Of Mocha & Muses

Tags: #politics #essay

Fury. It's that ice cold feeling in the pit of your stomach that elicits no emotion and just simmers there? Yeah, that's how I have been for the last few days and the decision of the U.S. Supreme Court has made it even worse. Spoiler warning, I have nothing hopeful to say in this post. This authoritarian roller coaster is just getting started and there's no getting off. So, what has the response been since the courts decided to set us up for a dictator and a king?

Since the United States Supreme Court has declared Presidents are immune to official acts (and only lower courts can decide what is or is not an official act. They provided zero criteria), there have been steps to try to fix this but it is only theater and desk pounding that's going on.

Rep. Joe Morelle (D-N.Y.) says he's going to introduce a Constitutional amendment¹. It's dead on arrival. You need 75% of the states to ratify an amendment which means you can't lose more than 13 states. There are 21 solid red states per 2022 election³. Even if they do pass it, who says the Supreme Court can't just declare the amendment unconstitutional? Rules? They're not following them now. Why would they later?

AOC says she's going to submit Articles of Impeachment² on the justices. That's also dead on arrival because the Dems don't have the stomach to do it cause “it'll look political” and with the tenuous hold on the Senate with a chance of losing it, it ain't going to go anywhere. They want to pretend it's still the 90s where everyone was still pretending to have integrity.

I have had friends ask me when I think that it all truly began to go down hill (as we have flirted with authoritarianism and fascism for years. Think back to McCarthyism and the backlash to the 60s Civil Rights movement).

It really started to go down hill with 9/11 and when the Patriot Act was passed. It was the first glimpse of the direction we were going. The Patriot Act was sold as a temporary thing that was supposed to help us stop terrorists from striking at us again but has continually been renewed for twenty-three years. It was sold as a patriotic law but had stripped freedoms from Americans⁵. For example:

1. Roving Wiretaps: Allows surveillance on individuals without specifying the device or location being tapped, meaning a single warrant can cover multiple devices and locations.

2. Sneak & Peek Warrants:The Act allows law enforcement to conduct searches without immediately informing the target of the search. These “sneak and peek” warrants mean individuals may not know their property has been searched until much later, potentially compromising their ability to contest the search.

3. Mandatory Detention: Non-citizens can be detained without charge for extended periods if they are deemed a threat to national security.

From there, we have slowly descended into a government that goes behind our backs to get information and uses mega-corps to do their bidding.

It was 2016 when the facade fell off and the christo-fascist regime attacked our capital and attempted to stop the peaceful transfer of power believing that their lie that the 2020 election was stolen would cover them.

Many of them were found guilty of crimes around January 6th insurrection and even their leader Donald Trump was found guilty for Campaign Finance violations.

But they already had a plan for that. They had the scum bag McConnel block the appoint of an Obama supreme court judge by saying: “The American people should have a voice in the selection of their next Supreme Court Justice. Therefore, this vacancy should not be filled until we have a new president.”⁶ and even Lindsey Graham went and said: “I want you to use my words against me. If there’s a Republican president in 2016 and a vacancy occurs in the last year of the first term, you can say Lindsey Graham said let’s let the next president, whoever it might be, make that nomination.”⁶

What happened when there were two seats come open in Donald Trump's term. Both senators pushed through two extremely conservative (and questionable) candidates in the last year of Trump's presidency. Building a conservative court to do their bidding. When challenged on it McConnel's response was “In the last midterm election before Justice Scalia’s death in 2016, Americans elected a Republican Senate majority because we pledged to check and balance the last days of a lame-duck president’s second term, We kept our promise. Since the 1880s, no Senate has confirmed an opposite-party president’s Supreme Court nominee in a presidential election year.”⁷

In short...it's important to have the public choose when you're not the party in power but if you're the party in power, it's okay to continue and appoint someone without the public having a say.

Since the court has swung hard right they have.

• Raised the bar so that the Justice Department can't use Obstruction charges against the insurrectionists ⁸
• Declare Presidential immunity for President official acts which now throw his conviction in state court into contention⁴

And I'm not even getting into Justice Thomas' wife being an insurrectionist who helped plan out some parts of the insurrection.

I have heard many say that we are at a crossroads this election but they are wrong. That crossroad was 2016 and we are now well along our way towards a faux democracy run by christian fascists who think their beliefs in God outweigh any other sort of consideration and we need to bow to them for guidance.

I have no hope to share right now. I've studied history long enough to see where this is going and like a train wreck, there's no stopping it. Even if Biden is elected president, each and every election cycle will be Christian fascists trying to take win so that they can force their beliefs down our throat.

If anything, I think Justice Jackson phrased it the best in her dissent to the majority opinion. She said: “The majority of my colleagues seems to have put their trust in our Court’s ability to prevent Presidents from becoming Kings through case-by-case application of the indeterminate standards of their new Presidential accountability paradigm. I fear that they are wrong. But, for all our sakes, I hope that they are right.”³

References

1 Nazzaro, M. (2024, July 2). New York DEM will introduce amendment to reverse Supreme Court immunity ruling . The Hill. https://thehill.com/homenews/house/4750735-joe-morelle-amendment-supreme-court-immunity-ruling/mlite/?nxs-test=mlite

2 Lillis, M. (2024, July 2). Ocasio-Cortez vows to file impeachment articles against Supreme Court justices. The Hill. https://thehill.com/homenews/house/4750034-ocasio-cortez-impeachment-articles-supreme-court-justices-trump-immunity/?nxs-test=mobile

3 Wikimedia Foundation. (2004, November 4). Red States and Blue States. Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_states_and_blue_states Last edit was 18 June 2024

4 Trump v. United States, 23-939, slip op. at 118-119 (Supreme Court of the United States). Retrieved from https://www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/23pdf/23-939_e2pg.pdf

5 Johnson, C. (2011, October 26). As it turns 10, patriot act remains controversial. NPR. https://www.npr.org/2011/10/26/141699537/as-it-turns-10-patriot-act-remains-controversial

6 Silverstein, J. (2020, September 19). Here’s what Mitch McConnell said about not filing a Supreme Court vacancy in an election year. https://www.cbsnews.com/news/mitch-mcconnell-supreme-court-vacancy-election-year-senate/

7 Louis Jacobson, K. S., & Jacobson, L. (2020, September 22). Flip-O-meter: McConnell’s reversal on Supreme Court nominees. @politifact. https://www.politifact.com/factchecks/2020/sep/22/mitch-mcconnell/mitch-mcconnell-flip-flops-considering-supreme-cou/

8 Kruzel, J. (2024, June 29). US Supreme Court raises bar for obstruction charge against Trump, Jan. 6 rioters | reuters. Reueters. https://www.reuters.com/legal/us-supreme-court-boosts-jan-6-rioters-bid-challenge-obstruction-charge-2024-06-28/

9 Davies, D. (2022, January 27). How Ginni Thomas, wife of justice Clarence Thomas, influences the Supreme Court. NPR. https://www.npr.org/2022/01/27/1076097533/how-ginni-thomas-wife-of-justice-clarence-thomas-influences-the-supreme-court

— © Jonathan J. Snyder, All rights Reserved Like what you read and want to buy me a cup of coffee?

Episode 3: The Basement

Tags: #pemberton #comedy #shortstory

The Pembrooke Mall was an odd place. Its reputation, nestled in the middle of nowhere and shaped like a double H, had become legendary among the few who dared to enter. It was home to a motley crew of store owners, each weirder than the last. And, as the new manager, Alex Taylor’s days were a peculiar blend of bureaucracy and bizarre encounters. Today, his mission was to locate the elusive supply closet in the basement, as dictated by the faded notes left by his predecessor. It was supposed to be a well-lit room stocked with the mall’s most expensive supplies, a sanctuary of sorts for the beleaguered manager. The problem was the notes also mentioned the basement was a labyrinthine maze that he never really explored.

It was one of the few things that he had not had a chance to do yet. The old manager had told him that this mall had been built on a failed project. An underground parking garage of all things and that the first two basement floors were used by the mall. The manager was also clear that they were only to use the first-floor basement and avoid the second floor as much as possible. She never did explain why.

Alex, armed with his flashlight, descended the cement stairs to the first-floor basement. The air was cool and a lot nicer than he had anticipated. The floors were cement, but they were well kept and clean. It almost felt like an office space with the rooms down each corridor. One would have thought he was in a skyscraper if it hadn’t been descending into the bowels of the Earth. The fluorescent lights flickered intermittently though, casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls.

