Gmc canyon key stuck in ignition
403 key
2023.03.29 05:32 -FrankandBeanz- 403 key
Finally, after going into Ashika looking for a 403 key for weeks I found it! Got it off a Hvt bot. Gas was coming so I head to exfil. See a Friend was on so I join their squad and we head back in. Complete the mission and join another squad. They want to do one of their missions. I let them know I’m heading to exfil. They all go off. While trying to get the weapons case and fighting two other teams, they all go down. I’m almost to exfil but I turn around and try to help them. I almost go down myself. They tell me to save myself. I bounce. Sorry for them, but I CANNOT lose this key/fail this mission. My friend doesn’t ask but decides to pull us from the game because he was down and I had just called the chopper in to exfil. So now I have to try again to find this key. I’ve been going in solo because at this point it’s annoying to bring in a squad over and over. Looking for a key. I didn’t mind because I’m the only one stuck on the mission. But now I have to do this all over again and it is infuriating.
submitted by -FrankandBeanz- to DMZ [link] [comments]
2023.03.29 05:30 Consistent-View-3440 The Wind-rider Tribes of Naggaroth (Centaurs) Untainted-Pt.3 [lore writings]
![The Wind-rider Tribes of Naggaroth (Centaurs) Untainted-Pt.3 [lore writings]](https://b.thumbs.redditmedia.com/OVbQYWQcJZUcPTp59b1NoFwMvjaOdiLLaHMTBNHk6Aw.jpg "The Wind-rider Tribes of Naggaroth (Centaurs) Untainted-Pt.3 [lore writings]") | submitted by Consistent-View-3440 to WarhammerFantasy [link] [comments] Kedosik warriors of the east Long ago in a time where there was no beginning nor end, the northern continent of the New World was populated by vast prairies, enormous grasslands stretching out for miles and miles with great herds of bison and gazelle passing through like whales in the sea. In this age, the Wind-Rider tribes flourished creating massive territories with varying cultures and traditions across these almost eternal plains. The Wind-Riders paid no mind to the greater world around them ignoring the conflicts of the world and focusing only on their survival. But even this could not last forever. With the civil war in the Elven kingdom of Ulthaun at its end, the elves of Nagarythe began a great pilgrimage to the inland ocean that would later be known as the Sea of Malice. As the Druchii arrived on the continent and founded the terrible Tower of Cold, the Wind-Riders sensed their malevolent presence even in the south. The northern tribes were already strained thin due to the Chaos incursions from the North Pole. So to have an entire colony of brutal elves arrive and begin claiming the land was not exactly the best circumstances. Even today the Northern tribes are hardly even spoken of, many believe they were the first victims of the Dark Elves in their new "homeland". Wind-Rider shamans all over soon after prophesized great clouds of darkness enveloping the continents with one terrible master behind them, a cursed being: Malekith the Witch King. The Shamans' Prophecies proved to be true in a sense, as the gluttony and greed of the Druchii grew so too did their ambition. Under the command of Malekith himself, Dark Elf Dreadlords expanded their territories into the south, letting no one stand in the way of their progress. Many tribes attempted to reach diplomacy with the Druchii, only for Dark Elven assassins to slaughter the entire tribe in the dead of the night. Word reached the southern tribes of this, and so they prepared for battle. Old stories tell of Druchii attempting to capture a piece of Wind-Rider land, only for the entire platoon to be ambushed by the Centaurs and killed with arrows strong and straight enough to slay a Kraken in one shot. Unfortunately, this was never fully effective. Many wars broke out between these Centaurs and Elves, and most of the time the Elves won very bloodily. Entire tribes were slaughtered and sacrificed to the Bloody Handed God, villages burned to the ground, and countless artefacts and even Wind-Riders themselves were burned in great immolation piles. For decades hope for the Wind-Riders seemed foolish and impossible, until a story began spreading throughout Naggaroth, one that managed to ignite the fires of rebellion once again. A story that even drew the attention of the Black Council itself: the story of Thundercaller the Liberator. According to this popular tale in 1728 IC, the Lepoyta tribe was massacred leaving only a few survivors including the soon-to-be chief Thundercaller. The young chieftain managed to rally the remaining warriors to attack the Dark Elf city that arose from the captured Lepoytan land. The attack started well but the Centaurs were soon overwhelmed by the sheer forces of the Druchii. Many of the party were slain leaving only Thundercaller and his two dearest friends. The Dark Elves chased them for days leading to a Canyon seen as holy by Wind-Riders, It seemed to be the end for Thundercaller until as if some sort of divine miracle a storm appeared out of nowhere. Suddenly an enormous eagle with lightning erupting from its wings blocked out the sun and released a fury of elemental forces upon the Dark Elf forces, decimating them within a matter of minutes. Once the Druchii were dealt with, the titanic bird looked back at Thundercaller, giving the Wind-Rider a stare of approval before disappearing with the wind. Not long after the story had spread, reports of successful slave revolts throughout Naggaroth began popping up, all sharing one common trait: A Wind-Rider Centaur adorned by lightning and thunder itself began rallying the slaves and leading them to freedom. These reports were kept secret from the public and known only by the Black Council themselves. Whether these stories are true or not their effect is clear, Wind-Rider will not stand by as the Druchii defile their continent. Battles are still common in the middle of Naggaroth to this day, and they are unlikely to end anytime soon. ________________________________________________________________________ This was an interesting one, Centaurs were somewhat like this in Old lore until Centigors were introduced and these guys were thrown in the trash without a second thought. |
2023.03.29 05:09 SnooHobbies8122 Do I even have Psoriatic Arthritis!?!?
TL;DR: I have been diagnosed Psoriatic Arthritis for 14 years and when I get the flu my PsA symptoms go away, is this normal?
I (32F) was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis when I was 18 years old, important note I have never tested positive for the Rheumatoid Factor. My main symptoms have been red and swollen finger joints and wrist joints. I also have a large patch of Psoriasis on my leg and my body always feels sort of achy, especially my back (but I also have syringomyelia which could cause back pain). At some point in my early-20's my diagnosis changed to Psoriatic Arthritis. I use to be on full time medication - I have been on Diclofenac, Sulfasalazine, Methotrexate & a steroid but I forget what it was called. When trying to get pregnant in 2017 I got off all medication and shortly then became pregnant and gave birth to my daughter in 2018. My symptoms became more manageable after giving birth and since then I will take Aleve on the days that my symptoms flare-up. Recently I have been having a lot of pain in the morning - it has been a very cold winter here in Canada - and I have needed to take Aleve every morning to be able to even turn my car key in the ignition. I am waiting to hear from the doctor on a referral to a new rheumatologist.
Now here is my question - throughout my entire life when I would get the flu, a cold and even COVID my PsA symptoms go pretty much go away. My Psoriasis is all of a sudden not itchy and the redness almost goes away, there is still raised skin but it is more of a bump. My hands feels normal, no need to take Aleve. After my illness goes away then my PsA symptoms come back. I always thought this was normal but today I have been told that it is not and normally when you get the flu or other related illnesses that should cause an increase in inflammation and cause a flare-up! I did a Google search to confirm and this seems to be true, when you get the flu it should cause a flare-up
This never has happened to me before! What about anyone else? This is making me reconsider if I even have PsA or even an autoimmune disease!
submitted by SnooHobbies8122 to autoimmunity [link] [comments]
I (32F) was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis when I was 18 years old, important note I have never tested positive for the Rheumatoid Factor. My main symptoms have been red and swollen finger joints and wrist joints. I also have a large patch of Psoriasis on my leg and my body always feels sort of achy, especially my back (but I also have syringomyelia which could cause back pain). At some point in my early-20's my diagnosis changed to Psoriatic Arthritis. I use to be on full time medication - I have been on Diclofenac, Sulfasalazine, Methotrexate & a steroid but I forget what it was called. When trying to get pregnant in 2017 I got off all medication and shortly then became pregnant and gave birth to my daughter in 2018. My symptoms became more manageable after giving birth and since then I will take Aleve on the days that my symptoms flare-up. Recently I have been having a lot of pain in the morning - it has been a very cold winter here in Canada - and I have needed to take Aleve every morning to be able to even turn my car key in the ignition. I am waiting to hear from the doctor on a referral to a new rheumatologist.
Now here is my question - throughout my entire life when I would get the flu, a cold and even COVID my PsA symptoms go pretty much go away. My Psoriasis is all of a sudden not itchy and the redness almost goes away, there is still raised skin but it is more of a bump. My hands feels normal, no need to take Aleve. After my illness goes away then my PsA symptoms come back. I always thought this was normal but today I have been told that it is not and normally when you get the flu or other related illnesses that should cause an increase in inflammation and cause a flare-up! I did a Google search to confirm and this seems to be true, when you get the flu it should cause a flare-up
This never has happened to me before! What about anyone else? This is making me reconsider if I even have PsA or even an autoimmune disease!
2023.03.29 05:07 Technical-Put1134 I Hate Fridays (2021)
I hate Fridays.
I loathe the day that comes after Thursday and before Saturday.
I wish Friday’s did not exist.
I would rather have 1000 Mondays than ever have to experience another day as dreadful as a Friday.
I would rather have Monday on repeat for the rest of my life than have to live through Friday ever again.
I must be the only person in the entire world who hates Friday’s with such a passion.
During the week, I can distract myself with all the stresses and deadlines.
The hustling and the bustling enough to keep any nasty thoughts of Friday to breach my consciousness.
The assignments and early mornings and minutes of socializing is usually enough to satiate my anxieties surrounding the end of the school week.
But like clockwork, it always comes.
As the day goes on, the dread builds and builds.
By the time the clock strikes 3:00, I'm nearly in tears.
Ready to burst if someone holds my gaze longer than a nanosecond.
My facade would be broken if anyone dared to look too close.
They never do.
As I watch the plans formulate around me, all I can do is wring my hands and turn my gaze to the floor.
Wanting to be anywhere but here, but never wanting to leave.
For when I do, it’s final.
I’m alone.
My biggest fear, what Friday stands for and what it brings, is utter and complete loneliness.
Not the kind that they write songs about, but the kind that kills.
I take the long route home on Friday’s, tacking on at least another 40 minutes until I’m faced with reality.
I can trick myself that I have a destination, maybe I'm meeting someone, maybe I have plans, maybe I’ll bump into someone.
All sweet lies that I never quite believe.
As the key turns with great effort, I’m greeted with an empty home.
No “hellos” or “how was your days”.
I make my way to my room, down a small hallway, dragging my feet and going so slowly, putting off the inevitable.
There’s no hiding it now, there’s no way I can trick and twist my brain into another deluded daydream or fantasy.
My only plan is to numb.
I need to stop feeling the wasteland inside my heart, so I turn to the best distractions in the world.
My secret stash must stay plentiful, as Friday’s come every week.
Music blasts from my speakers, drowning out any possible thoughts. good or bad.
Alcohol passes my lips and burns until it settles in the darkest part of my stomach, igniting me from inside out.
I pretend this is what happiness feels like as I spin around my room.
As the night goes on, empty bottles and cans litter my room, the music is now on a repeated loop, and tears have begun to stream down my face.
No matter what I do, I can never hide from Fridays.
submitted by Technical-Put1134 to justpoetry [link] [comments]
I loathe the day that comes after Thursday and before Saturday.
I wish Friday’s did not exist.
I would rather have 1000 Mondays than ever have to experience another day as dreadful as a Friday.
I would rather have Monday on repeat for the rest of my life than have to live through Friday ever again.
I must be the only person in the entire world who hates Friday’s with such a passion.
During the week, I can distract myself with all the stresses and deadlines.
The hustling and the bustling enough to keep any nasty thoughts of Friday to breach my consciousness.
The assignments and early mornings and minutes of socializing is usually enough to satiate my anxieties surrounding the end of the school week.
But like clockwork, it always comes.
As the day goes on, the dread builds and builds.
By the time the clock strikes 3:00, I'm nearly in tears.
Ready to burst if someone holds my gaze longer than a nanosecond.
My facade would be broken if anyone dared to look too close.
They never do.
As I watch the plans formulate around me, all I can do is wring my hands and turn my gaze to the floor.
Wanting to be anywhere but here, but never wanting to leave.
For when I do, it’s final.
I’m alone.
My biggest fear, what Friday stands for and what it brings, is utter and complete loneliness.
Not the kind that they write songs about, but the kind that kills.
I take the long route home on Friday’s, tacking on at least another 40 minutes until I’m faced with reality.
I can trick myself that I have a destination, maybe I'm meeting someone, maybe I have plans, maybe I’ll bump into someone.
All sweet lies that I never quite believe.
As the key turns with great effort, I’m greeted with an empty home.
No “hellos” or “how was your days”.
I make my way to my room, down a small hallway, dragging my feet and going so slowly, putting off the inevitable.
There’s no hiding it now, there’s no way I can trick and twist my brain into another deluded daydream or fantasy.
My only plan is to numb.
I need to stop feeling the wasteland inside my heart, so I turn to the best distractions in the world.
My secret stash must stay plentiful, as Friday’s come every week.
Music blasts from my speakers, drowning out any possible thoughts. good or bad.
Alcohol passes my lips and burns until it settles in the darkest part of my stomach, igniting me from inside out.
I pretend this is what happiness feels like as I spin around my room.
As the night goes on, empty bottles and cans litter my room, the music is now on a repeated loop, and tears have begun to stream down my face.
No matter what I do, I can never hide from Fridays.
2023.03.29 04:59 Major_Dick Does Windows wipe out the SteamOS bootloader?
As far back as I can remember, any time I decide to install Windows on a drive with Linux already on it, Windows ruins the bits that make Linux boot. I think it was similar if going the opposite way, but at least Linux would throw in an entry for Windows. You'd basically be either stuck with GRUB or the Windows bootloader.
