t considered a geek. I’m too skinny or just too uninterested to play sports, so I wasn’t considered a jock. And while I know that I’m an ‘Adonis-incarnate’, other people were of a different opinion, so I wasn’t just popular because I was attractive. And while you might read that and think ‘Oh my god, this kid thinks he’s so quirky because he doesn’t fit in.’ And you're wrong. It’s miserable not fitting in. Living like that for fifteen years taught me that the best way to go about being picked on, is to avoid confrontation altogether. And the best way to go about that is to make the person who’s attempting to bully just red-vision, nostril-flaring angry. Getting them so mad that their only thought is, in blocky caveman tones: ‘must punch annoying man’, and then carefully move around him and run away. You may call me a coward, but I really don’t care.
Matthew honest-to-god snorted, and charged me like a bull charges a bull-fighter. I waited, and at the last possible second, darted to the side. He clearly didn’t expect that. He ran straight into one of the goons. I started to run back up the stone-steps, but Matthew’s hand reached out and grabbed my leg. The momentum carried me forward, fast. I brought my arm to shield my face, and hit the steps. It hurt. Like, a lot. I could feel my skin being pulled away from my forearm, but I didn't think it broke. Before I could recover he kicked me in the ribs. I felt a hand reach down and grab me by the scruff of my shirt. The next thing I knew, Matthew flipped me over.
He punched me in the face. “You know, before, I was just gonna hurt you a little bit. To teach you a lesson, newbie.” He reared back and hit me again. “It would’ve hurt of course.” He pulled me forward and slammed my head against the steps. “ But then you just had to go and snark-off to me,” Then, he leaned in closer, and snarled: “No one messes with me…” He pulled back to punch, but by now I had oriented enough that I thought to bring up my knee, hard, in the place that no man wants to be punched, kicked, or kneed. He fell back in pain, stumbling, and knocking down two of the goons.
I forced myself up, despite my current state, and made to leave. Goon number-three made to grab me, but I brought up my un-injured arm and, in an act that surprised even myself, punched him in the face. I don't know if he was just surprised by what had happened with Stone, or if I just could punch harder than I thought I could, but he went down and
I ran. I ran hard and far, and didn’t stop until my foot got caught on a familiar stone.
I had a strong suspicion of where I was, and it was confirmed when I looked around at the stone-scattered wasteland beyond the heavy metal gate. I stood up, stumbling slightly. I used the metal gate for support until I could stand. I was still reeling from the beating I had taken from Matthew Stone, disoriented and tired, I walked along the graves of people long dead. I stopped in front of the largest one in sight, and laid down on the side opposite the gate, the left side of my face flush with the coolness of the ground, hidden from sight. I was just so tired. My intention was to only close my eyes for a second, but I must’ve dozed off because when I opened them again, the sun was setting. Still lacking the motivation to get up and head home, I just laid there, eyes open, when I heard people talking.
“-don’t think it’s like that Mel.” Said an exasperated male voice.
“I’m telling you Daniel, the map say’s the last known location was near Greystone cemetery, not in it.” replied a female voice. “Besides,” She continued. “even if It took someone nearby, it might be in the immediate area.” I began to hear approaching footsteps, crunching the autumn leaves between the stone monuments. “Holy shit…” The voices had reached me.
I saw a pair of pink shoes stop in front of me. I looked up and saw the girl from the cafeteria, the one who tripped Matt. She looked to be about my age, with a heart-shaped face, and bangs that almost covered her eyes. She had a beanie with various pins and buttons worn over curling medium length brown hair, and blue eyes that gazed at me somehow manage to appear both concerned, and inquisical. Seeing her without the stress of accidentally tripping the school-bully, but I was only just noticing how objectively pretty she was. Not that it mattered or anything…
But I couldn’t help but stare into her deep-blue eyes, the slight splash of freckles around her nose and her-
“You look like shit.” She said, breaking me out of my beating-induced trace. Yeah, beating induced... “I’m guessing Stone caught up to you?”
I closed my eyes, tiredly. “Yeah.” The cool-autumn air felt good against my swollen knot on my cheek.
“Melanie!” The boy I assumed was Danial said, excitedly. He had some sort of device in one hand. It looked like an old-school cell phone. “It’s got a signal!”
He was about the same age as the girl, with a mediterranean complexion and eyes the color of tree bark. He angled the device, and it almost looked like he was trying to get his bearings with a compass.
It must have shown him something, because he started to almost-run toward whatever the device was showing him, before he remembered me on the ground, beat to a pulp.
“Oh,” He said, backpedaling. “Sorry…”
“S’fine.” I slurred as I got to my feet.
He held out his hand. “Danial Zhineng,” I took it. He gestured at the girl beside him. “And this ‘ray of sunshine’ is Melanie.”
Melanie elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut up,” She said, half annoyed, half playful. “Now where did it pick up the signal?”
“Uhh,” Danial said, turning with the device again. “About thirty-eight feet from the southwest entrance.”
Melanie pulled a small camcorder out of a pocket in her jacket. “Let's go!” They set off.
Out of reflexive-instinct, I followed them. They didn’t seem to care, but I noticed as we got closer that their steps slowed, becoming more silent. I followed suit.
“Um,” I said, quietly. “What are you guys looking for.”
Melanie turned toward me, her steps still careful, and said: “There’s been a surge of children and teens going missing. Eight in the last three months.” She stepped over a branch. “We’re trying to find what’s taking them.”
Daniel stepped in. “One of the kids, a boy named Edward Pierce, vanished on his way home from school. He was last seen near the cemetery.”
I kept pace. I was doing mental gymnastics to avoid coming to the concussion they were trying to imply.
“So,” I said, slowly. “You think a creature is taking the kids?” I tried not to just laugh outright. They looked back at me, faces sober.
Melaine chuckled dismissively. “You don’t believe us?”
“I didn’t say that…” I replied. Though, I kinda did.
She shrugged. “It’s implied,” The southern wall to the cemetery was growing ever closer. “And expected.”
“But a monster?” I stumbled over a fallen branch. “A monster kidnapping children?”
Daniel laughed. “Believe me. The longer you live in this town, the more de-sensitized to weirdness you become. A few months ago I was hiking with my family in the woods and came across a boat. Not a small row-boat, but an honest-to-god yacht just in the woods. A monster kidnapping children isn't out of the possibilities for a town like Hallows”
I stopped walking, but only for a second. My curiosity outweighed my dignity. “I just don’t know. I mean even if the last time I was here I saw…” I trailed off.
They both stopped walking and turned toward me.
Melaine spoke first. “Did you see something?”
“I mean… I think it was an animal.” I said, lamely.
“But you saw something?” Daniel continued.
“I just thought it was a weird deer…”
“Weird why?” Daniel and Melaine said at the same time.
“I was just,” I tried to find a way to explain it in a way that made me sound not crazy. “It looked like,”
“Spit it out newbie,” Melaine interrupted. I tried not to shudder at the word, reminded of Matthew’s taunting.
“From the place I was standing… I almost looked like it was… walking on two legs…” I muttered, suddenly very self-conscious.
Daniel looked over and Melaine. “Maybe we should’ve brought that baseball-bat,” he said, quietly.
“Oh, don’t get all scaredy-cat now on me, Zhin.” She said with a grin. But I noticed she was gripping the camcorder very tightly, her knuckles white. “Besides,” She looked at me. “Balboa over there will handle it for us.” I gulped and hoped the bruises on my face hid my blushing.
“Then,” I pointed at the device in Daniel’s hand. “What’s that?”
He held it up, excited. I think he had been waiting for me to ask. “It’s a device I made to detect...” Then Daniel went on to explain how the machine worked. It was hard to follow. I’m not ashamed to admit that I have no freaking clue how it works, but there were a lot of ‘Tronic’s’ and ‘Plasma-waves’.
Long story short, it’s supposed to track the monster.
“...the base sample was taken from the first victim, it was some sort of unknown goop that the police dismissed.” I nodded like I had some understanding of how it worked.
“Hmm. Neat.” I said, lamely.
Melaine laughed. “Don’t worry newbie, I don’t understand it either.”
We had reached the far wall, it loomed over us. Beyond it was heavy woods. Between the time of day and the thick branches, it was all-but-impossible to see.
Melaine reached into her jacket again, and pulled out two flashlights. She handed one to Daniel before she looked back at me.
“Oh…” She said. “I only brought two,” She patted her jacket anyway, searching for another purely for show. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. I think I might…” I searched my pockets, pulling out a small plastic keychain. It was a plastic rectangle with the caption ‘Delaware’ on one side, and a square button on the other. I pressed it and a dim beam of light shot out for about two feet ahead of me.
I looked at them “What? I got souvenirs from every state we passed through.” I shook the keychain. “I also got a stuffed bear that looked like Benjamin Franklin in Pennsylvania.”
We hopped the fence, and I only caught my belt-loop on it once. My Delaware-flashlight while technically it was functional was just barely. But when we came upon a small darkened clearing, it was the first to catch the scarlet splotches on the ground.
“Is that…” I said, stepping back.
Melaine stepped up beside me. “Looks like it…”
I shined my too-dim flashlight around the area. Broken branches lay scattered on the ground, larger than just a random trig, they must have come from higher up in the tree, but my light wouldn’t reach high enough. The trees all had deep scratching in the brack, like deer antlers.
“Its blood,” Daniel confirmed. I don’t know how he did, and I don’t want to.
I took a step back. Then another, and another, until I was back at the fence. I was leaning against it with my forehead against the bars. I felt like throwing up. I felt a hand touch my shoulder.
“You okay?” It was Melaine.
“Mhm.” I managed to mumble without vomiting, Daniel was out of the woods now as well. We hopped the fence. “I probably need to get home…” I said, tiredly.
Melaine nodded. “Well then, it was nice meeting you…” She trailed off. “You never said your name.”
“It’s Alex. Pengrad.”
We reached the front gate of the cemetery.
“Maybe we’ll see you around sometime,” Daniel said.
“That’ll depend on if all of your excursions led to puddles of blood…” I half-joked.
“Well if you ever want to find us,” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a map of the town, tore off a piece of the corner, and wrote something on it. “We sometimes hang out here.”
I pocketed the note. “Noted.” Then we went our separate ways.
I stood in a large misty flat. Smooth stone stretched into the distance as far as I could see, blurred by a purple-mist. Pebbles and slightly larger rocks dotted the ground, but that was it. I called out, my voice reverberating weirdly. No response.
A blur-of-motion caught the corner of my eye, but whatever it was retracted into the mist.
“Hello…?” I called out again. “Anyone…?” The motion again dotted the edge of my vision. I turned faster, trying to catch it. Annoyed at yet another failed attempt to see this “mystery-blur” I sat on the ground-
-And fell through the world, to a landscape of dark-green. I stood there, shaken at the sudden, and intense motion. I was standing in the middle of a forest. It looked ancient, with towering Oaks, and thick shrubbery.
One tree was larger than the rest. It had dark-grey bark, and was big enough that I couldn’t wrap my arms around it. As I walked toward it, I noticed something carved in the wood.
An oddly-shaped circle surrounded by three twisting lines that tapered off the farther from the not-sphere they got. I now stood barely four feet from the tree. I reached out, to touch the symbol, an unconscious action. When a drop of water fell on my wrist.
I looked up to find that the sky was completely black, the moon and stars hidden by rolling storm clouds. Rain now fell heavy and hard. I twisted around, looking at the sky through the clearing when yellow lightning illuminated the sky, striking the weird-tree.
The blast blew me back and away from the tree. I felt sticks and leaves crunch under my back, opening my eyes all I could bright light. An after-effect of the bright flash.
When I could see again, I saw that everything was gone. Everything but the tree.
The tree was a blackened husk. Embers and ash drifted lazily down, the scorched-bark still smoldered. I had never seen a tree struck by lightning before, but this seemed too burnt, too destroyed.
But the thing that struck me, odder than the too-burnt tree, was that the symbol was glowing. Pulsing with a golden-amber light. Slowly getting brighter, and brighter, and bri--
I sat upright in bed, slick with sweat. After realizing I was no longer in the weird, empty plain, I sank back into my bed, the oddness of the dream already leaving my awake-mind. But before sleep could take me, the tornado siren that is my alarm clock started blaring.
I walked downstairs, and sat at the kitchen table. My parents were both scrabbling around it, trying to get ready for work and eat the food in front of them. Bandaid covered cuts on my nose and chin. Under my left eye was a deep shade of purple, and the entirety of my lower-arm was covered on gaze. If they noticed anything they didn’t say.
I avoided the cemetery on my way to school, taking an extra fifteen-minutes just to not walk by it.
At school I ate lunch in a side-hall between English and Science, a granola-bar I snuck from the kitchen. Though the chance of seeing Melaine again was tempting, I didn’t want to risk another run-in with Matthew. Besides, I had conflicting feelings about the whole ‘paranormal-research thing’. Melanie and Daniel were nice enough, but that really was blood on the ground, there was no doubt about that, but a monster? Maybe they were tainted by the town’s mentality of supernatural-interest. Or maybe the mentality was there for a reason…
I crumbled up the metal-plastic of the wrapper, and tossed it in the trash. School was pretty much the same as the day before. Boring, repetitive, boring, uninspiring, boring. It would have gone by faster if I wasn’t constantly looking over my shoulder for Stone. I almost got I saw him a few times, but he didn’t seem to notice me.
So when I was walking down the stone-steps, and heard a voice say: “There he is!” You’ll understand the pure frustration I felt. Of course he didn’t make his move in the school day. Between the faculty, cameras, and other students, he might get caught. And being rich, he might even get a slap on the wrist.
I ran. I turned left, and right, then left again, trying to lose them in the maze of suburbia that lined the outskirts of the school zone. When I reached a block with three diverging paths from it, I ran right. I had hoped I had lost them, but when I was on the corner of Adam’s and Bentley, I could still hear the sound of running feet. They must have split up, in an attempt to keep following me. I realized that I was heading toward the cemetery.
“This feels,” I panted. “So impersonal. I don’t” I breathed again. “Even know your name.” I stumbled slightly on the uneven ground. “I’ll just call you Brock, that sounds like a bully’s name.”
“You,” He yelled, but being exhausted from running, came out more like a hoarse whisper. “Scared?”
“I’m,” I gasped for air. “Quaking in my stylish, yet-affordable-boots.”
The stone and metal wall of Greystone Cemetery came into view. Before we reached the gate I took a running-jump, and took a hard left, darting through the open gate, and into the jumble of stones beyond. The goon didn’t, and I heard him trip over the stone in front of it. Before he got up I ran into a row of graves, and hoped he didn’t see.
I laid there, panting for a while, recovering my breath. A hand reached over the tombstone, and grabbed the back of the shirt, pulling me up, and over it.
“Well, well, well…: ‘Brock’ said, vindictively. “You really thought you could hide from me?”
He snarled and slammed us both to the ground. “No one messes with us!” He slammed my head against the ground. “No one.”
He punched and pulled and slammed me, until it was all I could do to keep from vomiting. It just got to be too much…
Enough!” I screamed.
It felt like I had been struck by lightning, starting in my chest, then spreading out through my body. I felt electricity running in my veins. Not stopping there, a sphere of force, expanded out, hitting Matthew, and throwing him back.
I lay there, stunned and motionless, staring at him, baffled. He had been thrown almost twenty-feet. What had happened? Did I…? Before I could process it fully, the goon started to get up.
I staggered drunkenly to my feet, using a tombstone to help my balance, and ran. Ran to the one place my half-dazed mind could think of: The clearing.
When I finally reached the far wall, he was already back on his feet, and coming after me. As I was climbing the fence, I remembered how dark it was in the forest. So as I reached the ground, I began searching my pockets, frantically, for my keychain-flashlight. I heard movement on the other side. A heavy grunt of effort told me that the goon was climbing the fence, so I had to run.
As I stumbled through the darkened woods, the effort of running from the school to the cemetery to the woods finally caught up with me, and I fell. My legs felt like rubber and my head twice so.
So with the last feeble energy left in my body, I crawled over to a dark on dark shape that I assumed was a tree, and hoped that either ‘Brock’ just wouldn’t find me, or had given up.
Footsteps echoed into the darkened space. The ragged sound of heavy breathing was loud and clear in the almost-silence that filled the area before.
“Where are you?” He yelled. “Do you really think you can hide from me?” A bitter laugh rang out, and he took another step forward. I knew he had no idea that I was so close, and that he was just hoping that I would hear, but it was all I could do to fight the urge to run. Regardless of if I could actually do it or not.
Another step forward. He was now almost opposite to me. “I will make sure that you never-”
He let out what could only be a muffled cry. There was a sudden, single, whooshing noise. Like the sound something makes when jerked really fast. And a large branch broke on the other side of the darkened space. A jarring sound set against the gentle hum birds and bugs chirping that you would expect to find in a forest. When the crack rang out they all went silent.
I held my breath. The only noise left in the newly soundless-woods was the rhythmic bang-bang-bang of my heart in my chest.
Something was digging into my left leg. I reached for it, as silently as I could. I still couldn't see, but I recognized the shape clutched in my hand: It was my flashlight. I must have dropped it when I was ‘ever-so-calmly’ leaving the clearing yesterday.
I stayed silent. A new sound joined the symphony of silence, a quiet, unpatterned tearing noise. I gripped the small, plastic, flashlight in my hand. If I could see my knuckles I’m sure they would have been white.
I took a deep breath and pressed the button.
Now, I could sit and tell you what the light illuminated but I’m not sure you would fully comprehend the horror that I felt slumped against the tree, in the dark, on that day.
I could describe the fresh splatters of scarlet gore, scattered around the clearing, the smell of blood thick and metallic in the air, along with the permeated stench of rotten meat, but you couldn’t really smell it.
I could describe the hulking figure opposite to me, colored a dark-muddy-brown, with slender limbs and antlers, much like a deer’s, that reached out almost as long as it was tall, and was it tall. Nine feet at least. With piercing eyes the same red-ish color as the crimson splatters on the forest floor, but you couldn’t really see it.
I could describe the nameless-goon’s lifeless body clutched in its gaunt hands. As I watched it, the creature bent its head down, and took a large bite out of the space between his neck and shoulder; the ‘unpatterned tearing’ as I had dubbed it. But you, well, I’m sure you get the idea.
I lay there silent in shocked horror at the scene unfolding in front of me, when it finally looked in my direction.
It said, voice grating and deep: “I usually wait a day or two before I feed, but,” It paused and absentmindedly took another bite out of the corpse's shoulder, and smiled a terrible smile. “I just couldn't help myself…” It’s teeth if you ignored the blood and gunk’s of flesh caught between them, looked completely normal.
Something that horrible shouldn’t have teeth like that, I thought numbly. Monsters were supposed to have sharp, pointy teeth or something, not normal, human teeth…
The creature kept its gaze on me, still smiling with too-normal teeth. It cocked it’s head. “You’re smaller than I thought you’d be,” It said. “But, no matter. Master will still have his fun…” It dropped the goon's lifeless corpse and started walking toward me.
Stop.” I said, stunned that I could say anything at all. It stopped.
In the stunned silence that followed, I said: “Go.
It took another step forward, this time the motion heavy, and sluggish. “Fine.” It sighed. “It’s not worth it,” It took yet another step forward as if to show that even though it would be difficult, it could still reach me and do, well, I don’t want to think of what it could do to me. “Yet…” And it turned away, picking up the corpse in a casual way that suggested that he was just doing something normal and repetitive and not carrying a lifeless body away, most likely, to eat. It walked away, slowly leaving the all-too-dim seaming flashlight beam and me behind.
Panting, I ran along the concrete sidewalk heading toward a two-story brick building near the center of town. I looked down at the torn scrap of paper clenched tightly in my hand, and at the address written on it.
I walked along the side of it, and up a heavy-metal staircase. I pounded on the door on the second floor. It opened.
Melaine stood on the other side. “Well, well, well. I was beginning wondering if you’d even show up…” She trailed off, seeing the expression on my face. “What wrong?” Then she noticed my newly-blooded appearance. “Matthew again?”
“Yeah.” Then thought. “Well, no. But also yes, Nes. Is ‘nes’ even a word?” I stammered.
She made a calming gesture. “Slow. Down. Use small words, newbie.”
I took a deep breath. “I need your help.”
She smiled and stepped aside. “Come on in.” I did.