‘I don’t want to spend too much time here,’ Alex thought to himself as he pocketed his flashlight. There was enough light down here.

As Alex reached the bottom of the stairs, he sighed and choose a hallway to go down. There were a lot of rooms and there weren’t any instructions on which held the expensive fluorescent lights he needed. He fumbled with his keys, trying each one, and was met with varying degrees of success. Some doors opened to reveal nothing more than forgotten inventory – old boxes of vinyl records, discarded mannequins, and a collection of broken shopping carts. Others, however, yielded more peculiar sights: a room full of vintage bowling trophies, another with a collection of porcelain cats, and one particularly unsettling space filled with nothing but taxidermied animals dressed in tiny, ill-fitting clothing.

“Why does this place have so many weird rooms?” Alex muttered to himself, his eyes skimming over a particular rabbit in a bowler hat. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant hum of the basement lights. Every step he took seemed to echo through the hollow basement. It was just plain weird down here.

A flicker of movement caught Alex's eye. He froze, his heart pounding. Why had the basement gone to feeling creepy and that someone was out to get him? It was bright down here but the entire place had taken on an eerie feeling. ‘Why did I ever agree to this job? I should have taken that desk job at the insurance company.’ He thought to himself.

It was at the end of the corridor Alex noticed that the lights were not working and out of it a figure emerged. Alex squinted, his breath catching in his throat. The figure stepped into the light; its identity became clear. Relief washed over Alex, but it was quickly replaced by bewilderment. What on earth is Jean-Luc doing down here?

Jean-Luc Dubois was known for his outlandish taste in fashion – the kind that made him look like he had raided a circus wardrobe and then vomited on a thrift store. Today was no exception. Neon green blazer, check. Polka dot trousers, check. Mismatched socks – one orange, the other purple – double check. His ensemble was a visual assault that made Alex's eyes hurt just to look at.

‘Seriously, does he dress in the dark?’

“Jean-Luc?” Alex managed to get out. “What are you doing down here?”

Jean-Luc smiled at Alex, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Ah, mon cher Alex! What a delightful surprise to see you down here in the bowels of Pembrooke Mall!”

‘Great, even in the basement, he can't dial down the drama.’ “I... I could ask you the same thing,” Alex replied, trying to steady his voice and regain some semblance of composure. “Why are you here?”

Jean-Luc chuckled, a high-pitched sound that echoed eerily off the basement walls. Of course he laughs like a supervillain. If anyone else didn’t know who he was, they would have thought he was an escaped serial killer. Jean-Luc was the sweetest man anyone could have met in this life. “Ah, my dear Alex, the basement is a treasure trove of forgotten wonders! I come here to seek out the peculiar and the bizarre, the things that others have abandoned but which still hold a certain... charm.”

Alex's mind was still reeling from the sight of Jean-Luc's outfit, but he couldn't deny a growing curiosity about what other oddities this basement might hold. “I see. Well, I'm looking for the supply closet. The one with the expensive stuff. Have you seen it?”

Jean-Luc’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Ah, the elusive supply closet! But, my dear Alex, you must tread carefully down here. There are rules, you know. Very important rules.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Rules? What kind of rules?”

Jean-Luc leaned in, lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper. The neon green of his blazer still blinding. “First, always bring a flashlight. The darkness down there can be quite deceptive.”

“Down there. You mean the second-floor basement,” Alex asked. “The one the previous manager told me to avoid at all costs?”

“Oh! You heard of it! Excellent!”

That was not comforting.

“Second,” Jean-Luc continued, his eyes wide with exaggerated seriousness, “never speak above a whisper. The echoes down here have a way of attracting... unwanted attention.”

“What are you—-” Alex replied with a raised eyebrow. For the firs ttime, Alex was reconsidering Jean-Luc of being harmless. Maybe it was good he had the flashlight.

“And finally,” Jean-Luc’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur, “ignore the female voice asking you questions.”

Who knew what this guy was smoking in his store that was only open Tuesday and Thursday at weird times.

“Just trust me, Alex. It’s best not to engage. The basement has its quirks, and some are best left undisturbed.”

“Right. I guess I’ll take your word for it.”

Yeah. Jean-Luc also missed the sarcasm.

“Good, good!” Jean-Luc said, clapping his hands together. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some fashion reconstructions to complete.”

With that, Jean-Luc strutted off down a corridor, his mismatched outfit a beacon of bizarre fashion. Alex watched him go, still trying to process the surreal encounter. Alex watched him go and make the turn for the stairs and then glanced back down at the paper in his hand.

He did need these expensive neon bulbs to fix up one of the arcade store lights the blew up. He wouldn’t have done it, if Hana Mizuki and Aiko Tanaka, the local magical girl cosplayers, hadn’t batted their pretty eyes at him.

‘You’re a sucker for a pretty face, Alex Taylor.’

He decided to explore the second level, despite the warnings. With a final glance down the hallway to make sure Jean-Luc wasn’t sneaking up on him for a prank, Alex searched for the door to the second level basement.

The building manager found it and it was not welcoming. It was an old, rusted steel door that looked like it had been installed haphazardly and there was a large padlock on it. It took him a few minutes to find which key opened it on the keyring.

Descending to the second basement, the air grew noticeably colder as he went further into the depths of the mall basement.

The second basement was a different beast altogether. The lights here were dimmer, casting long, shadows that seemed to move of their own accord. Alex’s flashlight flickered, and he tightened his grip, feeling the weight of the darkness pressing in on him. The first thing he noticed was a door, its frame adorned with cobwebs and dust. It was slightly ajar, and a faint light spilled from within, a tantalizing glimpse of what lay beyond.

Swallowing his fear, Alex pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was small, with a single light bulb swinging from the ceiling. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with supplies – expensive paper, top-of-the-line cleaning products, and even a few high-end snacks, their packaging pristine. Alex’s eyes widened in relief. He had found the supply closet quite easily.

Just as he was about to relax, a chilling breeze swept through the room, and the light bulb above him flickered violently. The silence was suddenly broken by a soft, echoing voice, like a whisper carried on the wind.

“Who’s there?” it giggled.

Alex froze. He spun around looking for the voice but could not pin it down. Was Jean-luc messing wit him again? It didn’t quite sound like the fashion designer.

“Uh…just me. Getting supplies.”

“Whose me?”

“Um…” What the hell was going on? He shifted on his feet and slowly turned around completely but saw nobody. There was no place in this walk-in closet to hide.

“I’m Alex.” The voice responded, softer this time, the humor still in its voice. It sounded closer. “Why are you here, Alex? What do you seek in the darkness?”

Alex’s skin crawled. He had to fight the urge to run. “Our supplies. Like I said. And if this is you Jean-Luc, I’m going to have a long talk with you.”

“Oh, I’m not him. I’m someone else entirely.”

“Who?” Alex demanded, the anger overriding his fear.

There was no answer. The light bulb above him flickered one last time before it popped, plunging the room into darkness. Alex stood there, his flashlight beam the only source of light in the encroaching gloom. He quickly gathered the supplies he needed, his mind racing with the eerie encounter.

As he made his way back to the stairs, the basement seemed even more stranger as if the shadows were slowly reaching out to him. He hurried up, every step on the stairs echoing in the stillness. When he finally reached the main floor, he felt a sense of relief wash over him. Alex’s first thought was to wait for Jean-Luc to come up so he got beat him for giving him a scare like that. After a few minutes when the strange man did not show up, the manager gave up and made his way back to his office.

Back in his office, Alex sat down, his heart still pounding. He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the unsettling experience. He had the lights he needed to replace him and he also survived what was down there.

Wait. Didn’t he break the rules about talking? The manager shook his head. It didn’t matter since it was Jean Luc messing with him. Right?

Yeah. He was going to have an extra beer tonight.

— © Jonathan J. Snyder, All rights Reserved Like what you read and want to buy me a cup of coffee?

Episode 2: War on Treats

Tags: #pemberton #comedy #shortstory

The work was never done at Pemberton Mall.

Alex Taylor sighed heavily, leaning back in his creaky office chair as he finished signing the last of the paperwork. His office in the Pemberton Mall was a tiny, cluttered space, more reminiscent of a storage closet than a managerial hub. Today’s visitor had been Hana Mizuki, a petite young woman dressed like a character from a Japanese magical girl anime. Her bright pink wig, space girl outfit, and magical star topped wand seemed hilariously out of place against the drab backdrop of his office.

“Thank you so much, Taylor-san!” Hana beamed, bouncing slightly in her chair. “The mini convention is going to be great! So many people are excited to come!”