The easiest solution to keep the installs from affecting eachother was to use two drives (unplugging the other when installing the OS). This basically lets you keep a separate bootloader on each drive and boot from it using whatever your BIOS key is. Partitioning has never worked for me, even when manually creating partitions for GRUB (though I think that might've just been an Ubuntu bug).
I'm looking at the video guide from the megathread with gparted along with a regular install, but I can't see what prevents this from happening?
submitted by Major_Dick to WindowsOnDeck [link] [comments]
The easiest solution to keep the installs from affecting eachother was to use two drives (unplugging the other when installing the OS). This basically lets you keep a separate bootloader on each drive and boot from it using whatever your BIOS key is. Partitioning has never worked for me, even when manually creating partitions for GRUB (though I think that might've just been an Ubuntu bug).
I'm looking at the video guide from the megathread with gparted along with a regular install, but I can't see what prevents this from happening?
2023.03.29 04:58 LawfulnessAdmirable Electrical problem
Went to car tonight, no outside lights lit on car. Then saw some instrument panel lights on and immediately checked key (its stuck in cylinder) it was def off. Panel lights went out when I closed door. Car almost turned over then died.
Same dead battery last week when nothing was left on. So somehow it’s draining. Battery and Alternator less than a yr old. No problem starting in negative temps.
Ideas on what to check? No idea how instr panel was lit briefly if key was in off and no low lights lit
submitted by LawfulnessAdmirable to MechanicAdvice [link] [comments]
Same dead battery last week when nothing was left on. So somehow it’s draining. Battery and Alternator less than a yr old. No problem starting in negative temps.
Ideas on what to check? No idea how instr panel was lit briefly if key was in off and no low lights lit
2023.03.29 04:08 NPCDoc TIFU by starting and moving a box truck with a person working inside of it.
I work for a trade company as an apprentice and i've been with the company for a few years now. antiwork would probably hate me because I actually really enjoy my job even though I don't get paid much (relative to my value for the company and how hard I physically work [sometimes]). Today was as mundane as it gets, business is slow, the journeyman (trade-licensed lead) who I normally work with every day had a funeral to attend so there wasn't much for me to do.
My main task for the day was to clean out and detail the cabs of two company branded box trucks which were driven by employees who recently quit. The cabs were pretty dirty, they're work trucks, so I knew I had quite a bit of work ahead of me (which I was honest to god eager about). I work for a plumbing company, so our trucks are fully stocked with material: various pipe fittings, faucet parts, water heater parts, lots and lots of stuff. Since these employee quit, their trucks will be passed on to the next new hires, so they need to be "inventoried" and restocked. So a lady who works for our supplier was doing that all morning even before I started my task with the trucks, this is important because I saw, and even stopped to chat with her a couple times before the incident. I knew she was in there.
Everyone knows the first thing to do when you start detailing is vacuum. These trucks are parked inside our warehouse so I go out to my truck and grab my shopvac. Only problem is that the trucks are sort of centered in the warehouse and there are no outlets nearby. I make a second trip out to my truck for an extension cord, still not enough length. What's my solution? Well that's easy, no brainer!
Of course, I just need to move the truck up about 6 feet or so. I check to see if the keys are in the ignition, and they are so I turn the engine over. As soon as I put it in gear, I hear a yell from the back "Hey I'm in here!". At this point it's too late. These trucks are basically modified cargo vans that have had a larger box put on the back, and the transmission likes to lurch the truck around. My foot is about half way off the brake and the truck has started to roll when I hear another loud "Heyyy!". At this point i'm thinking "Holy fuck if I put my foot down in this brake too hard she's gonna get slammed", so I gently depress the brake and put the truck in park (lurching the truck again). "GOD DAMNIIIT!" I hear, as I open the driver door. By the time I get to the back of the truck she is already out and I ask her if she's okay and she (understandably) lets out a harsh NO. "I am so sorry", I say. This woman is older, early sixties i'm guessing, so to see her out and walking so quick was a relief, but I was still certainly worried about the potential for her to be injured in some way. She storms off and my manager is out running an errand so I proceed to move the truck up the rest of the way so the cord would reach and start vacuuming.
I overhear her telling a coworker "I was standing on the toilet counting parts and I fell backwards." I don't doubt the story at all, that being said I didn't see it happen from the driver's seat, obviously. She ended up being OK with no sustained injuries but I still feel like a complete dumbass and terrible about the whole situation. My manager confronted me when he got back to the warehouse. Calmly he says , Jesus Christ man you gotta look in the back of the truck before you move it. I say, "Yeahh I knew she was back there I just got tunnel vision and wasn't thinking", and "Thank god she's OK because this could be an entirely different situation right now." He dismissed me for the rest of the day and told me to be more aware and that he won't send anything up to corporate since noone was injured.
TL;DR I got tunnel visuon on the length of a vacuum cord and forgot that there was a person standing in the back of a box truck when I tried to move it.
I plan on bringing her flowers tomorrow paired with a sincere apology and reassurance that what happened was not intentional even though I knew for a fact that she was back there.
submitted by NPCDoc to tifu [link] [comments]
My main task for the day was to clean out and detail the cabs of two company branded box trucks which were driven by employees who recently quit. The cabs were pretty dirty, they're work trucks, so I knew I had quite a bit of work ahead of me (which I was honest to god eager about). I work for a plumbing company, so our trucks are fully stocked with material: various pipe fittings, faucet parts, water heater parts, lots and lots of stuff. Since these employee quit, their trucks will be passed on to the next new hires, so they need to be "inventoried" and restocked. So a lady who works for our supplier was doing that all morning even before I started my task with the trucks, this is important because I saw, and even stopped to chat with her a couple times before the incident. I knew she was in there.
Everyone knows the first thing to do when you start detailing is vacuum. These trucks are parked inside our warehouse so I go out to my truck and grab my shopvac. Only problem is that the trucks are sort of centered in the warehouse and there are no outlets nearby. I make a second trip out to my truck for an extension cord, still not enough length. What's my solution? Well that's easy, no brainer!
Of course, I just need to move the truck up about 6 feet or so. I check to see if the keys are in the ignition, and they are so I turn the engine over. As soon as I put it in gear, I hear a yell from the back "Hey I'm in here!". At this point it's too late. These trucks are basically modified cargo vans that have had a larger box put on the back, and the transmission likes to lurch the truck around. My foot is about half way off the brake and the truck has started to roll when I hear another loud "Heyyy!". At this point i'm thinking "Holy fuck if I put my foot down in this brake too hard she's gonna get slammed", so I gently depress the brake and put the truck in park (lurching the truck again). "GOD DAMNIIIT!" I hear, as I open the driver door. By the time I get to the back of the truck she is already out and I ask her if she's okay and she (understandably) lets out a harsh NO. "I am so sorry", I say. This woman is older, early sixties i'm guessing, so to see her out and walking so quick was a relief, but I was still certainly worried about the potential for her to be injured in some way. She storms off and my manager is out running an errand so I proceed to move the truck up the rest of the way so the cord would reach and start vacuuming.
I overhear her telling a coworker "I was standing on the toilet counting parts and I fell backwards." I don't doubt the story at all, that being said I didn't see it happen from the driver's seat, obviously. She ended up being OK with no sustained injuries but I still feel like a complete dumbass and terrible about the whole situation. My manager confronted me when he got back to the warehouse. Calmly he says , Jesus Christ man you gotta look in the back of the truck before you move it. I say, "Yeahh I knew she was back there I just got tunnel vision and wasn't thinking", and "Thank god she's OK because this could be an entirely different situation right now." He dismissed me for the rest of the day and told me to be more aware and that he won't send anything up to corporate since noone was injured.
TL;DR I got tunnel visuon on the length of a vacuum cord and forgot that there was a person standing in the back of a box truck when I tried to move it.
I plan on bringing her flowers tomorrow paired with a sincere apology and reassurance that what happened was not intentional even though I knew for a fact that she was back there.
2023.03.29 04:06 Top-Waltz3184 HVAC fan hit or miss
2017 GMC SLT with 6.2 and dual zone HVAC. Stock as it came from the showroom aside from the cap and some window tint. 65,000 miles/
HVAC fan will work fine for a few weeks, then it will decide to not come on when you start the engine. Mode changes still work, you can hear them cycling. Fan might come on the next time you start it, might not. May take 4 engine start/stops before it comes on again. Then it may work fine for a month. Been acting like this for about a year.
I've pulled the blower and it spins free, all connections seem tight. I've smacked it with a screwdriver handle to see if that would 'wake' it up. Checked all the fuses and wiggled a ton of wires. No luck. Doesn't seem mechanical or electrical, but more computer control glitch. Something needs a software update??
Also, and possibly related, when I use the remote start, the fan will not come on like it used to after a minute. Makes pre-cooling or pre-heating pointless. But once I unlock and put the key in the ignition the fan will then work (unless it is having one of its' moods). BCM fault? I don't have a GM tec scanner, my cheapo doesn't show any codes.
Anyone have a problem like this?
https://preview.redd.it/fh2xd6aa6lqa1.jpg?width=1171&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=088174dd462e7f317576932f1cfc38c10b6d3278
submitted by Top-Waltz3184 to gmcsierra [link] [comments]
HVAC fan will work fine for a few weeks, then it will decide to not come on when you start the engine. Mode changes still work, you can hear them cycling. Fan might come on the next time you start it, might not. May take 4 engine start/stops before it comes on again. Then it may work fine for a month. Been acting like this for about a year.
I've pulled the blower and it spins free, all connections seem tight. I've smacked it with a screwdriver handle to see if that would 'wake' it up. Checked all the fuses and wiggled a ton of wires. No luck. Doesn't seem mechanical or electrical, but more computer control glitch. Something needs a software update??
Also, and possibly related, when I use the remote start, the fan will not come on like it used to after a minute. Makes pre-cooling or pre-heating pointless. But once I unlock and put the key in the ignition the fan will then work (unless it is having one of its' moods). BCM fault? I don't have a GM tec scanner, my cheapo doesn't show any codes.
Anyone have a problem like this?
https://preview.redd.it/fh2xd6aa6lqa1.jpg?width=1171&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=088174dd462e7f317576932f1cfc38c10b6d3278
2023.03.29 03:43 hparamore Casio PX135 digital piano - middle E key volume plays at full intensity/volume when pressed. Not sure how to fix.
Hey! Not sure if this is the right place, but I have been having some problems with this piano recently. All of the keys work great, and are responsive and everything, however the middle E always sounds as if I am pressing it down as hard as I can, even when I am softly pressing it. Makes everything sound out of wack when I happen to hit it and it's full volume.
Anyone know how to fix these? Or have any resources on how to clean it if something is stuck in it?
Thanks!
submitted by hparamore to piano [link] [comments]
Anyone know how to fix these? Or have any resources on how to clean it if something is stuck in it?
Thanks!
2023.03.29 03:35 AmoongussHateAcc Ixhel :(
Poor girl is stuck outside the Blind Eternities with no follow-up on anything that happened in her story. In fact, every authority figure that she was questioning got deleted. She's probably the highest-ranking Phyrexian by default now.
I guess there's a possibility that she can leave if she ignites in the Aftermath side stories, but given that nobody could get into Zhalfir I can't say I have high hopes for her to get out.
submitted by AmoongussHateAcc to mtgvorthos [link] [comments]
I guess there's a possibility that she can leave if she ignites in the Aftermath side stories, but given that nobody could get into Zhalfir I can't say I have high hopes for her to get out.
2023.03.29 03:01 Princesse-Tina writing and reading to eeprom does not work with data bigger than 8 bits ( eeconfig_update_user_datablock and eeconfig_read_user_datablock )
When I use the original (old) method to write to and read from eeprom, all is working fine
The old method is very limited (maximum 8 bits of data can be written/read)
(in keymap.c , function process_record_user, when I press a specified key)
uint8_t saved_data;
saved_data = 255;
eeconfig_update_debug(saved_data);
saved_data = 0;
saved_data = eeconfig_read_debug();
// here value of saved_data is 255
When I use the new method, it does not work
The new method is not limited (size is set by yourself in the code, and should not be greater than the available free memory of the firmware)
(I set the data size to 1 byte, so I keep the same code and limit the changes to make debugging easier)
(in quantum/eeconfig.h : define EECONFIG_USER_DATA_SIZE 1)
(in keymap.c , function process_record_user, when I press a specified key)
uint8_t saved_data;
saved_data = 255;
eeconfig_update_user_datablock(&saved_data);
saved_data = 0;
eeconfig_read_user_datablock(&saved_data);
// here, value of saved_data is 0
I updated to the last version of the github keychron repository
https://github.com/Keychron/qmk_firmware/tree/bluetooth_playground/keyboards/keychron
My keyboard is a Keychron K6 Pro Ansi Rgb
I am stuck because I don't know if it is an issue with
- my code/setup
- my keyboard
- all keychron keyboards
- all qmk keyboards
I would love to be able to store more than 8 bits to the eeprom (many projects about rgb configuration, keyboards settings, macro recording, .... which need to store some data to the eeprom)
Thank you very much for your help !
(I will cross post this message to /qmk and /keychron)
submitted by Princesse-Tina to qmk [link] [comments]
The old method is very limited (maximum 8 bits of data can be written/read)
(in keymap.c , function process_record_user, when I press a specified key)
uint8_t saved_data;
saved_data = 255;
eeconfig_update_debug(saved_data);
saved_data = 0;
saved_data = eeconfig_read_debug();
// here value of saved_data is 255
When I use the new method, it does not work
The new method is not limited (size is set by yourself in the code, and should not be greater than the available free memory of the firmware)
(I set the data size to 1 byte, so I keep the same code and limit the changes to make debugging easier)
(in quantum/eeconfig.h : define EECONFIG_USER_DATA_SIZE 1)
(in keymap.c , function process_record_user, when I press a specified key)
uint8_t saved_data;
saved_data = 255;
eeconfig_update_user_datablock(&saved_data);
saved_data = 0;
eeconfig_read_user_datablock(&saved_data);
// here, value of saved_data is 0
I updated to the last version of the github keychron repository
https://github.com/Keychron/qmk_firmware/tree/bluetooth_playground/keyboards/keychron
My keyboard is a Keychron K6 Pro Ansi Rgb
I am stuck because I don't know if it is an issue with
- my code/setup
- my keyboard
- all keychron keyboards
- all qmk keyboards
I would love to be able to store more than 8 bits to the eeprom (many projects about rgb configuration, keyboards settings, macro recording, .... which need to store some data to the eeprom)
Thank you very much for your help !