To keep up with the story, click here!
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2020.06.13 16:29 CERCEful School hidden locker high camera room girls

I want you to know our story. So you don’t repeat the same mistakes we did.
So you stay safe everywhere you go.
I’ll start at the very beginning. Of course.
We sat at the usual round table in our dining hall. It's the one closest to the exits and also closest to the counter. The constant sounds of plastic chairs dragging over tiled floors, girls talking among each other excitedly, and of course, the sound of metal trays on metal trays clanking with each other as the other girls at the counter drags it on the metal railing. It was a noisy time of our typical day at school. The number of students at the academy increased by the year since it opened about four years ago. My friends and I were one of the first students to study there. We were there even before they put streetlights in the area.
Contrary to the name, Ivory Beach is located in the mountains. If you drive past the lonely road further from the school gates, you'll eventually arrive at a raw waterfall, undisturbed by the hands of people. Yet.
Now let me tell you something about being in an all-girls school. First of all, girls need to stick together. If you have a group of friends that are always together, that's a gang and it’s really helpful to have one. Mine was called Black Rose. We didn't mean anything by picking the name. We just thought it was a cool name, edgy and dark even though we weren't emo or anything.
Second, your gang is like your family. To betray them, is like betraying blood.
There were six of us in our gang. Jude, Celeste, Stacy, Melanie, Anna and myself, Lindsey. Jude is the leader, Celeste and Stacy are the pretty ones. Melanie was the athlete while Anna was the nerdy one. As for me, I like to think of myself as the adopted introvert of the group.
Now, the problem with gangs is that there will be a lot of them popping up and sometimes they fight with each other. Why do we use the term 'Gang'? It's exactly as you'd think. We act like gangsters, little groups of female mafia going around the school, claiming certain places as territory and what not. That's why the teachers tried their best to abolish them. But, it was a small thing, hard to notice and they didn't even know how to deal with it anyway.
"Woi!" Jude slammed the centre of the table, seeing that I was staring a hole into my tray. Tonight we had hard white rice with fish fried to beyond crispy that it's actually hard and a bit of runny soup with a side of a small green apple no bigger than half my fist. I wasn’t a big girl. "You see your future in there, ah?" She asked, then laughed at her own joke. The whole dining hall could hear her, no one cares in a girls’ academy. We could be as not ladylike as we want. That was the nicest part of school, I guess. We could raise our skirts and be as impolite as we want.
There weren't any boys to look cute for anyway. That was our main excuse but eventually, it just became what we do. Who cares about boys? It's hot and we want the breeze to go through our skirts without being cat-called. Is that so wrong?
"Guys..." Celeste whined her spoiled kid whine. "I can't believe this is our final year here together." She let out a frustrated groan as she wiggled her limbs on the chair, like a child throwing a tantrum. She's been talking about it since the school year began and would always bring it up once in a while. She didn't talk about it all the time, but it was plenty enough for us to be annoyed. This time though, we all felt it.
Anna was the first to start pouting. "I know!" She lightly pounded the table. "I mean... We'll still see each other after this. But... Alaa, it won’t be the same at all la... Oh my god."
"I just can't with you two. Mellow down will you? Hish." Melanie was the athletic one. She couldn't compare to professionals, but in this school, everyone was the least bit athletic and Melanie was just a bit above that.
"Dah, dah. Stop it." Jude got up, she'd finished eating her dinner and was going to put the trays back. The familiar sound of water pouring out from a hose at the back told them they were late. They've already started to clean the used trays and in a few minutes, Mr. Whitley, our teacher and warden was going to come in and shoo us all out to make us go do our night prayers.
Oh, another thing about gangs, is that there's this magical bond between all of us that makes our cycles sync up and get our periods at almost the same time every month. Today, five of us had our periods leaving Stacy out. She'll probably get hers by tomorrow.
The school compound was huge, but only a little of it was the school building and even less was illuminated at night. We took the long way around to class, the main reason because we just didn't want to get to class sooner. But the long way was darker, soon to be basketball courts and badminton courts were still just gravel and piles of cement bags that’s been sitting there for the better part of the year. There weren't any street lights to light up the tarred road, so on the walk, we pass by the pavilion at the junction between the field and the side gate to the school that was right next to the water tank just barely able to make out the silhouette of the pavilion in front of the crimson sky slowly fading to a dark violet.
We were the first batch of students to walk around the area like that, oblivious to what was in the dark. After passing the pavilion, we would meet a roundabout, left leads you to the main school gate, right towards our dorms and going straight would lead us to the school hall and also our classrooms.
“Don’t you guys think it’s a bit scary here right now. Spooky-like.” Anna mentioned.
Jude rolled her eyes. “Of course it is.” She said. “Did you guys hear the story about the Djinn at the roundabout?”
“I thought the pavilion was haunted with the ghost family.”
“No, that’s the water tank.”
We loved ghost stories, and our school was home to quite a few. Though, we did love them, I was more of the scaredy-cat. “Can we not talk about it here?” I spoke, we were just passing one of the creepiest places in school and the girls were all talking about hauntings. “Let’s talk about it somewhere else, can’t we?” I said while I linked hands with Melanie.
She nodded. “Right, guys, stop it.” Melanie spoke with a commanding tone. “If anything happens here we’re going to get in trouble. We don’t want to give the ghosts any ideas.”
“Yeah, we’ll tell them where we’re going and to meet us in class 5A.” Jude, though she believed in the supernatural as much as any of us, she was more daring.
With everyone doing their prayers together, no one has gone to class yet. The pitch black halls of the academic buildings were daunting to say the least, look at it too long and you’ll start seeing shadow people walking there.
“Who’s going to switch on the lights?” Celeste asked.
“Let’s just go in together. It’s nothing.” Jude said, walking in front while the others followed in as she switched on the lights. The fluorescent lights buzzed alive, illuminating the one class we were in and leaving all the others still black. In a second, all the shadows in class were gone, but I’d be honest, we never sit next to the windows because the dark was suffocating and endless beyond there. So we gathered around each other in the middle of class.
It was Jude who started it. “Tomorrow everyone is going to leave the school.” True. The last day of school was today but we were staying because we had our national exams to do. “We’re going to have the school all to ourselves. I want us to only wear pyjamas all the time even when we’re out of our dorms.”
Stacy squealed. “Oh my god, I’ve always wanted to do that, weh.”
“Deal.” Everyone agreed.
“I want us to climb up one of the water tanks and look at the view before we graduate.” Celeste spoke.
I cocked my head. “Isn’t that place… hard?” Hard was our term for haunted, because we didn’t want to say the word.
Jude nodded. “We go during the day, lah.” She said, confident. “They can’t do anything to us.”
Melanie drummed the table in excitement. “Jap, jap. Wait.” She said. “Save that for our last day. We’ll dress up and everything.”
“Deal.” Everyone agreed. “Final paper, woohoo!”
“Eh, calm down.” Anna spoke up. “We haven’t even gone through our first paper yet.”
We had nine papers in total. The general five papers and the additional four papers because we took science courses. My gang and I sound like we’re very different people hanging out together. The was one thing we all shared in common. We were desperate for straight A plusses and that we all wanted to become doctors. That was the dream and we were the dream team.
Another thing you should note, is that we’re not the smartest students there.
Fast forward to two weeks later when we were all done with our general papers and we were all in out pyjamas, in class again, this time skipping night prayers just because we could. We were all gathered in the same spot every night, but tonight was especially un-motivating. The general papers were unforgiving to say. In each paper, one of us started to melt down. Melanie puked her guts out in history, Stacy couldn’t hold her stomach in English, Celeste melted down crying in Maths, I, myself, cried in religious studies. As for Anna and Jude… they had their own shares of less concerning attacks.
We all sat in silence, the shadows of the outside watched us close. Maybe there weren’t any shadows, but it sure felt like they were there. Tonight especially. “I heard the teachers talking earlier.” Anna said. “This is bad, I’m scared.” There were tears in her eyes.
“What? What did they say?” Stacy asked, holding Anna’s shoulder. “Did they say-”
Jude shushed her, letting silence envelop us for the last time. We all did not want to hear it. But we had to. “They said the papers will be difficult. All of it.”
“I don’t know if we can even make it. I just… I can’t. We… can’t make it!” Anna, the smartest of us, was breaking down. “We studied but we won’t be able to answer!”
“You guys want to try something?” Jude asked.
“What?” Anna stopped sobbing, her eyes boring into Jude as she took out an old coin. It was once of those coins that they stopped producing after the change in currency. A Ringgit coin.
Jude placed the coin on the table, right in the middle of our little circle. I couldn’t see where we were going with this at first, but I slowly realised what she was talking about. “Let’s play Spirit of the Coin.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on.” She nudged again. “We play for fun. Release stress. But if it works, lucky us.”
Melanie raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” She asked.
“Yeah. I found an old mini chalkboard the other day and I think it’ll be perfect.” Jude nodded. “You guys wanna try it?”
Silence passed… I looked around, feeling that we were being watched, or more like worrying for it. Something like this, in a place like this wasn’t something to be messed with. The shadows outside out class felt like they were ever darker. If it weren’t for the lights working just fine, I felt like they could rush in any moment.
Stacy looked around, too. Then she nodded. “I mean, if you guys are okay with it.” She started. “Why not? We’re just having fun.”
“If not now when, right?”
We laughed. If not now… when? “I mean… I’ve always wanted to try it.”
“In that movie, right? What was it again?”
“Let’s do it tonight!” Jude said. “Tonight behind the dorms. Let’s do it before we change our minds.”
I felt sick. Not that my stomach was rejecting anything but we’ve never done anything like it before. At least, I haven’t. And I was afraid. What was out there? The movies never gave good endings either.
But we still did it.
It was twelve midnight that very night when Stacy came to me, telling me it was time. I put down the book I was revising with, face down on my bed while I looked at all the other girls in my dorm room.
Some were fast asleep, some were still studying. Some just chatting with friends, talking about boys or the latest movie they saw.
I passed them without a word, Stacy leading me. Each dorm we passed, the noise seemed to get quieter and quieter. Down the stairs and next to the clothes lines were a clearing. The lights from the TV room washed away at our feet, softly. The dim glow was enough for us to stay hidden, and see our makeshift Ouija board.
Everyone was there, the whole gang. Jude held the chalkboard in her hand, the coin in another. Melanie brought her knife. We sat in a circle. Jude to the left of Stacy, Celeste, Anna, me and Melanie. Melanie started to cut her finger using the knife, the trickle of red forming on it looked black in the shadows. She passed the knife to Jude, who did the same and passed it on. When it came to my turn, my hands shook at the bloody knife. Our blood was on it, looking like it was just some kind of blackness. Looking at the other, who in turn looked at me expectantly, I pricked my finger at the tip. A bead of blood formed right away, thick and nauseating.
“Okay, let’s do this.” Jude breathed out, putting her finger on the coin as she gave the others a look to follow in her lead. She started spitting out strings of words I don’t want to repeat, for my own safety. I watched as her otherwise elegant face twisted in the shadows.
That was my friend, but at that moment, she looked hideous.
Silence fell on us. Anna and Celeste almost chickening out because of the wait. I didn’t say anything. I wanted out, yes, but my blood was already on the coin. And I had this sick feeling that the six of us weren’t the only ones there at the time.
Anna shook her head. “Girls, this isn’t working, la.”
“We’d better go to bed or study or something.” Celeste suggested, almost talking her finger away from the coin. I almost agreed to do the same. It felt wrong to be there and the cold has been giving my skin goose bumps but let’s not even mention the mosquitoes. Those damn things would always be there, in a place like that. It was a grass clearing behind of a building after all.
Dah.” Jude said. “Jap. Just wait a bit more.” She then shushed us.
Celeste pouted. “Is it really going to work though?” She asked again.
Melanie seemed like she was going to shut her up, but the sudden movement in the coin shut everyone up. We both stared at the coin, disbelief. I for one, was terrified that I didn’t know what to do. I remember Jude laughing, that it was finally working. I wanted to be the sceptical one and say someone was moving the coin. But… I knew my friends well enough that I’m confident none of them would have the guts to pull something like that.
“Will you help us?”
YES.
The dragging of the coin against the surface of the chalkboard wasn’t pleasant. It creaked in a way that would make my ears feel like something terrible was about to happen, but not enough that it actually hurt my hearing.
I remember Jude telling it something like retrieve our papers and something along the lines of that. I was too focused on the coin to really listen to her. In awe, I felt like there was this hypnotic therapy to the coin moving, all our fingers on it, bonded by our own blood as it moves our hands from one place to another. The coin moved along the board, slowly but it was definitely moving.
YES. Again.
Like someone who was finally forgiven, Anna cried, repeating ‘thank you’ over and over again.
“See, Anna.” Jude smiled. “Everything’s fine.”
We were told to bring something valuable to us. I brought a picture of my late mother. Small, rectangular and my late mother, in her early years, looking straight at the camera. It used to be in my purse, all the time. I guess that ends tonight.
Each girl put down an item of their own, and Jude started asking if ‘it’ was going to accept our sacrifices.
NO.
I could feel the blood try to run away from my body, draining from my face. My heart beat started to get faster. If there was one thing I wanted to do at that point, it was to run away as fast as I could. I didn’t care anymore.
But I stayed.
The night air felt chilly, nipping our skin just as much as the mosquitoes were. But… we weren’t going to back off. I knew from the look on Jude’s face that we were going to stay fighting with this… thing. To her, it was merely a battle of wills. And Jude, was the most wilful of us. I heard her click her tongue. “Let’s try again.” She said before saying good bye to the board.
NO.
“No…” I couldn’t help but want to cry. My vision was getting blurry, trying to hide the fact that I desperately wanted out of this. “What now?” I asked, praying in my heart that they woild just give up.
The coin moved again. This time going to the alphabets.
N-Y-A-W-A. It spelled. It’s the Malay word for life. It wanted our lives.
“No!” Jude yelled. Then the coin moved to ‘GOODBYE’.
Melanie sighed. “This is ridiculous. I know this wouldn’t work.” She said. “Let’s just go study more. It’s the best we could do right now anyway.”
“Spirits aren’t going to help us, huh?” Celeste got up, following Melanie. Everyone left first. The only ones left were Jude and myself. My feel felt like it was frozen in time. We both just remained, staring at the board with the bloody coin.
I brought my shaky hand to the front of my face, looking at the place I jabbed. The wound stung, my blood looking black and dirty as I applied pressure to it with my other hand, hiding it. “You should go.” Jude mumbled, and I nodded. I left her alone. “I’ll find somewhere to put all of this.”
We decided to forget about it but unfortunately, it didn’t forget about us.
The next day each of us kept finding our papers, even the ones we already answered. “Is this some kind of sick prank?” Stacy asked, annoyed.
“But who can imitate our writing like this?” Celeste asked, looking at the papers on her bed. “Should we just ignore it?”
“Do you think this has something to do with last night?” I asked, feeling like if I didn’t bring it up, I was going to mess things up even more.
Melanie scratched her head. “Jude!” She called. Jude was in the shower. And shouting was the way to call her when they didn’t want to walk.
Jude came in a few minutes, a paper in her hand telling us that she found it where she usually put her toiletry basket. “Did you guys find these too?” She asked, wiping her hair as she talked.
All of us nodded, no other words while Stacy went to the dorm room door, looked around, and then closed the door, locking it from the inside. “We need to talk about this.” She hissed. “Obviously it’s related to last night.” She said, holding the papers.
“Then correct it, and put it back where you found it.” She said. “Pretend nothing happened. If it’s a prank, then whatever. If it’s real, though, good for us.”
“Say…” Anna asked. “Didn’t we say goodbye to it last night?”
I agreed. “These things shouldn’t happen right?” Jude glared at me, her eyes were dark. Jude always did have a temper issue along with her leadership, but I was never subject to that since I was quiet most of the time. This time, I couldn’t, everyone was at risk, right?
We ignored everything that happened, but I knew everyone was secretly making corrections in the papers they got before putting them away. I could see them, even when they were trying to hide it, pretending they didn’t believe in it. We were all desperate for it, including me. It was like getting a second chance. It was a miracle.
Up until the last day after our final paper when we were going to climb up the water tank, we didn’t talk about the Spirit of the Coin ever again. We had fun, we cried with our tests but we would always get a second chance when our papers would magically appear somewhere for us to find, correct, and then leave it at that. It would be gone the moment I took my eyes off from mine and I assumed it was the same for everyone.
“Are you all ready?” Celeste asked, wearing another layer of her favourite lip gloss. “Let’s go.” She said, bringing her camera with her as we all marched towards the water tank. In the daylight, it looked less scary, less malicious.
What could go wrong, right?
It was the tragedy of a lifetime.
Celeste held the camera, and everyone tried to squeeze in for the picture. We posed, we laughed and we enjoyed the stunning view. Then the sun started to set, and the sky started to turn a tint of reds and yellows and oranges. We had to get another picture with that sky. It was our last chance anyway.
“Alright, alright, la. One last picture, deh.” Celeste said as the angled the camera again. “Then we have to go down before dark.”
We posed, one last time and then we started to descend the steps. Celeste stood still for a minute to check on the picture. I remember hearing her scream, and then something black passed my peripheral vision. Before I knew what was happening, there was a broken camera on the ground below me. Above me, Celeste cried, holding onto Melanie as she frantically shouted to get them out of there quick, urging me to go down faster.
“What happened?” I asked, picking up the camera pieces. “Did you accidentally drop this or something?”
Celeste was in tears. Sure she’s always been soft, but she wasn’t frantic. This time she was. “What happened?” Jude asked, shaking her shoulders to get her back to reality.
Her mascara made it look like she was crying out darkness. She shook her head, panicked as she tried to get away from the water tank as soon as possible. I was left to pick up the pieces while the other tried to comfort her. The memory card was still usable, I hope, but after her panic, I decided to just slip it into my pocket, for now.
“I know what I saw, okay?” She cried. “I saw… something… right there with us.”
“Everything broke.” I said. I lied. I thumbed the little memory card in my pocked. “I think everything’s broken.”
Following Celeste’s breakdown, we all packed our bags. Our stay at Ivory Beach ended that day with Celeste panicking and making a few calls, insisting that we don’t go back home until she gave us what she needed to.
Everyone but Jude did the same. She had a family emergency, but before she left, she pulled me aside. “I need you to do something for me.” She started. “I hid the board and coin along with everything we left there under the empty locker in my dorm room. It’s the one closest to the balcony window and if anything at all happens, I need you to go get it and bury it somewhere no one will ever find.”
I didn’t get to respond. I only looked at her in disbelief before she left, never to be seen again.
Celeste gave everyone talisman necklaces, telling us, no, begging us to please wear it. “Wear it. Please, guys.” She said. Those were her last words to everyone. Everyone except Jude.
We waited about three months before our results came out. In those three months, no one contacted each other. Maybe they just didn’t contact me, but I did try to contact them the day before we got our results at school. Everyone responded that they’d be there… except Jude. Try as I might she never responded to me. She didn’t answer my calls and my texts never reached her.
“It’s a pity she passed on. She got great results.” It was the next day that I found out from one of the teachers that she died. “Her parents called about a week after they left school. I’m surprised you guys didn’t hear from them.” The five of us, the remainder of the Black Rose stood agape in the silence, the school principal approaching herself to give her condolences because she knew we were close.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Mrs. Sunbury, how did Jude die?” I asked, thinking back on the message that she told me right before she left.
Mrs. Sunbury held her head down. “Well,” She looked all of us in the eye. “She unfortunately climbed up the water tank and fell. A gardener found her a few days later when he was tending the grass at the field.” The woman pointed to the very same water tank we all climbed up to.
Celeste burst out crying, an utter fit or hysterical screams as she cursed herself. Mrs. Sunbury tried to help, but even she understood. To lose a close friend, just when they just passed one lead in their lives. It was tragic.
“If you don’t mind me asking, did you know why she came back so soon?” I asked again, her message nagging in my mind, gnawing at my attention. All I could think of was her message to me. Her final message. “I mean, school is supposed to be closed, still, kan?”
The principal nodded. “She never mentioned coming here to anyone. Not even her parents. Do you know anything?”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t know.”
I clutched the talisman under my shirt. Closing my eyes at the mess we got into. Call me a wuss, but I believed in it, even more so that Jade was the only one that didn’t get one. I left the girls behind, rushing to the dorms to get the things Jude hid. I didn’t care that I was making a mess at this point, the metal lockers were heavy and I needed to lift it all by myself.
Just as I got it, my phone rang. “Where are you?” Celeste’s voice rang into my ears. “Stacy is acting weird. You need to come here. Now!”
“What’s happening?” I didn’t want to know.
“She’s… I don’t know.” I heard her footsteps through the phone. She was probably running a bit away from the others. “I think she’s possessed. You have to come back here, please, Lindsey.”
I took a deep breath, Jude had hidden the board with everything, thankfully, in a black garbage bag. I went back to the hall to see Stacy, being held down by the whole gang except for Celeste who was panicking. Three girls could barely manage.
When I saw her face, my heart almost stopped. Her eyes were swollen, mouth curled in a way I never thought was humanly possible. “Blood! Blood!” she kept screaming. “Get me her blood!”
The voice wasn’t Stacy’s. It was something else. And I didn’t want to know.
In fear, I fessed up everything to the closest person in charge, Mrs. Sunbury. None of us thought this was going to happen. But it did. And none of us knew how bad the consequences were when we did it.
They called a preacher in the end. I gave up the things to him in tears, feeling the sense of failure envelop me along with the endless sense of fear and doom. He read so many mantras I couldn’t make out what he was actually saying, and then we watched as he tried to banish the spirit from Stacy’s body, her convulsing form leaving mental marks in each of us, I was sure of that.
Then we watched as he buried everything under a wild banana tree. It was the furthest tree in the teacher’s quarters that had a cooling effect to it, not that I knew much about spiritual trees, but that was the excuse they gave. The day ended with us, each getting straight A’s, and an extra pledge that we would never meet with each other and we would never come to the academy ever again… for our own safety.
Again, the Black Rose split. I heard Stacy ended up in a mental asylum, where she broke down continuously talking about how she was doomed. After her possession, she was never herself anymore. Or maybe she was, just continuously in fear. I had a few friends who worked there, and they would tell me about her sometimes.
It’s been more than ten years since then. Stacy finally managed to take her own life after trying to many times in the asylum.
Celeste and the others all got into the medical programme, including me. It wasn’t a surprise, all our results were great, even the teachers were impressed, at first, that is. Until Stacy happened and they decided to shush up the whole thing from any sort of media. It was going to cost the school among other things, and they weren’t going to do that. We were the first batch of graduates, and there was no way they would risk closing the school because of something stupid that we did.
A few years back, I heard from Anna. I saw her romance novel on the shelves of a store once and bought it. She wrote using a pen name, but I knew it was her. Amelia Rose. Amelia was Anna’s middle name. Though she didn’t mention anything about her schooling, there were little messages that told us it was her. Like how much technical terms she used in the romance novel, and the many references to the subjects she liked in school. But the most obvious clue was how she acknowledged ‘Celeste Rose, for telling her to do shit she thought was pointless until it was inevitably proven true. This is the real second chance, and not the one we thought was.’
I’m writing about it today, because I remembered the memory card I got from Celeste’s camera. I left it in the box along with all my high school trinkets, forgetting all about it after a tiring day of moving all my things back home. The final image Celeste took was something I immediately regretted looking at. Everyone was calm and happily taking pictures. But at the very back, where there should be nothing but air in the picture was something much, much darker.
Black. Black all over with gleaming eyes that had no life in them, looking at all of us as if it was looking like a fresh meal right on the table. My nerves stood on end and I can’t get it out of my mind now that I’ve seen it. In case someone finds this, I want them to know that today, as I am writing, my talisman cracked. If anything happens to me, I want this story to reach the girls at my academy.
Never play Spirit of the Coin for any reason at all, and never go near the groove of dark banana trees at the corner of the teacher’s quarters. They’re the banana trees that look dead, grey and black, never dying but also never living either. And never climb up the water tank at the corner of the field. The entire school is hard, but you won’t die from it if you’re careful and behave yourselves. Never challenge the things you don’t know.
Take care,
Lindsey Abigale Rose.
submitted by CERCEful to nosleep [link] [comments]


2020.05.27 14:42 JonSnowAzorAhai High school girls locker room hidden camera

My theory is that Acosta made a deal with the powers behind Epstein when he gave Epstein a way out from his first arrest in 2008. Given Trump and Epstein being accused by a Jane Doe for abusing her as a minor back before Trump got elected, his appointment of Acosta to the cabinet position is definitely suspicious. The allegations were made 2 years before Acosta was appointed by Trump. I would like to know who else were involved with the Acosta in 2008, as Trump didn't had the political power at that time to get things done.
Rene Alexander Acosta is a Republican Party member who was appointed as a memeber of National Labor relations board by George W. Bush in 2002. Later on he became United States Attorney for the Southern District of Florida in 2005. It is that role that he was involved with Epstein following Epstein's 2008 arrest.