Alex forced a smile, trying to match her enthusiasm. “Glad to hear it, Hana. I’ll make sure the empty store front is ready for your event.”

Hana’s expression shifted from joy to concern as she leaned in conspiratorially. “By the way, I heard that Lucia-Chan and Omar-san are at it again. Something about an insult to their foods?”

Alex groaned inwardly. Lucia Martinez, the eccentric owner of a gourmet cupcake shop, and Omar Aziz, the passionate proprietor of the wannabe trendy smoothie bar, had a long-standing feud that often erupted into ridiculous pranks. It seemed they had found new reasons to escalate their antics.

“Great,” Alex muttered, rubbing his temples. “Thanks for the heads up.”

As Hana skipped out of his office, her wand trailing glitter in her wake which seemed like a surprisingly authentic prop, Alex shook himself. He steeled himself for the impending chaos. He took a deep breath and headed towards the main corridor, already dreading the confrontation.

The mall, a run-down relic shaped like a double H, was home to some of the strangest store owners Alex had ever encountered. Lucia’s cupcake shop, “Cupcake Dreams,” was directly across from Omar’s smoothie bar, “Smoothie Bliss.” Their proximity only seemed to fuel their rivalry. There shop names weren't clever so why did they get into fights like this?

As Alex approached, he noticed a suspiciously placed “Free Sample” table set up between the two stores. Lucia and Omar were nowhere in sight, but the table was laden with brightly colored cupcakes. Warily, Alex reached for one of the cupcakes, a neon green monstrosity labeled “Mystery Flavor.”

‘Well, she does like putting out free samples. Maybe we're safe.’

The moment his fingers touched the cupcake, a hidden mechanism activated, and a cloud of glitter exploded in his face. Coughing and blinking through the sparkling haze, Alex stumbled backwards, only to trip over a strategically placed smoothie cup, splattering its contents all over his shoes.

Lucia appeared from behind her counter, giggling uncontrollably. “How do you like my glitter bomb cupcake you smooth drinking—-Oh. Mister Alex.”

Alex tried to sweep the glitter off his face and knew that he was failing at it.

Omar emerged from his smoothie bar, arms crossed and a smug smile on his face. “I can’t believe you’d think I’d fall for something so obvious as that one.”

Alex, now covered in glitter and frosting, glared at the two instigators. “Really? Can’t you two just talk things out like normal people?”

Lucia pouted, crossing her arms defensively. “He started it! He said my new avocado-lime cupcake was ‘an affront to desserts everywhere.’”

Omar rolled his eyes. “Only because you called my super kale smoothie ‘a liquid insult to taste buds.’”

Alex held up his hands, trying to placate them. “Enough! We can’t have exploding cupcakes in the middle of the mall…even if it is just glitter.”

Lucia’s eyes narrowed, and she stepped closer to Omar. “Oh, come on, Alex. He deserves it for the insults he’s given me. Oh! You should try my new bacon-maple-olive cupcake while you’re here. It’s revolutionary.”

Omar snorted. “Revolutionary? More like revolting. What you need is a ‘Harmony Smoothie’ to cleanse your palate after that disaster.”

Lucia bristled. “Oh, really? Maybe I’ll cleanse your palate with my ‘Wasabi Surprise’ cupcake!”

Alex’s patience snapped. “Both of you. If I have to clean up one more mess, I’m shutting down both your stores for a week.”

Lucia and Omar fell silent, exchanging venomous glances. Alex sighed, feeling a twinge of guilt for his outburst. “Look, I get that you’re both passionate about your creations. But these pranks are getting out of hand. Can’t you find a way to coexist peacefully?”

Lucia bit her lip, her eyes still fixed on Omar. “I suppose we could try a truce. For now.”

Omar nodded, though he looked less convinced. “Fine. A truce. But if she so much as looks at my blenders wrong, all bets are off.”

Alex rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “Just… keep it civil, okay? And clean up this mess.”

As he turned to leave, Lucia called after him. “Wait, Alex! You forgot to take a cupcake!”

Alex groaned, but he couldn’t help but smile at her persistence. “Fine, give me one of the least experimental ones.”

Lucia handed him a cupcake with a flourish. “Here you go. Vanilla bean with a hint of lavender and cayenne pepper!”

Omar offered him a smoothie in return. “And here’s a ‘Stress Buster’ smoothie. You look like you could use it.”

“What’s in it?” Alex asked suspiciously.

“It’s a new secret recipe.”

Alex accepted both offers with unease. Maybe, just maybe, he could survive another day at Pemberton Mall.

— © Jonathan J. Snyder, All rights Reserved Like what you read and want to buy me a cup of coffee?

Episode 1: Of Literature & Electricity

Tags: #pemberton #comedy #shortstory

Alex Taylor stood in the dimly lit corridor of Pemberton Mall, staring at the flickering lights overhead with a mix of dread and resignation. He'd been the manager of this place for just over a month, and already he felt like he'd aged a decade. Between the leaky roof, the mysteriously sticky floors, and the temperamental HVAC system, the strangest inhabitants, Pemberton Mall was a relic of a bygone era—an era when safety standards were apparently more of a suggestion than a rule.

Surprisingly, there were a lot of people that still came to the mall though mostly on the weekend or holidays. Alex had been surprised about the number of visitors. Even now, there were a few older people milling about. At one of the T-junctions that was near the escalators (of course one working and the other note) were two extremely cute girls dressed up in what looked like matching but different colored magical girl costumes. Cosplayers more than likely. They were chatting with some of the teenagers who hung out at the Arcade at the farther end.

How this place made money and stay funded, he had no clue. The previous manager didn’t elaborate. Today’s mission? Schedule an electrician to look at the ancient wiring throughout the large double H shaped building. Simple enough, right? Wrong. Because to do that, Alex had to get a yes from everyone who was on that circuit and his first port of call was Amara Singh, the owner of Ye Old Word bookshop. And Amara would only communicate through literature quotes. No one knew if this was some sort of deep artistic commitment or just her way of messing with people.

He had thought it was a joke when the old manager had briefed him on everyone who still had a lease but after a few interactions with her, Alex knew better. No one knew if this was some sort of deep artistic commitment or just her way of messing with people. Alex doubted he’d ever know.

Taking a deep breath, Alex walked over the threshold of Ye Old Word under the one quarter dropped security fence and stepped inside. The smell of aged paper and ink filled his nostrils, a comforting aroma that momentarily made him forget about the mall’s many, many issues.

Amara Singh was a character straight out of a different century. In her early fifties, she had long black hair streaked with silver, usually worn in a loose braid. Her dark eyes sparkled with a mischievous intelligence, framed by high cheekbones and slightly arched eyebrows. She always seemed to be smiling, a warm, knowing smile that suggested she enjoyed her cryptic way of communicating. Amara dressed in flowing, bohemian-style dresses in earthy tones, with patterned scarves draped over her shoulders. Her small, round glasses perched on her nose completed the look of a classic bookshop owner.

Her hands were delicate but expressive, often waving around as she recited quotes. They had the ink stains and calluses of someone who spent a lot of time with books and pens. Despite her eccentricity, or maybe because of it, she had a certain charm.

“Ah, Alex,” Amara greeted him from behind a towering stack of books. “To be or not to be, that is the question.”

“Uh, hi, Amara,” Alex began, already feeling a headache coming on. “I need to get an electrician in to look at the wiring. The lights are flickering, and it’s a safety hazard. Can I schedule someone to come in the next few days?”

Amara tilted her head, considering his words. “Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.”

Alex blinked. “Goodnight? No, no, I need someone during the day. And, uh, sooner rather than later.” Amara smiled serenely. “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts.”

“Right, players,” Alex muttered, scratching his head. “So, can I have an electrician come by, say, Friday morning? Or will you be here in the afternoon?”

Amara’s eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. “Brevity is the soul of wit.”

Alex stared at her, trying to decipher this latest puzzle. Brevity? Was she telling him to hurry up? Or was she saying something about the timing?

“Okay, so... Friday morning then?” he ventured, his voice tinged with desperation.

Amara gave him a pitying look. “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Alex sighed, feeling the last threads of his sanity slipping away. “Yes, roses, very poetic. But about the electrician? Can we please focus on that?”

Amara raised an eyebrow, as if Alex were a particularly slow student struggling with a simple concept. “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

Alex groaned internally. He was getting nowhere. He needed to change tactics.

“Alright, how about this,” he said, trying to match her literary flair. “Is there a time that works best for you to have the electrician here? To fix the lights? Because they are, uh, not like the sun, but like the flickering, you know, darkness?”

