2021.10.16 16:19 Content-Coconut-6556 “I KNEW IT!”
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2021.10.16 16:19 OLagartixa "Why are you looking at me that scary way, Anne?"
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2021.10.16 16:19 gabrielaronson New Subway Map Just Dropped (NYC)
2021.10.16 16:19 merbaum 96
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2021.10.16 16:19 niceperson34 17m, 180lbs. Been having some textbook symptoms of low t. Tiredness, inability to gain muscle, inability to sleep, concentration issues etc. Can these levels justify being prescribed trt?
2021.10.16 16:19 xenzaho Judo throw, nailed it!
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2021.10.16 16:19 aljoo_182 0 in the woods
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2021.10.16 16:19 AccordionGuy What’s happening in the Tampa Bay tech/entrepreneur/nerd scene (Week of Monday, October 18, 2021)
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2021.10.16 16:19 cannolitheholy Brother got his first truck at 18 about 2 weeks ago, a gen 3 2500 5.9L cummins
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2021.10.16 16:19 midsummersgarden Oh, potty.
Do any of you ever get to sleep in? It’s 7 on a Saturday after a long week and my puppy got up and peed and pooped before I could take him out. I am vigilant through the day so he only does it then. Having trouble catching him in time. Through the day time he uses the dog door and likes going in the backyard because we are down stairs. Upstairs, when he’s with us, he goes on the carpet or the potty pad. We have already retired a large rug downstairs. I guess we need to get rid of the upstairs carpet too. This is why I’ve been so tired lately, he doesn’t want me to take him out late at night and he goes in the morning early unless I wake at dawn to take him out. Sometimes I can’t believe I have seven more months of this, I’m tired. I would have preferred a 1-2 year old dog (I already hospiced two old dogs and I wanted more time) but puppies are more available…..because of this! Haha.
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2021.10.16 16:19 Fluersch The Tailing Ponds
Every living place beats and pulses with the tides of humanity. From cities, to small towns, from comfortable homes, to substandard apartments, there is a current to life that is, usually, comforting. There is comfort in being in a room with a parent or sibling or friend, usually. And there is comfort in the sounds on the streets ebbing and flowing like waves on a beach, usually. This is something I did not fully appreciate until spending time in a place well and truly dead.
And St. Barbara was dead. The town emerged from behind the hillside as I rounded the corner on that lonely Route 732. I was compelled to stop on the bridge connecting the deteriorating back road over Pendleton Creek and stepped out of my car to look up and fully absorb the scene. The town consisted of two rows of structures built into the cliffside of the mesa. The top row was made up of the commercial buildings that once serviced the town, and the bottom row of homes for the miners and shopkeepers and families who lived there. Most of the structures were in the Victorian style that was so popular during the old boom days, but some were in the more modern in the art deco and brutalist styles of the 30s and 50s. Some were little more than shacks, and some were comparatively grand, but all were long abandoned. Above those two lines of structures were three mine entrances in a triangular pattern. The interior of the mesa was filled with copper ore and other precious minerals and metals. The decaying town was connected with a switchback path and crissed and crossed the cliffside. The full effect from the road was to be welcomed by the grin of an immense, scarred giant with rotting green and brown teeth, its eyes and nose decayed into their respective sockets. The mountain range that encircled the valley was concealed behind the cliff, and fifty feet below me the Pendleton Creek rushed with alarming speed, fed by snow-melt from an unusually snowy winter. The Spring was colder that year, and the aspen groves remained leafless and dead. The cold air stung my eyes as I stared up at my desolate destination.
Ted got the idea to spend Spring Break in St. Barbara after learning about the doomed town in his class on the science of environmental cleanups. He believed the town was the perfect topic for his term paper, and he wanted to visit in-person. He invited his then girlfriend, Susie Colmbes; his co-writer for the term project, Jason Tamre; and his best friend, me. St. Barbara is on the back roads, but it was only a thirty minute drive from home town, Westenra, and so the extended camping trip would provide me a chance to spend a few days with my family before the second half of the semester. And, despite having grown up in an old mining community, I had never actually spent time in a real life western ghost town. I was curious to explore such a place, if only for the novelty.
I stepped back into my car drove my old Subaru the final few miles to the parking lot on the top of the mesa. Ted’s chevy was already there and parked. I pulled out my phone and read the directions he sent via email. We would be staying in the “Banker House”, a largish victorian mansion where a local bank owner stayed when he came to inspect his investments. Facing Route 732, the Banker House was the last home on that bottom row of residencies on the left side of town. I walked past the rusted link chain and long meaningless “Do Not Trespass - Private Property” sign, noting the multiple bullet holes. A little way down the dirt path, I saw Ted placing the logs for the campfire that night. I called down and waved at him.
Ted gave me his best Hollywood grin and called out that he was glad I found the cliffside village alright. I was the first one there. Susie and Jason were still in Westenra and would be arriving together in the next half hour or so. “You’ll have to go all the way to the end and then all the way back here. Sorry.”
This was fine with me, I wanted a moment to explore the town, “Cool, need anything from your car?”
“Yeah, there isn’t tap water. Or, at least, I wouldn’t drink it. Nothing but red sludge comes out of the faucets. I have a bunch of water gallons in my trunk, please grab one if you can manage it.”
“No problem,” I said, “it might just take me a bit to get it down.”
“I’d just roll it down the hill. Thanks!” Ted pulled a black fob out of his jean pocket and I heard the locks of his car click twice. The tank of water was too heavy for me to carry down the hill, so I took Ted’s advice and began pushing it with my feet, playing an absurd, lonely game of Kick the Can. The path, made of stale dirt, was narrow. The people who lived here walked this trail from home to the mines to the pub and back to home, daily, endlessly.