Police began a 13-month undercover investigation of Epstein, including a search of his home. The Federal Bureau of Investigation FBI also became involved. Subsequently, the police alleged that Epstein had paid several girls to perform sexual acts with him. Interviews with five alleged victims and 17 witnesses under oath, a high-school transcript and other items found in Epstein's trash and home allegedly showed that some of the girls involved were under 18, the youngest being 14, with many under 16. The police search of Epstein's home found two hidden cameras and large numbers of photos of girls throughout the house, some of whom the police had interviewed in the course of their investigation.
In July 2006, the FBI began its own investigation of Epstein, nicknamed "Operation Leap Year". It resulted in a 53-page indictment in June 2007. Alexander Acosta, then the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of Florida, agreed to a plea deal, which Alan Dershowitz helped to negotiate, to grant immunity from all federal criminal charges to Epstein, along with four named co-conspirators and any unnamed "potential co-conspirators". According to the Miami Herald, the non-prosecution agreement "essentially shut down an ongoing FBI probe into whether there were more victims and other powerful people who took part in Epstein's sex crimes". At the time, this halted the investigation and sealed the indictment. The Miami Herald said: "Acosta agreed, despite a federal law to the contrary, that the deal would be kept from the victims."
Acosta later said he offered a lenient plea deal because he was told that Epstein "belonged to intelligence", was "above his pay grade" and to "leave it alone".
“I was told Epstein ‘belonged to intelligence’ and to leave it alone,” he told his interviewers in the Trump transition, who evidently thought that was a sufficient answer and went ahead and hired Acosta.
In 2017, Acosta was appointed by President Trump into his cabinet as Secretary of Labor. In 2019, Acosta proposed cutting the funding of his department's International Labor Affairs Bureau from $68 million in 2018 to under $20 million in 2020. That agency combats human trafficking (including child sex trafficking), child labor and forced labor internationally. Awfully suspicious for a guy who let a sex trafficking boss get his way with the system.
Acosta claimed his office intervened when state prosecutors were planning to go after Epstein on lesser charges. He said his priority was ensuring that Epstein went to prison, paid restitution to his victims and registered as a sex offender. Epstein was ultimately sentenced to time behind bars -- but served only 13 months and was allowed to leave for long stretches to work from his office. He avoided a federal trial, but did have to register as a sex offender.
However, all of this was refuted when Acosta was blasted by former Palm Beach State Attorney Barry Krischer after the news conference for his remarks.
"As the State Attorney for Palm Beach County for 16 years (1993-2009), which included the entire period of the Epstein investigation, I can emphatically state that Mr. Acosta's recollection of this matter is completely wrong," Krischer wrote in a statement obtained by CNN.
"Mr. Acosta brokered a secret plea deal that resulted in a Non-Prosecution Agreement in violation of the Crime Victim's Rights Act. Mr. Acosta should not be allowed to rewrite history."
Relation between Trump and Epstein
Epstein's "black book" became a part of court proceedings related to the financier when his former house manager, Alfredo Rodriguez, attempted to sell it (illegally) in 2006. Rodriguez circled entries that he claimed were the "Holy Grail" to cracking Epstein's operation, and Trump was one of the names circled. Under Trump's entry, 14 different phone numbers are recorded. One of them is a line listed as being for Mar-a-Lago. Epstein also recorded numbers for Ivanka Trump, Melania Trump, Trump's former personal assistant, and his various residences, along with other ways to reach the then-real estate mogul.
Epstein was photographed at Trump's Palm Beach resort, Mar-a-Lago. The victim who accused Prince Andrews was a locker room attendent at Mar-a-lago when she was 16. She was recruited by Epstein's accomplice Maxwell at Mar-a-lago to give Epstein a massage.
submitted by JonSnowAzorAhai to conspiracy [link] [comments]


2020.05.01 05:30 the14thaccount High school girls locker room hidden camera

The shower was quick and painless. Only when I went back to my room there wasn’t the closet catalog to choose from: just the tight jeans and tight black t-shirt already sprawled out on the bed. Already selected by Nicki.
Later on, I walked past the constant cameras. The clothes tight and stylish. Just like how Nicki wanted them. I heard Tom Petty’s “Christmas (All Over Again)” coming from that dancefloor. Nicki’s Christmas playlist a twenty-four hour affair. The club open all night… Only Club Staff wasn’t. Down the hall I saw its door still closed. The lights off inside. Its Nicki soundtrack silent. Her wax sisters no longer partying since Ash and I left.
Ready for the Queen, I journeyed through the labyrinthe. The Christmas maze, the lights. The mairjuana tree. The long hallways and glowing gold records.
I only made one beer detour. One stop amongst the many roadside bars. After downing three bottles of Dos Equis, I felt more relaxed. More comfortable for Nicki and I’s forthcoming conversation.
I saw the open doorway leading to the studio. Leading me to Nicki Minaj. I glanced down at the tight jeans that would surely get her salivating. Took a deep breath. My soul with some hesitation before I went straight inside.
There was the intimate space. The soundproof walls. The live room where Mrs. Majesty made the magic happen. A Trinidad decor was evident in the various colorful trinkets from Nicki’s many travels. The elephant figurines, the kaleidoscopic paintings of various women of color. And of course, there were the notebooks. Dozens and dozens of them scattered about like toys in Nicki’s personal playland. Well, the non-sex toys, that is…
Each open notebook was covered in the rapper’s pretty scrawl. Lyrics both clever and insane. A beautiful madness punctured the pages. Judging by the sheer amount of binders, when Nicki got on a roll, she was a frenetic force. Unstoppable in her drive and creativity.
On the control room table was a bottle of wine. Two glasses already poured. And there sat the Queen on her pink swivel chair. The studio her throne. Her bitch.
Her fingernails were now red claws. A match to the fiery red wig. The make-up vivid but professional. Along with thin wire-rimmed glasses, her beige pants suit was somehow scholarly and bland even with such beauty lying beneath it. Sitting there with a pen in hand and notebook in lap, Nicki looked to be in academic mode. All business inside the studio.
Nicki flashed me a warm smile. “Mmm, those look nice…”
Flattered, I glanced down at the preppy attire. The type of clothes late-twenty-somethings flaunted when they played high schoolers on T.V. And they were a perfect fit too. “Yeah, thanks.”
The two of us looked on at each other. Nothing weird. Just mutual respect… or attraction. The Ronettes’ “Sleigh Ride” the only sound through the silence.
Nicki relaxed in her seat. “Hey, shut the door!”
Following orders, I closed it behind me. Gone was The Ronettes’ harmonies. That was curtains for Nicki’s Christmas playlist here in the soundproof studio.
Using the notebook, Nicki motioned toward the other swivel chair. “Have a seat, Rhonnie. Let’s get down to business, shall we.”
I sat down and rolled the chair closer. Nicki now loomed up over me. Her huge ass undoubtedly helped in the height advantage. Then again, her aura had power, and it always kept the Queen in control.
Nicki waved around the room. “Bringing back any memories?”
“Oh yeah. The interview…” An awkward chuckle escaped my lips.
Behind confident eyes, Nicki watched me. Her claws kept tapping the notebook in a repetitive rhythm. “You know, I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”
Through her weak smile, I sensed Nicki’s sincerity. This personality wasn’t manic or aggressive. Not yet at least. “Naw, you’re fine,” I said. “We, uh… we had fun.”
Nicki laughed. “Definitely!” Then she lunged forward, getting closer to me. “But I really wanted a book. I wanted my story to be told, Rhonnie.”
Struggling under her female gaze, I hesitated. “And it still can… I’d love to give it another try.”
“Ooh, I’d love that….” Nicki leaned back. “You know, I really love your writing, Rhonnie. I think you’d do amazing things covering the life and times of Onika Maraj.”
Now I was flying high. A horrible actor, I did my best to play it cool. “Well, I’m glad somebody thinks so...”
“Oh, we do! Trust me. You’ve got the talent, baby.”
“I appreciate it.”
Nicki pointed her blood-red finger right at me. “You write movies too, right?” I laughed. “Whoa, shit, look at you!”
“I know my shit…”
“But yeah, I started out with the screenplays. I’ve always been a movie person-”
“So what happened?”
Pausing for a second, I took note of Nicki’s focused gaze. She was interested, alright… “These filmmakers, man. They’re all broke and do a shitty job.”
“Ah…” Nicki took a quick sip of wine.
“It’s a long story. I just… I don’t have an agent, they don’t read shit unless you know somebody. And I’m broke as fuck so I can’t film anything…” Here I was rambling. Rhonnie The Jaded Writer making his grand return. Angry. Talking with my hands. “But that’s why I started the NoSleeps. I actually wrote a couple of novels before that, but I’m just trying to build an audience now.”
“Well, you got me hooked!”.
Even I had to smile. “I’m glad. I just got tired of getting fucked by Hollywood.”
Nicki struggled to suppress a smirk. “Well, hey, at least it was fun when I fucked you.”
Damn, she was clever. I grinned. “Yeah. My best Hollywood experience for sure!” I ran a hand through my swoop. “And Hell, at least you paid me!”
Getting comfortable, Nicki readjusted on her throne. Her tone stayed consistent and precise. Her T.V. journalist performance pretty impressive. “But about the biography, would you be willing to do something else for me?”
“Yeah, uh. What do you mean?”
“Look, Rhonnie, the Barbz loved the story.”.
I smirked. “I guess it has a cult following going.”
Nicki just kept her eyes on me. There was no unwavering smile to offset the seriousness. She meant business. All as her relentless claws kept tapping the notebook... “I did the research. My album sales, the downloads, everything went up after you posted that NoSleep.” In a mic drop moment, Nicki’s hand collapsed on to the binder. “And now I want more!”
“Whoa…” I struggled to say through the excitement. “So you want like a whole series?”
“Preciseleee…”
The shit-eating grin never left my face. Already my mind was racing with ideas. I turned away, disoriented by my life-long dream.
“I’ll pay you as well,” Nicki continued. “You can even go back to Albany, Georgia.” With seductive poise, Nicki leaned in a little closer. “Or Hell, you and Ash can come here.”
I faced Nicki. “So did people really like the story that much?”
“Oh, Hell yeah!”
“Did any of them… believe it?”
Nicki revealed a sly smile. “Some.”
Enjoying the spotlight, I folded my arms. “So fucking crazy… Honestly, I just wanted to tell the truth about what happened… I wasn’t trying to write creepy fan fic or erotic shit. I was just wanting to portray you as accurately as possible, Nicki. I mean Hell, I thought that’d be my only shot at the biography!”
Nicki’s female gaze was starting to appear. “Not at all.”
Still rambling, I threw my hands up. “And then some people found it hot. They seemed more aroused than anything-”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
I gave her an amused look… realizing she was kinda right.
“Pegging’s hot,” Nicki continued. “And it ain’t like those rumors about me fucking men in the ass weren’t around before your story.”
I revealed a smirk. “Yeah...”
Rivaling my own elation, Nicki rolled her chair in closer toward me. “I just want you to do one thing.”
“What?”
“Make it even sexier! Get fucking crazy with it!”
“What… You’re joking, right?”
Nicki pointed at her stone cold glare. “Do I look like I’m fucking joking, Rhonnie!” She gave me a light punch on the arm. And damn, it still hurt… “Just do what I say! Write about all the sex. About how hot I am.” For emphasis, she squeezed her own breasts. “These titties, this ass, the pegging.” Nicki pointed at me. ”Squeezing a guy’s ass or making him strip down, the fucking hot shit, Rhonnie! I need more of that!”
The speech left me in stunned silence. There was a lot to unpack. Amongst the shock and intrigue, there was also disappointment...
Nicki shook my shoulder. “Just do more of that! That’s what we need.”
I pulled away from her. “But why...”
“Why!”
I pointed between us. “I just told you, I didn’t intend to just make you out to be some fucking bimbo, Nicki! I wanted to humanize you. That was the whole point!”
With a subtle smile on her face, Nicki just watched me.
“Like yeah, I told the truth,” I went on. “I wrote about the crazy sex but that wasn’t the point! I wanted to show the world the real you. I wanted them to see Onika Maraj. This was a biography.”
In a twisted taunt, Nicki caressed my face. “Oh, that’s so cute, Rhonnie.”
I knocked her hand away. “No, I mean it!”
Her smile was swiped clean. Nicki now literally got in my face. “And that’s fan-fucking-tastic!”
Scared, I cowered back into my seat. Nicki hadn’t even yelled... she didn’t need to.
“Look, baby, what you’re saying is true,” continued Nicki. She laid a hand in my lap. Dangerously close to awakening my penis... “And I appreciate it, Rhonnie. I’m glad you captured the real me.”
“I tried,” I said. I stole a look down at her hand. “Are you sure Zoo’s cool with this?”
Nicki’s grip got tighter. “Yes, Zoo’s fine, Rhonnie!”
“I’m just saying…”
Like a starved animal, Nicki pulled my chair closer toward her. “You got my vibe well, but that’s not what got me famous, Rhonnie! I wish it was but it wasn’t.”
“What are you talking about? You’re talented as fuck and that’s another reason I-”
“And so are you!” Nicki interrupted. “And that’s my whole point!” Gentle, Nicki’s claws ran along my cheeks… “I was like you once, Rhonnie. I had the talent. The drive, the dedication.”
Rivetered, I watched her every move. Her every emotion.
Nicki sat back in her seat. “But none of that mattered. I got nowhere in my career... I was broke…” She flashed a weary smile. “Those Barbie dreams were far away back then.”
“I understand,” I said.
“Being a female rapper…” Nicki shrugged her shoulders. “You just have to play the game.”
“Sex, the male gaze.” I waved toward her body. “All that shit just to have your voice heard.”
Nicki nodded. But the bitterness didn’t manifest itself in tears or weakness. Just hardened toughness. “I had to play the freak. For every ‘Regret In Your Tears,’ I have to do three or four whackass sex songs.”
Showing support amidst the Queen’s self-reflection, I grinned. “Like ‘Anaconda’?”
Nicki laughed. “What! You don’t like-”
“God, I hate that song!”
Nicki grabbed my arm. “But you see my point, right!”
“I do. Definitely.”
Ruminating on the famed career, Nicki ran her hands along the notebook. Struggled to maintain eye contact. Obviously relieved for the deeper conversation… if uncomfortable. “That’s why I have to do all this shit. To do what I really want I have to shake my ass or flaunt my titties! It’s frustrating, man. To have to write some of these lyrics and keep being the freaky bitch for everyone… I mean for once I’d like to have Channing Tatum or someone give me a lapdance in a music video but that’d scare the ‘straight’ guys watching… I can’t objectify men for the serious money.” She looked right at me. A vague glimmer of defeat in her power. “Just myself.”
The words, the realities left me in a sad silence. I had even more empathy for Onika now. Especially after hearing this requiem for Nicki’s initial rap idealism.
“So you see,” Nicki said. “The sex sells, Rhonnie. That’s all that matters.” She pointed a red claw at me. “And that’s why we need more of it in the stories.”
“But we don’t!” I replied. “You don’t have to do-”
“Listen, if you’re wanting to do this full time, Rhonnie, you gotta compromise!” Nicki yelled in a voice driven by years of rage. Years of industry suppression.
I waved toward the studio. “But look, you have the money! You’ve already played their stupid fucking game!”
Nicki stared at me. The glasses hid any tears or melancholy. Then again, Nicki always hid it well. She had the perfect poise. The confidence necessary for a black woman to climb her way to the top of the entertainment food chain.
“We can just write the truth,” I continued. “You can write the songs you want to write. You don’t have to satisfy this fucking thirst from others who just watch you for the sex. You don’t have to make money off that shit anymore! You can be the great artist you are! The one you were born to be!”