Amara’s expression softened, and for a moment, Alex thought he might have broken through. “Though she be but little, she is fierce.”

Alex threw his hands up in exasperation. “Yes, fierce, that’s you, all right. Fiercely unhelpful. I just need to know when I can send someone to fix this mess!”

There was a pause as Amara looked contemplatively at the ceiling. Finally, she spoke, and her words, for the first time, seemed to offer a glimmer of hope. “The course of true love never did run smooth.”

Alex's eyes lit up. “True love, yes, very complicated. But this is not about love, this is about—”

But Amara interrupted him, holding up a finger. “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day.”

Alex’s face broke into a relieved smile. “Tomorrow? So, I can have the electrician come tomorrow?”

Amara nodded sagely. “The readiness is all.”

Alex nearly wept with gratitude. “Thank you, Amara. Thank you. Tomorrow it is.”

He turned to leave, but not before Amara imparted one last piece of wisdom. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

“Right, protesting,” Alex muttered, walking out the door. “I’ll remember that.”

As he exited Ye Old Word, Alex felt a strange mix of victory and exhaustion. He had managed to schedule an electrician, albeit through a labyrinth of literary quotes. It wasn’t exactly how he envisioned his career in mall management, but it was a small triumph in the chaotic world of Pembrooke Mall. Just five more people to go.

‘God. Why did I take this job?’

— © Jonathan J. Snyder, All rights Reserved Like what you read and want to buy me a cup of coffee?

Tags: #politics #essay

As a writer, I have written a lot of things in my life and honestly, the thing I hate to write about the most is #politics. I mean, I have always enjoyed the concept of how government works and the application of good faith discussions on what is best for the American people among their elected officials.

I hate to say it but that time is gone. It died in 2016 when The #republican party decided to sell what was left of its soul to the proverbial devil to maintain what little power they had left over the American psyche.

In this article, I'm going to explain why that is and how we are aiming to become a country where we are a #republic in name.

Cultural shift & Falling Behind

It started in the 1960s and has been going steadily since then. The American public has been shifting away from the old style conservatism that is white people being in charter of things. Anyone who takes a honest look at history, the Untied States has always tried to oppress the minority even with high sounding morals.

Since then the citizens of the United States have become more inclusive, respectful, and open to new ideas and thoughts that were once considered taboo and evil.

LGBTQIA+ recognition, the inclusion of black and people of color in voting, the idea that maybe we should help each other than being selfish.

This all came to a head with the election of President Obama and the passage of the Affordable Care Act. We were on our way to become a country where people of all race, creeds, and color were able to have a chance at pursuing their happiness.

That came to an end with the election of Donald Trump and the desperate screams of the theocrats whose power that almost dwindled to nothing.

Conservatism in the USA is dying.

This is a bold statement to make but there is evidence to prove it. Every election cycle voters are choosing more progressive candidates to represent them in government, the old white conservative platforms are losing their voters through death or attrition and the GOP cannot find good arguments to convince the next generation to join them.

There are now more independents in the United States in a long time. More people are choosing not to be aligned with a specific denomination or religion and are expecting more from their candidates.

These are things that the GOP cannot comprehend or combat against. The basic conservative ideals of male and white superiority no longer hold purchase with the majority of the next generations.

Instead of trying to change their ideals and to try to win voters back to their side, the republicans and their theocratic leaders have decided it is better to start cheating, and stacking things in their favor. They believe that it is now time to do everything in their power to remain in positions of authority and force their minority supported beliefs on the rest of the country.

Do not be fooled, the majority of conservatives believes is not supported by the general public in the United States.

Why do they do this? Why do they think that taking away the people's power and calling for the end of democracy is the correct choice? it's simple in their mind. Moral superiority.

The Insidious Disease of Moral Superiority

The Republican leaders and those who support them have come to the conclusion that their beliefs on the bible and their take of Christianity is the correct choice and that it is their job to spread that belief to the country., even if their actions are morally questionable or downright illegal. Because they believe that their belief is right and that because they are right, it excuses any and all actions that they take.

It was summed up perfectly by Jack Posobiec at #CPAC in his opening speech. “Welcome to the end of democracy. We are here to overthrow it completely. We didn’t get all the way there on Jan. 6, but we will endeavor to get rid of it and replace it with this right here (Makes fist like a half hearted Nazi salute)“

They have lost the public vote, confidence, and support so they have decided that because they are right and the rest of the country is wrong, that the only way to make sure that we behave the way we should, democracy must come to an end and autocratic rule to take over.

They are simply saying: “You all are wrong so you shouldn't have a say. Just do what we tell you to do.”

There is no way to fight against an insidious belief like this as logic and reason do not work. They are in a cult and they're fanatics that believe they are right and their will must be established in this country at all cost.

Is it over for the USA?

Not yet but we are getting close. The blame cannot be laid just at the feet of the religious fanatics like Jack Posobiec, Mike Johnson, and others.

Their actions are supported by politicians who will do and say whatever it is just to stay in power. No, they don't believe what the #MAGA right is saying but it's what they feel they need to do to stay in power or to stay relevant.

All the actions of these people are funded by millionaires and billionaires for one simple reason. Greed. If the inclusive continues the way it was going, the writing was on the wall that they would be, at minimum, made to pay a fair tax, or at maximum, find their ill gotten gains taken from them and used to help the people of this country improve.

To invoke godwin's law, look at Hitler's rise to power, he was fully backed by the religious and the industrialists. They only turned on him when the war was lost but by then, it was too late.

We are in a Precarious time

We are now at a time where people who are open Nazis are mingling with members of the GOP, where foreign intelligence agents are helping members of the US government to subvert the upcoming election and to sew enough discord and mistrust that they can declare the election rigged.

January 6th failed because they didn't have popular support. They're not going to make that mistake a second time.

So, I call upon any #republican, #democrat, and #independent to look at the state of things and vote to stop it. I'm not asking to give up on any specific belief but to united and understand that we're facing a time where people who are supposed to be our elected leaders are trying their best to stay in power and make us do what they want us to do.

Let's vote together to get every single Nazi and sympathizer, every religious zealot who thinks what they think God told them is more important than their follow man.

Let's get rid of them and return to the time where we worked together in good faith and helped our country grow strong.

The only other option is the loss of our fundamental freedoms and the rollback of our rights just as we saw happen in Russia, Hungary, and Poland.

We are the only ones who can stop it. If we don't, then when everyone inevitably wakes up, it'll be too late.

The dictators are here and we're holding the door wide open for them.

— © Jonathan J. Snyder, All rights Reserved Like what you read and want to buy me a cup of coffee?

Originally published on r/nosleep

Tags: #horror #shortstory

I never believed in the supernatural, in the whispers of darkness that some say lurk in the corners of our world. This was…before the apartment. I won’t bore you with how I found the apartment. In short, I’m a programmer, I needed a new place before my next freelance project and luckily found a cheap place that was one bedroom within my budget.

I saw that hallway closet the first walk-through and gave it no heed. It was just a storage space with peeling paint and barely large enough to walk in. I mean, I’ve got to push the door closed when my clothes are hanging in there.

The first time I noticed something amiss was on Wednesday evening two weeks ago. I'd just returned from dropping my resumes at the tech companies. I was weary and mindlessly scrolling through my phone checking to see if anyone had hit me up on one of the many freelancing sites. As I passed the closet, a chill traced up my spine. I paused, glancing at the slightly ajar door. “Odd,” I muttered, convinced I'd shut it that morning. Shrugging it off, I closed the door firmly and continued my evening routine.

I think I kept closing that closet for a better part of two days without much thought. I would close the door firmly before leaving for work, only to return and find it slightly ajar and think nothing of it. I thought I was forgetting to close it, or maybe the old wood was just warping further. You know those doors that are so old you have to push it close and either pull it up or down to get it to latch? That's what I told myself. Even though I could easily explain it away, there was something in the back of my mind warning me about it.

Then came the night that changed everything. I was curled up in bed, my lamp casting a cozy glow as I lost myself in a tech manual. The hallway past that closet terminated in my bedroom and I had not closed the door. Why? It was my house, and I was alone.

The room was silent, save for the soft rustling of pages. Then, a faint creak. My eyes flicked up, heart skipping a beat. The closet door was open, just a sliver, but enough to let the darkness within seep out like a physical presence.

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. Slowly, I set the book aside and got up, my movements stiff with unease. I approached the closet, my hand trembling as it reached for the door. The wood felt unnaturally cold under my fingers as I shut it, making sure to lock it this time.