(I will cross post this message to /qmk and /keychron)
2023.03.29 02:22 Trash_Tia I’ve been talking to the boy next door through my window for a while. Update: The thing is… I don’t think he’s alive?
The boy next door is no longer an enigma.
No longer a mystery.
For the last few days, I have been laying low after Mrs Wilder kidnapped and threatened me in my own home. I’ve had barely any sleep and my lack of it has definitely disrupted my ability to write. I’m sorry if this update is messy or full of typos. I just don’t know what to do.
I’ve been a mess. I’ve been jumping at every movement. Every time there’s a knock on the door I feel part of myself splinter into pieces I can’t put back together. I did something crazy stupid two days ago. And that stupid mistake has fully exposed me to Mrs Wilder’s secret. What she is hiding behind her walls—and just how fucked I truly am if I disobey her again. Like I said, over the last several days I have been keeping my head down.
I went to school and did my homework and went to bed. That was it. When mom asked if I was talking to any Wilder kids, I shook my head. I had quickly grown afraid of Casper Wilder’s window. I knew something was wrong with him.
Something is wrong with his head.
He had told me. At least, the part of him which was bleeding between consciousness and a submissive state not being controlled by his psychotic mother. I saw him. I saw who he really was. I saw the boy next door crying out to me for help through bloodied fingers and cryptic messages splattered in scarlet. If he had intentionally hurt himself to get messages across to me, there was something he was fighting.
Mrs Wilder’s words were haunting me. The paper-doll rendition of me, blackened and smouldering orange between her nimble fingers-- I couldn’t get it out of my head.
So, I grabbed all the paper I could find and taped up my window, blocking him out. It sounds ridiculous. And it was. Because once I had spent over an hour feverishly taping pieces of paper over my window, I tore them down with a knot in my gut. When I clawed away the last piece of paper, I got a glimpse of Casper. His curtains were open, allowing me to see inside his room once more.
I saw a normal guy’s bedroom once again, guitars leaning against the walls, clothes strewn over the floor and sketchpads littering the bed. Warm light illuminated the window, and I wished what I was seeing was normal.
I wished I had seen nothing bad, and this was just the boy next door.
My completely normal neighbor.
But I couldn’t deny what I’d seen two nights ago. Casper Wilder wasn’t standing at his window with a twisted expression, a cocktail of pain and anger and confusion burning in mismatched eyes I was sure glinted with something metallic. Something man-made—which had been inserted, no, forced inside him.
I expected him to be awake. Even if it was just a single look in his eye which told me he was still there—still holding on. No. It was like nothing had ever happened. The window had been cleaned of blood, and there were no traces of the boy who had cried out for help. In his place was the Wilder son I had found friendship with. Before he cracked, and something inside him, something buried deep, deep, down, ignited. I missed that version of him. Who he used to be.
Because this guy was not Casper Wilder. I didn’t know who he was—and neither did he from the way he’d reacted days before. Underneath this name being forced onto him, there was nothing.
Just a broken kid with no name. No memory, except ones filled with her. I missed the personality Mrs Wilder was trying to hide. Who had told me she wasn’t his fucking mother, and sworn at me, his writing erratic and confusing, clawing into his head with this desperation to be let go.
Seeing him through the window at that moment, I realised, a sickly paste crawling up my throat, that all of that had been erased. He had returned to default. Casper was sitting on his bed playing guitar with a look of content, bed hair falling in sleepy eyes. He was wearing his glasses this time. His fingers moved up and down, feet bouncing to a beat I couldn’t hear.
Stumbling back, I tripped over my backpack with a shriek, which caught Casper’s attention.
When his head twisted around, empty eyes floating towards the window, I ducked. I couldn’t stop myself. After counting to ten, I slowly lifted my gaze.
He was still staring at me, and I noticed he’d stopped playing the guitar, fingers entangled in the strings. Casper’s smile had dimmed slightly. I wondered if seeing me brought something back. Maybe he remembered writing his own bloody messages on the window and trying and failing to speak through his mother’s control. The boy blinked at me before slowly getting to his feet. I didn’t see the chord thing this time. Casper strode over to the window, a giddy smile curling on the edges of his lips.
He pressed his palm against the glass, and I was already grabbing my notepad and a pen. But then his mother’s words sliced through my thoughts. I was back inside my lounge, foggy headed, the stink of pool cleaner still thick at the back of my nose and throat.
Mrs Wilder loomed over me, my paper-doll she had ravaged sticking from the doll-house on mom’s coffee table constructed from our letters. “I hope you understand that if you talk to, or even breathe the same air as my children again, I will rip you apart too.”
Her breath was heavy in my face. I couldn’t help looking at Mrs Becker for help, but her eyes were equally as cruel. I watched perfectly manicured nails pick up one of the four Wilder dolls, making it dance around in circles.
“Do you understand me, Phoebe?”
“Yes.” I said, my words twisted on my tongue.
“I… I understand.”
The memory was painful enough to feel physical knives digging into my gut. Mrs Wilder had made it clear that if I pursued her children, she was going to hurt me. Mom, too. I dropped my notepad and pen. Casper was still smiling at me. His eyes were vacant. He had no idea who I was after months of us talking. Mrs Wilder had taken all of it away. Including him breaking apart and waking up as a confused shell with no name. “Hello.” Casper’s lips mouthed the words, and I took several steps back, my heart in my throat.
He didn’t even blink. I watched his expression fail to flicker and wondered just how the fuck had I never noticed there was something wrong with him in the months I knew him. I watched him search his desk for a notepad and pen. Maybe seeing me was unravelling something inside him, I thought. Maybe I could try and wake him up again. At the back of my mind, however, I could still see my little paper doll’s head being torn off, its body ripped apart.
“What’s your name?” Casper had written in bubble writing. It’s like everything had been reset. His frenzied and wild eyes, that desperation to escape. Gone.
His handwriting was boiling my blood. Just looking at this perfect calligraphy which wasn’t even his. It had been forced onto him. Because Mrs Wilder expected this boy to be the perfect son, a creative prodigy like his siblings. I looked for a splinter in his eyes, just a glimpse that he was still in there. Still fighting whatever his ‘mother’ had done to him. But I saw nothing. I saw a blank fucking slate.
“Phoebe.” I mouthed.
Inclining his head, he scribbled a follow up message. “Can you write it down?”
Swallowing a lump in my throat, I shut my curtains, blocking him and his message out. Then I jumped into bed, turned off my light, and dreamed I was that paper-doll with no mouth to scream with, as Mrs Wilder slowly tore me limb from limb. The next day felt like a blur. I don’t think I snapped out of it until mom poked me with the prongs of her fork, tearing me from a scenario I was going over in my head.
If Casper was a prisoner, were his siblings too? I’d only caught a glimpse of Issac and Freddie Wilder. Mrs Wilder talked of being pregnant with four children. But she spoke like she had lost them. So, my guess was that she had kidnapped four teenager’s in their place—and was raising them as her dead children. “Are you okay, honey?”
Mom’s voice slid through my thoughts, and I realised I had been pushing my pasta around my plate. I wasn’t really hungry.
Mom had made this sort of red pepper spaghetti, but every time I tried to take a mouthful, I was seeing spatters of scarlet running from Casper’s temples, dripping down his face and smudged on the glass of his window. THUD. The image of him slamming his head into the pane, wild eyes and twisted lips, an agonising panic bringing him to the edge of hysteria caught me off guard, and my fork slipped through my fingers, tomato sauce slowly creeping its way back up my throat.
Fuck. I couldn’t forget about him. I couldn’t leave him and block him out after his mother had threatened me. Because if I didn’t help him, who would? It was my word against the town.
Mom cleared her throat
“Phoebe, are you listening to me?”
“Huh?”
“I said, have you been abiding by the rules?” Mom twirled pasta around her fork and took a dainty bite. Since joining Mrs Becker’s book club I had noticed a certain gleam in her eye. Like she was looking through me. “You haven’t been talking to the Wilder children, have you?”
“No.”
After three mouthfuls of spaghetti, I ended up with half of my dinner dripping down my face.
Mom grabbed a napkin, handing it to me. “Clean yourself up. You are seventeen, not seven.” Her expression softened. “Sweetie, are you okay?”
“Yes.” I said, struggling to appear it. I knew she could see my sleep circles.
“Have you been talking to the Wilder kids? I’ll know if you have.”
Technically, I had been communicating with him. But it was one-sided.
Still though, paranoia turned my thoughts against me. Shovelling down spaghetti, I spoke through a mouthful. “No.”
She handed me another napkin. “So, if I talk to Mrs Wilder…”
“Mom.” I grabbed her hand, squeezing it for dear life. Mrs Wilder knew, I thought dizzily. She must have known Casper’s attempt to talk to me, even if he was exactly who she wanted him to be. Still under her demented control. But it was confusing me just how she had that control. This wasn’t a movie or a TV show.
Mind control didn’t exist, right? And if it did, it was barely even a thing—induced by cocktails of drugs and torture. Casper didn’t look like he’d been tortured.
Except that thing inside his head… my thoughts grew foggy, and I was suddenly overcome with emotion. What I meant to tell her was all about what I had seen, and what Mrs Wilder had done to me. Though knowing what the woman was capable of, and thinking about that chord-like thing which surely had been forced into the back of Casper Wilder’s skull… “Can we just…move?” I choked out. “I want to move. I hate it here.” I gestured around.
“I hate this house. It’s too big, I feel like I’m lost every time I go upstairs. I hate school. The kids there freak me out.” Holding her gaze, I curled my lip. “And I hate our stupid neighbors.”
“Phoebe.” Mom’s tone darkened. “What did I tell you about being respectful?”
“It’s not like they can hear us!” I spat. “Did they fit cameras in here, mom? I wouldn’t be surprised! We’re under draconian rules!”
“Young lady, you are acting like a child.” She said stiffly. “Take several deep breaths and tell me what is wrong.”
“I’m fine.” I whispered.
“No, you are not.” Mom sipped red wine. “I know when there is something wrong with my daughter, and you cannot look me in the eye.”
I took a sharp breath and forced myself to stay calm. “Mom.” I sputtered through a sob. “It’s Mrs Wilder. She… she did something to me.”
Mom’s expression twisted. “What?”
“The other night,” I forced out. The images were flooding my head. Smouldering orange tearing its way through paper white. “She knocked me out, and she had this… dollhouse. And four paper dolls.”
I heaved out a breath. “She threatened me, mom. Mrs Wilder threatened me, and I need you to believe me.” I grabbed for her hand again, my own trembling. “Casper Wilder is not her son.” I said. The words felt foreign on my tongue. Wrong. They felt like a time bomb. “I think she kidnapped him. All of them. And she’s brainwashed them into thinking they’re her real kids.” There was a pause, and my mom’s expression didn’t change. So, I continued. “We need to call the police.” I reiterated. “Okay? You’re listening to me, aren’t you?” I swallowed sobs wracking my chest. “Because… you’re my mom. And you’re supposed to believe me.”
She surprised me with an eye-roll. “You are being ridiculous.”
THUD.
It felt like the walls were suddenly closing in. I could smell the stink of pool cleaner and Mrs Wilder’s perfume intoxicating my senses.
THUD.
I was seeing Casper slamming his head into his window once again, his eyes alive with a light I couldn’t understand. Like something was entwined inside his pupil.
THUD.
“Help me.”
God, it wouldn’t stop.
His voice. It was driving me crazy.
“I don’t know who I am.” Casper’s sobs echoed. “I don’t… I don’t fucking know who I am! I can’t remember… I can’t remember who I am!”
I could see his words clear in my mind, red scrawled against white until they were barely readable.
WHO.
AM.
I?
WHO AM I? WHO AM I? WHO AM I? I DON’T KNOW WHO I AM. THAT WOMAN IS NOT MY MOM.
I was going to be sick.
“Mom,” The words were choking from my mouth before I could stop them. I didn’t mean to sound so childlike, but that is exactly what I felt like. A child. I was alone. Drowning.
Looking at my mother’s curled lips, her eyes burning right through me, I felt myself start to come apart.
Like that stupid doll.
“Mom, please—”
She cut me off with a snort. “What? Is this because you're not allowed to talk to the boy next door? You’re creating your own narrative, and it’s… endearing. Childlike, but you are a child after all." Mom chuckled. “Sweetie, I know you love your mysteries, and sure, I can understand the cliché Romeo and Juliet thing going on, but really, there are plenty more fish in the sea. You don’t have to make up ridiculous scenarios.”
I let go of her hand, my toes curling. They didn’t sound like her words. They were someone else’s.
What was she talking about, ridiculous scenarios? Did my mother really think I was capable of imagining all of this shit?
I couldn’t reply. Not when part of me wondered if these were even her words. I had a strong suspicion my mom was just a puppet.
Like someone was talking through her.
“Do you like him?” Mom pressed. In her eyes, I could see Mrs Wilder was asking that question. “Is that why you’re being so… “ She trailed off with a sigh, and I glimpsed her fingers tighten around her wine glass, pressing enough pressure to leave marks on the rim. “Difficult?”
Mom’s lips splintered into a grin which wasn’t hers, and something inside me snapped. She was joking around.