Right before me, Nicki’s creative mind went into contemplation. “At this point, I’ve got no choice,” she said. “I need the money just like anyone else, Rhonnie.”
I groaned.
Snapping into scary Nicki, she lunged toward me. A fiery fervor consumed her. The red wig and fingernails made her a rap Goddess straight from Hell.
I got quiet real quick.
“Don’t you understand! I’ve got no choice, Rhonnie!” Nicki shouted. “I’m thirty-seven years old! There’s not much time for a woman in this industry to be the best, man!”
“I know,” I said in a low voice. “I’m sorry...”
More calm, Nicki leaned back. “I’m just glad I can talk about pegging now,” she admitted. “Hell, that’s some progress for female empowerment for you.”
“True… But I just think there’s nothing to lose by focusing more on your artistic vision. You don’t have to keep exploiting yourself-”
“Maybe I want to,” Nicki interrupted.
“What?”
With seductive slowness, Nicki creeped in closer. “Sometimes I like the attention.” She let out a confident cackle. “The thought of all those guys and girls finding me hot… I don’t know.” She bit her lip with erotic emphasis. “It turns me on.”
I grinned. “I’m not arguing with-”
Giving in to her natural theatrics, Nicki collapsed back on the chair. Now channeling her inner Bob Dylan. Her inner eccentric rock star. Letting all those quirks and tics whisk her away. “I mean yeah, it’s frustrating not to get to do my deeper songs all the time. To embrace being the artist I know I am... That’s what I really want, don’t get me wrong.” Holding my gaze hostage, she shrugged her shoulders. “But sometimes it’s sexy to play the star. To be all hot and beautiful... I like it sometimes...” She flashed that beaming smile. “And it gives me money. Power. Certainly helped me get you here.”
Nicki’s hands veered under the notebook. Stacking them on top of one another, she created a literal handmade dick. “It lets me do whatever I want to you, Rhonnie…” Moaning and grunting, Nicki pretended to peg me right then and there. Her thrusts always so aggressive. Even when she was only pretending to fuck me hard…
I couldn’t turn away. Nor couldn’t help but be aroused… Trying not to give in to the steamy sight, I sifted in my seat. Battled my rising bulge. “But still, there’s no way to ignore the money?” I asked. “Do the music that best captures you.”
Ignoring me, Nicki kept on with the imaginary fucking. Her grunts got louder. The Queen clearly nearing her orgasm…
Still I tried to steer us back on track. I moved in toward her. “Just make your own album about you and all these hot guys or you and your relationships,” I continued, my voice louder in an attempt to overpower Nicki’s carnal cries. “Instead of having to exploit your body so much, you can do more songs you care about!”
Cackling, Nicki sat up straight. She clapped her hands together.
“What?” I said.
“You’re funny. God… you’re always funny, Rhonnie.”
I revealed an amused smile. “Well, thanks...”
“I mean it!” Nicki pushed her dangling red hair back. “Oh shit.”
In the cold room, I hesitated. Struggling to stay serious and heartfelt amidst Nicki’s lingering laughter. “I don’t mean to sound like I’m judging you, Nicki because I’m not.” I felt her stare settle in on me. “You make a lot more than me and still can make great music… I just think you’re better than that.”
“And so are you,” Nicki said in a sharp reply.
Confused, I felt unease surge through me. My goofy smile couldn’t play it off either. “What do you mean?”
Armed with a wide grin, Nicki slowly crept closer toward me. “I told you this last time.” The two of us were now just inches apart. “I know allll about you, Rhonnie.”
Anxiety joined my unease. I now trembled...
“You like the attention too,” Nicki said. “I know you do!”
“So what are you trying to say?”
“I’m just proving my point.” Mrs. Majesty shrugged her shoulders. Her smirk slicing into me. “Sex sells.” She rested a hand on my knee. “You should know that as well as anyone.”
Warm sensations erupted inside me. I felt body heat. As if our emotional therapy session had morphed into a Skinemax porno...
“You’re the one that’s always posting on Reddit,” Nicki teased. “Letting all those horny desperate girls and guys ogle you like that. Jerking off to you... You fucking love it, don’t you?”
She had me. “Yeah,” I admitted.
Nicki now felt along my chest. “Your dick and ass pictures on ladyboners and gaybros. I know you do it, Rhonnie. I know alll about you remember...”
The room finally got hotter…
“Let’s go through those accounts, shall we,” Nicki pressed further. “Ronaldlongdick.”
I smiled at Nicki. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Ronaldlongdick77, unknownhorrorwriter.”
“That one was obvious...”
Nicki’s claws ran wild across my body. Fueled by her desire. Not that I was complaining…
“Bubblebutt4days,” Nicki continued. She let out a soft chuckle. “And rhonnie141414. Hmm, that’s sure discreet.”
“Yeah, that was when I was twenty-four, man...”
“But that’s the thing.” Nicki’s grip settled in on my thighs. “You know that account you deleted. Ronaldlongdick.”
“Yeah…”
Nicki got closer. The two of us now noses apart. “How many followers did it end up with?”
Not wanting to answer, I turned away.
“Come on now,” Nicki taunted. “You know how many, bitch.”
I gave her a defeated smirk. Knowing full well what she was about to say… And how she’d proven this harsh reality: sex sells.
“Thirteen hundred followers, Rhonnie!” Nicki shouted.
The inevitable set in. I nodded along with her. Overpowered by the Queen once more. “I know...”
Nicki purred with delight. “And compare that to your writing, huh? The rhonnie14 sub?” She nudged my chin. “How many?”
“Eight hundred and-”
“Five!” Nicki said with me. Her triumphant laugh blared.
Cornered by Nicki, I shrugged. “Well… you got me...”
“So think about this, Rhonnie. You’re more famous for that dick.” With excited delight, Nicki slid her hands on to my booty. “And that ass than your horror stories...”
“Thanks, Nicki,” I deadpanned. “I appreciate the support!”
Nicki chuckled as she squeezed tighter to my ass. “All I’m saying’s you gotta do what you gotta do to get famous, boo. To make real money.” She ran her hands along my abs. “And now that you’ve been working out, I can go ahead and tell you, you’d make bank flaunting all this on-line. Those down low brothas and thirstyass sistas would be all up on you.”
“Stop it!” I joked. “I can’t handle this many compliments.”
“Bitch, please!” Nicki gave me a shove before sitting back in her seat. “You love that shit and you know it! You know you do!”
“Naw, you’re right... You’re totally right.”
“All I’m saying’s they appreciate your body more than the Goddamn stories! The shit you bust your ass to write, but they’d rather see that big dick and booty than anything else! You gotta profit off that, babe!”
I smirked. “So what are you saying? That I become a male stripper or something?”
Nicki snorted with laughter. “Hell, maybe! But just think about these stories for instance. You mix sex with storytelling like I did with the raps, and you got something that’ll sell, Rhonnie!”
Goddamn, she made sense… I nodded in agreement. “I see.”
“Like this next one, just go crazy with it! You know the Barbz will eat it up. Me pegging this Zac Efron-looking writer and his fineass all over the place!”
“Man, you’re really on this Efron kick lately...”
Nicki readjusted her glasses. “Bieber too. Because y’all fine and kinda look alike. Kinda built alike.”
Genuinely flattered, I probably blushed. “Thanks.”
“But people are fucking dumb. That’s the shit you gotta do to get fans, boo!”
“Naw, you’re totally right...”
Nicki straightened the notebook. “Like write about Ashley pegging you, you showing your dick to dudes on-line. That’ll sell like crazy. More views, more readers. Exploit it!”
“I guess I’ll start now then. With these new stories and all, the series.”
Like a supportive coach, Nicki pointed toward me, hyping me up. “Exactly! You got this!”
Already the wheels were turning. The crazy scenarios I could write about the Minaj mansion.
“You and Ashley can always come back here too,” I heard Nicki say. “I’ll give y’all another vacation...”
I smiled at Nicki. “I bet you would.”
She opened the binder. “Hey, y’all sexy. And I got you dressing in those clothes I like.”
I felt on the shirt’s fine fabric. “Yeah, from like 2008.”
“Bitchhh….”
“But trust me, Ash’s ready…”
“I bet she’s tearing that ass up every night too...”
Playful, I gave Nicki a weirded out look.
Laughing, she flipped through a few pages. “You know I’m crazy as Hell.”
“No doubt…” And then I saw the joint tucked away toward the back of the binder... Pristine California grass. A pink lighter laying right beside it. Holy shit…
“But for real, I wanna help,” Nicki said. She picked up the j. “You need someone dominant guiding you. Like with you and Ashley.”
“Yeah.”
Nicki held the pot out toward me. “You think you can handle it?”
“Shit…” I stood up. “If I can handle what you did to me last time, I can take anything.”
With a Devilish laugh, Nicki flicked the lighter. The flame showcased a wild glint in her eyes. Further revealed the ferocious soul under that red wig...
It turns out I couldn’t handle it. The next few hours were a blur. A gonzo production directed by wine and the strongest pot I ever smoked. Shit got weird. Nicki and I’s conversations ranged from 90s horror movies to heteroflexibility (don’t ask). Our high happiness interspersed with hysteria. Maybe there was a kiss. More groping. I honestly can’t remember...
Hours later, I awoke from the Christmas cannabis. All to the tune of Maroon 5’s “Happy Xmas (War Is Over).” Adam Levine’s piercing falsetto a ringing church bell to my haze.
Shivering, I folded my arms. “Fuck…” I muttered. First, I was glad to be wearing the same MySpace-era wardrobe. To actually be in a fucking bed, much less my bedroom… Until I saw who was laying beside me: Nicki herself. She was out cold. Another bottle of wine clasped in her hands like a teddy bear. A Santa Claus hat blended into her wig. Now I realized I had a Santa hat draped over my swoop... But, at least we were both dressed and lying on the covers. Neither of us could get MeToo’d now.
Staying quiet, I snuck out of bed. I slipped around in my socks. My clumsy footsteps drowned out by Maroon 5’s holiday cheese.
I looked toward the open doorway. Out toward where the Christmas concert continued… from Nicki’s personal nightclub.
Glasses slid down my nose. Confused, I took them off… They were the purple Buddy Holly ones. The same pair Nicki gave me last time. I put them back on and looked over at the bed… Toward the resting Queen. Had she taken my contacts out for me? The gesture was odd… but still kinda sweet.
The holiday playlist changed to Judy Garland’s “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.” A pretty melody and even prettier voice. But one that should soothe Nicki to sleep for the time being...
Battling the migraine, I entered the hallway. Curiosity compelled me. Not to mention snacks, man.
I turned and looked down the hall. Toward the fateful Club Staff. Sextopia City. Now there was a light on inside the room… Even a faint chatter I could hear over this Christmas classic.
I took another step toward it. Now I heard multiple, muffled voices. It couldn’t have been the wax figures… Certainly, not Nicki herself. Sure, her range was supreme but not even she could hit those deeper male tones.
Uneasy, I looked on at the closed door. The room taunting me, tempting me. But it was too late for this shit… And I knew once I snuck in there, Club Staff would be hard to leave.
I proceeded through the rest of the mansion. Every clock read three A.M. The munchies made me stop once for those amazing cookies. And to my relief, there was no weed in them...
The barrage of standard Christmas crooners scored my journey. Stuck in the cold and surrounded by the decorations, I could even feel the holiday spirit.
I decided to dodge the nightclub. All the fucking bars. Through windows, I saw those powerful security lights bring daylight to the dead of night. Everything was illuminated. The pillars, the colors. All those fucking cameras. Nicki’s palace a fusion of government compound and wacky art exhibit.
I strayed into corridors unknown. Into yet another long hallway on the first floor. Fuck it, I was already lost in the Minaj maze. Then I saw a pair of wide-open double doors. The clinical lab lighting inside drew me in.
I stepped into the wide, vast space. The garage was fucking freezing... and there were quite a few cars in here. Quite a few crammed shelves and boxes. Only something was off… There was no style. Not a damn thing was pink.
Intrigued, I walked on through. Emulating a cheap detective. Dean Martin’s “Let It Snow!” echoed all around me… only the Christmas cheer was long gone by now. Replaced instead by rising unease.
The cars weren’t necessarily hideous. Just average. Used cars with lots of mileage. None of them any newer than 2016 models. Perfect for a blue-collar neighborhood or modest suburbia. But nothing befitting Nicki Minaj’s mansion.
The boxes and shelves offered more of the same mediocrity. Wrinkled clothes. Bland casual wear comprising of tee-shirts, jeans, and dresses. Nothing Nicki would touch much less showcase. Then there was the shitty jewelry. Obvious fake gold and silver. Yard sale fashion.
Scoffing, I glanced around the garage. Were all these items from the Queen’s pre-Minaj days? Mementos from her beloved past? Or was it just shit she planned on donating?
My handsome reflection caught my eye. I got a good glimpse of the perfect-fitting clothes.
A stained mirror leaned up against a set of rejected high school lockers. All of them with padlocks.
I stepped toward them. Tried yanking on those unwavering locker doors… I leaned in closer, peering through their metal’s holes. Clearly, shit was piled up inside. Hidden away. But why?
The mystery further unnerved me. My fear returned.
Then I heard a louder song: Burl Ives’ “Holly Jolly Christmas” blared through this mausoleum of a garage. The bells and chimes engulfed me. Trembling in the cold air, I looked toward the very back.
A window showcased Nicki’s sprawling backyard. Not to mention the different smaller buildings occupying the green acres. One larger shed caught my eye.... After all, who else would have a two story efficiency unit?
Much less one with two tall security guards stationed at the front door. Under the bright security lights, I saw the building’s windows were all boarded up. Spastic cameras hovering over it.
“What the fuck…” I said. Battling the nerves, I stepped closer to see another shed had the same set-up of guards and cameras. What exactly was going on...
All the while, no one saw me spying. The Queen’s guards remained silent and still. A 24/7 shield.
I felt a large pendulum bump into my ass… Then felt a pair of thirsty hands grab each cheek. Startled, I whirled around.
“Hey, boo!” rang that hypnotic voice.
There Nicki stood right behind me. Now dressed in casual booty shorts and a red tank top., she was barefoot and missing a wig. Her natural beauty a nice contrast to the trash treasure trove surrounding us. Her smile as enthusiastic as ever.
And of course, there was the strap. From her crotch, Nicki’s pink dildo danged down like a snake… A real anaconda brushing against my ass.
I staggered back out of fear… and maybe some excitement. “Whoa…”
Nicki cackled. “Did I scare you!”
“Uh, yeah.”
Singing along, Nicki swung the dildo to the tune of Burl Ives. To the beat of the “ding…. dong…. ding...” harmonies.
I stared on at her third leg. Intimidated by the size… yet hypnotized by Nicki’s passion. Her magnetism. “Really, Nicki,” I quipped.
Chuckling, Nicki ran a hand along my arm. “What? I wanted to surprise you!”
“With the fucking pinkosaurus?”
“Yeah, why not.” She leaned in closer. “You’re the one sneaking out...”
I stole one look out the window. Out toward the guards. The strange buildings. “I just couldn’t sleep,” I told the Queen.
Nicki squeezed my wrist in a death grip of passion. “I can fix that.”
Flashing a smile, I broke away from her spell. “Naw, I need to go lay down. I can’t keep up with you!”
“Maybe tomorrow then?” Nicki teased.
“Maybe!” I then walked through the valley of Christmas music. Right into Burl Ives’ joyous vocals. The entire time I felt Nicki’s hungry eyes watch me. Staring me down hard… Her smile driven by nothing but desire. I forced myself not to turn. The temptation too much… but my tired state helped me persevere against the gorgeous rapper.
“You better be glad I don’t get a shake weight on that ass!” I heard Nicki shout with sadistic glee.
[Part 3]( https://www.reddit.com/Erotica/comments/ga1ggv/nicki_minaj_called_me_part_33/)
[14](https://www.reddit.com/rhonnie14FanPage/)
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2020.03.28 18:08 jack_the_rat I'm compiling a list of clichés, so far I have 400+. Surely I missed something you all didn't, so tell me what I might have missed!