Back in bed, I tried to convince myself it was just a quirk of an old apartment. But as I tried to settle back into my book, a soft click echoed through the room. My heart pounded in my ears as I sat up, staring at the now open closet door. The lock was undone, the door slightly ajar, as if mocking my feeble attempts at security. From then on, the routine was the same each night. I would close and lock the closet, only to find it open again, its dark maw gaping like a silent scream. I tried everything—barricading it, nailing it shut. But nothing worked. Each time I turned away, it would open, as if an invisible hand were at play.

Sleep became a distant memory. I lay awake, staring at the door, fearing what might emerge from its depths. The darkness within seemed alive, breathing, waiting. Whatever was in the closet, was not in a hurry to get out.

I began to see things, shadows flitting in my peripheral vision, whispers in the dead of night that woke me up. In the day, it was an ordinary closet. I searched it and there was nothing in there. At night, it took on this feeling of a living being watching me through the cracked it popped open every evening.

Then, one night, in a fit of desperate courage, I decided to confront it. That was probably the twelve or thirteen beers that I had down. I left the door open, staring into the abyss. I refused to allow this thing to keep taunting me. A few hours passed, my eyes focused, my body rigid with tension. It was about one in the morning, the alcohol finally fading from my system and my eyes growing heavy when I saw it. A pair of luminous eyes staring back at me from the crack in the door.

I couldn’t see anything else in that blackness as it peered at me. It knew I saw it and I knew it saw me.

The sight of those eyes – unblinking, unyielding – cleared the rest of the booze from my head. I wanted to scream, to run, but I was frozen, trapped in its gaze. It felt as though it was peering into the very essence of my being. The air grew colder, the shadows in my room stretching and twisting into grotesque forms.

“I know you're there,” I whispered, my voice trembling. The eyes didn't blink, didn't move. They just watched, unwavering. Then slowly, the eyes closed and opened in a lazy blink when I heard a guttural voice causing my skin to crawl respond.

“I know.”

The hallway closet door closed and locked itself which broke the spell over me. Since then, I’ve been in my car trying to decide what to do.

I don’t know what it is or what it wants but I can’t afford to move somewhere else. Maybe it’s not dangerous? Maybe it just needs a home too.

I’ll find out tonight when I go back in. There’s got to be a way out of this.

— © Jonathan J. Snyder, All rights Reserved Like what you read and want to buy me a cup of coffee?

Originally published on r/Odd_Directions

Tags: #horror #shortstory #odddirections

In the shabby corridors of my low-income apartment complex, a place where the paint peeled like sun burnt skin and the musty air clung to everything, I carved out a meager existence. The walls were so thin, whispers and secrets had no sanctuary; every quarrel, every burst of laughter from my neighbors invaded my space, shattering the illusion of solitude.

My apartment was a cramped, one-bedroom affair, with a window that looked out onto a concrete jungle of similar buildings. The constant cacophony of sounds from adjacent units often disturbed my peace, the worst offender being the incessant barking and howling from the annoying neighbor's dogs. They barked at shadows, at passing cars, at the mere hint of life outside their confined world.

Yet, amidst this urban chaos, I found an unexpected companion. I was never a fan of cats. Their aloof nature, the way they carried themselves with a detached air of indifference, never appealed to me. They seemed to belong to their own world, one where human affection was a currency, they neither needed nor desired.

However, there was this one stray cat, a scruffy, bedraggled creature with matted fur that looked like it had been through a dozen storms. Its eyes, though, were what caught me – piercing green, like emerald beacons in the night, reflecting a soul that had seen more than its fair share of hardships.

Every day, as I trudged back from my mundane job, my spirits as grey as the city sky, I would see it sitting near the dumpster. The cat seemed to be waiting for something, or perhaps someone. Its gaze would latch onto me, following my every move with a sort of quiet desperation. It never meowed, never made a sound; it just watched with those unnerving, knowing eyes.

Feeling a pang of sympathy for this feral creature, I began leaving scraps of food for it. I'd drop them near the dumpster and retreat, watching from a distance. The cat would approach the food cautiously, always maintaining a wary distance from me, as if unsure of my intentions. But as it ate, those green eyes would lift to meet mine, and in them, I saw a flicker of gratitude, a silent thank you that resonated deeper than any words.

Over time, this became our unspoken ritual. I found myself looking forward to these brief encounters, to that silent communication between man and beast. There was something comforting about it, a small beacon of connection in my otherwise isolated life.

One evening, as I lay in my bed, the sounds of the city a dull roar in the background, I pondered over this unlikely bond. The cat, with its tattered appearance and guarded demeanor, had become a fixture in my daily routine. It was a small, perhaps insignificant, part of my world, but in that tiny, shared moment each day, I felt a kinship with this creature of the streets. It was a reminder that even in the most unlikely places, connections can be forged, offering a glimmer of warmth in the cold concrete landscape of urban life.

One particularly cold and rainy night,, I trudged back to my apartment. My clothes clung to me, soaked through by the relentless downpour, and my mood was as dreary as the weather. The streetlights cast long, ghostly shadows on the wet pavement, making the familiar path home feel eerie and desolate.

As I neared the dumpster, a small, shivering bundle caught my eye. It was the stray cat, huddled miserably under a piece of soggy cardboard, its fur matted and drenched. The sight tugged at something in my heart. I had never considered myself a sentimental person, but seeing the creature in such a pitiful state stirred an unfamiliar sense of compassion within me.

“Hey there, little guy,” I muttered, approaching cautiously. The cat's eyes flickered towards me, wide with apprehension and the chill of the rain.

I hesitated for a moment, unsure. Then, making up my mind, I gently scooped the trembling cat into my arms. It tensed immediately, its body rigid with fear and cold. “It's okay, I've got you,” I whispered, trying to infuse a warmth into my voice that I seldom used.

The walk back to my apartment was a blur, the cat's shivering body pressed against my chest. Once inside, I set about making it comfortable. I grabbed an old towel, rubbing the cat's fur in an attempt to dry it off. Its eyes, those haunting green orbs, watched me with a curious intensity, as if trying to decipher my intentions. “You're a tough one, aren't you?” I said softly, meeting its gaze. “Surviving out there on your own.”

The cat blinked slowly, a silent acknowledgment of my words.

I opened a can of tuna, the smell immediately filling the small kitchen. The cat's ears perked up, and it cautiously approached the bowl I placed on the floor. It sniffed the food, then began to eat with a hunger that was painful to watch. “Guess you were pretty hungry, huh, Shadow?” I mused, giving the cat a name on a whim. Shadow seemed to fit – a creature of the streets, a silent witness to the world's forgotten corners.

As the night wore on, Shadow's initial wariness gave way to a tentative trust. It curled up on my lap, its purring a soft, rhythmic sound that filled the silent apartment. I stroked its fur gently, feeling the vibrations of contentment under my fingertips.

For the first time in a long while, as I sat there with Shadow purring in my lap, the loneliness that had been my constant companion seemed to recede. The apartment felt less empty, the night less oppressive. Shadow, with its quiet presence, had brought an unexpected warmth into my life.

That night, as I lay in bed, Shadow nestled beside me, I felt a sense of peace I hadn't known in years. The rain continued to tap against the window, but inside, there was a comforting stillness. Drifting off to sleep, I realized that this stray cat, this unexpected companion, had somehow bridged the gap in my solitary world. The tranquility of the night was abruptly shattered when I was jolted awake. A bone-chilling sensation crept over me, an icy grip that seemed to hold me in place. I tried to move, to speak, but my body was paralyzed, unresponsive to my desperate attempts. My breaths were ragged, sharp intakes of air that did little to calm my pounding heart. Panic surged through me, a primal fear that I couldn't quell. The room was suffused with an oppressive sense of dread. The moonlight, a ghostly silver, filtered through the window, casting elongated shadows that danced eerily on the walls. And there, in the farthest corner of my room, stood a horrifying, indistinct shadow. It was a mass of darkness, a shapeless entity that seemed to pulse with a malevolent life of its own.

My eyes, wide with terror, were fixed on this monstrous silhouette. It was as if every childhood fear, every nightmare I'd ever had, was manifesting right before my eyes. The air felt thick, charged with an electric tension that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

But then, amidst the overwhelming fear, I noticed Shadow. She sat calmly at the foot of my bed, her green eyes locked on the entity. There was no sign of panic in her; the cat’s ears were forward and her fur smooth and unruffled.

“Shadow?” My voice was a mere whisper, strained and barely audible.