When Casper was suffering, a prisoner of his own mind, my mother was treating me like I was fucking love-sick.
"No!" I shook my head. “No, I want to move.” I whispered. “I want to go back to our old house.”
“That’s not going to happen, sweetie. You know I can’t just leave my job. Phoebe, you’re a senior at school. You have SAT’S.”
“But—"
Her expression softened. “You’ll grow to like it. Don’t worry.” She said, before standing up and carrying our plates to the faucet. “I have a late shift tonight, so I expect your best behaviour.” I barely felt mom press a kiss to my forehead.
Her presence felt strange, like I wasn’t even seeing my mother. After what she said, I was sure her words were being pupiteered. When mom went to work, after yelling that there were leftovers on the counter, I was left with the soundtrack of a stupid dripping tap, and our humming refrigerator. I made several promises to myself in the time I was in the kitchen.
I would save Casper and his siblings, and then I’d force mom to drive all of us out of town. There were logistics I didn’t want to think about. These were feverish thoughts which controlled me. I had to get them out of that house. Time seemed to go by slowly. When I lifted my head from where I’d been staring at leftover meatballs I dropped onto the table, my phone vibrated in my jeans. Pulling it out, there was a DM regarding my post I wrote on here.
I read it. Then I read it again and again until I could process it.
“Film it. Literally get evidence of what is going on with Casper. You need people to believe you. And if people are going to believe you, you need to make a scene. If you want that house stormed, make as much noise as possible. I know it sounds stupid, but think about it like this. All you need is attention. Mrs Wilder can’t hide from the world if you show the world what’s going on. Good luck, Phoebe. Please be safe.”
-- A friend.
I was shaking when I knocked on the Wilder’s door fifteen minutes later. I knew exactly how to cause a scene.
Mrs Wilder answered, her expression cross between frustrated and bewildered. But I could barely focus on her, or the fact that she was holding a ladle like a weapon. The second the door opened revealing Casper’s mom drowning in a homely golden light, something slammed into me. Nothing physical, though it might as well have been. I forced myself to breathe through the stink which hit me like a brick to the face, suffocating my nose and mouth. Lavender. Not just lavender. The expensive flowers mom would get grocery shopping.
The ones which made me sneeze when I leaned too close. The house stunk of flowers—and that was just from standing on the threshold. But I knew better. I knew, once sweet smelling salts and flowers entwined in my senses, that the stink was to cover something up. And the more I edged closer over the threshold, the true smell of the Wilder house began to snake into my nose. Rot. I had once left a donut under my bed as a kid as an experiment to see if I could grow a whole new species. But this wasn’t mouldy food. It was far more potent. More like a decaying animal.
“Phoebe!” Mrs Wilder folded her arms across her apron. “I’m sorry, were my instructions not clear?” She cocked her head, an amused smile curving on her lips. She was triumphant, knowing exactly how to get under my skin. “Are you aware of what a restraining order is?”
Ignoring the smell choking the air, I held up my phone. “I’m live on Instagram.” I said. “Can I come in?”
I’m not sure why, but seeing her cheeks turn white made me feel like I was the one in control. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Live.” I repeated with a cheery wave. “On Instagram.”
I expected her to shove me back, or call out my bluff (yes, I was bluffing). Instead though, the women’s resolve seemed to crumble, her expression twisting, fear igniting in her eyes. She stammered for a moment, her gaze flashing to my phone before she wrapped her arms around herself and seemed to force a nod. “This is my house.” Her voice came out in a hiss.
Mrs Wilder was talking straight to the camera, and clearly faking terror. “Phoebe Daly, this is far past your usual games. This is… this is trespassing! Do you hear me? I’m calling the police!” Mrs Wilder didn’t call the police.
She held her phone to her ear but didn’t dare dial a number. I could see her options flitting across her eyes.
Was she going to attack me, or play it cool? Playing it cool, it was. With a face like thunder, she stumbled aside when I took a step forward and asked to be let inside. I wasn’t live on Instagram. I had barely 10 followers.
But she didn’t know that. Instead of being live, I was filming everything with my normal phone camera, angled at a height so she couldn’t slap it out of my hands. Watching her stumble back, panic twisting her expression into fury and frustration filled me with satisfaction. I had her. The crazy witch really thought I was streaming. I used that to my advantage, making sure to commentate to my imaginary audience as she led me down the main hallway, and I made sure to point the camera at everything I could see. Kids photographs covered neat paintwork.
But they were all different young children taken from a distance. Towards the end of the hall, what I saw did send my heart into my gut. And for a moment—just a brief second—I actually felt sympathy for Casper’s mom.
Four ultrasound’s.
I didn’t let the camera linger on them, instead going to the woman herself, who was following me, trying and failing to stall my effort to delve further inside the house. She stepped in front of me with a huff. “Phoebe. That is enough! You have terrorised me to no end!” her voice rose into a whine. “Whoever you are, Phoebe’s friends! This brat is targeting my children!”
“Casper!” I yelled, ignoring her. “Are you there?”
No answer.
My heart dropped into my gut, though I wasn’t giving up. I had the advantage, and I had to play to it.
“Casper!”
I ran up the first few steps leading upstairs, but Mrs Wilder seemed far too focused on shielding the door at the end of the hall.
“What’s in the kitchen?” I asked with a lump in my throat. Backing down the stairs, I made my way towards her.
“Nothing is in the kitchen!” she spat back, feigning innocence. “We’re having dinner if you must know. And you are ruining it!”
I shook my head. “This is Mrs Wilder,” I announced, pointing the phone at her. “She is holding four teenagers against their will and claiming them as her own children.” I said smoothly. When we reached a sliding glass door leading into the kitchen, I grabbed the handle with force.
Her rough hand slammed over mine, claw-like fingernails slicing my flesh. “Get out of my house,” she said stiffly. “Young lady, you are trespassing on my property.” Every word came out in globules of saliva hitting me in the face. “I have never met such a disruptive and outright disrespectful child without discipline. Your mother should be ashamed of herself.” She shot a nervous look at my phone camera.
“Where’s Mrs Becker?” I asked.
“What?”
Mrs Becker.” I repeated. “She helped you kidnap and scare me into staying quiet the other day. So, where is she?”
She spluttered, clearly caught off guard. “You are delusional!”
“Then show me them.” I said, pointing the camera at the door. “Your children, Mrs Wilder. I want you to show me Issac, Matilda, Freddie, and…” I swallowed hard. “And Casper.” Ignoring her steel grasp on the door handle, I pulled it open, trying to ignore the sudden squawking noise which had escaped her mouth, slamming into my ears. I can’t describe it. Mom has spoken about a mother instinct, and I wonder if it truly was that. This was animalistic. Feral.
Immediately, Mrs Wilder was behind me like a beast, her trembling arms trying to grasp hold of me and drag me back violently. But I was stronger, and desperate. I had to know the Wilder's secret. Stepping over the threshold, I was first aware of a far dimmer light. And when I fully focused on the room, I realised I was seeing candlelight. In front of me was a hardwood dining room table, and five chairs—four of which were occupied. The kitchen was a copy of our own. Except ours had always been lit up and bright.
It felt more like I was stepping inside a cave. An orangeade blur illuminated each face. Three out of four bodies sat stiff, almost… doll like. Mechanical. The way the three were facing me. Their expressions matched perfectly. Wide eyes and wider grins splitting lips apart. I drank each Wilder kid in slowly, as my brain struggled to take in the real horror of the room. What I was failing to fully take in. I couldn’t. I don’t think I could physically understand what I was seeing. I was aware my phone had slipped from my fingers, that I was paralysed to the spot.
The smell of stink and rot, I thought.
It was them.
I couldn’t move. There were three boys, and one girl. Matilda Wilder was a mousey redhead while her brothers were all brunettes. She wore a purple dress which fit her perfectly, her hair tied into pigtails with red ribbons. Issac and Freddie Wilder sat shoulder to shoulder.
They were the twins, I thought dizzily. They were identical twins in Mrs Wilder’s eyes, but these guys looked nothing like each other—one of them sporting a handsome face and razor jawline, while the other had an odd looking nose and jutting chin. Still though, I could tell Mrs Wilder had made an effort to make them look… beautiful. Perfect. I could see her attempt at stitching their lips together.
It wasn’t their appearance that was gluing me to the ground, however. Because looking closer, past the made-up faces on both the boys and the girls, the ribbons and fancy clothes and empty eyes staring right through me, soft candlelight was slowly bringing them to life in front of me. These kids had been hidden away for so long, and I was finally seeing them for who they were. My gaze flicked to each of them. I was seeing… stitches. I was seeing rugged stitches and gashes in their flesh, patchwork skin making up fingers and elbows and cheeks. They had been taken apart over and over again and put back together.
Matilda’s neck was a collage of flesh, rugged markings where a marker pen had clumsily sliced into her skin and pieced her like a jigsaw through mangled body parts and anything left over. Freddie and Isaac’s heads were cocked at an angle, and looking closer I glimpsed the bad stitch-job which had knitted them together.
I could see it in all of them. None of these kids were their original selves. They reminded me of dolls built through old doll pieces. I didn’t know I was screaming until the gravity of the situation hit me, and I realised I was suffocating on dead skin which made them up, their bodies stitched and knitted together, transforming them into her ideal children. Flickering candlelight revealed the last Wilder kid.
There were two significant things which were different about Casper.
The first, was that he must have been her most recent. He was her most… original—and the second? Unlike the others, he was awake.
Until that moment, Casper had been sitting amongst his siblings, head cocked to the side like the others, catatonic.
His dazed eyes slowly found mine—and I glimpsed recognition flickering in his expression, his rigid body starting to contort back to life. He was her paper-doll.
But Casper wasn’t finished.
“Phoebe?” When the boy spoke, his voice was barely a whimper. Frenzied eyes flicked from Matilda to Issac and Freddie, all of which were still wearing their perfect smiles. I noticed the rugged skin of his neck, and my heart sank.
Something was moving behind him, and I forced myself to step forwards. I glimpsed that same chord-like thing. This time it was fully attacked to him. No, it was buried directly inside his head. A sour paste crept up my throat when I saw the carnivorous hole burrowing deeper inside his head. I could glimpse the intense white of chipped skull and a strange looking fluid leaking out —but it looked… wrong. I’ve always imagined the internals of someone’s brain to be pinkish grey. Though what I was seeing was more like a black ooze sliding down the back of his neck. It reminded me of squid-ink. Definitely not blood.
It looked like he had been shot in the head, or had been pulled out of the operating theatre mid-surgery. And somehow, he was still alive. Just like the description, the chord-thing seemed to be attached in two places—to the back of the head, directly on the brain, and stapled to his spine. The device was humming, but I don’t think it was working.
Casper was looking directly at me, and the way his body was angled was different to his siblings. Instead of sitting straight, he was trying and failing to jump to his feet, his eyes wide, almost unseeing. I could see that frustration and anger, that pain from the other night alive in his face. I opened my mouth to speak, though Casper was already lifting a trembling hand, his fingers twining around the chord and giving a pathetic tug. A thin line of dark red, almost black, slid from his nostril.
I knew it was him. “Can you… can you get… it… out?” His hand found the chord again, and his grasp slipped. “Please.” He whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “There’s something… in my… my head, and I need you to… I need you to fucking get it out…. right now.”
“Casper.” I couldn’t resist a relieved hiss. “This woman.” I twisted and pointed at Mrs Wilder.
“Who is she to you?”
The kid blinked, his eyes narrowing. He jolted, twisting around to try and see the thing attached to him. “Why would I know her? Get this shit out of my head!”
He let out a hysterical yell. His cry was more of a demand, and that nameless boy underneath splintered doll pieces began to unravel.
“Get it out.” He kept repeating. “Fucking get it out! There’s something inside my head!”
I nodded, choking back a cry.
He slammed his hands down, but seemingly couldn’t move from the chair. “What the fuck.” He side eyed the others. “What the fuck is this?”
I struggled to answer without screaming myself. “Stuff.” I managed to get out through a sputter. “Can you stand up?”
“What?” He blinked rapidly at me, I was seeing it again. That odd light flickering in his pupils.
“No. I can’t move!”
The humming grew louder, and at the corner of my eye, that thing seemed to dig deeper inside his head.
More blood spurted from his nose, and I could tell that he was fighting it.
The boy’s eyes found mine, his words tangling into an almost slur. “Get it out! I can’t… I can’t fucking think straight. I…. I….”
His eyes rolled back for a moment before he shook his head, lunging against the chair. His head twitched. “I don’t know I am.”
I couldn’t move. Watching this thing take control in real time, it was both fascinating and horrifying, sending my knees buckling.
“Who… who am I?”
His whole head twitched, like he was glitching.
“I know her. I… I know her. I’m her… I’m her son… I’m her s—son.”
Casper hummed, his twitching lips pricking into a demented smile. “I’ll always know her. She’s the one who… who s---saved me.”
Choking on a shade too vivid and dark to be blood, he sputtered, his head drooping.
“Mom?” Casper spoke through mouthfuls of pooling black. He lifted his head, unseeing eyes blinking in dim candlelight. The chord-like thing sounded more like it was drilling into his brain, and I knew I was fucked when his lips spread out into a childlike smile, and he swayed to the left and then the right, the light in his eyes burning. “There’s… water.” He whispered. “So… so cold. I’m so cold.” His voice broke.
“I don’t… want to be cold.”
“You won’t be cold.” Mrs Wilder’s voice was a sharp cry behind me. “Ever again. Your mom is here.”
“Promise? You n… need to… prom…promise me.” His teeth chattered. “You need to… tell me… I won’t… be cold. That my mom… is coming.”
“I promise, darling.”
“Mommy?”
“No,” I swallowed back frustrated tears. “Casper, she’s not your mother!”
His next words split into a guttural screech which almost sent him toppling off of the chair. He grabbed at his head, clawing at face.