  1. He's right behind me, isn't he?
  2. [Horror] Ascending tone
  3. This couldn't possibly get any worse! (rain)
  4. Moon transition
  5. [Trailer] IN A WORLD
  6. Cgi earth zoom
  7. [Spy] Location text
  8. We aren't so different, you and I
  9. [Horror] Black guy dies first
  10. [Horror] masked guy head tilt
  11. Whatcha Say
  12. Family breakfast
  13. Eyes rolling back in head
  14. Bullet knockback
  15. [Action] - Particularly The Walking Dead Infinite ammunition for guns
  16. It was all a dream
  17. High Schooler Tripping while running drops books
  18. Romantic Accidental hand touching
  19. [Superpower] Radiation superpowers
  20. Woman manipulating with looks
  21. Horror Creepy music box
  22. Horror Creepy little girls singing
  23. Chosen one prophecy
  24. Love triangle
  25. Horror Knock knock door opens
  26. Horror Door closes itself once inside
  27. Shows clock changing to convey time
  28. Horror House on ancient burial ground
  29. Sports Team loses until final game
  30. Attractive person slow-mo entrance
  31. I've got a bad feeling about this...
  32. High School Cheerleader dates quarterback
  33. You're a genius! I am?
  34. I never told you...
  35. Cell phone no reception
  36. Raining funeral
  37. Horror Disappear off camera
  38. Horror Seemingly dead person is actually alive jumpscare
  39. We don't have to fight
  40. Horror Creepy kids aren't scared of bad guy
  41. Scream echo sound effect
  42. Horror Dog/pets die
  43. Romance Girl gets cold guy gives her sweater
  44. Dialogue Reverse shot
  45. Live studio audience
  46. Celebrity cameo
  47. News montage opening
  48. Basements (eg. Home Alone)
  49. Horror Couple dies
  50. Just in time
  51. Horror Fake jumpscares (refrigerator)
  52. Car slide over hood
  53. Bollywood ending
  54. Almost kiss; interruption
  55. Courtroom Drama (Bee Movie)
  56. Earthquake glass of water
  57. Flashback nostalgia filter (overexposure)
  58. Face close up (head to head match)
  59. Romance Opposites attract
  60. Romantic leads Cross paths but don't interact
  61. Comic relief + plot device = supporting character (Jar Jar)
  62. Spaceship simulates gravity
  63. Humanoid aliens
  64. Record scratch
  65. Bead of sweat
  66. Crickets at night
  67. The call's coming from inside the house
  68. TV channel flip message
  69. That's just great
  70. Flickering lights
  71. Food chain showed by animals eating each other
  72. Highway honking
  73. Late for something; reason out of control
  74. Villain's face hidden
  75. Villain has hideous scar
  76. Villain strokes cat
  77. Mad Scientist
  78. Villain explains plot/master plan right before killing-protagonist survives
  79. It’s mine, all mine!
  80. Villain slow clap
  81. Villain responsible for EVERYTHING
  82. Villain survives death (I’m not done with you yet)
  83. Villain has multiple identity reveals
  84. Villian Traps Hero:
    1. shark/piranha tank
    2. croc tank
    3. Lava
    4. Lowering spikes ceiling
    5. pendulum axe
    6. lazer slowly cuts in half
    7. tied up
    8. love interest also/only trapped
  85. Mary Sue
  86. Strange noise
  87. Shows ending first (you're probably wondering how this happened; Megamind)
  88. Role call joke names (I.C. Weiner)
  89. Nobody believes main character about impending threat (Woody in Toy Story)
  90. Hunches are fact
  91. Explanation of Sci-Fi stuff with singular words (mostly -ers)
  92. CGI zoom in to see microscopic world
  93. Tyranny enforced by menacing robots
  94. Point of view shot sped up to look scary
  95. Percussive pickpocket
  96. Automatic door close just in time
  97. Cool guys don't look at explosions
  98. Cool guys smoke
  99. Phone conversation repeat everything said
  100. Environmentalism (save the whale-pandas)
  101. Voices echo in tragic flashback
  102. Sentimental picture
  103. Phone numbers start with 555
  104. Poke hole through folded piece of paper to explain wormhole
  105. Third act - characters get mad at each other
  106. Befriend small creature - grows into large killing machine
  107. Joins "cool kids" and then decides they're jerks and joins old friends
  108. Girl is bad at ice skating; has to hold on to guy for support
  109. Disappear into the sky, turn into star (Team Rocket’s blasting off again)
  110. Hero's Journey (LOTR)
  111. Character who is an asshole - no other notable traits
  112. Horror Looping record
  113. School bell rings as soon as school scene starts
  114. I'm too old for this shit
  115. Binocular Vision
  116. Scene Transition (Star Wars and Edgar Wright)
  117. Montage
  118. Cold open opening credits
  119. Two kids one malt
  120. Shameless product placement (We will not bow to any sponsor)
  121. Based on a true story
  122. Eyes Opening POV shot after going unconscious
  123. Kick me sign
  124. The sky's the limit
  125. Microphone tap
  126. Microphone screech
  127. Groundhog day genre (a character living the same day over and over)
  128. On top of Train fight scene
  129. Did somebody say...
  130. Don't even think about it
  131. Get name wrong (it's ____!)
  132. Falling descending tone
  133. If you die in the game you die in real life
  134. And stay out
  135. If I were a _ where would I be
  136. Three kids in a Trench Coat
  137. Walking on Sunshine
  138. So Crazy it Just Might Work
  139. Royalty and Normal Person Switch Lives
  140. Beginning Countdown
  141. Willhelm Scream
  142. You killed my father
  143. Bond, James Bond
  144. Murder Misdirection: gunshot heard; we don’t know who died.
  145. L-shaped bed sheet, Crotch and Neck
  146. Collective Gasp
  147. [Sci-Fi] Parallel universe/crossovers
  148. [Sci-Fi] Time travel/grandfather paradox THE FABRIC OF THE UNIVERSE
  149. Third Time’s the Charm
  150. Cultural insensitivity
  151. Inception Horn
  152. To the Killer: What do you want?
  153. Robot Takeover
  154. Terminator Happens
  155. Whitewashing
  156. Evil Clone/Cyborg/Twin
  157. Radar Screen
  158. Every gunshot is a Headshot
  159. Underwear Nightmare
  160. Point and Laugh
  161. PG-13 Rating
  162. Cat Screech
  163. Cough is a Symptom of Terminal Illness
  164. Slow-Mo NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
  165. Slow-Mo Explosion
  166. Slow-Mo Climactic Battle Moment
  167. Car Tire Noises
  168. Fake Brand (cliquesters.com)(Buy and Large)
  169. Romance Looking up at the stars
  170. Little Green Men
  171. Chandeliers Falling
  172. Good cop bad cop (points out the routine)
  173. “Quick he’s escaping! After him!”
  174. Horror Power goes out
  175. Dinosaur Loose
  176. Area 51
  177. Disaster Movie:
    1. Earthquake
    2. Hurricane
    3. Tornado
    4. Fire
    5. Flood
    6. Oil Spill
    7. Nuclear Bomb
  178. Overpopulation
  179. Abusive Alcoholic Uncle
  180. Teenage vampire romance drama
  181. You’re just like your mothefather
  182. Old Woman crosses road slowly and blocks car for comedy
  183. Let her go
  184. I should have killed you when I had the chance
  185. You should have killed me when you had the chance
  186. Are you threatening me?
  187. Get down!
  188. Sit down and shut up
  189. Are you kidding me?
  190. You just don’t get it, do you?
  191. Detective newspaper
  192. Let’s split up. We can cover more ground that way.
  193. Just like in the movies
  194. What is the meaning of this?
  195. Stoplight chase scene (Looney Tunes)
  196. Girl: “Be careful.” Boy: “I know” (basically the Han Leah dynamic)
  197. Unsafe place with a DangeDo Not EnteSkull n Crossbones sign, hero goes in anyways
  198. Suspense/buildup, turns out it’s just a cat or something [Horror] (cat scare)
  199. Travel montage shown by globe/map (indiana jones)
  200. Shooting Star
  201. British butler (“Can I help you,sir?”)
  202. British/Russian/Nazi bad guy
  203. Window silhouette
  204. It’s a long story
  205. Is that all you’ve got?
  206. Calling old people Grandma or Grandpa
  207. Detective Flashback
  208. You mess with the bull, you get the horns
  209. Make love, not war
  210. High Schoolers/Teenagers played as adults
  211. That… Was… Awesome!
  212. I wouldn’t have it any other way
  213. Missed a spot
  214. There’s only one way to find out
  215. If you're watching this, I’m dead
  216. Hold the phone
  217. I’ll stay behind and, uh, keep watch
  218. Hold on to something
  219. After phone hangup: Hello? Hello? HELLO?
  220. Woman makeover glasses and un-ponytail
  221. She knows too much
  222. I think the real question is: WHEN are we?
  223. There’s Good news and there’s Bad news. Which do you want first
  224. Car explosion
  225. Invincible action characters
  226. Save the bad guy
  227. Deadly One-liners
  228. Hero and villain are related (twist)
  229. Superheroes are illegal
  230. Cryogenically frozen
  231. Did I just say that out loud?
  232. Spy casino scene
  233. Stalking Love
  234. Born sexy yesterday (stupid, sexy character. Sort of like Weird Science)
  235. Dead body in freezer
  236. Ladies first (guy is a coward)
  237. Lymph node he’s dead
  238. Which key is it?
  239. Sniper vision
  240. Shaky Cam (battle or action scene)
  241. The customer is always right
  242. The bottom line is…
  243. Lawyer in jail switch
  244. Evil eye color change
  245. You can say that again
  246. I hope you’re happy
  247. You’ll never get away with this! I already have.
  248. I can explain! There’s a perfectly logical explanation for all this!
  249. We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone
  250. _ was _ all along
  251. Dog dies (horror)
  252. Bad British accent (Daphne in Frasier)
  253. Breaking into song (rhymes first, like Scott Pilgrim)
  254. Twist villain (like in Frozen; the guy we suspected all along, but it acts like it’s surprising)
  255. There’s just a part toward the end where it’s twist after twist after twist.
  256. I want to be somebody
  257. The butler did it
  258. Evil corporation
  259. Totally not nazis regime
  260. Wrong place at the wrong time
  261. Any likeness to true events is purely coincidental
  262. Crickets in audience
  263. What could possibly go wrong?
  264. Well, Well, Well. What do we have here? If it isn’t ...
  265. Villain Revolving Chair Swivel when good guys enter lair.
  266. Rich people have long tables
  267. [Horror] Virgin Lives
  268. Take us to your leader
  269. Zombie movie: What’s a zombie?
  270. [Trailer] single high-pitched piano key (like C7 or something) plays
  271. Terrible fake instrument playing
  272. Characters explain everything to each other but really it’s for the audience
  273. Phone time vacuum (in like three seconds twelve minutes of explanation occur)
  274. Really close talking
  275. Jumping through glass; no injury
  276. Parents literally have the intellectual capacity of a potato
  277. Supervillain kills his subordinates if he gets angry
  278. In English, please
  279. Trip while being chased by killer
  280. Running in heels
  281. Summer camp horror, singing
  282. Reading latin necronomicon thing causes Evil Dead 2, Jumanji
  283. Shooting locks opens them
  284. Orphan finds out he/she’s royalty or something
  285. A theatre play goes horribly wrong; audience applauses and thinks it’s all part of it
  286. One at a time fighting: Kill Bill, fight before O-Ren
  287. Nobody dies from blunt force trauma to the head; just unconscious
  288. Mirror jumpscare: open and close medicine cabinet, something behind them
  289. Writing written all over the walls by insane people (No TV and no beer make Homer go crazy)
  290. [Found Footage] Oh my God! What the hell is that?!
  291. Evil Name change: Anakin Skywalker is dead
  292. *cough* insult *cough*
  293. Awkward elevator music (Rickroll Elevator Music)
  294. There’s a storm coming
  295. I gotta get me one of these
  296. Danger is my middle name
  297. Snap out of it!
  298. Get a hold of yourself!
  299. We’ve got company!
  300. Car won’t start
  301. Hiding from a creature/killewhatever, one little sound (broken twig) gives them away
  302. Masked killers never run; they only walk
  303. Killer is invincible
  304. Creepy dolls
  305. Zombies: Kill me before I turn
  306. Escape through air vent
  307. Run from car in the middle of the road
  308. Thunder and lightning are simultaneous
  309. We get the idea
  310. What's the big idea?
  311. Frat boys
  312. Cabin in the woods
  313. Creepy old guy warns to stay out, beware, etc.
  314. Creepy stuff in jars
  315. Creaking wooden floors
  316. Creepy painting
  317. Dumb blonde
  318. Flashlights in dark places
  319. Locket with picture
  320. Underwater: characters can hold breath for like twelve years
  321. Let’s get this party started!
  322. Do you ever get the feeling you're being watched?
  323. Oracle character (insane prophet)
  324. I'm going in
  325. Walking on sunshine
  326. You and what army?
  327. Eyes in painting follow character
  328. I’ve always wanted to do this/say that
  329. This time it’s personal
  330. We come in peace
  331. You don’t have to come home but you can’t stay here
  332. It’s quiet … maybe too quiet …
  333. I’m okay
  334. Evil laugh
  335. Scooby doo doors chase
  336. Eyes in the dark are visible
  337. SILENCE!
  338. One of us one of us one of us
  339. dun Dun DUN
  340. Fake supporting character death, crying, then they come back to life.
  341. Detective black and white
  342. Detective duo (rookie and the one who is about to die)
  343. Prison break
  344. Prison harmonica
  345. Prison rape (drop the soap)
  346. "I'm the warden around here"
  347. Ball and chain prisoners
  348. We've got eyes and ears everywhere
  349. Hitler’s in it
  350. That's an order
  351. Hands in the air
  352. Stop right there
  353. Hostage negotiation
  354. Feminine gay character
  355. Before we die let’s tell each other our darkest secrets (I did not care for the Godfather)
  356. Creepy house (motherstuffer)
  357. Full speed ahead
  358. Bathroom stall kicking open
  359. Sensei/young grasshopper
  360. Master plan
  361. It's not the destination, it's the journey
  362. Empty rocking chair
  363. Shoot him! He’s the clone! No, shoot him! He’s the clone!
  364. Whatever they're paying I'll double it
  365. Abusive drill sergeant
  366. That’s where you come in
  367. Creepy kid drawing
  368. Time for Plan B
  369. Nerds have inhalers
  370. People bump into nerds because they're bad at walking or something
  371. Clone/twin switch
  372. I'm married to my work
  373. Screaming instead of running
  374. Sci-fi analogy "like putting too much air into a balloon!"
  375. I've had better days
  376. Other than my wife leaving me to marry a Martian and have sex with Pluto my day's been great!
  377. Kiss fireworks
  378. Out of focus mary-go-round lights
  379. Fin
  380. Fasten your seatbelts. It's about to get rough/bumpy
  381. That's not a good sign
  382. I can see my house from here
  383. Command Room Clapping
  384. The ____ was in us all along
  385. Hell of a day
  386. Leave me here! Save yourselves!
  387. Elevator music
  388. Elevator door close keeps off creature
  389. Cop donuts
  390. Cops are fat (unless they're main characters)
  391. Cross turning over from demon
  392. Seat’s taken
  393. Nerds have glasses, maybe taped by the nose
  394. Nerds have braces
  395. Nerds have nasally, annoying voices
  396. Picture of love interest in locker
  397. Eurocentric standards of beauty
  398. Jocks are always wearing letterman jackets
  399. Sorry I’m late!
  400. Fire in the hole!
  401. Easy money
  402. Birds flying into windows
  403. Get that thing that's under the sleeping lion or dragon or something
  404. Are you thinking what I'm thinking (there are two variations though)
  405. That went well
  406. Do not pass go
  407. John, meet Frank. Frank, meet John.
  408. I'm married to my work
  409. Let's get out of here!
  410. Follow that Van!!!
submitted by jack_the_rat to movies [link] [comments]