She turned to look at me briefly, her eyes seeming to convey a message of reassurance before she focused back on the shadowy figure.

Shadow then began to meow softly, a series of quiet, deliberate sounds that felt like a strange, eerie form of communication. It was as if she was speaking to the monster, negotiating with it in a language beyond human comprehension.

I lay there, frozen, watching this surreal exchange. The room seemed to hold its breath, the only sounds being Shadow's soft meows and my own shallow breathing. Time appeared to stand still, the moment stretching into an eternity.

Then, as abruptly as it had appeared, the shadow began to recede. It seemed to dissolve, melting away into the darkness until nothing remained but the normal shadows of the night.

The tension in the room dissipated, leaving behind a heavy silence. I was still unable to move, my mind struggling to process what had just happened. Fear, confusion, and a profound sense of disbelief swirled within me.

In the aftermath of the encounter, my eyes stayed locked on where the entity had been, half-expecting it to reappear. But it was gone, as if it had never been there at all.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, my consciousness began to fade. I slipped into a fitful, uneasy sleep, the events of the night haunting the edges of my dreams. The last thing I remembered was the feeling of Shadow's warm body curled up at my feet, a silent guardian in the stillness of the night.

The first rays of sunlight, warm and golden, filtered through the blinds, casting a soft, dappled pattern across the room. I blinked away the remnants of sleep, the peaceful light at odds with the turmoil that churned inside me. For a brief, blissful moment, I allowed myself to believe that the horrors of the night had been nothing but a figment of my imagination, a nightmare spawned from the deepest recesses of my mind.

But then, as my eyes adjusted to the morning light, I saw Shadow. She was curled up beside me, her breathing steady and calm, the picture of serenity. Her presence, so real and tangible, dispelled any lingering hopes that the night's events were just a dream.

I lay there for a moment, watching Shadow sleep, the memories of the previous night cascading back into my consciousness. The shadowy figure, the sense of paralyzing fear, and Shadow's inexplicable communication with the entity. It was all too real, too vivid to deny. A chilling realization settled over me – Shadow had somehow communicated with the monster, had somehow convinced it to leave. It was a thought that was as terrifying as it was mystifying.

“Hey, Shadow,” I whispered, gently stroking her fur. She stirred, blinking her green eyes open and fixing them on me with a knowing look.

“What happened last night?” I asked, half-expecting her to answer. Of course, she didn't. She simply meowed softly, nuzzling against my hand, as if to reassure me.

With a heavy heart, I got out of bed and prepared for work. My mind was a whirlwind of questions and fears, but the mundane routine of getting ready provided a temporary distraction.

As I stepped outside, the normalcy of my apartment was replaced by a scene of chaos and confusion. Police cars, their lights flashing ominously, lined the street.

Officers in uniform moved about, their expressions grave, as they canvassed the area. Neighbors gathered in small, huddled groups, their faces etched with shock and fear. Approaching one of the officers, I asked, “What's going on?”

“There's been an incident,” he replied curtly. “Multiple homicides in a different part of the complex.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. Homicides? Here, in our complex? I felt a knot form in my stomach. “Do we know who...?” My voice trailed off, unable to finish the question.

The officer glanced at a notepad in his hand. “Still identifying the victims. But I can tell you one of them was the guy with the dogs from building C.”

The annoying neighbor with the dogs. A surge of mixed emotions washed over me – shock, sadness, and an unsettling sense of connection to the night's events.

As I walked to the bus stop, my mind raced with thoughts. Had the shadowy entity been involved in the homicides? Was there a connection between what I experienced and the tragedy that had befallen my neighbors? And most importantly, what role had Shadow played in all of this?

The questions swirled in my head, unanswered and ominous, as I headed off to face the day, the image of Shadow's calm, green eyes imprinted in my mind.

The reality of what had transpired hit me like a ton of bricks. If not for Shadow, I might have been one of the victims. I looked at the cat with a newfound respect and gratitude. From that day on, I swore to keep Shadow by my side and to extend kindness to any cat I encountered. There was a chance, however slim, that these creatures had a connection to something beyond our understanding, and they could very well be the guardians of our lives.

As I left for work, with Shadow watching me from the window, I couldn't help but wonder about the mysteries of the world that we are oblivious to, and the unlikely guardians that walk among us.

— © Jonathan J. Snyder, All rights Reserved Like what you read and want to buy me a cup of coffee?

Originally published on r/nosleep

Tags: #horror #shortstory #nosleep

I’m glad that I found this place. What happened to me has been sitting with me for quite a few weeks now and I don’t know if any of you will believe me but here we go.

So, three weeks had passed since my mother passed away. As much as I wanted to ignore everything and just wallow in my grief, I knew I had to go clean out her house. My wife had been gently coaxing me in that direction a week after the funeral. I found myself in the basement of her old house much sooner than I wanted, sifting through memories and mementos my mother never got around to getting rid of. The air was thick with dust and nostalgia. As I moved a stack of old, yellowed newspapers, my eyes caught on something peculiar—a door, tucked away in a corner. Oddly, I didn't remember ever seeing it before.

Now, this was not my childhood home but a place she had moved into after my dad had died. I had been down in this basement quite a few times and never remembered a door here.

Hesitantly, I approached the door. It was plain, unassuming, yet felt strange to look at. I don’t know how to put it in words but the longer I looked at the door the more my eyes wanted to look away, like this plain wooden door hurt to be looked at. Curiosity got the better of me and I reached forward and grabbed the cool handle. An unexplainable dread flooded over me causing me to release it as if it had burnt me.

‘What the hell was that?’ I had thought to myself staring at the worn knob.

Stepping away from the door for a few moments, I haphazardly went through the basement finally locating my father’s old military flashlight, you know the ones that are drab green and at an angle? I had recently switched the batteries out, so I knew it was good to go and returned to the door. Taking a breath, I put my hand on the knob, turned and pulled it gently open.

Though it did not creak loudly, there was a puff of stale air that escaped carrying along the scent of plant decay and dirt. As my beam shined down, I was surprised to see solid stone steps that descended, hit a landing, and then turned around the corner to what I expected to be another flight. How the hell was there a flight of stairs like this in my mother’s house?

Taking a deep breath, I stepped onto the staircase. Each step echoed in the hollow space though it almost felt like that sound could not get past the open door above. I continued to the landing, peered around and found another set of identical stairs that continued.

After descending those two flights, a feeling of unease began to gnaw at me. Though the walls had been plain at the start, they were now adorned with faded frescoes and intricate carvings that felt familiar yet foreign. The air had grown heavier as if it had not moved in years. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was intruding on some sort of forgotten realm, a place not meant for the likes of me.

I paused, catching my breath, at the sight of the first stone door. Its surface was covered in strange glyphs which I recognized as a Greek symbols. The door was ajar and based on the collection of undisturbed dust, it had been so for quite a while. Beyond it, the next set of stairs looked older, less cared for. Layers of dirt coated each step, undisturbed until now.

My heart pounded in my chest. This didn't make sense. How could this exist beneath my mother's house? A house I thought I knew every inch of. I should have turned back at that point, but I knew I had to keep going.

As I made the first flight and landing of this new doorway, the entire design of the stairwell had changed. The floor had become a white and black marble with Grecian style pillars carved out of the walls on both sides. What I was not ready for was what lay beyond the corridor.

‘This is impossible.’

That’s what I kept telling myself.

‘This is absolutely impossible!’

I stepped into the subterranean marvel, immediately noticing the cooler air and the hushed serenity that enveloped me. Before me lay an architectural wonder, an underground bridge reminiscent of ancient Greek elegance. Both the bridge and its landings were crafted from the finest marble, its surface smooth and lustrous under the soft, ambient lighting.

The marble was a tapestry of colors, primarily pristine white, veined with subtle streaks of gray and hints of blue, resembling the tranquil skies of the Mediterranean. The craftsmanship was exquisite, with each slab meticulously joined, creating an almost seamless flow of stone.

The bridge arched gracefully over a still, reflective waterway. The surface of the water mirrored the majestic structure above, adding a unnatural quality with its gentle ripples sending soft echoes through this subterranean world.

Flanking the bridge were rows of columns, robust and simple. These columns supported an intricately carved frieze above, depicting scenes of ancient Greek mythology. I could recognize some of the stories, but a lot were unfamiliar.

The landing areas at both ends of the bridge were spacious and clean. They were adorned with empty pots that appeared to have once held trees or plants but had long since died. There was a subtle fragrance on the air that I could not quite figure out where it was coming from.