But the more he was tugging, the machine fought against him. I could see metallic clamp-like legs stubbornly holding on.
His next words were mangled between cries from his conscious self, and whatever the fuck his ‘mother’ was forcing into his head.
And yet it barely grazed my ears. I was trying to figure out how to get that monumental THING out of his brain. There was no way I could just pull it out. That could kill him, right?
I started forwards to grab him, to try and pry the clamp off his spine, before I was being smothered with the stink of rich lavender. I hadn’t noticed Mrs Wilder swipe up my phone. She was holding it up in the air. “Live? You were never filming anything, you stupid girl! Do you understand what you have done?” She laughed—and I mean cackled like a witch. “I warned you, didn’t I?”
I got one last glimpse of Casper. His whole body was jerking under the chord inside his head, but he wasn’t crying out anymore.
Before I knew what was happening, I was being dragged back, and in front of me a Wilder boy shoving his struggling brother back into the chair. I didn’t have time to cry out.
With strength I had no idea the crazy bitch had, I was being violently yanked by my hair. And while I was flailing, I saw the ultrasound’s once again. Looking closer though, each one had a different name. A different mother. My head spun. That couldn’t be right. Mrs Wilder told me she was pregnant with four children, so who’s ultrasound’s were these? And why had she framed them? I didn’t have time to check it out.
I was dumped on my ass and the door was slammed straight in my face. I tried to get back in, throwing my fists into the door, until my own mother’s arms were pulling me back. I was hysterical. I couldn’t breathe, and mom wasn’t getting through to me. I’d kicked and thrown myself into the door, attracting the attention of our neighbours. That’s what I wanted. I wanted one of them to call the police, and when I picked up a brick, struggling against mom’s attempt to restrain me, and throwing it through the Wilder’s front window, I finally got it.
Two cops arrived, and I was so relieved I almost sobbed into one officer's chest. While my mom was trying and failing to explain my “breakdown” I begged them to take a look inside. And I was loud. I was screaming.
Which they couldn’t ignore.
“Phoebe!” I was partially aware of mom’s voice trying to calm me down, but I all I could see was that thing in Casper’s head, and his siblings made from knitted flesh. When the officer’s exited the Wilder’s house after five painful minutes waiting, I stumbled over to the two.
“Well?” I demanded, shoving away my mom. “Did you see them?” I yelled. “She’s turned them into… into dolls!” I was already going on a tangent, hysteria plunging me further into my own insanity.
“They’re not her children.” I gritted out. “She kidnapped and.. and stitched them up like… like Frankenstein! Mrs Wilder likes dolls! She had this paper-doll of me when she kidnapped me and lit it on fire to threaten me because I was talking to Casper. And he… he’s one of them, and not even her son! She’s controlling his mind with this thing stuck inside—"
“That’s enough!” Mom snapped.
The officer in front of me chuckled. “Breathe, kid!” He said. “Jeez. You’re not even giving us time to talk.”
“What?”
Instead of speaking to me directly, the officer turned to mom. “There’s nothing out of the ordinary, ma’am.” He said. “The Wilder’s were enjoying a family dinner, and…” his gaze flashed to me. “Well. It appears someone ruined it. There are no current reports of child abduction.”
I couldn’t resist a laugh. “Are you serious? Did you not… did you not see—”
He cut me off. “There they are!” He chuckled. “The Wilder siblings!” The officer saluted the four of them who had wandered outside trailing their mother. Ignoring the other three, I made my way over to Casper. But he looked… I don’t know, he looked like he usually did through his window? There were no stitches or patchwork skin. He was wearing a beanie, and I reached to yank it off, when his hand caught mine.
He was freezing cold.
His skin felt almost slimy, like I was touching the skin of a dead fish. I wanted to hold on, to force the cops to believe me, but he was already speaking—his voice was different, a lot deeper than the hysterical cry of the boy underneath. “Mom?” Casper’s eyes were cold. He shoved my hand away before taking a shaky step back. Like I was crazy. He quickly joined his siblings.
“Who is this girl?”
“We’re going home.” Mom said, grasping my arm. “Can’t you see you’ve embarrassed me enough?”
“Phoebe, huh?”
I turned to find the other Wilder kids. The guy with the jawline still had that doll-like smile. “Please leave our brother alone.”
I couldn’t resist spitting at him. “He’s not your brother. You’re brainwashed.”
Something in his expression seemed to twitch suddenly. Mom tried to pull me back, but I stubbornly stayed where I was.
Issac or Freddie cocked his head. “Brain... washed?"
He started to speak, before Mrs Wilder ushered them all away. But I did notice him turn back to frown at me.
Needless to say, I was grounded—and threatened with a restraining order.
That didn’t stop me peeking through the gap in Casper’s curtains that night. I caught him stumbling around, struggling to get the chord-thing out of his head with manic hands. He came over to the window several times, his bloody hands slamming into the window before slipping away. I'm not sure, but I don't think he knew why his legs kept drawing him to the window.
Mrs Wilder joined him soon after, forcing him to bite into something plastic, as she led him to sit on the bed, her fingers wrapping around the chord, and yanking it out. I didn't hear his scream, but his reaction to it, body writhing, eyes squeezing shut, I knew he could feel it. And part of him was awake. Just part of him.
Not the parts who knew our window sessions and his horrifying reality.
Casper came to his window all bandaged up. He didn’t hold up a message, and his eyes were vacant.
Though his expression told me everything I needed to know.
Engines woke me up several hours later. It was midnight. Sliding out of bed, my gaze went straight to Casper’s window. But it was dark. I pressed my face against my own window and glimpsed Mrs Wilder standing on her lawn in her robe.
A car pulled up, and the cop from earlier jumped out. In his arms was what looked like a body bag. He dropped it on the ground. “Freshly dead.” He said, when I opened my window to hear what was being said. “Car crash. Victim is male. Eighteen years old.” He folded his arms with a light laugh. “I got him straight from the morgue. His parents think there’s no body.” Both of them knelt next to the bag, and Mrs Wilder zipped it open with a hiss.
When the bag jolted suddenly, I realised the body was still alive.
The officer stumbled back. “Jesus. I didn’t even use that much. You said a single shot, right?”
“Mmm.”
Mrs Wilder pulled out a carving knife from her robe, and I felt my entire body turn to ice.
The cop raised a brow. “You came prepared.”
She sighed, her hands on her hips. “He’s spare parts. The expiry is approaching which is why they’re… acting out.”
With startling precision, she aimed the knife above what I guessed was the body’s head, before bringing it down with a sickening crunch. The bag stopped squirming.
I can’t remember anything else from that night.
My mother was gone the next morning. A paper doll replica of her was sitting next to a note and a plate of freshly baked cookies.
...
“Dearest, Phoebe.
I baked these thinking of you! And my, you should be grateful I have even bothered to do this after playing your games last night. Honestly, I am not the monster you think I am. Your mom asked me to let you know she will be busy with me for a few hours.
I’ve been asked to take care of you, so here are some chocolate cookies! Please maintain the rule I set in place and do not go near or talk to my children. I’m sure you know what will happen if you happen to slip up. I took the liberty of asking your mother to fit specialised devices in your room so I know when you are talking to my son. Writing equipment has been taken away. I hope we can be friends and I can start calling you my daughter. If something were to happen to your mom, do not worry. I will take you in. I want you to remember that.
Love,
Mrs Wilder.
PS: I can’t wait for you to (not) meet my newest son!
submitted by Trash_Tia to TheCrypticCompendium [link] [comments]
No longer a mystery.
For the last few days, I have been laying low after Mrs Wilder kidnapped and threatened me in my own home. I’ve had barely any sleep and my lack of it has definitely disrupted my ability to write. I’m sorry if this update is messy or full of typos. I just don’t know what to do.
I’ve been a mess. I’ve been jumping at every movement. Every time there’s a knock on the door I feel part of myself splinter into pieces I can’t put back together. I did something crazy stupid two days ago. And that stupid mistake has fully exposed me to Mrs Wilder’s secret. What she is hiding behind her walls—and just how fucked I truly am if I disobey her again. Like I said, over the last several days I have been keeping my head down.
I went to school and did my homework and went to bed. That was it. When mom asked if I was talking to any Wilder kids, I shook my head. I had quickly grown afraid of Casper Wilder’s window. I knew something was wrong with him.
Something is wrong with his head.
He had told me. At least, the part of him which was bleeding between consciousness and a submissive state not being controlled by his psychotic mother. I saw him. I saw who he really was. I saw the boy next door crying out to me for help through bloodied fingers and cryptic messages splattered in scarlet. If he had intentionally hurt himself to get messages across to me, there was something he was fighting.
Mrs Wilder’s words were haunting me. The paper-doll rendition of me, blackened and smouldering orange between her nimble fingers-- I couldn’t get it out of my head.
So, I grabbed all the paper I could find and taped up my window, blocking him out. It sounds ridiculous. And it was. Because once I had spent over an hour feverishly taping pieces of paper over my window, I tore them down with a knot in my gut. When I clawed away the last piece of paper, I got a glimpse of Casper. His curtains were open, allowing me to see inside his room once more.
I saw a normal guy’s bedroom once again, guitars leaning against the walls, clothes strewn over the floor and sketchpads littering the bed. Warm light illuminated the window, and I wished what I was seeing was normal.
I wished I had seen nothing bad, and this was just the boy next door.
My completely normal neighbor.
But I couldn’t deny what I’d seen two nights ago. Casper Wilder wasn’t standing at his window with a twisted expression, a cocktail of pain and anger and confusion burning in mismatched eyes I was sure glinted with something metallic. Something man-made—which had been inserted, no, forced inside him.
I expected him to be awake. Even if it was just a single look in his eye which told me he was still there—still holding on. No. It was like nothing had ever happened. The window had been cleaned of blood, and there were no traces of the boy who had cried out for help. In his place was the Wilder son I had found friendship with. Before he cracked, and something inside him, something buried deep, deep, down, ignited. I missed that version of him. Who he used to be.
Because this guy was not Casper Wilder. I didn’t know who he was—and neither did he from the way he’d reacted days before. Underneath this name being forced onto him, there was nothing.
Just a broken kid with no name. No memory, except ones filled with her. I missed the personality Mrs Wilder was trying to hide. Who had told me she wasn’t his fucking mother, and sworn at me, his writing erratic and confusing, clawing into his head with this desperation to be let go.
Seeing him through the window at that moment, I realised, a sickly paste crawling up my throat, that all of that had been erased. He had returned to default. Casper was sitting on his bed playing guitar with a look of content, bed hair falling in sleepy eyes. He was wearing his glasses this time. His fingers moved up and down, feet bouncing to a beat I couldn’t hear.
Stumbling back, I tripped over my backpack with a shriek, which caught Casper’s attention.
When his head twisted around, empty eyes floating towards the window, I ducked. I couldn’t stop myself. After counting to ten, I slowly lifted my gaze.
He was still staring at me, and I noticed he’d stopped playing the guitar, fingers entangled in the strings. Casper’s smile had dimmed slightly. I wondered if seeing me brought something back. Maybe he remembered writing his own bloody messages on the window and trying and failing to speak through his mother’s control. The boy blinked at me before slowly getting to his feet. I didn’t see the chord thing this time. Casper strode over to the window, a giddy smile curling on the edges of his lips.
He pressed his palm against the glass, and I was already grabbing my notepad and a pen. But then his mother’s words sliced through my thoughts. I was back inside my lounge, foggy headed, the stink of pool cleaner still thick at the back of my nose and throat.
Mrs Wilder loomed over me, my paper-doll she had ravaged sticking from the doll-house on mom’s coffee table constructed from our letters. “I hope you understand that if you talk to, or even breathe the same air as my children again, I will rip you apart too.”
Her breath was heavy in my face. I couldn’t help looking at Mrs Becker for help, but her eyes were equally as cruel. I watched perfectly manicured nails pick up one of the four Wilder dolls, making it dance around in circles.
“Do you understand me, Phoebe?”
“Yes.” I said, my words twisted on my tongue.
“I… I understand.”
The memory was painful enough to feel physical knives digging into my gut. Mrs Wilder had made it clear that if I pursued her children, she was going to hurt me. Mom, too. I dropped my notepad and pen. Casper was still smiling at me. His eyes were vacant. He had no idea who I was after months of us talking. Mrs Wilder had taken all of it away. Including him breaking apart and waking up as a confused shell with no name. “Hello.” Casper’s lips mouthed the words, and I took several steps back, my heart in my throat.
He didn’t even blink. I watched his expression fail to flicker and wondered just how the fuck had I never noticed there was something wrong with him in the months I knew him. I watched him search his desk for a notepad and pen. Maybe seeing me was unravelling something inside him, I thought. Maybe I could try and wake him up again. At the back of my mind, however, I could still see my little paper doll’s head being torn off, its body ripped apart.
“What’s your name?” Casper had written in bubble writing. It’s like everything had been reset. His frenzied and wild eyes, that desperation to escape. Gone.
His handwriting was boiling my blood. Just looking at this perfect calligraphy which wasn’t even his. It had been forced onto him. Because Mrs Wilder expected this boy to be the perfect son, a creative prodigy like his siblings. I looked for a splinter in his eyes, just a glimpse that he was still in there. Still fighting whatever his ‘mother’ had done to him. But I saw nothing. I saw a blank fucking slate.
“Phoebe.” I mouthed.
Inclining his head, he scribbled a follow up message. “Can you write it down?”
Swallowing a lump in my throat, I shut my curtains, blocking him and his message out. Then I jumped into bed, turned off my light, and dreamed I was that paper-doll with no mouth to scream with, as Mrs Wilder slowly tore me limb from limb. The next day felt like a blur. I don’t think I snapped out of it until mom poked me with the prongs of her fork, tearing me from a scenario I was going over in my head.