2020.03.27 08:35 rhonnie14 Nicki Minaj Called Me (Part 2/3)

Link To Part One
The shower was quick and painless. Only when I went back to my room there wasn’t the closet catalog to choose from: just the tight jeans and tight black t-shirt already sprawled out on the bed. Already selected by Nicki.
Later on, I walked past the constant cameras. The clothes tight and stylish. Just like how Nicki wanted them. I heard Tom Petty’s “Christmas (All Over Again)” coming from that dancefloor. Nicki’s Christmas playlist a twenty-four hour affair. The club open all night… Only Club Staff wasn’t. Down the hall I saw its door still closed. The lights off inside. Its Nicki soundtrack silent. Her wax sisters no longer partying since Ash and I left.
Ready for the Queen, I journeyed through the labyrinthe. The Christmas maze, the lights. The mairjuana tree. The long hallways and glowing gold records.
I only made one beer detour. One stop amongst the many roadside bars. After downing three bottles of Dos Equis, I felt more relaxed. More comfortable for Nicki and I’s forthcoming conversation.
I saw the open doorway leading to the studio. Leading me to Nicki Minaj. I glanced down at the tight jeans that would surely get her salivating. Took a deep breath. My soul with some hesitation before I went straight inside.
There was the intimate space. The soundproof walls. The live room where Mrs. Majesty made the magic happen. A Trinidad decor was evident in the various colorful trinkets from Nicki’s many travels. The elephant figurines, the kaleidoscopic paintings of various women of color. And of course, there were the notebooks. Dozens and dozens of them scattered about like toys in Nicki’s personal playland. Well, the non-sex toys, that is…
Each open notebook was covered in the rapper’s pretty scrawl. Lyrics both clever and insane. A beautiful madness punctured the pages. Judging by the sheer amount of binders, when Nicki got on a roll, she was a frenetic force. Unstoppable in her drive and creativity.
On the control room table was a bottle of wine. Two glasses already poured. And there sat the Queen on her pink swivel chair. The studio her throne. Her bitch.
Her fingernails were now red claws. A match to the fiery red wig. The make-up vivid but professional. Along with thin wire-rimmed glasses, her beige pants suit was somehow scholarly and bland even with such beauty lying beneath it. Sitting there with a pen in hand and notebook in lap, Nicki looked to be in academic mode. All business inside the studio.
Nicki flashed me a warm smile. “Mmm, those look nice…”
Flattered, I glanced down at the preppy attire. The type of clothes late-twenty-somethings flaunted when they played high schoolers on T.V. And they were a perfect fit too. “Yeah, thanks.”
The two of us looked on at each other. Nothing weird. Just mutual respect… or attraction. The Ronettes’ “Sleigh Ride” the only sound through the silence.
Nicki relaxed in her seat. “Hey, shut the door!”
Following orders, I closed it behind me. Gone was The Ronettes’ harmonies. That was curtains for Nicki’s Christmas playlist here in the soundproof studio.
Using the notebook, Nicki motioned toward the other swivel chair. “Have a seat, Rhonnie. Let’s get down to business, shall we.”
I sat down and rolled the chair closer. Nicki now loomed up over me. Her huge ass undoubtedly helped in the height advantage. Then again, her aura had power, and it always kept the Queen in control.
Nicki waved around the room. “Bringing back any memories?”
“Oh yeah. The interview…” An awkward chuckle escaped my lips.
Behind confident eyes, Nicki watched me. Her claws kept tapping the notebook in a repetitive rhythm. “You know, I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”
Through her weak smile, I sensed Nicki’s sincerity. This personality wasn’t manic or aggressive. Not yet at least. “Naw, you’re fine,” I said. “We, uh… we had fun.”
Nicki laughed. “Definitely!” Then she lunged forward, getting closer to me. “But I really wanted a book. I wanted my story to be told, Rhonnie.”
Struggling under her female gaze, I hesitated. “And it still can… I’d love to give it another try.”
“Ooh, I’d love that….” Nicki leaned back. “You know, I really love your writing, Rhonnie. I think you’d do amazing things covering the life and times of Onika Maraj.”
Now I was flying high. A horrible actor, I did my best to play it cool. “Well, I’m glad somebody thinks so...”
“Oh, we do! Trust me. You’ve got the talent, baby.”
“I appreciate it.”
Nicki pointed her blood-red finger right at me. “You write movies too, right?” I laughed. “Whoa, shit, look at you!”
“I know my shit…”
“But yeah, I started out with the screenplays. I’ve always been a movie person-”
“So what happened?”
Pausing for a second, I took note of Nicki’s focused gaze. She was interested, alright… “These filmmakers, man. They’re all broke and do a shitty job.”
“Ah…” Nicki took a quick sip of wine.
“It’s a long story. I just… I don’t have an agent, they don’t read shit unless you know somebody. And I’m broke as fuck so I can’t film anything…” Here I was rambling. Rhonnie The Jaded Writer making his grand return. Angry. Talking with my hands. “But that’s why I started the NoSleeps. I actually wrote a couple of novels before that, but I’m just trying to build an audience now.”
“Well, you got me hooked!”.
Even I had to smile. “I’m glad. I just got tired of getting fucked by Hollywood.”
Nicki struggled to suppress a smirk. “Well, hey, at least it was fun when I fucked you.”
Damn, she was clever. I grinned. “Yeah. My best Hollywood experience for sure!” I ran a hand through my swoop. “And Hell, at least you paid me!”
Getting comfortable, Nicki readjusted on her throne. Her tone stayed consistent and precise. Her T.V. journalist performance pretty impressive. “But about the biography, would you be willing to do something else for me?”
“Yeah, uh. What do you mean?”
“Look, Rhonnie, the Barbz loved the story.”.
I smirked. “I guess it has a cult following going.”
Nicki just kept her eyes on me. There was no unwavering smile to offset the seriousness. She meant business. All as her relentless claws kept tapping the notebook... “I did the research. My album sales, the downloads, everything went up after you posted that NoSleep.” In a mic drop moment, Nicki’s hand collapsed on to the binder. “And now I want more!”
“Whoa…” I struggled to say through the excitement. “So you want like a whole series?”
“Preciseleee…”
The shit-eating grin never left my face. Already my mind was racing with ideas. I turned away, disoriented by my life-long dream.
“I’ll pay you as well,” Nicki continued. “You can even go back to Albany, Georgia.” With seductive poise, Nicki leaned in a little closer. “Or Hell, you and Ash can come here.”
I faced Nicki. “So did people really like the story that much?”
“Oh, Hell yeah!”
“Did any of them… believe it?”
Nicki revealed a sly smile. “Some.”
Enjoying the spotlight, I folded my arms. “So fucking crazy… Honestly, I just wanted to tell the truth about what happened… I wasn’t trying to write creepy fan fic or erotic shit. I was just wanting to portray you as accurately as possible, Nicki. I mean Hell, I thought that’d be my only shot at the biography!”
Nicki’s female gaze was starting to appear. “Not at all.”
Still rambling, I threw my hands up. “And then some people found it hot. They seemed more aroused than anything-”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
I gave her an amused look… realizing she was kinda right.
“Pegging’s hot,” Nicki continued. “And it ain’t like those rumors about me fucking men in the ass weren’t around before your story.”
I revealed a smirk. “Yeah...”
Rivaling my own elation, Nicki rolled her chair in closer toward me. “I just want you to do one thing.”
“What?”
“Make it even sexier! Get fucking crazy with it!”
“What… You’re joking, right?”
Nicki pointed at her stone cold glare. “Do I look like I’m fucking joking, Rhonnie!” She gave me a light punch on the arm. And damn, it still hurt… “Just do what I say! Write about all the sex. About how hot I am.” For emphasis, she squeezed her own breasts. “These titties, this ass, the pegging.” Nicki pointed at me. ”Squeezing a guy’s ass or making him strip down, the fucking hot shit, Rhonnie! I need more of that!”
The speech left me in stunned silence. There was a lot to unpack. Amongst the shock and intrigue, there was also disappointment...
Nicki shook my shoulder. “Just do more of that! That’s what we need.”
I pulled away from her. “But why...”
“Why!”
I pointed between us. “I just told you, I didn’t intend to just make you out to be some fucking bimbo, Nicki! I wanted to humanize you. That was the whole point!”
With a subtle smile on her face, Nicki just watched me.
“Like yeah, I told the truth,” I went on. “I wrote about the crazy sex but that wasn’t the point! I wanted to show the world the real you. I wanted them to see Onika Maraj. This was a biography.”
In a twisted taunt, Nicki caressed my face. “Oh, that’s so cute, Rhonnie.”
I knocked her hand away. “No, I mean it!”
Her smile was swiped clean. Nicki now literally got in my face. “And that’s fan-fucking-tastic!”
Scared, I cowered back into my seat. Nicki hadn’t even yelled... she didn’t need to.
“Look, baby, what you’re saying is true,” continued Nicki. She laid a hand in my lap. Dangerously close to awakening my penis... “And I appreciate it, Rhonnie. I’m glad you captured the real me.”
“I tried,” I said. I stole a look down at her hand. “Are you sure Zoo’s cool with this?”
Nicki’s grip got tighter. “Yes, Zoo’s fine, Rhonnie!”
“I’m just saying…”
Like a starved animal, Nicki pulled my chair closer toward her. “You got my vibe well, but that’s not what got me famous, Rhonnie! I wish it was but it wasn’t.”
“What are you talking about? You’re talented as fuck and that’s another reason I-”
“And so are you!” Nicki interrupted. “And that’s my whole point!” Gentle, Nicki’s claws ran along my cheeks… “I was like you once, Rhonnie. I had the talent. The drive, the dedication.”
Rivetered, I watched her every move. Her every emotion.
Nicki sat back in her seat. “But none of that mattered. I got nowhere in my career... I was broke…” She flashed a weary smile. “Those Barbie dreams were far away back then.”
“I understand,” I said.
“Being a female rapper…” Nicki shrugged her shoulders. “You just have to play the game.”
“Sex, the male gaze.” I waved toward her body. “All that shit just to have your voice heard.”
Nicki nodded. But the bitterness didn’t manifest itself in tears or weakness. Just hardened toughness. “I had to play the freak. For every ‘Regret In Your Tears,’ I have to do three or four whackass sex songs.”
Showing support amidst the Queen’s self-reflection, I grinned. “Like ‘Anaconda’?”
Nicki laughed. “What! You don’t like-”
“God, I hate that song!”
Nicki grabbed my arm. “But you see my point, right!”
“I do. Definitely.”
Ruminating on the famed career, Nicki ran her hands along the notebook. Struggled to maintain eye contact. Obviously relieved for the deeper conversation… if uncomfortable. “That’s why I have to do all this shit. To do what I really want I have to shake my ass or flaunt my titties! It’s frustrating, man. To have to write some of these lyrics and keep being the freaky bitch for everyone… I mean for once I’d like to have Channing Tatum or someone give me a lapdance in a music video but that’d scare the ‘straight’ guys watching… I can’t objectify men for the serious money.” She looked right at me. A vague glimmer of defeat in her power. “Just myself.”
The words, the realities left me in a sad silence. I had even more empathy for Onika now. Especially after hearing this requiem for Nicki’s initial rap idealism.
“So you see,” Nicki said. “The sex sells, Rhonnie. That’s all that matters.” She pointed a red claw at me. “And that’s why we need more of it in the stories.”
“But we don’t!” I replied. “You don’t have to do-”
“Listen, if you’re wanting to do this full time, Rhonnie, you gotta compromise!” Nicki yelled in a voice driven by years of rage. Years of industry suppression.
I waved toward the studio. “But look, you have the money! You’ve already played their stupid fucking game!”
Nicki stared at me. The glasses hid any tears or melancholy. Then again, Nicki always hid it well. She had the perfect poise. The confidence necessary for a black woman to climb her way to the top of the entertainment food chain.
“We can just write the truth,” I continued. “You can write the songs you want to write. You don’t have to satisfy this fucking thirst from others who just watch you for the sex. You don’t have to make money off that shit anymore! You can be the great artist you are! The one you were born to be!”
Right before me, Nicki’s creative mind went into contemplation. “At this point, I’ve got no choice,” she said. “I need the money just like anyone else, Rhonnie.”
I groaned.
Snapping into scary Nicki, she lunged toward me. A fiery fervor consumed her. The red wig and fingernails made her a rap Goddess straight from Hell.
I got quiet real quick.
“Don’t you understand! I’ve got no choice, Rhonnie!” Nicki shouted. “I’m thirty-seven years old! There’s not much time for a woman in this industry to be the best, man!”
“I know,” I said in a low voice. “I’m sorry...”
More calm, Nicki leaned back. “I’m just glad I can talk about pegging now,” she admitted. “Hell, that’s some progress for female empowerment for you.”
“True… But I just think there’s nothing to lose by focusing more on your artistic vision. You don’t have to keep exploiting yourself-”
“Maybe I want to,” Nicki interrupted.
“What?”
With seductive slowness, Nicki creeped in closer. “Sometimes I like the attention.” She let out a confident cackle. “The thought of all those guys and girls finding me hot… I don’t know.” She bit her lip with erotic emphasis. “It turns me on.”
I grinned. “I’m not arguing with-”
Giving in to her natural theatrics, Nicki collapsed back on the chair. Now channeling her inner Bob Dylan. Her inner eccentric rock star. Letting all those quirks and tics whisk her away. “I mean yeah, it’s frustrating not to get to do my deeper songs all the time. To embrace being the artist I know I am... That’s what I really want, don’t get me wrong.” Holding my gaze hostage, she shrugged her shoulders. “But sometimes it’s sexy to play the star. To be all hot and beautiful... I like it sometimes...” She flashed that beaming smile. “And it gives me money. Power. Certainly helped me get you here.”
Nicki’s hands veered under the notebook. Stacking them on top of one another, she created a literal handmade dick. “It lets me do whatever I want to you, Rhonnie…” Moaning and grunting, Nicki pretended to peg me right then and there. Her thrusts always so aggressive. Even when she was only pretending to fuck me hard…
I couldn’t turn away. Nor couldn’t help but be aroused… Trying not to give in to the steamy sight, I sifted in my seat. Battled my rising bulge. “But still, there’s no way to ignore the money?” I asked. “Do the music that best captures you.”
Ignoring me, Nicki kept on with the imaginary fucking. Her grunts got louder. The Queen clearly nearing her orgasm…
Still I tried to steer us back on track. I moved in toward her. “Just make your own album about you and all these hot guys or you and your relationships,” I continued, my voice louder in an attempt to overpower Nicki’s carnal cries. “Instead of having to exploit your body so much, you can do more songs you care about!”
Cackling, Nicki sat up straight. She clapped her hands together.
“What?” I said.
“You’re funny. God… you’re always funny, Rhonnie.”
I revealed an amused smile. “Well, thanks...”
“I mean it!” Nicki pushed her dangling red hair back. “Oh shit.”
In the cold room, I hesitated. Struggling to stay serious and heartfelt amidst Nicki’s lingering laughter. “I don’t mean to sound like I’m judging you, Nicki because I’m not.” I felt her stare settle in on me. “You make a lot more than me and still can make great music… I just think you’re better than that.”
“And so are you,” Nicki said in a sharp reply.
Confused, I felt unease surge through me. My goofy smile couldn’t play it off either. “What do you mean?”
Armed with a wide grin, Nicki slowly crept closer toward me. “I told you this last time.” The two of us were now just inches apart. “I know allll about you, Rhonnie.”
Anxiety joined my unease. I now trembled...
“You like the attention too,” Nicki said. “I know you do!”
“So what are you trying to say?”
“I’m just proving my point.” Mrs. Majesty shrugged her shoulders. Her smirk slicing into me. “Sex sells.” She rested a hand on my knee. “You should know that as well as anyone.”
Warm sensations erupted inside me. I felt body heat. As if our emotional therapy session had morphed into a Skinemax porno...
“You’re the one that’s always posting on Reddit,” Nicki teased. “Letting all those horny desperate girls and guys ogle you like that. Jerking off to you... You fucking love it, don’t you?”
She had me. “Yeah,” I admitted.
Nicki now felt along my chest. “Your dick and ass pictures on ladyboners and gaybros. I know you do it, Rhonnie. I know alll about you remember...”
The room finally got hotter…
“Let’s go through those accounts, shall we,” Nicki pressed further. “Ronaldlongdick.”
I smiled at Nicki. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Ronaldlongdick77, unknownhorrorwriter.”
“That one was obvious...”
Nicki’s claws ran wild across my body. Fueled by her desire. Not that I was complaining…
“Bubblebutt4days,” Nicki continued. She let out a soft chuckle. “And rhonnie141414. Hmm, that’s sure discreet.”
“Yeah, that was when I was twenty-four, man...”
“But that’s the thing.” Nicki’s grip settled in on my thighs. “You know that account you deleted. Ronaldlongdick.”
“Yeah…”
Nicki got closer. The two of us now noses apart. “How many followers did it end up with?”
Not wanting to answer, I turned away.
“Come on now,” Nicki taunted. “You know how many, bitch.”
I gave her a defeated smirk. Knowing full well what she was about to say… And how she’d proven this harsh reality: sex sells.
“Thirteen hundred followers, Rhonnie!” Nicki shouted.
The inevitable set in. I nodded along with her. Overpowered by the Queen once more. “I know...”
Nicki purred with delight. “And compare that to your writing, huh? The rhonnie14 sub?” She nudged my chin. “How many?”
“Eight hundred and-”
“Five!” Nicki said with me. Her triumphant laugh blared.
Cornered by Nicki, I shrugged. “Well… you got me...”
“So think about this, Rhonnie. You’re more famous for that dick.” With excited delight, Nicki slid her hands on to my booty. “And that ass than your horror stories...”
“Thanks, Nicki,” I deadpanned. “I appreciate the support!”
Nicki chuckled as she squeezed tighter to my ass. “All I’m saying’s you gotta do what you gotta do to get famous, boo. To make real money.” She ran her hands along my abs. “And now that you’ve been working out, I can go ahead and tell you, you’d make bank flaunting all this on-line. Those down low brothas and thirstyass sistas would be all up on you.”
“Stop it!” I joked. “I can’t handle this many compliments.”
“Bitch, please!” Nicki gave me a shove before sitting back in her seat. “You love that shit and you know it! You know you do!”
“Naw, you’re right... You’re totally right.”
“All I’m saying’s they appreciate your body more than the Goddamn stories! The shit you bust your ass to write, but they’d rather see that big dick and booty than anything else! You gotta profit off that, babe!”
I smirked. “So what are you saying? That I become a male stripper or something?”
Nicki snorted with laughter. “Hell, maybe! But just think about these stories for instance. You mix sex with storytelling like I did with the raps, and you got something that’ll sell, Rhonnie!”
Goddamn, she made sense… I nodded in agreement. “I see.”
“Like this next one, just go crazy with it! You know the Barbz will eat it up. Me pegging this Zac Efron-looking writer and his fineass all over the place!”
“Man, you’re really on this Efron kick lately...”
Nicki readjusted her glasses. “Bieber too. Because y’all fine and kinda look alike. Kinda built alike.”
Genuinely flattered, I probably blushed. “Thanks.”
“But people are fucking dumb. That’s the shit you gotta do to get fans, boo!”
“Naw, you’re totally right...”
Nicki straightened the notebook. “Like write about Ashley pegging you, you showing your dick to dudes on-line. That’ll sell like crazy. More views, more readers. Exploit it!”
“I guess I’ll start now then. With these new stories and all, the series.”
Like a supportive coach, Nicki pointed toward me, hyping me up. “Exactly! You got this!”
Already the wheels were turning. The crazy scenarios I could write about the Minaj mansion.
“You and Ashley can always come back here too,” I heard Nicki say. “I’ll give y’all another vacation...”
I smiled at Nicki. “I bet you would.”
She opened the binder. “Hey, y’all sexy. And I got you dressing in those clothes I like.”
I felt on the shirt’s fine fabric. “Yeah, from like 2008.”
“Bitchhh….”
“But trust me, Ash’s ready…”
“I bet she’s tearing that ass up every night too...”
Playful, I gave Nicki a weirded out look.
Laughing, she flipped through a few pages. “You know I’m crazy as Hell.”
“No doubt…” And then I saw the joint tucked away toward the back of the binder... Pristine California grass. A pink lighter laying right beside it. Holy shit…
“But for real, I wanna help,” Nicki said. She picked up the j. “You need someone dominant guiding you. Like with you and Ashley.”
“Yeah.”
Nicki held the pot out toward me. “You think you can handle it?”
“Shit…” I stood up. “If I can handle what you did to me last time, I can take anything.”
With a Devilish laugh, Nicki flicked the lighter. The flame showcased a wild glint in her eyes. Further revealed the ferocious soul under that red wig...
It turns out I couldn’t handle it. The next few hours were a blur. A gonzo production directed by wine and the strongest pot I ever smoked. Shit got weird. Nicki and I’s conversations ranged from 90s horror movies to heteroflexibility (don’t ask). Our high happiness interspersed with hysteria. Maybe there was a kiss. More groping. I honestly can’t remember...
Hours later, I awoke from the Christmas cannabis. All to the tune of Maroon 5’s “Happy Xmas (War Is Over).” Adam Levine’s piercing falsetto a ringing church bell to my haze.
Shivering, I folded my arms. “Fuck…” I muttered. First, I was glad to be wearing the same MySpace-era wardrobe. To actually be in a fucking bed, much less my bedroom… Until I saw who was laying beside me: Nicki herself. She was out cold. Another bottle of wine clasped in her hands like a teddy bear. A Santa Claus hat blended into her wig. Now I realized I had a Santa hat draped over my swoop... But, at least we were both dressed and lying on the covers. Neither of us could get MeToo’d now.
Staying quiet, I snuck out of bed. I slipped around in my socks. My clumsy footsteps drowned out by Maroon 5’s holiday cheese.
I looked toward the open doorway. Out toward where the Christmas concert continued… from Nicki’s personal nightclub.
Glasses slid down my nose. Confused, I took them off… They were the purple Buddy Holly ones. The same pair Nicki gave me last time. I put them back on and looked over at the bed… Toward the resting Queen. Had she taken my contacts out for me? The gesture was odd… but still kinda sweet.
The holiday playlist changed to Judy Garland’s “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.” A pretty melody and even prettier voice. But one that should soothe Nicki to sleep for the time being...
Battling the migraine, I entered the hallway. Curiosity compelled me. Not to mention snacks, man.
I turned and looked down the hall. Toward the fateful Club Staff. Sextopia City. Now there was a light on inside the room… Even a faint chatter I could hear over this Christmas classic.
I took another step toward it. Now I heard multiple, muffled voices. It couldn’t have been the wax figures… Certainly, not Nicki herself. Sure, her range was supreme but not even she could hit those deeper male tones.
Uneasy, I looked on at the closed door. The room taunting me, tempting me. But it was too late for this shit… And I knew once I snuck in there, Club Staff would be hard to leave.
I proceeded through the rest of the mansion. Every clock read three A.M. The munchies made me stop once for those amazing cookies. And to my relief, there was no weed in them...
The barrage of standard Christmas crooners scored my journey. Stuck in the cold and surrounded by the decorations, I could even feel the holiday spirit.
I decided to dodge the nightclub. All the fucking bars. Through windows, I saw those powerful security lights bring daylight to the dead of night. Everything was illuminated. The pillars, the colors. All those fucking cameras. Nicki’s palace a fusion of government compound and wacky art exhibit.
I strayed into corridors unknown. Into yet another long hallway on the first floor. Fuck it, I was already lost in the Minaj maze. Then I saw a pair of wide-open double doors. The clinical lab lighting inside drew me in.
I stepped into the wide, vast space. The garage was fucking freezing... and there were quite a few cars in here. Quite a few crammed shelves and boxes. Only something was off… There was no style. Not a damn thing was pink.
Intrigued, I walked on through. Emulating a cheap detective. Dean Martin’s “Let It Snow!” echoed all around me… only the Christmas cheer was long gone by now. Replaced instead by rising unease.
The cars weren’t necessarily hideous. Just average. Used cars with lots of mileage. None of them any newer than 2016 models. Perfect for a blue-collar neighborhood or modest suburbia. But nothing befitting Nicki Minaj’s mansion.
The boxes and shelves offered more of the same mediocrity. Wrinkled clothes. Bland casual wear comprising of tee-shirts, jeans, and dresses. Nothing Nicki would touch much less showcase. Then there was the shitty jewelry. Obvious fake gold and silver. Yard sale fashion.
Scoffing, I glanced around the garage. Were all these items from the Queen’s pre-Minaj days? Mementos from her beloved past? Or was it just shit she planned on donating?
My handsome reflection caught my eye. I got a good glimpse of the perfect-fitting clothes.
A stained mirror leaned up against a set of rejected high school lockers. All of them with padlocks.
I stepped toward them. Tried yanking on those unwavering locker doors… I leaned in closer, peering through their metal’s holes. Clearly, shit was piled up inside. Hidden away. But why?
The mystery further unnerved me. My fear returned.
Then I heard a louder song: Burl Ives’ “Holly Jolly Christmas” blared through this mausoleum of a garage. The bells and chimes engulfed me. Trembling in the cold air, I looked toward the very back.
A window showcased Nicki’s sprawling backyard. Not to mention the different smaller buildings occupying the green acres. One larger shed caught my eye.... After all, who else would have a two story efficiency unit?
Much less one with two tall security guards stationed at the front door. Under the bright security lights, I saw the building’s windows were all boarded up. Spastic cameras hovering over it.
“What the fuck…” I said. Battling the nerves, I stepped closer to see another shed had the same set-up of guards and cameras. What exactly was going on...
All the while, no one saw me spying. The Queen’s guards remained silent and still. A 24/7 shield.
I felt a large pendulum bump into my ass… Then felt a pair of thirsty hands grab each cheek. Startled, I whirled around.
“Hey, boo!” rang that hypnotic voice.
There Nicki stood right behind me. Now dressed in casual booty shorts and a red tank top., she was barefoot and missing a wig. Her natural beauty a nice contrast to the trash treasure trove surrounding us. Her smile as enthusiastic as ever.
And of course, there was the strap. From her crotch, Nicki’s pink dildo danged down like a snake… A real anaconda brushing against my ass.
I staggered back out of fear… and maybe some excitement. “Whoa…”
Nicki cackled. “Did I scare you!”
“Uh, yeah.”
Singing along, Nicki swung the dildo to the tune of Burl Ives. To the beat of the “ding…. dong…. ding...” harmonies.
I stared on at her third leg. Intimidated by the size… yet hypnotized by Nicki’s passion. Her magnetism. “Really, Nicki,” I quipped.
Chuckling, Nicki ran a hand along my arm. “What? I wanted to surprise you!”
“With the fucking pinkosaurus?”
“Yeah, why not.” She leaned in closer. “You’re the one sneaking out...”
I stole one look out the window. Out toward the guards. The strange buildings. “I just couldn’t sleep,” I told the Queen.
Nicki squeezed my wrist in a death grip of passion. “I can fix that.”
Flashing a smile, I broke away from her spell. “Naw, I need to go lay down. I can’t keep up with you!”
“Maybe tomorrow then?” Nicki teased.
“Maybe!” I then walked through the valley of Christmas music. Right into Burl Ives’ joyous vocals. The entire time I felt Nicki’s hungry eyes watch me. Staring me down hard… Her smile driven by nothing but desire. I forced myself not to turn. The temptation too much… but my tired state helped me persevere against the gorgeous rapper.
“You better be glad I don’t get a shake weight on that ass!” I heard Nicki shout with sadistic glee.
14
submitted by rhonnie14 to JustNotRight [link] [comments]