Overhead, the ceiling was high and vaulted. It was adorned with artful mosaics, each tile meticulously placed depicting the night sky though I could not locate any familiar constellation and that was hard to believe since I grew up studying the stars with my dad.

I stood there, staring in disbelief of what my eyes were showing me. I even reached out and touched the side of the bridge a few times just to prove to myself that it was there. In hindsight, I should have turned and left immediately. This was impossible and real at the same time which did not spell a good outcome for me but that did not happen.

As I think back on it, it felt as if I was in a dream and like anyone in a dream, logical decisions are not easy to come by. Before I even had a chance to think on it, I began to walk across, my footsteps echoing softly.

It was about halfway across the bridge that I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I immediately spun to look to my right broken out of my dream like revelry but found nothing. In that very moment, I could have sworn I saw something moving up around the tops of the outcropping of the vaulted ceiling.

I shinned my flashlight up there and found nothing out of the ordinary…well, out of the ordinary for a place that should not exist in the first place. With bit more of a hurried step, I made it to the other side of the bridge instead of retreating the way I came. Like an idiot, I needed to know where this was going.

On the opposite side of the bridge, there was another identical corridor that led to yet another flight of steps. Impatiently, I hurried down them and came to a halt in front of another door. This one was pure granite stone, almost two feet thick. I knew this because it looked like someone had spent a lot of energy pushing on it and got it to move enough to allow a human to squeeze through. This door had symbols on it to and like the earlier one, I recognized them as ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. I had no idea what they said but my love of ancient history made me confident in my find.

At this moment, I knew I had come too far. Have you ever had that moment when you realized you were in way too deep and that you needed to get out. I felt that to my very core. The air had shifted around me and I knew it deep down but as a fool I decided that I needed to keep going, just a bit further.

Shimming through the opening, I was plunged into blackness except for the light coming from the cracked stone door.

The darkness beyond was almost palpable. I aimed my flashlight directly ahead of me and saw that there were more stairs. These stairs here were ancient, unevenly worn, as if carved thousands of years ago. The air was suffocating, thick with dust and the weight of time. I could barely breathe.

As I descended, a faint, indistinct sound reached my ears. It was barely audible over the sound of my own footsteps, but it was there—a whisper, a murmur, something alive in this tomb of history. My heart raced, and a cold sweat broke out on my brow. I wasn't alone and I was the idiot that got killed in horror movies.

I pressed on, driven by a mix of fear and fascination. The stairs became treacherous, uneven and dangerously steep. With every step, I feared I would slip and tumble into the inky blackness that light struggled to cut through.

Finally, I reached yet another door. This one was closed, sealed shut as if it hadn't been opened in millennia. It was weathered and appeared to have been hewn from the stone by hand. There were only a few scratched symbols in the door that I recognized. Babylonian. It was almost as if I had gone through time and arrived at a door to one of the planet’s oldest civilizations. The handle was a simply rope that had been looped through and looked as ancient as the door but somehow yet intact. I put my hand on the door knowing that this next decision would be the dumbest I could make but I had to see what was on the other side.

Fortunately, I never got an opportunity. I heard it first behind me, a hiss that was quite loud. I spun around in terror to see what had followed me in to the earth. At first, might light could not find it but that was because my brain could not process what I was seeing.

It was a giant snake, that was almost as tall as me as it sat back on its coils. Its scales shimmered like emeralds in the dim light, and its many heads, crowned with horns, swayed gently as if in a trance. The head of this creature was wide and the eyes golden and unnatural. Have you ever looked at an animal and realized that it was thinking and smarter than you? That was the feeling I got as it focused on me. The forked tongue came out as it tasted the air.

‘Shit!’ I had thought to myself as I wondered if I could move to the wall in hopes it had somehow not noticed me. That was stupid to think since it was looking straight at me.

From deep within its throat, it began to emit strange sounds, combinations I had never heard of but was pretty sure it was speaking. When it spoke again, the tone made it clear it was upset I had not responded.

After the third attempt, I could tell it was done. The movement was quick but I either was damn lucky or it was off balance (or a mixture of both). The strange snake monster lunged at me and I instinctively dived to the side. The massive body went over head and landed with a thud against the ancient, unopened door.

I did not wait to find out what its next plan was. I sprinted with all my might, fueled with adrenalin and dashed back the way I came. The sound of scales against dirt told me that it was right behind me. As I ran up the uneven stairs praying I did not slip, I felt it’s breath on my neck a few times. I threw myself through the cracked door scraping my head against the stone causing blood to pour into my eye. I heard the thump of the creature hitting the door and causing the crack to become smaller.

Part of me knew it could not get through that crack anymore but the rest of me did not care. I ran and ran up flights of stairs until at last, I burst back into the extremely small basement and kicked the door closed with my feet. The door slammed shut and I screamed for my wife.

That is pretty much where my story ends. My wife came running down the steps and saw the horrible state I was in. I’m pretty sure I babbled quite a bit because she could not make out anything I said. A few hours later when I was calmed down, I mentioned the door and she looked at me confused.

What was strange is that I took her down to the basement and pointed to it and her face would go blank. It was like she could see it but just not comprehend it. That look people get who are half awake and talking to you in your sleep? In the end, I gave up trying to explain it and we left.

Why am I telling you this? That’s because I want someone to know. I went back and the door is still there and it still opens. I plan to go in again and see if I can discover more about it. Why am I the only one that can comprehend it. Why does it exist?

I know that snake thing is still in there but I’m pretty confident it is trapped which allows me a chance to explore the rest. Is it stupid? Probably but I need to know. I need to know why there is a door in my mom’s basement that leads to a place that should not exist.

I’m just waiting for my gun permit to clear and finishing my research on Greek, Egyptian, and Babylonian myths to help me understand. Once I’ve gotten that, I’m going back in.

I’m going to find the answers and nothing is stopping me.

— © Jonathan J. Snyder, All rights Reserved Like what you read and want to buy me a cup of coffee?

Originally published on r/nosleep

Tags: #horror #shortstory #nosleep

I don’t know how to start this. So, I’ll just write it.

It was the normal route that I took every day from work. I think It might have known that. Being one of the few waitresses with experience at that stupid coffee store, my manager always made me close when he could get away with it. I think it may have known that too.

It was well past eleven when I finally got everything done and the doors locked. The night itself hung heavy, the air thick like an oncoming storm. It was the kind which clung to your skin and sent shivers down your spine. I walked briskly through the deserted streets, cursing that I had to do this again, the echo of my footsteps bouncing off the empty buildings that loomed like silent sentinels on either side. My breath formed visible puffs in the frigid air, and a sense of unease settled over me like a heavy cloak. Winter was an accursed time for me. That’s how it always felt. My coat was never thick enough, and my ears were always cold even with the knitted cap pulled low. That night had been much worse.

I was almost home, my pace quickening as I approached the familiar glow of the streetlamps. The pools of light they cast on the pavement felt like beacons of safety. I had always loved the streetlamps with their orange glow. Little did I know that, tonight, the light would betray me.

As I turned the corner onto my block, I noticed that for the first time, all the lights had been on. There was one halfway down that cast a very soft, green light that felt comforting to see. I had heard about other countries experimenting with lights of different colors to ease pedestrians, and a part of me was glad that they were trying it out. Honestly, one bulb was not going to be enough, but in this case, I was glad to see it.

The green light flickered, casting an eerie glow on the deserted street. Surprisingly, the warmth it emanated felt like a welcome embrace, and an overwhelming desire to stop and rest. My tired legs grew heavy, and the green glow seemed to warm me up inside.

Without realizing it, my steps slowed, and I found myself standing beneath the peculiar light. The soft hum it emitted seemed to echo in the stillness of the night, lulling me into a sleepy feeling that usually never hit me without a fifth of vodka and half package of Oreos. A strange calm settled over me, and for a moment, the tension that had gripped me since leaving work seemed to dissipate.

Then, as quickly as the comfort had set in, a cold realization crept over me. Something was wrong. The comforting green light started to shift, its glow taking on an ominous hue. The air around me thickened, and I felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of being watched. I felt trapped. My mind wanted to react, but the rest of my body just stayed there basking in the light.

As I poured every ounce of will into moving again towards my home, the green light seemed to elongate and twist, forming grotesque shadows that danced along the pavement. Panic clawed at the edges of my consciousness, and I forced a step forward. The once-friendly glow now felt like a malevolent force, guiding me into a trap.