If Casper was a prisoner, were his siblings too? I’d only caught a glimpse of Issac and Freddie Wilder. Mrs Wilder talked of being pregnant with four children. But she spoke like she had lost them. So, my guess was that she had kidnapped four teenager’s in their place—and was raising them as her dead children. “Are you okay, honey?”
Mom’s voice slid through my thoughts, and I realised I had been pushing my pasta around my plate. I wasn’t really hungry.
Mom had made this sort of red pepper spaghetti, but every time I tried to take a mouthful, I was seeing spatters of scarlet running from Casper’s temples, dripping down his face and smudged on the glass of his window. THUD. The image of him slamming his head into the pane, wild eyes and twisted lips, an agonising panic bringing him to the edge of hysteria caught me off guard, and my fork slipped through my fingers, tomato sauce slowly creeping its way back up my throat.
Fuck. I couldn’t forget about him. I couldn’t leave him and block him out after his mother had threatened me. Because if I didn’t help him, who would? It was my word against the town.
Mom cleared her throat
“Phoebe, are you listening to me?”
“Huh?”
“I said, have you been abiding by the rules?” Mom twirled pasta around her fork and took a dainty bite. Since joining Mrs Becker’s book club I had noticed a certain gleam in her eye. Like she was looking through me. “You haven’t been talking to the Wilder children, have you?”
“No.”
After three mouthfuls of spaghetti, I ended up with half of my dinner dripping down my face.
Mom grabbed a napkin, handing it to me. “Clean yourself up. You are seventeen, not seven.” Her expression softened. “Sweetie, are you okay?”
“Yes.” I said, struggling to appear it. I knew she could see my sleep circles.
“Have you been talking to the Wilder kids? I’ll know if you have.”
Technically, I had been communicating with him. But it was one-sided.
Still though, paranoia turned my thoughts against me. Shovelling down spaghetti, I spoke through a mouthful. “No.”
She handed me another napkin. “So, if I talk to Mrs Wilder…”
“Mom.” I grabbed her hand, squeezing it for dear life. Mrs Wilder knew, I thought dizzily. She must have known Casper’s attempt to talk to me, even if he was exactly who she wanted him to be. Still under her demented control. But it was confusing me just how she had that control. This wasn’t a movie or a TV show.
Mind control didn’t exist, right? And if it did, it was barely even a thing—induced by cocktails of drugs and torture. Casper didn’t look like he’d been tortured.
Except that thing inside his head… my thoughts grew foggy, and I was suddenly overcome with emotion. What I meant to tell her was all about what I had seen, and what Mrs Wilder had done to me. Though knowing what the woman was capable of, and thinking about that chord-like thing which surely had been forced into the back of Casper Wilder’s skull… “Can we just…move?” I choked out. “I want to move. I hate it here.” I gestured around.
“I hate this house. It’s too big, I feel like I’m lost every time I go upstairs. I hate school. The kids there freak me out.” Holding her gaze, I curled my lip. “And I hate our stupid neighbors.”
“Phoebe.” Mom’s tone darkened. “What did I tell you about being respectful?”
“It’s not like they can hear us!” I spat. “Did they fit cameras in here, mom? I wouldn’t be surprised! We’re under draconian rules!”
“Young lady, you are acting like a child.” She said stiffly. “Take several deep breaths and tell me what is wrong.”
“I’m fine.” I whispered.
“No, you are not.” Mom sipped red wine. “I know when there is something wrong with my daughter, and you cannot look me in the eye.”
I took a sharp breath and forced myself to stay calm. “Mom.” I sputtered through a sob. “It’s Mrs Wilder. She… she did something to me.”
Mom’s expression twisted. “What?”
“The other night,” I forced out. The images were flooding my head. Smouldering orange tearing its way through paper white. “She knocked me out, and she had this… dollhouse. And four paper dolls.”
I heaved out a breath. “She threatened me, mom. Mrs Wilder threatened me, and I need you to believe me.” I grabbed for her hand again, my own trembling. “Casper Wilder is not her son.” I said. The words felt foreign on my tongue. Wrong. They felt like a time bomb. “I think she kidnapped him. All of them. And she’s brainwashed them into thinking they’re her real kids.” There was a pause, and my mom’s expression didn’t change. So, I continued. “We need to call the police.” I reiterated. “Okay? You’re listening to me, aren’t you?” I swallowed sobs wracking my chest. “Because… you’re my mom. And you’re supposed to believe me.”
She surprised me with an eye-roll. “You are being ridiculous.”
THUD.
It felt like the walls were suddenly closing in. I could smell the stink of pool cleaner and Mrs Wilder’s perfume intoxicating my senses.
THUD.
I was seeing Casper slamming his head into his window once again, his eyes alive with a light I couldn’t understand. Like something was entwined inside his pupil.
THUD.
“Help me.”
God, it wouldn’t stop.
His voice. It was driving me crazy.
“I don’t know who I am.” Casper’s sobs echoed. “I don’t… I don’t fucking know who I am! I can’t remember… I can’t remember who I am!”
I could see his words clear in my mind, red scrawled against white until they were barely readable.
WHO.
AM.
I?
WHO AM I? WHO AM I? WHO AM I? I DON’T KNOW WHO I AM. THAT WOMAN IS NOT MY MOM.
I was going to be sick.
“Mom,” The words were choking from my mouth before I could stop them. I didn’t mean to sound so childlike, but that is exactly what I felt like. A child. I was alone. Drowning.
Looking at my mother’s curled lips, her eyes burning right through me, I felt myself start to come apart.
Like that stupid doll.
“Mom, please—”
She cut me off with a snort. “What? Is this because you're not allowed to talk to the boy next door? You’re creating your own narrative, and it’s… endearing. Childlike, but you are a child after all." Mom chuckled. “Sweetie, I know you love your mysteries, and sure, I can understand the cliché Romeo and Juliet thing going on, but really, there are plenty more fish in the sea. You don’t have to make up ridiculous scenarios.”
I let go of her hand, my toes curling. They didn’t sound like her words. They were someone else’s.
What was she talking about, ridiculous scenarios? Did my mother really think I was capable of imagining all of this shit?
I couldn’t reply. Not when part of me wondered if these were even her words. I had a strong suspicion my mom was just a puppet.
Like someone was talking through her.
“Do you like him?” Mom pressed. In her eyes, I could see Mrs Wilder was asking that question. “Is that why you’re being so… “ She trailed off with a sigh, and I glimpsed her fingers tighten around her wine glass, pressing enough pressure to leave marks on the rim. “Difficult?”
Mom’s lips splintered into a grin which wasn’t hers, and something inside me snapped. She was joking around.
When Casper was suffering, a prisoner of his own mind, my mother was treating me like I was fucking love-sick.
"No!" I shook my head. “No, I want to move.” I whispered. “I want to go back to our old house.”
“That’s not going to happen, sweetie. You know I can’t just leave my job. Phoebe, you’re a senior at school. You have SAT’S.”
“But—"
Her expression softened. “You’ll grow to like it. Don’t worry.” She said, before standing up and carrying our plates to the faucet. “I have a late shift tonight, so I expect your best behaviour.” I barely felt mom press a kiss to my forehead.
Her presence felt strange, like I wasn’t even seeing my mother. After what she said, I was sure her words were being pupiteered. When mom went to work, after yelling that there were leftovers on the counter, I was left with the soundtrack of a stupid dripping tap, and our humming refrigerator. I made several promises to myself in the time I was in the kitchen.
I would save Casper and his siblings, and then I’d force mom to drive all of us out of town. There were logistics I didn’t want to think about. These were feverish thoughts which controlled me. I had to get them out of that house. Time seemed to go by slowly. When I lifted my head from where I’d been staring at leftover meatballs I dropped onto the table, my phone vibrated in my jeans. Pulling it out, there was a DM regarding my post I wrote on here.
I read it. Then I read it again and again until I could process it.
“Film it. Literally get evidence of what is going on with Casper. You need people to believe you. And if people are going to believe you, you need to make a scene. If you want that house stormed, make as much noise as possible. I know it sounds stupid, but think about it like this. All you need is attention. Mrs Wilder can’t hide from the world if you show the world what’s going on. Good luck, Phoebe. Please be safe.”
-- A friend.
I was shaking when I knocked on the Wilder’s door fifteen minutes later. I knew exactly how to cause a scene.
Mrs Wilder answered, her expression cross between frustrated and bewildered. But I could barely focus on her, or the fact that she was holding a ladle like a weapon. The second the door opened revealing Casper’s mom drowning in a homely golden light, something slammed into me. Nothing physical, though it might as well have been. I forced myself to breathe through the stink which hit me like a brick to the face, suffocating my nose and mouth. Lavender. Not just lavender. The expensive flowers mom would get grocery shopping.
The ones which made me sneeze when I leaned too close. The house stunk of flowers—and that was just from standing on the threshold. But I knew better. I knew, once sweet smelling salts and flowers entwined in my senses, that the stink was to cover something up. And the more I edged closer over the threshold, the true smell of the Wilder house began to snake into my nose. Rot. I had once left a donut under my bed as a kid as an experiment to see if I could grow a whole new species. But this wasn’t mouldy food. It was far more potent. More like a decaying animal.
“Phoebe!” Mrs Wilder folded her arms across her apron. “I’m sorry, were my instructions not clear?” She cocked her head, an amused smile curving on her lips. She was triumphant, knowing exactly how to get under my skin. “Are you aware of what a restraining order is?”
Ignoring the smell choking the air, I held up my phone. “I’m live on Instagram.” I said. “Can I come in?”
I’m not sure why, but seeing her cheeks turn white made me feel like I was the one in control. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Live.” I repeated with a cheery wave. “On Instagram.”
I expected her to shove me back, or call out my bluff (yes, I was bluffing). Instead though, the women’s resolve seemed to crumble, her expression twisting, fear igniting in her eyes. She stammered for a moment, her gaze flashing to my phone before she wrapped her arms around herself and seemed to force a nod. “This is my house.” Her voice came out in a hiss.
Mrs Wilder was talking straight to the camera, and clearly faking terror. “Phoebe Daly, this is far past your usual games. This is… this is trespassing! Do you hear me? I’m calling the police!” Mrs Wilder didn’t call the police.
She held her phone to her ear but didn’t dare dial a number. I could see her options flitting across her eyes.
Was she going to attack me, or play it cool? Playing it cool, it was. With a face like thunder, she stumbled aside when I took a step forward and asked to be let inside. I wasn’t live on Instagram. I had barely 10 followers.
But she didn’t know that. Instead of being live, I was filming everything with my normal phone camera, angled at a height so she couldn’t slap it out of my hands. Watching her stumble back, panic twisting her expression into fury and frustration filled me with satisfaction. I had her. The crazy witch really thought I was streaming. I used that to my advantage, making sure to commentate to my imaginary audience as she led me down the main hallway, and I made sure to point the camera at everything I could see. Kids photographs covered neat paintwork.
But they were all different young children taken from a distance. Towards the end of the hall, what I saw did send my heart into my gut. And for a moment—just a brief second—I actually felt sympathy for Casper’s mom.
Four ultrasound’s.
I didn’t let the camera linger on them, instead going to the woman herself, who was following me, trying and failing to stall my effort to delve further inside the house. She stepped in front of me with a huff. “Phoebe. That is enough! You have terrorised me to no end!” her voice rose into a whine. “Whoever you are, Phoebe’s friends! This brat is targeting my children!”
“Casper!” I yelled, ignoring her. “Are you there?”
No answer.
My heart dropped into my gut, though I wasn’t giving up. I had the advantage, and I had to play to it.
“Casper!”
I ran up the first few steps leading upstairs, but Mrs Wilder seemed far too focused on shielding the door at the end of the hall.
“What’s in the kitchen?” I asked with a lump in my throat. Backing down the stairs, I made my way towards her.
“Nothing is in the kitchen!” she spat back, feigning innocence. “We’re having dinner if you must know. And you are ruining it!”
I shook my head. “This is Mrs Wilder,” I announced, pointing the phone at her. “She is holding four teenagers against their will and claiming them as her own children.” I said smoothly. When we reached a sliding glass door leading into the kitchen, I grabbed the handle with force.
Her rough hand slammed over mine, claw-like fingernails slicing my flesh. “Get out of my house,” she said stiffly. “Young lady, you are trespassing on my property.” Every word came out in globules of saliva hitting me in the face. “I have never met such a disruptive and outright disrespectful child without discipline. Your mother should be ashamed of herself.” She shot a nervous look at my phone camera.
“Where’s Mrs Becker?” I asked.
“What?”
Mrs Becker.” I repeated. “She helped you kidnap and scare me into staying quiet the other day. So, where is she?”
She spluttered, clearly caught off guard. “You are delusional!”
“Then show me them.” I said, pointing the camera at the door. “Your children, Mrs Wilder. I want you to show me Issac, Matilda, Freddie, and…” I swallowed hard. “And Casper.” Ignoring her steel grasp on the door handle, I pulled it open, trying to ignore the sudden squawking noise which had escaped her mouth, slamming into my ears. I can’t describe it. Mom has spoken about a mother instinct, and I wonder if it truly was that. This was animalistic. Feral.
Immediately, Mrs Wilder was behind me like a beast, her trembling arms trying to grasp hold of me and drag me back violently. But I was stronger, and desperate. I had to know the Wilder's secret. Stepping over the threshold, I was first aware of a far dimmer light. And when I fully focused on the room, I realised I was seeing candlelight. In front of me was a hardwood dining room table, and five chairs—four of which were occupied. The kitchen was a copy of our own. Except ours had always been lit up and bright.