2020.03.17 07:39 rhonnie14 High school girls locker room hidden camera

Link To Part One
The shower was quick and painless. Only when I went back to my room there wasn’t the closet catalog to choose from: just the tight jeans and tight black t-shirt already sprawled out on the bed. Already selected by Nicki.
Later on, I walked past the constant cameras. The clothes tight and stylish. Just like how Nicki wanted them. I heard Tom Petty’s “Christmas (All Over Again)” coming from that dancefloor. Nicki’s Christmas playlist a twenty-four hour affair. The club open all night… Only Club Staff wasn’t. Down the hall I saw its door still closed. The lights off inside. Its Nicki soundtrack silent. Her wax sisters no longer partying since Ash and I left.
Ready for the Queen, I journeyed through the labyrinthe. The Christmas maze, the lights. The mairjuana tree. The long hallways and glowing gold records.
I only made one beer detour. One stop amongst the many roadside bars. After downing three bottles of Dos Equis, I felt more relaxed. More comfortable for Nicki and I’s forthcoming conversation.
I saw the open doorway leading to the studio. Leading me to Nicki Minaj. I glanced down at the tight jeans that would surely get her salivating. Took a deep breath. My soul with some hesitation before I went straight inside.
There was the intimate space. The soundproof walls. The live room where Mrs. Majesty made the magic happen. A Trinidad decor was evident in the various colorful trinkets from Nicki’s many travels. The elephant figurines, the kaleidoscopic paintings of various women of color. And of course, there were the notebooks. Dozens and dozens of them scattered about like toys in Nicki’s personal playland. Well, the non-sex toys, that is…
Each open notebook was covered in the rapper’s pretty scrawl. Lyrics both clever and insane. A beautiful madness punctured the pages. Judging by the sheer amount of binders, when Nicki got on a roll, she was a frenetic force. Unstoppable in her drive and creativity.
On the control room table was a bottle of wine. Two glasses already poured. And there sat the Queen on her pink swivel chair. The studio her throne. Her bitch.
Her fingernails were now red claws. A match to the fiery red wig. The make-up vivid but professional. Along with thin wire-rimmed glasses, her beige pants suit was somehow scholarly and bland even with such beauty lying beneath it. Sitting there with a pen in hand and notebook in lap, Nicki looked to be in academic mode. All business inside the studio.
Nicki flashed me a warm smile. “Mmm, those look nice…”
Flattered, I glanced down at the preppy attire. The type of clothes late-twenty-somethings flaunted when they played high schoolers on T.V. And they were a perfect fit too. “Yeah, thanks.”
The two of us looked on at each other. Nothing weird. Just mutual respect… or attraction. The Ronettes’ “Sleigh Ride” the only sound through the silence.
Nicki relaxed in her seat. “Hey, shut the door!”
Following orders, I closed it behind me. Gone was The Ronettes’ harmonies. That was curtains for Nicki’s Christmas playlist here in the soundproof studio.
Using the notebook, Nicki motioned toward the other swivel chair. “Have a seat, Rhonnie. Let’s get down to business, shall we.”
I sat down and rolled the chair closer. Nicki now loomed up over me. Her huge ass undoubtedly helped in the height advantage. Then again, her aura had power, and it always kept the Queen in control.
Nicki waved around the room. “Bringing back any memories?”
“Oh yeah. The interview…” An awkward chuckle escaped my lips.
Behind confident eyes, Nicki watched me. Her claws kept tapping the notebook in a repetitive rhythm. “You know, I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”
Through her weak smile, I sensed Nicki’s sincerity. This personality wasn’t manic or aggressive. Not yet at least. “Naw, you’re fine,” I said. “We, uh… we had fun.”
Nicki laughed. “Definitely!” Then she lunged forward, getting closer to me. “But I really wanted a book. I wanted my story to be told, Rhonnie.”
Struggling under her female gaze, I hesitated. “And it still can… I’d love to give it another try.”
“Ooh, I’d love that….” Nicki leaned back. “You know, I really love your writing, Rhonnie. I think you’d do amazing things covering the life and times of Onika Maraj.”
Now I was flying high. A horrible actor, I did my best to play it cool. “Well, I’m glad somebody thinks so...”
“Oh, we do! Trust me. You’ve got the talent, baby.”
“I appreciate it.”
Nicki pointed her blood-red finger right at me. “You write movies too, right?” I laughed. “Whoa, shit, look at you!”
“I know my shit…”
“But yeah, I started out with the screenplays. I’ve always been a movie person-”
“So what happened?”
Pausing for a second, I took note of Nicki’s focused gaze. She was interested, alright… “These filmmakers, man. They’re all broke and do a shitty job.”
“Ah…” Nicki took a quick sip of wine.
“It’s a long story. I just… I don’t have an agent, they don’t read shit unless you know somebody. And I’m broke as fuck so I can’t film anything…” Here I was rambling. Rhonnie The Jaded Writer making his grand return. Angry. Talking with my hands. “But that’s why I started the NoSleeps. I actually wrote a couple of novels before that, but I’m just trying to build an audience now.”
“Well, you got me hooked!”.
Even I had to smile. “I’m glad. I just got tired of getting fucked by Hollywood.”
Nicki struggled to suppress a smirk. “Well, hey, at least it was fun when I fucked you.”
Damn, she was clever. I grinned. “Yeah. My best Hollywood experience for sure!” I ran a hand through my swoop. “And Hell, at least you paid me!”
Getting comfortable, Nicki readjusted on her throne. Her tone stayed consistent and precise. Her T.V. journalist performance pretty impressive. “But about the biography, would you be willing to do something else for me?”
“Yeah, uh. What do you mean?”
“Look, Rhonnie, the Barbz loved the story.”.
I smirked. “I guess it has a cult following going.”
Nicki just kept her eyes on me. There was no unwavering smile to offset the seriousness. She meant business. All as her relentless claws kept tapping the notebook... “I did the research. My album sales, the downloads, everything went up after you posted that NoSleep.” In a mic drop moment, Nicki’s hand collapsed on to the binder. “And now I want more!”
“Whoa…” I struggled to say through the excitement. “So you want like a whole series?”
“Preciseleee…”
The shit-eating grin never left my face. Already my mind was racing with ideas. I turned away, disoriented by my life-long dream.
“I’ll pay you as well,” Nicki continued. “You can even go back to Albany, Georgia.” With seductive poise, Nicki leaned in a little closer. “Or Hell, you and Ash can come here.”
I faced Nicki. “So did people really like the story that much?”
“Oh, Hell yeah!”
“Did any of them… believe it?”
Nicki revealed a sly smile. “Some.”
Enjoying the spotlight, I folded my arms. “So fucking crazy… Honestly, I just wanted to tell the truth about what happened… I wasn’t trying to write creepy fan fic or erotic shit. I was just wanting to portray you as accurately as possible, Nicki. I mean Hell, I thought that’d be my only shot at the biography!”
Nicki’s female gaze was starting to appear. “Not at all.”
Still rambling, I threw my hands up. “And then some people found it hot. They seemed more aroused than anything-”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
I gave her an amused look… realizing she was kinda right.
“Pegging’s hot,” Nicki continued. “And it ain’t like those rumors about me fucking men in the ass weren’t around before your story.”
I revealed a smirk. “Yeah...”
Rivaling my own elation, Nicki rolled her chair in closer toward me. “I just want you to do one thing.”
“What?”
“Make it even sexier! Get fucking crazy with it!”
“What… You’re joking, right?”
Nicki pointed at her stone cold glare. “Do I look like I’m fucking joking, Rhonnie!” She gave me a light punch on the arm. And damn, it still hurt… “Just do what I say! Write about all the sex. About how hot I am.” For emphasis, she squeezed her own breasts. “These titties, this ass, the pegging.” Nicki pointed at me. ”Squeezing a guy’s ass or making him strip down, the fucking hot shit, Rhonnie! I need more of that!”
The speech left me in stunned silence. There was a lot to unpack. Amongst the shock and intrigue, there was also disappointment...
Nicki shook my shoulder. “Just do more of that! That’s what we need.”
I pulled away from her. “But why...”
“Why!”
I pointed between us. “I just told you, I didn’t intend to just make you out to be some fucking bimbo, Nicki! I wanted to humanize you. That was the whole point!”
With a subtle smile on her face, Nicki just watched me.
“Like yeah, I told the truth,” I went on. “I wrote about the crazy sex but that wasn’t the point! I wanted to show the world the real you. I wanted them to see Onika Maraj. This was a biography.”
In a twisted taunt, Nicki caressed my face. “Oh, that’s so cute, Rhonnie.”
I knocked her hand away. “No, I mean it!”
Her smile was swiped clean. Nicki now literally got in my face. “And that’s fan-fucking-tastic!”
Scared, I cowered back into my seat. Nicki hadn’t even yelled... she didn’t need to.
“Look, baby, what you’re saying is true,” continued Nicki. She laid a hand in my lap. Dangerously close to awakening my penis... “And I appreciate it, Rhonnie. I’m glad you captured the real me.”
“I tried,” I said. I stole a look down at her hand. “Are you sure Zoo’s cool with this?”
Nicki’s grip got tighter. “Yes, Zoo’s fine, Rhonnie!”
“I’m just saying…”
Like a starved animal, Nicki pulled my chair closer toward her. “You got my vibe well, but that’s not what got me famous, Rhonnie! I wish it was but it wasn’t.”
“What are you talking about? You’re talented as fuck and that’s another reason I-”
“And so are you!” Nicki interrupted. “And that’s my whole point!” Gentle, Nicki’s claws ran along my cheeks… “I was like you once, Rhonnie. I had the talent. The drive, the dedication.”
Rivetered, I watched her every move. Her every emotion.
Nicki sat back in her seat. “But none of that mattered. I got nowhere in my career... I was broke…” She flashed a weary smile. “Those Barbie dreams were far away back then.”
“I understand,” I said.
“Being a female rapper…” Nicki shrugged her shoulders. “You just have to play the game.”
“Sex, the male gaze.” I waved toward her body. “All that shit just to have your voice heard.”
Nicki nodded. But the bitterness didn’t manifest itself in tears or weakness. Just hardened toughness. “I had to play the freak. For every ‘Regret In Your Tears,’ I have to do three or four whackass sex songs.”
Showing support amidst the Queen’s self-reflection, I grinned. “Like ‘Anaconda’?”
Nicki laughed. “What! You don’t like-”
“God, I hate that song!”
Nicki grabbed my arm. “But you see my point, right!”
“I do. Definitely.”
Ruminating on the famed career, Nicki ran her hands along the notebook. Struggled to maintain eye contact. Obviously relieved for the deeper conversation… if uncomfortable. “That’s why I have to do all this shit. To do what I really want I have to shake my ass or flaunt my titties! It’s frustrating, man. To have to write some of these lyrics and keep being the freaky bitch for everyone… I mean for once I’d like to have Channing Tatum or someone give me a lapdance in a music video but that’d scare the ‘straight’ guys watching… I can’t objectify men for the serious money.” She looked right at me. A vague glimmer of defeat in her power. “Just myself.”
The words, the realities left me in a sad silence. I had even more empathy for Onika now. Especially after hearing this requiem for Nicki’s initial rap idealism.
“So you see,” Nicki said. “The sex sells, Rhonnie. That’s all that matters.” She pointed a red claw at me. “And that’s why we need more of it in the stories.”
“But we don’t!” I replied. “You don’t have to do-”
“Listen, if you’re wanting to do this full time, Rhonnie, you gotta compromise!” Nicki yelled in a voice driven by years of rage. Years of industry suppression.
I waved toward the studio. “But look, you have the money! You’ve already played their stupid fucking game!”
Nicki stared at me. The glasses hid any tears or melancholy. Then again, Nicki always hid it well. She had the perfect poise. The confidence necessary for a black woman to climb her way to the top of the entertainment food chain.
“We can just write the truth,” I continued. “You can write the songs you want to write. You don’t have to satisfy this fucking thirst from others who just watch you for the sex. You don’t have to make money off that shit anymore! You can be the great artist you are! The one you were born to be!”
Right before me, Nicki’s creative mind went into contemplation. “At this point, I’ve got no choice,” she said. “I need the money just like anyone else, Rhonnie.”
I groaned.
Snapping into scary Nicki, she lunged toward me. A fiery fervor consumed her. The red wig and fingernails made her a rap Goddess straight from Hell.
I got quiet real quick.
“Don’t you understand! I’ve got no choice, Rhonnie!” Nicki shouted. “I’m thirty-seven years old! There’s not much time for a woman in this industry to be the best, man!”
“I know,” I said in a low voice. “I’m sorry...”
More calm, Nicki leaned back. “I’m just glad I can talk about pegging now,” she admitted. “Hell, that’s some progress for female empowerment for you.”
“True… But I just think there’s nothing to lose by focusing more on your artistic vision. You don’t have to keep exploiting yourself-”
“Maybe I want to,” Nicki interrupted.
“What?”
With seductive slowness, Nicki creeped in closer. “Sometimes I like the attention.” She let out a confident cackle. “The thought of all those guys and girls finding me hot… I don’t know.” She bit her lip with erotic emphasis. “It turns me on.”
I grinned. “I’m not arguing with-”
Giving in to her natural theatrics, Nicki collapsed back on the chair. Now channeling her inner Bob Dylan. Her inner eccentric rock star. Letting all those quirks and tics whisk her away. “I mean yeah, it’s frustrating not to get to do my deeper songs all the time. To embrace being the artist I know I am... That’s what I really want, don’t get me wrong.” Holding my gaze hostage, she shrugged her shoulders. “But sometimes it’s sexy to play the star. To be all hot and beautiful... I like it sometimes...” She flashed that beaming smile. “And it gives me money. Power. Certainly helped me get you here.”
Nicki’s hands veered under the notebook. Stacking them on top of one another, she created a literal handmade dick. “It lets me do whatever I want to you, Rhonnie…” Moaning and grunting, Nicki pretended to peg me right then and there. Her thrusts always so aggressive. Even when she was only pretending to fuck me hard…
I couldn’t turn away. Nor couldn’t help but be aroused… Trying not to give in to the steamy sight, I sifted in my seat. Battled my rising bulge. “But still, there’s no way to ignore the money?” I asked. “Do the music that best captures you.”
Ignoring me, Nicki kept on with the imaginary fucking. Her grunts got louder. The Queen clearly nearing her orgasm…
Still I tried to steer us back on track. I moved in toward her. “Just make your own album about you and all these hot guys or you and your relationships,” I continued, my voice louder in an attempt to overpower Nicki’s carnal cries. “Instead of having to exploit your body so much, you can do more songs you care about!”
Cackling, Nicki sat up straight. She clapped her hands together.
“What?” I said.
“You’re funny. God… you’re always funny, Rhonnie.”
I revealed an amused smile. “Well, thanks...”
“I mean it!” Nicki pushed her dangling red hair back. “Oh shit.”
In the cold room, I hesitated. Struggling to stay serious and heartfelt amidst Nicki’s lingering laughter. “I don’t mean to sound like I’m judging you, Nicki because I’m not.” I felt her stare settle in on me. “You make a lot more than me and still can make great music… I just think you’re better than that.”
“And so are you,” Nicki said in a sharp reply.
Confused, I felt unease surge through me. My goofy smile couldn’t play it off either. “What do you mean?”
Armed with a wide grin, Nicki slowly crept closer toward me. “I told you this last time.” The two of us were now just inches apart. “I know allll about you, Rhonnie.”
Anxiety joined my unease. I now trembled...
“You like the attention too,” Nicki said. “I know you do!”
“So what are you trying to say?”
“I’m just proving my point.” Mrs. Majesty shrugged her shoulders. Her smirk slicing into me. “Sex sells.” She rested a hand on my knee. “You should know that as well as anyone.”
Warm sensations erupted inside me. I felt body heat. As if our emotional therapy session had morphed into a Skinemax porno...
“You’re the one that’s always posting on Reddit,” Nicki teased. “Letting all those horny desperate girls and guys ogle you like that. Jerking off to you... You fucking love it, don’t you?”
She had me. “Yeah,” I admitted.
Nicki now felt along my chest. “Your dick and ass pictures on ladyboners and gaybros. I know you do it, Rhonnie. I know alll about you remember...”
The room finally got hotter…
“Let’s go through those accounts, shall we,” Nicki pressed further. “Ronaldlongdick.”
I smiled at Nicki. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Ronaldlongdick77, unknownhorrorwriter.”
“That one was obvious...”
Nicki’s claws ran wild across my body. Fueled by her desire. Not that I was complaining…
“Bubblebutt4days,” Nicki continued. She let out a soft chuckle. “And rhonnie141414. Hmm, that’s sure discreet.”
“Yeah, that was when I was twenty-four, man...”
“But that’s the thing.” Nicki’s grip settled in on my thighs. “You know that account you deleted. Ronaldlongdick.”
“Yeah…”
Nicki got closer. The two of us now noses apart. “How many followers did it end up with?”
Not wanting to answer, I turned away.
“Come on now,” Nicki taunted. “You know how many, bitch.”
I gave her a defeated smirk. Knowing full well what she was about to say… And how she’d proven this harsh reality: sex sells.
“Thirteen hundred followers, Rhonnie!” Nicki shouted.
The inevitable set in. I nodded along with her. Overpowered by the Queen once more. “I know...”
Nicki purred with delight. “And compare that to your writing, huh? The rhonnie14 sub?” She nudged my chin. “How many?”
“Eight hundred and-”
“Five!” Nicki said with me. Her triumphant laugh blared.
Cornered by Nicki, I shrugged. “Well… you got me...”
“So think about this, Rhonnie. You’re more famous for that dick.” With excited delight, Nicki slid her hands on to my booty. “And that ass than your horror stories...”
“Thanks, Nicki,” I deadpanned. “I appreciate the support!”
Nicki chuckled as she squeezed tighter to my ass. “All I’m saying’s you gotta do what you gotta do to get famous, boo. To make real money.” She ran her hands along my abs. “And now that you’ve been working out, I can go ahead and tell you, you’d make bank flaunting all this on-line. Those down low brothas and thirstyass sistas would be all up on you.”
“Stop it!” I joked. “I can’t handle this many compliments.”
“Bitch, please!” Nicki gave me a shove before sitting back in her seat. “You love that shit and you know it! You know you do!”
“Naw, you’re right... You’re totally right.”
“All I’m saying’s they appreciate your body more than the Goddamn stories! The shit you bust your ass to write, but they’d rather see that big dick and booty than anything else! You gotta profit off that, babe!”
I smirked. “So what are you saying? That I become a male stripper or something?”
Nicki snorted with laughter. “Hell, maybe! But just think about these stories for instance. You mix sex with storytelling like I did with the raps, and you got something that’ll sell, Rhonnie!”
Goddamn, she made sense… I nodded in agreement. “I see.”
“Like this next one, just go crazy with it! You know the Barbz will eat it up. Me pegging this Zac Efron-looking writer and his fineass all over the place!”
“Man, you’re really on this Efron kick lately...”
Nicki readjusted her glasses. “Bieber too. Because y’all fine and kinda look alike. Kinda built alike.”
Genuinely flattered, I probably blushed. “Thanks.”
“But people are fucking dumb. That’s the shit you gotta do to get fans, boo!”
“Naw, you’re totally right...”
Nicki straightened the notebook. “Like write about Ashley pegging you, you showing your dick to dudes on-line. That’ll sell like crazy. More views, more readers. Exploit it!”
“I guess I’ll start now then. With these new stories and all, the series.”
Like a supportive coach, Nicki pointed toward me, hyping me up. “Exactly! You got this!”
Already the wheels were turning. The crazy scenarios I could write about the Minaj mansion.
“You and Ashley can always come back here too,” I heard Nicki say. “I’ll give y’all another vacation...”
I smiled at Nicki. “I bet you would.”
She opened the binder. “Hey, y’all sexy. And I got you dressing in those clothes I like.”
I felt on the shirt’s fine fabric. “Yeah, from like 2008.”
“Bitchhh….”
“But trust me, Ash’s ready…”
“I bet she’s tearing that ass up every night too...”
Playful, I gave Nicki a weirded out look.
Laughing, she flipped through a few pages. “You know I’m crazy as Hell.”
“No doubt…” And then I saw the joint tucked away toward the back of the binder... Pristine California grass. A pink lighter laying right beside it. Holy shit…
“But for real, I wanna help,” Nicki said. She picked up the j. “You need someone dominant guiding you. Like with you and Ashley.”
“Yeah.”
Nicki held the pot out toward me. “You think you can handle it?”
“Shit…” I stood up. “If I can handle what you did to me last time, I can take anything.”
With a Devilish laugh, Nicki flicked the lighter. The flame showcased a wild glint in her eyes. Further revealed the ferocious soul under that red wig...
It turns out I couldn’t handle it. The next few hours were a blur. A gonzo production directed by wine and the strongest pot I ever smoked. Shit got weird. Nicki and I’s conversations ranged from 90s horror movies to heteroflexibility (don’t ask). Our high happiness interspersed with hysteria. Maybe there was a kiss. More groping. I honestly can’t remember...
Hours later, I awoke from the Christmas cannabis. All to the tune of Maroon 5’s “Happy Xmas (War Is Over).” Adam Levine’s piercing falsetto a ringing church bell to my haze.
Shivering, I folded my arms. “Fuck…” I muttered. First, I was glad to be wearing the same MySpace-era wardrobe. To actually be in a fucking bed, much less my bedroom… Until I saw who was laying beside me: Nicki herself. She was out cold. Another bottle of wine clasped in her hands like a teddy bear. A Santa Claus hat blended into her wig. Now I realized I had a Santa hat draped over my swoop... But, at least we were both dressed and lying on the covers. Neither of us could get MeToo’d now.
Staying quiet, I snuck out of bed. I slipped around in my socks. My clumsy footsteps drowned out by Maroon 5’s holiday cheese.
I looked toward the open doorway. Out toward where the Christmas concert continued… from Nicki’s personal nightclub.
Glasses slid down my nose. Confused, I took them off… They were the purple Buddy Holly ones. The same pair Nicki gave me last time. I put them back on and looked over at the bed… Toward the resting Queen. Had she taken my contacts out for me? The gesture was odd… but still kinda sweet.
The holiday playlist changed to Judy Garland’s “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.” A pretty melody and even prettier voice. But one that should soothe Nicki to sleep for the time being...
Battling the migraine, I entered the hallway. Curiosity compelled me. Not to mention snacks, man.
I turned and looked down the hall. Toward the fateful Club Staff. Sextopia City. Now there was a light on inside the room… Even a faint chatter I could hear over this Christmas classic.
I took another step toward it. Now I heard multiple, muffled voices. It couldn’t have been the wax figures… Certainly, not Nicki herself. Sure, her range was supreme but not even she could hit those deeper male tones.
Uneasy, I looked on at the closed door. The room taunting me, tempting me. But it was too late for this shit… And I knew once I snuck in there, Club Staff would be hard to leave.
I proceeded through the rest of the mansion. Every clock read three A.M. The munchies made me stop once for those amazing cookies. And to my relief, there was no weed in them...
The barrage of standard Christmas crooners scored my journey. Stuck in the cold and surrounded by the decorations, I could even feel the holiday spirit.
I decided to dodge the nightclub. All the fucking bars. Through windows, I saw those powerful security lights bring daylight to the dead of night. Everything was illuminated. The pillars, the colors. All those fucking cameras. Nicki’s palace a fusion of government compound and wacky art exhibit.
I strayed into corridors unknown. Into yet another long hallway on the first floor. Fuck it, I was already lost in the Minaj maze. Then I saw a pair of wide-open double doors. The clinical lab lighting inside drew me in.
I stepped into the wide, vast space. The garage was fucking freezing... and there were quite a few cars in here. Quite a few crammed shelves and boxes. Only something was off… There was no style. Not a damn thing was pink.
Intrigued, I walked on through. Emulating a cheap detective. Dean Martin’s “Let It Snow!” echoed all around me… only the Christmas cheer was long gone by now. Replaced instead by rising unease.
The cars weren’t necessarily hideous. Just average. Used cars with lots of mileage. None of them any newer than 2016 models. Perfect for a blue-collar neighborhood or modest suburbia. But nothing befitting Nicki Minaj’s mansion.
The boxes and shelves offered more of the same mediocrity. Wrinkled clothes. Bland casual wear comprising of tee-shirts, jeans, and dresses. Nothing Nicki would touch much less showcase. Then there was the shitty jewelry. Obvious fake gold and silver. Yard sale fashion.
Scoffing, I glanced around the garage. Were all these items from the Queen’s pre-Minaj days? Mementos from her beloved past? Or was it just shit she planned on donating?
My handsome reflection caught my eye. I got a good glimpse of the perfect-fitting clothes.
A stained mirror leaned up against a set of rejected high school lockers. All of them with padlocks.
I stepped toward them. Tried yanking on those unwavering locker doors… I leaned in closer, peering through their metal’s holes. Clearly, shit was piled up inside. Hidden away. But why?
The mystery further unnerved me. My fear returned.
Then I heard a louder song: Burl Ives’ “Holly Jolly Christmas” blared through this mausoleum of a garage. The bells and chimes engulfed me. Trembling in the cold air, I looked toward the very back.
A window showcased Nicki’s sprawling backyard. Not to mention the different smaller buildings occupying the green acres. One larger shed caught my eye.... After all, who else would have a two story efficiency unit?
Much less one with two tall security guards stationed at the front door. Under the bright security lights, I saw the building’s windows were all boarded up. Spastic cameras hovering over it.
“What the fuck…” I said. Battling the nerves, I stepped closer to see another shed had the same set-up of guards and cameras. What exactly was going on...
All the while, no one saw me spying. The Queen’s guards remained silent and still. A 24/7 shield.
I felt a large pendulum bump into my ass… Then felt a pair of thirsty hands grab each cheek. Startled, I whirled around.
“Hey, boo!” rang that hypnotic voice.
There Nicki stood right behind me. Now dressed in casual booty shorts and a red tank top., she was barefoot and missing a wig. Her natural beauty a nice contrast to the trash treasure trove surrounding us. Her smile as enthusiastic as ever.
And of course, there was the strap. From her crotch, Nicki’s pink dildo danged down like a snake… A real anaconda brushing against my ass.
I staggered back out of fear… and maybe some excitement. “Whoa…”
Nicki cackled. “Did I scare you!”
“Uh, yeah.”
Singing along, Nicki swung the dildo to the tune of Burl Ives. To the beat of the “ding…. dong…. ding...” harmonies.
I stared on at her third leg. Intimidated by the size… yet hypnotized by Nicki’s passion. Her magnetism. “Really, Nicki,” I quipped.
Chuckling, Nicki ran a hand along my arm. “What? I wanted to surprise you!”
“With the fucking pinkosaurus?”
“Yeah, why not.” She leaned in closer. “You’re the one sneaking out...”
I stole one look out the window. Out toward the guards. The strange buildings. “I just couldn’t sleep,” I told the Queen.
Nicki squeezed my wrist in a death grip of passion. “I can fix that.”
Flashing a smile, I broke away from her spell. “Naw, I need to go lay down. I can’t keep up with you!”
“Maybe tomorrow then?” Nicki teased.
“Maybe!” I then walked through the valley of Christmas music. Right into Burl Ives’ joyous vocals. The entire time I felt Nicki’s hungry eyes watch me. Staring me down hard… Her smile driven by nothing but desire. I forced myself not to turn. The temptation too much… but my tired state helped me persevere against the gorgeous rapper.
“You better be glad I don’t get a shake weight on that ass!” I heard Nicki shout with sadistic glee.
14
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2020.01.17 05:14 Nicky_XX High school girls locker room hidden camera