The shadows coalesced into…something—a grotesque figure with elongated fingers that reached out like the tendrils. The streetlamp seemed to come alive as if it was actually some sort of creature waiting for prey. It couldn’t be true. I was confident until I smelled the tang of rust and felt its fingers start tangling in my hair.

With a scream of desperation inside, the spell that I was held under broke. I ducked just in time to avoid the monstrous appendages grabbing hold of me. I broke into a cold sweat which coated my skin. I ran back as the green light seemed to twist to look at me, the hood of the lamp the creature’s face emitting that once peaceful glow.

I broke into a sprint, the echoes of my footsteps now accompanied by the nightmarish clatter of the pursuing creature. The thing had unfurled its long, sinewy legs from its body where it had been pretending to be a pole, leaning forward with claws snapping, desperately attempting to get a hold of me.

I ran. The silhouette loomed closer, its shadow from the green light the only clue was still behind me. Somehow, the street was empty and only the sound of my ragged breathing and the soft clang of metal as it galloped after me!

The chase continued through the labyrinth of empty streets since I lost track of home. I could feel its malevolence closing in, a predatory force hungry for its prey. My heart pounded in my chest, and fear clung to me like a suffocating shroud as I raced against the night and the monstrous creature that hunted me through the dimly lit streets. Every single time I thought I was ahead, the green would come around the corner, scan, and begin to barrel after me.

Gasping for breath, I sprinted into a large, open parking lot, hoping the labyrinth of cars would offer some cover. The stark, flickering fluorescent lights overhead created eerie shadows that played tricks on my senses, were there more?

I crouched between two cars, my chest heaving, and my eyes darting nervously around the desolate parking lot. The distant hum of the city seemed muffled, drowned out by the pounding of my heart in my ears. The green light filled the parking lot as It slowed down and began to search methodically. It moved ominously between the rows of cars, its glow flickering with malevolence.

I pressed myself against the cold metal of the car, desperate to keep a low profile. The monster's elongated limbs reached out, probing the air like a predatory insect, searching for any trace of my presence. Panic gripped me as I realized the enormity of my predicament – this creature was relentless, and the darkness seemed to amplify its insatiable desire to capture me.

The green light moved back and forth, casting grotesque shadows that danced across the asphalt. I held my breath, praying that the creature wouldn't sense me amidst the sea of parked cars. Each step it took echoed, reverberating through the empty expanse of the parking lot. Where the hell was everyone?

A guttural growl emanated from the monster, sending shivers down my spine. It was a sound that seemed to transcend the boundaries of the known, a primal call t that shouldn’t exist. I strained to control my breathing, terrified that even the slightest noise might betray my location.

The green light hovered dangerously close, its sickly glow revealing the twisted contours of the streetlamp monster. As it came within inches of my hiding spot, I held my breath and hoped it could not hear my heart.

Summoning every ounce of courage, I waited for the opportune moment. As the creature turned away, I seized the chance to slip away, darting between cars like a phantom in the night. My footsteps were silent, but the asphalt seemed to groan beneath the weight of my fear. I knew I could not have been fully silent as the green light seemed to flicker as its head shot back and forth looking and trying to figure out where the soft noise was coming from. I knew if I could get out and around the corner where the walls would block its view, I would have a chance.

I found a break in the rows of cars and sprinted towards the edge of the parking lot. The green light followed, casting long, haunting shadows as it continued its pursuit. The open expanse stretched before me, and to my relief the street had come alive with people who had been exiting the bars. I made a desperate dive towards a group of people meandering past the lot.

Breathless and trembling, I stumbled into the midst of unsuspecting pedestrians. I knew they looked at me confused but all I cared about was that light. I looked and only caught a sign of it on the opposite side of the block retreating into the dark, the green slowly vanishing against the black night. I merged with the group and stayed, and they didn’t protest. I think the fear in my eyes told them something was up, but they weren’t interested in finding out what. I had kept casting furtive glances over my shoulder to ensure the creature had abandoned its chase and saw no sign of it. The last thing I heard about it was a strange warbling wail of frustration that could have easily been mistaken for the Amtrak passing by.

Arriving home, I fumbled for my keys with trembling hands. The safety of my apartment brought only partial relief, for the echoes of the nightmarish chase still reverberated in my mind. I locked the door behind me, leaning against it as if to barricade myself from the horrors that lurked outside.

I quit that morning and moved. I didn’t alert the landlord or even give a reason to either. I told my mother I was coming home because “things happened” and fled. I don’t know if anyone will believe me but if you see a green light, please, please be careful.

— © Jonathan J. Snyder, All rights Reserved Like what you read and want to buy me a cup of coffee?

Tags: #essay #nonfiction

It has been awhile since I have written a blog but today, I got pretty pissed (if the title didn't give that away) and I wanted to write it out instead of just fuming throughout the house.

As some readers my recognize, my title may allude to something familiar, something you might have experienced yourself. The vermin and filth of the Collectible Card Game world.

What Happened

It was shopping day and as much as I did not want to leave the house (I'm American and still recovering from Thanksgiving), I had to go get groceries or my children would start screeching again for their granola bars and oatmeal.

While meandering about like a lost puppy due to ADHD, I stumbled across stocked Pokemon Cards at Walmart which was not common due to players and the aforementioned scalpers hitting the racks within hours of delivery.

It had been about three months since I had bought any cards as I love the game but don't really get much time to play it. I like to keep a low-tier competitive deck ready to go for that one day I might be able to go to a local tournament or something.

I grabbed six sets since they were only $3.78 (normally at this Walmart they price them $4.99 like Magic Cards) and happily headed home. Once I got the groceries put away, the monsters fed their granola bars, I curled up in my office to take 30-ish minutes to open each one and savor the fun of seeing what's in there and maybe, just maybe find a V, VSTAR, Rainbow Secret or even a Gold Rare. I never hold out hope because I know the odds on it.

At the moment, the pull rate for a Gold Rare is 1 in every 82 booster packs of Paradox Rift

When I opened the first container to pull the booster pack out, I noticed that the top had already been ripped. My first thought was: “Dammit, I wasn't careful tearing the card board” but then I opened the second and found the same thing.

That sinking feeling hit as I took the last four, flipped them over and found that someone had popped the back to pull the booster pack out without damaging the cardboard, sliced open the top, slid the cards out and checked them. The realization hit me like a ton of breaks and made me quite upset.

Someone had gone through the six packs I had already! That meant 1) if they found any of those good cards, there would only be 8 or 9 cards in the back and if all 10 were there, they were never any to begin with. That meant that at that very moment, I knew that there was going to be nothing in my packs either way.

I still went through and opened each one of them and counted the cards to see and in this case, each one had their 10 cards plus their basic energy and QR code (I haven't even checked to see if those are working yet).

I got cards but it wasn't enjoyable to open. The feeling of excitement and mystery that I was hoping for with this rare purchase was gone because someone decided to try and steal the good cards without paying.

They choice profit over the excitement of discovering a wonderful, beautiful card you didn't truly expect.

Whoever it was, that damn scalper stole that feeling from me.

Profit And the Collectible Card Community

If I was a child, I would have cried. The sheer disappointment in my soul had made the inner child weep. I'm not ashamed to admit it. In this life there are many joys one can have and cards are one of the few that I have.

Since the Great Plague of 2020 and the mad rush off venture capitalists and those who wanted to make a quick buck started buying up every booster in existence, the true wonder and value of a card has been lost.

People just open packs to see if one of the special cards were in there and when they weren't, discarded it. They don't take the time to admire each one including the common cards that get overlooked.

It is so much worse to me to take this to another level and secretly try and steal the cards, find nothing, and leave them on the shelf so that a true lover of cards goes through what I did.

I'm tired of people joining a hobby or participating in a cultural phenomenon just to make money.

Don't get me wrong! I have no problem with true collectors who buy cards and sell them online because the difference is that they're not in this just for the money. They aren't looking for a Hyper Rare to make a hundred dollars but are looking to share that card with others, to find that card a good home.

I do it. I've sold a few of my high priced cards at a lower price because I knew the purchaser was going to give that card a good place like their own collection or in a deck where they truly belong.

This might come off as childish and may be it. It is beside the point. It just made me realize that late stage capitalism has infected so many things that you can't escape it anymore. Even a hobby that I love has been poisoned and I don't see any way to stop it. I don't want to have to now examine every single booster I buy for tampering or to see if someone has tried to steal from it. There's signs that it's finally coming to an end but we'll see.

I just want my hobby back.

— © Jonathan J. Snyder, All rights Reserved Like what you read and want to buy me a cup of coffee?