It felt more like I was stepping inside a cave. An orangeade blur illuminated each face. Three out of four bodies sat stiff, almost… doll like. Mechanical. The way the three were facing me. Their expressions matched perfectly. Wide eyes and wider grins splitting lips apart. I drank each Wilder kid in slowly, as my brain struggled to take in the real horror of the room. What I was failing to fully take in. I couldn’t. I don’t think I could physically understand what I was seeing. I was aware my phone had slipped from my fingers, that I was paralysed to the spot.
The smell of stink and rot, I thought.
It was them.
I couldn’t move. There were three boys, and one girl. Matilda Wilder was a mousey redhead while her brothers were all brunettes. She wore a purple dress which fit her perfectly, her hair tied into pigtails with red ribbons. Issac and Freddie Wilder sat shoulder to shoulder.
They were the twins, I thought dizzily. They were identical twins in Mrs Wilder’s eyes, but these guys looked nothing like each other—one of them sporting a handsome face and razor jawline, while the other had an odd looking nose and jutting chin. Still though, I could tell Mrs Wilder had made an effort to make them look… beautiful. Perfect. I could see her attempt at stitching their lips together.
It wasn’t their appearance that was gluing me to the ground, however. Because looking closer, past the made-up faces on both the boys and the girls, the ribbons and fancy clothes and empty eyes staring right through me, soft candlelight was slowly bringing them to life in front of me. These kids had been hidden away for so long, and I was finally seeing them for who they were. My gaze flicked to each of them. I was seeing… stitches. I was seeing rugged stitches and gashes in their flesh, patchwork skin making up fingers and elbows and cheeks. They had been taken apart over and over again and put back together.
Matilda’s neck was a collage of flesh, rugged markings where a marker pen had clumsily sliced into her skin and pieced her like a jigsaw through mangled body parts and anything left over. Freddie and Isaac’s heads were cocked at an angle, and looking closer I glimpsed the bad stitch-job which had knitted them together.
I could see it in all of them. None of these kids were their original selves. They reminded me of dolls built through old doll pieces. I didn’t know I was screaming until the gravity of the situation hit me, and I realised I was suffocating on dead skin which made them up, their bodies stitched and knitted together, transforming them into her ideal children. Flickering candlelight revealed the last Wilder kid.
There were two significant things which were different about Casper.
The first, was that he must have been her most recent. He was her most… original—and the second? Unlike the others, he was awake.
Until that moment, Casper had been sitting amongst his siblings, head cocked to the side like the others, catatonic.
His dazed eyes slowly found mine—and I glimpsed recognition flickering in his expression, his rigid body starting to contort back to life. He was her paper-doll.
But Casper wasn’t finished.
“Phoebe?” When the boy spoke, his voice was barely a whimper. Frenzied eyes flicked from Matilda to Issac and Freddie, all of which were still wearing their perfect smiles. I noticed the rugged skin of his neck, and my heart sank.
Something was moving behind him, and I forced myself to step forwards. I glimpsed that same chord-like thing. This time it was fully attacked to him. No, it was buried directly inside his head. A sour paste crept up my throat when I saw the carnivorous hole burrowing deeper inside his head. I could glimpse the intense white of chipped skull and a strange looking fluid leaking out —but it looked… wrong. I’ve always imagined the internals of someone’s brain to be pinkish grey. Though what I was seeing was more like a black ooze sliding down the back of his neck. It reminded me of squid-ink. Definitely not blood.
It looked like he had been shot in the head, or had been pulled out of the operating theatre mid-surgery. And somehow, he was still alive. Just like the description, the chord-thing seemed to be attached in two places—to the back of the head, directly on the brain, and stapled to his spine. The device was humming, but I don’t think it was working.
Casper was looking directly at me, and the way his body was angled was different to his siblings. Instead of sitting straight, he was trying and failing to jump to his feet, his eyes wide, almost unseeing. I could see that frustration and anger, that pain from the other night alive in his face. I opened my mouth to speak, though Casper was already lifting a trembling hand, his fingers twining around the chord and giving a pathetic tug. A thin line of dark red, almost black, slid from his nostril.
I knew it was him. “Can you… can you get… it… out?” His hand found the chord again, and his grasp slipped. “Please.” He whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “There’s something… in my… my head, and I need you to… I need you to fucking get it out…. right now.”
“Casper.” I couldn’t resist a relieved hiss. “This woman.” I twisted and pointed at Mrs Wilder.
“Who is she to you?”
The kid blinked, his eyes narrowing. He jolted, twisting around to try and see the thing attached to him. “Why would I know her? Get this shit out of my head!”
He let out a hysterical yell. His cry was more of a demand, and that nameless boy underneath splintered doll pieces began to unravel.
“Get it out.” He kept repeating. “Fucking get it out! There’s something inside my head!”
I nodded, choking back a cry.
He slammed his hands down, but seemingly couldn’t move from the chair. “What the fuck.” He side eyed the others. “What the fuck is this?”
I struggled to answer without screaming myself. “Stuff.” I managed to get out through a sputter. “Can you stand up?”
“What?” He blinked rapidly at me, I was seeing it again. That odd light flickering in his pupils.
“No. I can’t move!”
The humming grew louder, and at the corner of my eye, that thing seemed to dig deeper inside his head.
More blood spurted from his nose, and I could tell that he was fighting it.
The boy’s eyes found mine, his words tangling into an almost slur. “Get it out! I can’t… I can’t fucking think straight. I…. I….”
His eyes rolled back for a moment before he shook his head, lunging against the chair. His head twitched. “I don’t know I am.”
I couldn’t move. Watching this thing take control in real time, it was both fascinating and horrifying, sending my knees buckling.
“Who… who am I?”
His whole head twitched, like he was glitching.
“I know her. I… I know her. I’m her… I’m her son… I’m her s—son.”
Casper hummed, his twitching lips pricking into a demented smile. “I’ll always know her. She’s the one who… who s---saved me.”
Choking on a shade too vivid and dark to be blood, he sputtered, his head drooping.
“Mom?” Casper spoke through mouthfuls of pooling black. He lifted his head, unseeing eyes blinking in dim candlelight. The chord-like thing sounded more like it was drilling into his brain, and I knew I was fucked when his lips spread out into a childlike smile, and he swayed to the left and then the right, the light in his eyes burning. “There’s… water.” He whispered. “So… so cold. I’m so cold.” His voice broke.
“I don’t… want to be cold.”
“You won’t be cold.” Mrs Wilder’s voice was a sharp cry behind me. “Ever again. Your mom is here.”
“Promise? You n… need to… prom…promise me.” His teeth chattered. “You need to… tell me… I won’t… be cold. That my mom… is coming.”
“I promise, darling.”
“Mommy?”
“No,” I swallowed back frustrated tears. “Casper, she’s not your mother!”
His next words split into a guttural screech which almost sent him toppling off of the chair. He grabbed at his head, clawing at face.
But the more he was tugging, the machine fought against him. I could see metallic clamp-like legs stubbornly holding on.
His next words were mangled between cries from his conscious self, and whatever the fuck his ‘mother’ was forcing into his head.
And yet it barely grazed my ears. I was trying to figure out how to get that monumental THING out of his brain. There was no way I could just pull it out. That could kill him, right?
I started forwards to grab him, to try and pry the clamp off his spine, before I was being smothered with the stink of rich lavender. I hadn’t noticed Mrs Wilder swipe up my phone. She was holding it up in the air. “Live? You were never filming anything, you stupid girl! Do you understand what you have done?” She laughed—and I mean cackled like a witch. “I warned you, didn’t I?”
I got one last glimpse of Casper. His whole body was jerking under the chord inside his head, but he wasn’t crying out anymore.
Before I knew what was happening, I was being dragged back, and in front of me a Wilder boy shoving his struggling brother back into the chair. I didn’t have time to cry out.
With strength I had no idea the crazy bitch had, I was being violently yanked by my hair. And while I was flailing, I saw the ultrasound’s once again. Looking closer though, each one had a different name. A different mother. My head spun. That couldn’t be right. Mrs Wilder told me she was pregnant with four children, so who’s ultrasound’s were these? And why had she framed them? I didn’t have time to check it out.
I was dumped on my ass and the door was slammed straight in my face. I tried to get back in, throwing my fists into the door, until my own mother’s arms were pulling me back. I was hysterical. I couldn’t breathe, and mom wasn’t getting through to me. I’d kicked and thrown myself into the door, attracting the attention of our neighbours. That’s what I wanted. I wanted one of them to call the police, and when I picked up a brick, struggling against mom’s attempt to restrain me, and throwing it through the Wilder’s front window, I finally got it.
Two cops arrived, and I was so relieved I almost sobbed into one officer's chest. While my mom was trying and failing to explain my “breakdown” I begged them to take a look inside. And I was loud. I was screaming.
Which they couldn’t ignore.
“Phoebe!” I was partially aware of mom’s voice trying to calm me down, but I all I could see was that thing in Casper’s head, and his siblings made from knitted flesh. When the officer’s exited the Wilder’s house after five painful minutes waiting, I stumbled over to the two.
“Well?” I demanded, shoving away my mom. “Did you see them?” I yelled. “She’s turned them into… into dolls!” I was already going on a tangent, hysteria plunging me further into my own insanity.
“They’re not her children.” I gritted out. “She kidnapped and.. and stitched them up like… like Frankenstein! Mrs Wilder likes dolls! She had this paper-doll of me when she kidnapped me and lit it on fire to threaten me because I was talking to Casper. And he… he’s one of them, and not even her son! She’s controlling his mind with this thing stuck inside—"
“That’s enough!” Mom snapped.
The officer in front of me chuckled. “Breathe, kid!” He said. “Jeez. You’re not even giving us time to talk.”
“What?”
Instead of speaking to me directly, the officer turned to mom. “There’s nothing out of the ordinary, ma’am.” He said. “The Wilder’s were enjoying a family dinner, and…” his gaze flashed to me. “Well. It appears someone ruined it. There are no current reports of child abduction.”
I couldn’t resist a laugh. “Are you serious? Did you not… did you not see—”
He cut me off. “There they are!” He chuckled. “The Wilder siblings!” The officer saluted the four of them who had wandered outside trailing their mother. Ignoring the other three, I made my way over to Casper. But he looked… I don’t know, he looked like he usually did through his window? There were no stitches or patchwork skin. He was wearing a beanie, and I reached to yank it off, when his hand caught mine.
He was freezing cold.
His skin felt almost slimy, like I was touching the skin of a dead fish. I wanted to hold on, to force the cops to believe me, but he was already speaking—his voice was different, a lot deeper than the hysterical cry of the boy underneath. “Mom?” Casper’s eyes were cold. He shoved my hand away before taking a shaky step back. Like I was crazy. He quickly joined his siblings.
“Who is this girl?”
“We’re going home.” Mom said, grasping my arm. “Can’t you see you’ve embarrassed me enough?”
“Phoebe, huh?”
I turned to find the other Wilder kids. The guy with the jawline still had that doll-like smile. “Please leave our brother alone.”
I couldn’t resist spitting at him. “He’s not your brother. You’re brainwashed.”
Something in his expression seemed to twitch suddenly. Mom tried to pull me back, but I stubbornly stayed where I was.
Issac or Freddie cocked his head. “Brain... washed?"
He started to speak, before Mrs Wilder ushered them all away. But I did notice him turn back to frown at me.
Needless to say, I was grounded—and threatened with a restraining order.
That didn’t stop me peeking through the gap in Casper’s curtains that night. I caught him stumbling around, struggling to get the chord-thing out of his head with manic hands. He came over to the window several times, his bloody hands slamming into the window before slipping away. I'm not sure, but I don't think he knew why his legs kept drawing him to the window.
Mrs Wilder joined him soon after, forcing him to bite into something plastic, as she led him to sit on the bed, her fingers wrapping around the chord, and yanking it out. I didn't hear his scream, but his reaction to it, body writhing, eyes squeezing shut, I knew he could feel it. And part of him was awake. Just part of him.
Not the parts who knew our window sessions and his horrifying reality.
Casper came to his window all bandaged up. He didn’t hold up a message, and his eyes were vacant.
Though his expression told me everything I needed to know.
Engines woke me up several hours later. It was midnight. Sliding out of bed, my gaze went straight to Casper’s window. But it was dark. I pressed my face against my own window and glimpsed Mrs Wilder standing on her lawn in her robe.
A car pulled up, and the cop from earlier jumped out. In his arms was what looked like a body bag. He dropped it on the ground. “Freshly dead.” He said, when I opened my window to hear what was being said. “Car crash. Victim is male. Eighteen years old.” He folded his arms with a light laugh. “I got him straight from the morgue. His parents think there’s no body.” Both of them knelt next to the bag, and Mrs Wilder zipped it open with a hiss.
When the bag jolted suddenly, I realised the body was still alive.
The officer stumbled back. “Jesus. I didn’t even use that much. You said a single shot, right?”
“Mmm.”
Mrs Wilder pulled out a carving knife from her robe, and I felt my entire body turn to ice.
The cop raised a brow. “You came prepared.”
She sighed, her hands on her hips. “He’s spare parts. The expiry is approaching which is why they’re… acting out.”
With startling precision, she aimed the knife above what I guessed was the body’s head, before bringing it down with a sickening crunch. The bag stopped squirming.
I can’t remember anything else from that night.
My mother was gone the next morning. A paper doll replica of her was sitting next to a note and a plate of freshly baked cookies.
...
“Dearest, Phoebe.
I baked these thinking of you! And my, you should be grateful I have even bothered to do this after playing your games last night. Honestly, I am not the monster you think I am. Your mom asked me to let you know she will be busy with me for a few hours.
I’ve been asked to take care of you, so here are some chocolate cookies! Please maintain the rule I set in place and do not go near or talk to my children. I’m sure you know what will happen if you happen to slip up. I took the liberty of asking your mother to fit specialised devices in your room so I know when you are talking to my son. Writing equipment has been taken away. I hope we can be friends and I can start calling you my daughter. If something were to happen to your mom, do not worry. I will take you in. I want you to remember that.