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11
*****
Felicia Cox, 11/30/2017
I left IHOP with Benjamin, abandoning Kira with my half-empty carafe of coffee, and checked into the first motel I saw. It was a dirty little outfit called The Meadows Inn, with seafoam-green walls in the lobby, broken vending machines, and a bored teen-aged boy playing a game on his phone behind the front desk.
The kid was nice. He showed me to the door of my room and volunteered to drag a crib out from storage, for Benjamin. I caught a glimpse of myself in the slanted hotel-room mirror: old jeans, a stained UCLA sweatshirt that had once been Isaiah’s, yesterday’s running makeup, and my dirty hair falling out of the bun and sticking up at odd angles. The teen-aged clerk probably thought I was a fleeing abuse victim or an off-the-clock sex worker.
Benjamin immediately nodded off in the old metal crib. I was so tired I didn’t even bother pulling back the tightly-tucked hotel sheets before crawling under the comforter. But, as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I couldn’t sleep. As soon as I felt myself drifting off, I was accosted by the image of The Thing, wearing Ezekiel’s mangled body, standing by Benjamin’s crib. I saw his smile. His giggling played in a loop in my head. It embodied a child so effortlessly; if I didn’t know the truth my heart would have melted. I would have pulled the little mangled boy into my arms. I would have held Ezekiel close, hugged him until he forced a knife into my back, or until he sucked the life out of me and left me empty and dry.
And it just stood there, acting cute and innocent. Within grabbing distance of my own child. I could deal with the burning bookshelves and the blocks. But the thought of waking to see that thing, leaning on the bars of the cheap hotel crib, staring at Benjamin, moon-eyed and giggling - that thought snapped me right out of any slumber I might’ve been tempted to slip into.
The message in the blocks, months before, had been prophetic. I was now truly alone.
Kira was gone. It had been the right thing to do, and I didn’t regret pushing her away, but I’d appreciated her presence. It was nice, having a teammate. She knew my darkest secret, believed every single unbelievable story I’d relayed, and had been the person I could scheme with, like elementary-school best friends playing make-believe.
But we weren’t children playing make-believe. And, I realized, I’d been angry because I expected too much out of her. When we first met, she’d given me answers. Context. Her father’s research, her incredible scrying skills, and Zoe’s diary provided a much better understanding of The Thing’s motivations, and the reasons it followed me. Kira’s obsessive nature led us to Doctor Joachim, to Scarlett, and to Arthur Gurden, and - fuck - it was her who deciphered the meaning of I170. I’d become confident that, if I gave her information, she’d have the ability to pick it apart and extract an elusive kernel of meaning.
That night, at the Ihop, I truly believed she’d be able to dislodge some clue from my recounting of the Doctor Joachim chapter of Voodoo in Southern America. I thought she’s twirl her hair around her finger, stare off into space in one of her obsessive spirals, and fight her way out with a completely new understanding of what was going on and what we should do next.
But she hadn’t. She’d been upset. And, honestly, she had every right. I’d dragged her out of bed to listen to me narrate a fairy tale.
Kira became a liability, then. She was fresh out of answers, and the search for them was driving her crazy. If I kept leaning on her, confiding The Thing’s latest terror tactics, I’d only feed her obsession. She’d grow angrier, and more desperate, and more reckless, and I couldn’t manage her emotions and protect Benjamin at the same time. She was an addict. I’d cut her off cold turkey.
*****
I gave up on sleep. Instead, I pulled out my phone and began Googling the name Arthur Gurden. I didn’t find much. He died in the 60’s; though he wrote six different books about American magical and occult traditions, his career never progressed past a professorship at a mediocre university. Critically, he hadn’t made much of himself. The best review, out of the few I could find, described him as a “colorful character” who was “marvelously entertaining, if lacking in credibility.” The worst accused him of outright fraud. In another book, he swore to have witnessed a backwoods ritual in which a snake slithered out of the mouth of a possessed girl, exorcised by a Pentecostal preacher.
In short, the man exaggerated.
Still, I couldn’t get Voodoo in Southern America out of my head. Kira might not have been impressed with his addition to the canon of The Thing. But she hadn’t read those words. She hadn’t felt them settle over her like warm water in a shower.
I could see the multicolored plants in Doctor Joachim’s garden and feel Alphonse’s shovel in my hands. When I came to the part where the mob burned down the doctor’s greenhouse, Alpnonse’s panic curdled my own blood. And as he described the gruesome deaths of those ten men, a feeling of utter despair settled over me. Tears ran down my face.
The story resonated in my bones. Sure, it was ridiculous - as I’d said to Scarlett, a dementia-riddled old man could hardly be considered a botany expert or an authority on the paranormal. And no one else seemed to believe a word Gurden wrote. But no one else was experiencing what I was and, with all that had happened to me, the most ridiculous tales were the exact ones I needed to take seriously.
I was sure, if I could find my own copy, it would lead me somewhere. To some understanding that Kira couldn’t provide. The Thing wanted me to read Voodoo in Southern America. And the feeling I had that night, as I huddled in my car in a 7-Eleven parking lot after fleeing my house, Benjamin sleeping in his carseat beside me, devouring page after page by the light of my cellphone - I wouldn’t call it calmness. It was better than calm. I felt peace, interconnectedness, the zen hyper focus I’d obtained the one time, in college, I popped an Adderal to study for a statistics final.
Kira found her connection with the universe through scrying. I found mine reading Voodoo in Southern America.
I posted ads on Craigslist. I e-mailed the anthropology departments of six different southern universities, twelve rare book dealers, and every Voodoo practitioner I could find. I wrote on Reddit message boards. I would find Gurden’s book if it killed me. If I’d only been able to finish that chapter before the book dissolved to dust in my hands, I would have found my relief.
*****
At some point, my exhaustion got the better of me. I woke to Benjamin’s cries a little after ten. We checked out and went home.
I’d received a few e-mails, but they were all useless. Only one person - an assistant professor at the University of Alabama - had even heard of Arthur Gurden, and she regretted to inform me the library didn’t keep copies of any of his books. I also had two missed calls: one from Kira, and one from Chantal. I called Chantal back. She was going to be in town at the end of the month and volunteered to watch Benjamin again, despite my insane display the last time I’d tapped her to babysit. I ignored Kira.
Kira called me six more times over the next few days. She sent me texts: she really needed to talk to me, and wanted to do it in person. I contemplated blocking her.
Benjamin and work kept me busy. The Thing stayed quiet. I had trouble sleeping, but that worked out for the best; in my now-constant exhausted haze, my nerves dulled and my fear numbed. I zoned out often.
My mind would wander to Natchez in 1855. I visualized beautiful purple flowers on lush green vines that were alive, lashing out at their caretakers and laughing about it. I wondered what it would’ve been like to hold a pibbler (they disgusted Alphonse, but seemed cute to me). I thought about the other slave assistant, Cash, and imagined his daughter growing up and sailing to Paris with Narcissa, Kira’s great-great-great-grandmother or aunt.
I wanted to know what happened to all of them - Alphonse, Cash, the Barrington family. But as days passed, this seemed increasingly unlikely, as no one I’d contacted could provide me with a copy of Voodoo in Southern America.
Then, unexpectedly, someone could.
The assistant professor at the University of Alabama sent a follow-up email. Her friend, she wrote, owned a secondhand bookstore with an extensive magic collection. She’d called this friend, and put the woman in touch with me. The used bookstore had one copy of Voodoo in Southern America in stock. It was old and dog-eared and, because it had sat on a shelf untouched for years, she would mail it to me if I paid the postage costs. I readily agreed, paid extra to have it shipped in two days, and all but waited by the door for the delivery.
Doctor Joachim died violently, Scarlett had said. Maybe he was captured and killed by my four potential ancestors - Chamberlain, Woods, Barrington, and Harding. Perhaps he cursed them with his dying breath.
I found myself Googling flights to Mississippi. I, a descendant of one of the four, may be required to find the doctor’s grave and apologize. Tender a sacrifice. Somehow make amends or cast a counter-curse, offer my own blood, whatever I had to do to make The Thing go away. Voodoo in Southern America would reveal my path to me. The solution had to be hidden within its pages.
I was obsessing. This, I thought to myself, is what it must feel like to be Kira.
*****
The book came, on schedule, two days later. When I found the little brown package on my doorstep, I all but squealed like a schoolgirl as I tore off the wrapping. The cover was red faux leather and the title page, calligraphy.
Chapter 3: Doctor Joachim.
Benjamin occupied with legos on the floor, I paged through the book, trying to find where I’d last left off. As I jostled it, something came flying out from between the pages and landed, upside down, on the floor. A notecard? I knelt and retrieved it.
No. It was a photograph.
A little boy of around three, dressed as a ninja, cuddled in his mother’s arms.
Cuddled in my mother’s arms. The woman was my mother. The little boy was Shane.
My insides turned to ropes and my blood chilled. No. No, no, no, no, no.
The book was on fire. Red and yellow flames devoured Voodoo in Southern America before my eyes. I watched it burn. Like Scarlett’s copy before it, my new copy was reduced to white ashes, which dissolved into nothingness like sugar in water. Feeble wisps of smoke hung in the air. One snaked its way above Benjamin’s head; he reached for it and giggled. And, though the destroyed book had caught fire on my couch, there wasn’t so much as a black spot left behind.
I stared at the photograph in my hands. I studied Shane’s chubby toddler’s face, and my young mother’s. She was laughing. There were no lines extending from the corners of her eyes; her smile radiated only joy and love, unfiltered gleefulness and hope. Her world was a blessed one. She hummed with energy; with the naive exuberance of a charmed twenty-something who blindly trusts the world and truly believes her blessings will only multiply.
I had never seen my mother look so happy. Not once.
Then the photo, as well, disintegrated to dust. I was left looking at my own child. At Benjamin, innocently constructing a lego tower.
“So that’s how it’s gonna be,” I snapped at the universe. “Got it. I’m not allowed to read the rest of the book.”
I received no answer. I already had my answer. I’d seen what The Thing wanted me to see; anything else in Gurden’s work was off-limits. The Thing was completely in control. It could manipulate my thoughts and dictate my perspective, and any attempt I made to understand on my own terms would be sent, literally, up in smoke.
I didn’t scream or cry, and I realized then that I was no longer afraid. It wasn’t a relief. As soon as fear was gone, I missed it. Because its replacement was so much worse.
I felt despair. My last hope had been torn away. I was left with nothing but a cold, dark hole.
*****
That day, I returned Kira’s calls.
I’d been unfair to her. It wasn’t her emotions that were a burden, it was her face, and what she represented. She resembled Zoe - the long-dead little girl eternally locked in some grey, otherworldly prison. And I couldn’t think about Kira without thinking about her father. Drew Barrington, the man who’d discreetly, meticulously executed a plan to murder his own children out of mercy, to save them from the thing I’d last seen mooning over Benjamin. Kira was my worst case scenario made flesh. But that wasn’t her fault.
I met Kira in the conference room of Royal Bash Marketing. She, as expected, had a fresh new angle we could use to trick The Thing into cooperating with us. Solomonic magic, this time. I won’t waste space explaining that concept - Kira can do it a whole lot better, anyways. I put up a bit of a show, throwing around boilerplate warnings about black magic, because it seemed like something I should do. In reality? I’d try anything. I took strange comfort in Kira’s Prime-time CW plan. At the very least, plotting would distract me.
The ritual magic was exactly what I thought it would be - a chalk sigil and a Biblical chant. But when I asked how, exactly, Kira planned on luring The Thing into her chalk circle trap, her rationale went in a completely different direction.
The last time we’d spoken, I’d mentioned off-hand that The Thing, as Ezekiel, told me he didn’t want me to die. That he needed me. I’d assumed the statement was just a new mind game The Thing was trying out; I hadn’t taken the wording seriously at all. But Kira clutched the idea with both hands and ran with it. We’d both long sat with the knowledge that, despite having ample opportunities, The Thing hadn’t actually hurt me or Benjamin. Kira went a step further: she thought The Thing, for reasons unknown, was preserving me. And that if I were in danger, The Thing would rush to my rescue.
Her idea: I’d take a handful of sleeping pills and sit inside her magic chalk circle. The Thing, sensing my peril, would have no choice but to manifest and become my savior. Once inside the sigil, it would be trapped and forced to answer, honestly, any questions I proposed.
“I know I’m basically asking you to risk your life,” she said quickly. “And I totally understand if you don’t want…”
“I’ll do it, Kira,” I said.
She bounced on her feet, like a child given permission to go to the toy store. Her enthusiasm was almost cute. She looked much better than I felt, dressed in a black mini dress, her red hair pulled up in a bun, very much a West Side young professional. Isaiah never spoke about her - he’d mainly focused on marketing strategy, while Kira was an underling of Brett Speier, the partner who specialized in events. Brett loved Kira. The resourcefulness and pure, stubborn grit she displayed while grappling with The Thing had, before she met me, been directed towards being very good at her job.
“If the ritual goes right,” Kira continued, “you can ask Tanmitadore what he wants.”
I frowned at her. “I’ll do it, but I’m pretty sure it’s not going to work.”
“We can practice…” she started.
“What if that’s what The Thing wants?” I blurted out. “What if the ultimate endgame is to convince me to kill myself?”
Kira’s enthusiasm was effectively quelled. Her face became serious. “Are you saying that because of my dad?”
“I’m not.” I wasn’t. “It’s… it’s just something I’ve been thinking about.”
I didn’t tell her about my copy of Voodoo in Southern America. And I didn’t tell her about the photographs.
*****
The first photograph - my mother and Shane, dressed like a ninja on Halloween - disintegrated almost as quickly as Gurden’s book. I couldn’t so easily erase the image from my mind. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
I had no photographs of my mother. They’d all been destroyed, courtesy of The Thing, in a storage locker years before. And because I couldn’t see my mother’s face, I rarely thought about her . Definitely not as much as I should have, and nearly always in the context of The Thing. I couldn’t remember what her voice sounded like. I’d all but forgotten her perfect recipe for macaroni and cheese, and the hours of Nickelodeon she’d watched for my sake, and it was unfair to her memory. Mom had been something besides a victim. So much of our life together - so much of how she’d raised me, completely alone - had absolutely nothing to do with the supernatural fiend that now occupied my every thought.
I found the second photograph in my silverware drawer. I’d reached in to grab a spoon for my coffee and there it was, resting on top of the knife set.
This photo was older than the last one. My mother sat in a green field, baby Shane nestled in her arms. Mom was pure eighties gorgeous in a jean jacket and chunky pink necklace, crimped hair pulled up into a high ponytail. Her eyes were awkwardly half-closed and her mouth wide open; captured halfway through a bout of wild laughter. Shane, all cheeks and dark eyes, stared into the camera with innocent wonder. The downward angle was less than ideal and an awkward shadow fell across Shane’s face; clearly not my mother’s skillful photography.
No. My father had taken this picture.
The third photograph I found, face-up on the tile floor by my bed, was of him. He sat on a stool at a bar, suavely clutching a beer bottle. My dad, James Ibanez, looked like a young Samuel L. Jackson in a white t-shirt and bomber jacket. He held up his drink as though he were James Bond, a hokey smirk on his face that he clearly thought was seductive.
This photograph, like the last two, had been destroyed before I was born: in the fire that leveled the house in Miami, securing my mother’s freedom but incinerating every single picture she’d taken of her husband and child. The memory of James Ibanez must have dulled in her mind. She rarely spoke about my father, to me or to anyone else. I knew almost nothing about him. He was half Cuban and half Dominican, he was a pilot, and that was about it.
Except, there he was, flashing that goofy smile, again and again and again. I’d find two, three, four of them a day. More photographs. My mom and Shane, building a sandcastle on the beach. Shane, holding an Easter basket as though it were a cache of treasure. My dad and Shane, at a carnival, posing triumphantly in front of a game stall. It was the game where you throw a ball to knock down a stack of milk bottles, except it’s always rigged because the bottles on the bottom are weighted. My father must’ve un-rigged it, though, because Shane cuddled a fuzzy stuffed bear bigger than his toddler body.
If Shane hadn’t let Artie inside, I would’ve been a part of that beautiful, happy family. I’d have grown up in their little yellow house with the blue door. Shane would’ve been a protective older brother who taught me how to ride a bike. I’d have knit with my grandmother and made macaroni and cheese with my mom in that ridiculous red oven she kept in the kitchen. We’d go to the beach in the summer, Shane and I would build the best sandcastles on the east coast, then at night we’d walk to the carnival and my dad would win me the biggest, fluffiest stuffed bear in the place.
I didn’t have a father, or a brother. This absence had never bothered me; the experience of the standard American family was as far removed from my existence as aliens and superheroes. But, as I stared into their exuberant faces - my father’s glowing with pride and unspoiled adoration, Shane’s alight with innocent trust - I was overcome with longing, heartache over the loss of something that was never mine.
I knew The Thing was leaving the photographs for me to find. I knew it was all an elaborate form of torture. But I didn’t care. I savored each one; I found myself deliberately searching my house for them. And when, inevitably, they disintegrated into dust, I felt empty. Another chunk scooped out of my heart.
*****
Meanwhile, Kira and I hammered out details for our Solomonic trapping ritual. I let her play strategic commander.
We decided to proceed the weekend Chantal was in town; I would leave Benjamin with her, keeping him far out of The Thing’s reach. As for the location, I happened to know of a convenient piece of concrete up in the hills, a short walk from my house. There had once been a small campground out there. The place was abandoned after a fire, but a rest stop with bathrooms and a shower still stood, on a concrete square large enough for Kira’s chalk sigil and far enough away from anything that we were unlikely to attract unwanted attention.
Kira was practicing. There was an empty building near the office with a large employee parking lot, backed into an alley that was hardly used. She’d drive there after work and draw the sigil, perfecting every detail. I went with her once.
We also experimented with sleeping pills. We had a system. Kira wrote a list of questions I should ask The Thing, once it appeared within her chalk circle. I’d take a set number of pills then, as warm drowsiness numbed my thoughts and melted my cognition, I asked her the questions off her list. She’d respond, differently each time. We would continue until my eyes became heavy and I began to slouch. Then, Kira would force me to vomit.
I disliked that part. Vomit in general disgusts me, and the sensation of my own body bucking and heaving felt like what I imagined being possessed would feel like - a loss of control over my own internal processes, to a sensation so unpleasant my own esophagus rebelled. The first time, Kira used a mixture of raw eggs and paprika. It tasted so terrible, I was jerked immediately out of blue nothingness and projectile-puked all over myself and my living room floor, then stumbled half-conscious to the kitchen and sucked down tap water until I vomited again, the stringy-gummy texture still coating my mouth.
“We’re not doing that again,” I ranted to Kira. “No more eggs. I can’t.”
Kira smiled sympathetically. “Fine. We’ll try soap tomorrow.”
Once the pills had been expelled from my system and I was sufficiently reanimated with coffee, Kira had me repeat the answers she’d given to the series of questions I’d asked. The first time, I forgot all but the one answer. But slowly, surely, I got better. I forced my mind to imprint words, to encode sentences for future recall, even as my eyelids drooped and my senses blunted under the effect of the powerful sedatives.
We ran through the bottle of sleeping pills she’d stolen from Vera. So I made an appointment with a local psychiatrist and, thirty minutes later, had a prescription of my very own. It’s concerning, how easy it is to obtain narcotics when you’ve got the right insurance and zip code. But the doctor definitely didn’t have the wrong impression of me. I hadn’t been sleeping well.
I’d moved Benjamin’s crib to my room. We slept with the bathroom light on, but the darkness in my head remained as terrifying as the darkness of the big, empty house. Every time I felt myself drifting off, an image would imbed itself behind my closed eyelids: Ezekiel, mangled throat bulging like an Amazon bug, wrapping his little fingers around the bars of Benjamin’s crib, staring at my son with a devious smile on his face. I’d jerk awake. Then I’d lie in bed, tensed like a spring, half-ready to snatch up my son and run, half wishing I could dissolve into nothingness like the photographs - to a state where I’d feel nothing and think nothing, because the void was preferable to the rat-in-a-cage chaos of my worldly existence.
*****
One morning, I sat on my couch on my laptop, focusing intently on a fourth-quarter tax projection. Benjamin’s bell-like voice cut through my concentration.
“Mama, boy!” he tittered sweetly. “Mama, a boy!”
I snapped upright so fast I knocked over my laptop.
The computer landed on my tile floor with a loud crack; the sound muted as every sensory nerve in my body redirected to counter the atomic bomb exploding in my brain. My muscles contracted to the surge of boiling panic that started in my stomach and shot outward. My skin chilled, moist with a sudden sweat, as Benjamin’s words replayed themselves like a skipping record.
Mama, it’s a boy. Mama, it’s a boy.
Mom, there’s a girl outside. She says her name is Katie. Can she come in to play?
No. No, no, no. Was there… had The Thing…
Benjamin, distressed by the dread splashed across my face, took a nervous step back.
Then, I saw he was holding a photograph in his pudgy little hands. A photo of a boy.
My muscles loosened, electric heat dissipating to clammy warmth. My heart rate slowed. My inner monologue steadied itself. I felt myself trembling as the epinephrine rush subsided.
I snatched the photograph from Benjamin’s hands.
“Don’t play with that, baby,” I told him. “If you see another one, don’t touch it. Okay?”
Benjamin cocked his head, smiled, and was in moments completely involved with his toy car collection, the boy in the picture all but forgotten.
I stared at the photograph. This one was of Shane alone, sitting on his training-wheeled bike under the canopy I recognized as our parents’ carport. He was older than he’d been in the previous photos, school-aged. About the age he’d been when he died. When my mother snapped this picture, had he already met Artie? Was he already following the breadcrumb trail that lead to his doom?
I set the photo down and stared at Benjamin, happily organizing die-cast cars. My little boy was growing up. He’d turned two in October. Soon, he would start preschool. School meant socialization, friends, hours outside the house and out of my sight. And my ability to supervise him would only decrease from there. Soon, he’d be wanting to ride his bike around the neighborhood, spend the night at his friends’ houses, walk the four blocks to the 7-Eleven for Slurpees by himself.
And every second my eyes weren’t on him was an opportunity for The Thing to slip into his life.
I always knew this was coming, on some level. But, since Isaiah died, I’d been too focused on the immediate - the mortgage, The Thing’s blocks and fires, my adventures with Kira - to actively plan Benjamin’s and my future. The future always seemed so far away. But, the moment Benjamin uttered those words - Mama, a boy - inevitability crashed over me like a wave.
Would I, like my mother, install a rule that I must meet all Benjamin’s friends and their parents before they were allowed into our house? Would Benjamin, as I had, find that rule ridiculous? One day, someday, would I find myself staring into the eyes of Ezekiel, or Artie, or any of the others, sitting on our porch, disarming grin spread across their face?
At what age would I confess the truth to Benjamin? How would I explain that he, like I, was prey for an unsurpassable supernatural force, and that if he were to make the wrong friend, allow the wrong child into his life, he and everyone he cared about would die a violent, fiery death at the claws of an otherworldly beast?
Benjamin turned, saw me looking at him, and gave me a goofy, open-mouthed smile.
I seized up again, overcome by a second explosion of terror that bubbled into nausea. I retched, limbs trembling anew.
A nightmarish image flashed in my mind.
I saw Benjamin, standing in front of me. His smile was wide and sinister. His movements deliberate, a foreign thing learning to walk and speak and gesture like a human boy. And, behind his big brown eyes, I saw the warped consciousness of The Thing. The Thing, wearing my son like a glove.
I would’ve drank bleach to erase that vision from my memory.
*****
Two mornings after Benjamin found the photograph, I deposited him in Chantal’s arms at her mother-in-law’s house. Chantal was pregnant with her second child, I recognized, several months along. They were hoping for a boy. Before I drove away, she pressed a key into my hand.
“It’s a spare,” Chantal said. “If you fall asleep again and wake up at one in the morning, you can come get Benjamin without knocking the door down.”
I still wasn’t sleeping. The visualization of Benjamin as another puppet of The Thing joined the long lineup of potential nightmare scenarios that inundated me, as I lay in the semi-darkness in my bed, my son’s gentle breathing barely calming my nerves. As I drove back to my house to meet Kira, I felt myself drifting off more than once. I stopped at a drive-through Starbucks and ordered a large coffee with two extra expresso shots.
This would be the day of Kira’s Solomonic ritual.
Kira was already there when I arrived. The coffee left me jittery and nervous; she thrummed with something like excitement as we hiked out to our location, her reciting our plan over and over as we schlepped through tall, dry weeds and spiny bushes.
She drew the sigil masterfully - I was impressed by just how much effort she had put into our newest plot. But my mind wasn’t on Solomonic magic.
I was focused on the smoldering lump of panic that sat like a stone in my stomach. The lump had taken form as I pulled into my driveway and saw Kira, waiting like an obedient puppy outside her beat-up Civic, backpack of supplies dangling from a shoulder. It was creeping intuition; the folkloric “bad gut feeling,” which was frustrating because I couldn’t quite put my finger on what, exactly, made my gut feel so bad.
While Kira sketched her blue chalk symbol, I stayed out of her way and entered a dialogue with the rock in my stomach. What was I afraid of?
Was I scared the ritual wouldn’t work? I glanced at Kira, tracing a Hebrew phrase in beautiful calligraphy. No. That wasn’t it. We were both aware the supposed-ancient summoning could be complete bullshit. If the chant went wrong, or Kira’s chalk lines weren’t straight enough, or The Thing just didn’t show up, then Kira would force me to vomit and we’d be in the exact same position we were in right now.
What if the ritual did work, and The Thing, furious over being tricked, violently attacked me? That thought did inspire a small flitter of apprehension. But it made no sense. I’d come face-to-face with The Thing before, several times. It never hurt me. It never expressed anything resembling anger, directed at me. And besides, Kira had assured me that, if the ritual worked, the circle would serve as protection from all manner of spiritual beasties.
“I don’t know,” I murmured to myself.
Kira, who had finished the sigil and was now crouched digging through her bag, paused and peered up at me.
“We’ve run through it,” she said, smiling encouragingly. “I’ll be here, watching you, the whole time.”
I caught sight of the contents of her backpack. There was coffee, a measuring cup, two of those energy drinks Royal Bash was stumping, a tin can, a Ziplock bag of a black substance, and several bottles of water. I felt a rush of residual nausea. We’d found a mixture of baking soda and warm water was the most effective at making me vomit. She’d also brought eggs.
“Are you sure The Thing’s gonna show up?” I asked Kira.
And then, like a chemical reaction, the smoldering lump inside me melted and evaporated, coating my insides with warm, moist fear.
That’s what I was afraid of.
If the ritual worked perfectly, and The Thing showed up and, as Kira promised, within the circle The Thing could not lie - then what would it reveal to me? I could ask anything I wanted and trust the answer I received was honest.
I was terrified of the answers The Thing might give.
*****
Kira was still talking. “…will keep you awake until it’s all out of your system.”
She stared at me, smiling, completely oblivious to the torment in my mind. Expecting some sort of response.
“What if it tries to hurt you?” I asked, to fill the air.
Still grinning confidently, Kira reached into her backpack and pulled out a long, sharp steak knife.
“I’ll manage,” she chirped. “Besides, I don’t think he will. Zoe said he’s weak on earth.”
She set the steak knife on the ground, pulled out a bottle of sleeping pills, and rattled them.
The sleeping pills were mine, my prescription. I’d given them to Kira the last time we’d met, two days before. I asked her to hold them for safekeeping. I told her Benjamin was fascinated by the things, and had started climbing up furniture and grabbing. I laughed it off.
I didn’t tell her I couldn’t keep the sleeping pills in my house anymore. No matter where I put them, I’d find myself staring at the little bottle, sometimes for what seemed like hours. And sometimes, as I stared, I’d feel a small smile ripple across my cheeks. It would be so peaceful, I thought. I was so tired.
I imagined myself crushing the entire bottle of pills. Pulling the blender from the back of the kitchen cabinet. Mixing all the white powder with Hershey’s syrup, milk, and ice cream. Pouring half the chalky syrup into Benjamin’s Paw Patrol sippy cup, and the other half into a wine glass I’d kept from my wedding…
I snapped out of it. Utterly terrified and disgusted, I’d all but shoved the sleeping pills into Kira’s purse myself. I couldn’t be trusted with them.
Now, I was staring at that bottle once again. And, for better or for worse, I was about to act out my twisted fantasy. I thought about something I’d said to Kira, weeks before. What if The Thing wants me to kill myself? What if this was the purpose of all its emotional torture? If the ritual were to work, and I were to ask The Thing how to make it go away, what would I do if it instructed me to hurt myself? Hurt Benjamin?
I snatched the pills from Kira’s hand. She held out a water bottle.
“I’ve officially gone insane.”
I palmed the first pill and washed it down my throat. Suppressing my gag reflex and the memory of all the times I’d vomited these pills before, I swallowed another. And another. And another. We’d decided on six pills. I took eight.
At my first step towards Kira’s circle, I felt woozy. The blue chalk on black asphalt was too bright; in the midday sun, it glittered as though divinely inspired. Maybe it was my drugged state, but the double circle with four quadrants seemed to move, to rotate.
“Remember,” Kira called after me, “when he’s in the circle, you can ask him whatever you want. And what he tells you is the truth.”
Yeah, I thought. That’s what I’m afraid of.
I sat cross-legged at the edge of the circle. The hot asphalt radiated through my jeans, stinging my thighs. It was too warm. Too much light. I couldn’t look directly at the chalk lines. Dust rose, and the air above the asphalt seemed to ripple in the heat. I stared straight ahead. I focused on an oak tree a few hundred yards in front of me.
There was a tree like that in my backyard. Behind the little house we rented in Cleveland.
I realized, then, that Kira had begun to chant.
“O Lord, our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth! who hast set thy glory above the heavens. Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength…”
I blinked. The world was hazy. Had the tree moved closer? The tree was glowing.
“…the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End; thou who hast established all things in thy wisdom; thou who has chosen Abraham thy faithful servant…”
No. It wasn’t the tree. It was a figure. A person.
A person of pure light. I couldn’t look away.
“Thou who hast granted unto Solomon thy Servant these pentacles by thy great Mercy, for the preservation of Soul and of Body; we most humbly implore and supplicate thy Holy Majesty, that these pentacles may be consecrated by thy power…”
Then, darkness. No. I’d closed my eyes. I was so tired.
The asphalt no longer burned my legs. The air had cooled. I forced my eyes open.
Fog, all around me. And a boy. A tall, brown-haired boy.
And I let the darkness take me.
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2019.09.13 08:25 in-grey High school girls locker room hidden camera

The series is seemingly built upon various interconnecting occurrences, concepts and mechanics which all relate back to the themes of Directional Rotation, Inverse (or mirrored) Perspective & State Change. Let's begin exploring.
--Directional Rotation--

--Inverse Perspective & State Changes--

There's surely many more instances of each of these themes. I truly feel that comprehending the way they're being implemented and represented will help us better understand the core narrative, so I decided to amass a comprehensive list. This will be a growing organism, and I will continue to edit the list with further examples. Please let me know your thoughts/any comments. Thank you so so so much for reading.
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