Love,
Mrs Wilder.
PS: I can’t wait for you to (not) meet my newest son!
2023.03.29 01:51 Agretion 35[M4F] - Montreal/Online - Looking for good banter
I'm looking for someone to chat with hopefully today and into the future. I am kind of stuck at home these days after an injury and looking for someone consistent and fun to talk to.
About me: I'm generally a low key person. Analytical, introvert and more of a homebody than someone who wants to be in a crowd.
I am open to multiple topics of conversation and I don't look down on small talk as long as it leads to better conversation down the road.
Here are some opening topics of conversation I am interested in but it is not all inclusive:
While I understand pictures and the like are sometimes requested I will only share a picture of me if both parties are willing to verify.
submitted by Agretion to r4r [link] [comments]
About me: I'm generally a low key person. Analytical, introvert and more of a homebody than someone who wants to be in a crowd.
I am open to multiple topics of conversation and I don't look down on small talk as long as it leads to better conversation down the road.
Here are some opening topics of conversation I am interested in but it is not all inclusive:
- Hockey (Used to play as a kid, stopped since)
- Investing (I’m a beginner)
- MMA (Don't practice it but watch all the time)
- Cooking/Baking (Slow cooking, steaks, roasts, cakes, etc...)
- Career advice(things to learn, certifications to pursue, etc...)
While I understand pictures and the like are sometimes requested I will only share a picture of me if both parties are willing to verify.
2023.03.29 01:50 Agretion 35[M4F] - Montreal/Online - Looking for good banter
I'm looking for someone to chat with hopefully today and into the future. I am kind of stuck at home these days after an injury and looking for someone consistent and fun to talk to.
About me: I'm generally a low key person. Analytical, introvert and more of a homebody than someone who wants to be in a crowd.
I am open to multiple topics of conversation and I don't look down on small talk as long as it leads to better conversation down the road.
Here are some opening topics of conversation I am interested in but it is not all inclusive:
While I understand pictures and the like are sometimes requested I will only share a picture of me if both parties are willing to verify.
submitted by Agretion to R4R30Plus [link] [comments]
About me: I'm generally a low key person. Analytical, introvert and more of a homebody than someone who wants to be in a crowd.
I am open to multiple topics of conversation and I don't look down on small talk as long as it leads to better conversation down the road.
Here are some opening topics of conversation I am interested in but it is not all inclusive:
- Hockey (Used to play as a kid, stopped since)
- Investing (I’m a beginner)
- MMA (Don't practice it but watch all the time)
- Cooking/Baking (Slow cooking, steaks, roasts, cakes, etc...)
- Career advice(things to learn, certifications to pursue, etc...)
While I understand pictures and the like are sometimes requested I will only share a picture of me if both parties are willing to verify.
2023.03.29 01:48 Anonymous_Agent_Q 2023 4Runner cross country review (TLDR)
Just arrived back home and got to FULLY test out my 2023 4runner TRD Off Road. We left from Home, full family and a dog, drove Home to LA, from LA, to Seattle, Seattle to Kalispel MT, Kalispel to Home. We visited the grand canyon, did some crazy off roading and entry level rock climbing in the desert. Slept on the beach in cali, drove through the redwood forests. Did some crazy back road driving between couer d'Alene and kalispell. We were then hit with a terrible blizzard that seemed to follow us from ID to MT, through WY, into CO and we finally beat it in northern OK. We experienced full ice roads, white out conditions, deep snow, and crazy winds.
So heres my review.
Pros: I could not get this rig stuck (I TRIED!) I drove in 4h through feet of snow, mud, mushy sand and it just kept going. I went into 4 low 3 times. Once in mud, once in an icy hill, and once during my entry level rock crawling. It would not get stuck. I tried the A Track just to test it out and didnt even get a reason to test all the other off road settings. It was comfortable, easy to clean, handled like a dream and the cruise control was a life saver.
Cons: ice and mud kept building on the radar plate in the front and the cruise control kept disengaging. The way the cup holders are arranged is terrible and we were constantly reaching oddly for our drinks(stupid I know). She drinks gas, but I could average 18mpg fully loaded down. I loath the rear windshield wiper. The cleaned area is to small and I had to clean it fully at every gas stop. someone needs to make a system to clean more of the rear windsheild with the wiper while driving.
Necessary upgrades: definitely needs the roof rack and brush gaurd. Was not super impressed with the interior lighting and I will be adding a docking bay to be able to charge more devices while driving.
Overall this is easily on of the best vehicles ive ever owned.
submitted by Anonymous_Agent_Q to 4x4 [link] [comments]
So heres my review.
Pros: I could not get this rig stuck (I TRIED!) I drove in 4h through feet of snow, mud, mushy sand and it just kept going. I went into 4 low 3 times. Once in mud, once in an icy hill, and once during my entry level rock crawling. It would not get stuck. I tried the A Track just to test it out and didnt even get a reason to test all the other off road settings. It was comfortable, easy to clean, handled like a dream and the cruise control was a life saver.
Cons: ice and mud kept building on the radar plate in the front and the cruise control kept disengaging. The way the cup holders are arranged is terrible and we were constantly reaching oddly for our drinks(stupid I know). She drinks gas, but I could average 18mpg fully loaded down. I loath the rear windshield wiper. The cleaned area is to small and I had to clean it fully at every gas stop. someone needs to make a system to clean more of the rear windsheild with the wiper while driving.
Necessary upgrades: definitely needs the roof rack and brush gaurd. Was not super impressed with the interior lighting and I will be adding a docking bay to be able to charge more devices while driving.
Overall this is easily on of the best vehicles ive ever owned.
2023.03.29 01:23 jderry93 [WTS] Griptilian Sheepsfoot 20CV, Kershaw Launch 11, Buck 119
Looking to sell a couple knives to fund something new.
Knife Pictures
SOLD Benchmade Griptilian SOLD
Sheepsfoot in CPM-20CV. Handles are gray from an older limited edition Griptilian. Handles show some knicks. Edge is factory and still pretty sharp. I would say B condition overall. Would make a great user.
Asking $120 via PayPal goods and services including shipping in the continental US.
Kershaw Launch 11
This has been carried and the factory CPM - 154 edge could use a touch up. I would say this one is also B condition.
Asking $80 via PayPal goods and services including shipping in the continental US.
Buck 119
This was a gift from a secret Santa who knew I liked knives. Never used or carried. Put oil on the blade and stuck it in the safe. Like new condition.
Asking $60 via PayPal goods and services including shipping in the continental US.
Only trade I am interested in is for a Benchmade Mini Adamas.
submitted by jderry93 to Knife_Swap [link] [comments]
Knife Pictures
SOLD Benchmade Griptilian SOLD
Sheepsfoot in CPM-20CV. Handles are gray from an older limited edition Griptilian. Handles show some knicks. Edge is factory and still pretty sharp. I would say B condition overall. Would make a great user.
Asking $120 via PayPal goods and services including shipping in the continental US.
Kershaw Launch 11
This has been carried and the factory CPM - 154 edge could use a touch up. I would say this one is also B condition.
Asking $80 via PayPal goods and services including shipping in the continental US.
Buck 119
This was a gift from a secret Santa who knew I liked knives. Never used or carried. Put oil on the blade and stuck it in the safe. Like new condition.
Asking $60 via PayPal goods and services including shipping in the continental US.
Only trade I am interested in is for a Benchmade Mini Adamas.
2023.03.29 01:08 dovahdragonfruit RE1, completely stuck, please help?
Currently on my first playthrough of RE1 and I’m completely stuck. I just got to the elevator in the courtyard but I don’t have the battery pack. From what I’ve read, in order to get the battery pack I need the helmet key, but I don’t have that either. I know it’s in the residence but I don’t know how to get there. I have no idea what to do next, any help please? I can also elaborate on my progress if needed.
submitted by dovahdragonfruit to residentevil [link] [comments]
2023.03.29 00:57 CarterBaker77 What do I need to do to get a job in this field or any programming field really?
I've been working for my dad for 6 years now and he just fired me today. I was totally unprepared and now I need to learn everything I don't yet know fast. I've been working in untiy as a hobby for the past 10 years and am at a point I rarely need to Google things. There's stuff I don't know and most my projects never got close to getting finished.
It pisses me off too he really screwed me, this current project is the furthest I've made it amd was gonna be the one to get me into the door. Now I've gotta come up with a new plan asap.
The only thing I really don't have extensive knowledge with is shaders. What I enjoy most is level design and 3d modeling though I'm a very good programmer and a decent artist as well. Music is an unknown area. Not much of any experience with it her languages but I'm willing to learn and currently installing the latest visual studio and just signed up for chat-gpt which until now I was unwilling to learn.
My current game is actually playable but the inventory is missing some key gameplay components and there's no enemies only 1 dungeon but from what I got done the last 4 months it's pretty solid visually and gameplay wise.
Not sure what else to say I need a plan and a few pointers where to start as I really don't wanna get stuck doordashing forever.
submitted by CarterBaker77 to gamedev [link] [comments]
It pisses me off too he really screwed me, this current project is the furthest I've made it amd was gonna be the one to get me into the door. Now I've gotta come up with a new plan asap.
The only thing I really don't have extensive knowledge with is shaders. What I enjoy most is level design and 3d modeling though I'm a very good programmer and a decent artist as well. Music is an unknown area. Not much of any experience with it her languages but I'm willing to learn and currently installing the latest visual studio and just signed up for chat-gpt which until now I was unwilling to learn.
My current game is actually playable but the inventory is missing some key gameplay components and there's no enemies only 1 dungeon but from what I got done the last 4 months it's pretty solid visually and gameplay wise.
Not sure what else to say I need a plan and a few pointers where to start as I really don't wanna get stuck doordashing forever.
2023.03.29 00:53 Hovering_Wallaby 08 Mitsubishi Outlander 2.4 - Slow crank no start
A few weeks ago on a cross country trip our 08 outlander statted having an intermittent smell similar to burning brakes but made it 500 more miles home. The next day it died at the gas station trying to start again.
I have replaced the battery, and now the starter (thanks to a shop insisting it was the problem... it wasn't). It has new oil and plugs were changed just before our trip.
With a full charge when it's warm it still cranks over really slowly. If I hold the key for a while (as in, worried I'm going to have to replace the starter again) it will seem like it's trying to catch, but never quite does.
Any ideas where to check next? I'm fairly confident the electrical system is generally okay (grounding, charge, etc).
I have yet to check the fuel pump or ignition coils, but it seems like it's cranking too slowly in the first place. (With 180k I wouldn't be surprised if it's a spun bearing or something else terminal).
submitted by Hovering_Wallaby to MechanicAdvice [link] [comments]
I have replaced the battery, and now the starter (thanks to a shop insisting it was the problem... it wasn't). It has new oil and plugs were changed just before our trip.
With a full charge when it's warm it still cranks over really slowly. If I hold the key for a while (as in, worried I'm going to have to replace the starter again) it will seem like it's trying to catch, but never quite does.
Any ideas where to check next? I'm fairly confident the electrical system is generally okay (grounding, charge, etc).
I have yet to check the fuel pump or ignition coils, but it seems like it's cranking too slowly in the first place. (With 180k I wouldn't be surprised if it's a spun bearing or something else terminal).
2023.03.29 00:44 Reddit_guest28 Dart maths pt 8
Actually dealing with corrosion!
Why are these posts getting less and less upvotes and views?Apparently my last post dealing with corrosion was complete bulwark butt fire. That's fine, because I have now gotten how corrosion ACTUALLY works, so now I can calculate it. Pt 6 has been deleted, but I guess the pt4.5 makes up for it? Anyways, Lets start.
My calculator right now
So, the corrosion stacks do not decay on individual timers as I previously assumed. Instead, 15% of your stacks are removed every 0.33 seconds, modified by ignite duration. But first, how many stacks can you apply per second? Well dart applies one stack on impact, and then two per second over its duration. So the most stacks you apply per second is rp+2isrp, the first part being how many darts you fire per second and the second part being how many darts can get stuck in an enemy at once times two.
So how many stacks can be on an enemy at once? Until the decay rate evens out with the rate you're applying them of course. That happens when you are applying 15% of the current stack amount in the amount of time it takes for the game to remove 15% of the stacks. Remember, the game removes stacks every 0.33i seconds, so the amount you can get in that time is 0.33i(rp+2isrp). If I multiply this out I get 0.33irp+0.66i2srp, the multiply it by 6.66 to get how many stacks you actually will have. The stacks deal 2.5b damage per second, so the damage is 2.5b(2.19irp+4.39i2srp).
Did you follow all that? Lets make another version of my calculator for when you have corrosion.
2023.03.29 00:14 KerbodynamicX How to clear a blocked hotend after filament change
 | Sometimes you might encounter an infuriating situation. The printer is working perfectly fine, until you change the filament, and the new filament won’t go in at all. You tried to clear the nozzle, but it’s no use. Because the blockage occurred in the heat sink rather than the nozzle! There are some filament that was stuck there while unloading. I have found two ways of clearing this, assuming you are using 1.75mm filament. The first step is to remove the nozzle, then you submitted by KerbodynamicX to 3Dprinting [link] [comments]
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2023.03.29 00:13 SuspiciousFail2803 Supervisor asked me to come in early tomorrow.. it’s 11pm at night
I was asleep untill I woke from getting a WhatsApp message saying that I’m needed to come in early tomorrow for my shift. My boss was asked to come in also. My boss never replied and I can predict she won’t be coming in early as she’s rarely on time anyways for the later shift as she has to drop her kid off for school. Last time this happened I was stuck in the cold for an hour unpaid cause she has the keys to the building. Should I even bother to look at the message at this point? This is a shitty retail job that I’ve been trying to leave so it’s not like I’m putting much at stake here
submitted by SuspiciousFail2803 to Advice [link] [comments]