The buildings had certainly looked as though they had been abandoned since Eisenhower was president. All the paint had peeled away to reveal wood that was slowly rotting as harsh winters and summer thaws alternated their assaults. All the windows had been broken, a popular pasttime of Westenra High students being throwing rocks at the abandoned buildings. I peered inside the small grocery store that fed the town. The produce had long ago decayed into a pool of black goop, but rows and rows of canned and boxed goods seemed mostly undisturbed. Some of the cans might even have had edible food. There was bowling alley and a movie theater advertising that Fiend Without a Face was playing. The town schoolhouse seemed melancholy in its abandonment. At the squat church, a rusted, rooftop bell sounded gently with the breeze.
At the end of the business row, there was another link chain fence with another shot-up sign warning that whatever was beyond was “Highly Toxic.” Behind the warning sign was a pool of blood red water that lapped lazily in the March breeze. The dirt around the pool was stained various shades of the sinister color. This was to me, a young, environmentally conscious college student, the equivalent to stumbling upon an abandoned bathtub filled with blood near a playground. I was as repulsed as I was fascinated, hypnotized by the nearly placid liquid. Then I noticed something laying next to the pool. It was the long dead body of a rat or a squirrel that was in an advanced stage of decomposition. Or at least I thought it was decomposed. What had happened to the unhappy creature was far weirder than simple decay. If anything, it was the opposite of decay.
In Northern Europe, there are bogs infamous for their powers of preservation. People who died thousands of years ago buried (or lost) in these bogs were mummified; their flesh shrunken and withered, discolored and grotesque, but remarkably preserved. There is a famous such Bog Person nicknamed the Tollund Man who, when found in 1950, was so well preserved that the police were concerned they had a recent murder on their hands. Tollund Man was indeed murdered, but whoever his attackers were, they had met their own ends long ago.
The unfortunate rodent I was looking at reminded me quite a bit of Tollund Man, withered and mummified up here in the dry mountain air. The main difference is that this little mummy was the same alarming color of red as the water and coated in a slimy film. At the risk of anthropomorphism, the creature seemed to have a look of excruciating pain on its mutated face.
A distant rumble of thunder brought me back to myself. I looked across the valley and saw towering storm clouds building over the distant Purgatorio Peak. Already, the top of the mountain was obscured by rain. Dashed were my dreams of s’mores and roasted hot dogs. Not wanting to get caught in the approaching storm, I made the turn on the trail and began moving down past the row of houses. There were a number of victorian style homes that presumably belonged to the better off shopkeepers. There were two large mansions on either end of the residential row (the Banker House and the Pendleton House). The rest were spartan structures where mining families or shopkeepers lived. Most of the windows down here were as broken as well. The private homes were even more eerie than the businesses above. Inside one bedroom window, a frayed teddy bear awaited a child who would never return. There were neatly folded clothes on the bed, with a half-empty laundry basket the child had never gotten to. There were sofas, and televisions. Kitchens were fully equipped. It was as if a bomb had gone off that incinerated the population, but left everything else in place. I wondered where the child who owned the abandoned teddy bear was, fifty years after her family and her town fled in panic. I wondered if she lived nearby, or lived a new life far from these mountains. I wondered if perhaps she was passed and buried. If she was, I hoped that it was somewhere warm and alive, far from the dead St. Barbara.
The Banker House was three stories tall, and unlike every other building in the village the windows were intact. The Westenra teens must have had a reverence for these stained glass windows, or perhaps the metal reinforced stained glass was simply less susceptible to rock projectiles. I went around to the backyard to rendezvous with Ted. I dropped my large pack and ran over to embrace him. Susie was his girlfriend, but I still enjoyed the scent of his sweat and deodorant and the feel of his arms around my body. He gave me directions to my room (the Blue Room, he called it), and asked me to come downstairs to help him drag equipment back inside. “Don’t use the faucets for water, be sure to drink from one of these bad boys,” said Ted, patting one of the water containers affectionately as though it were a beloved dog.
The inside of the Banker House was a little different than the other structures. The town government had tried to turn the House into a museum chronicling the town’s glorious history. When this grand Victorian home was abandoned, there were no signs of human habitation per se. There were little exhibits about how people in the town lived when the town was founded, how mining worked in St. Barbara, and the relationship between St. Barbara and its larger neighbor, Westenra. Even with the rich-colored wood and layered dust, there was a certain sterile nature to the house. I walked up the grand staircase and went down the third floor hall to my room. There was still the red velvet rope, discolored by decades of dust, to discourage tourists from entering. I dropped my pack into the room and then stepped over rope. The bed spread was a corrupted teal color that once might have been sacred blue. The same went for the blue blinds. I opened the blinds to let in sunlight and then cracked open the window to let some fresh air into the room. My window overlooked the wild lawn, and Ted waved at me. I waved back, and Ted held what looked like a yellow brick to his mouth. I heard a brief shot of static to my right and Ted’s voice. I jumped a little.
There was a maroon colored walkie-talkie on the chipped dresser. “Hi Ted, what’s this for?”
A burst of static, “Check your phone. There’s no cell phone reception down here. If we split up we’ll need to stay in contact with each other. I’d hate for us to go hiking, someone get hurt, and no one know until it’s too late.”
“Okay, Boy Scout.” I watched Ted chuckle down on the lawn.
I went down the stairs, briefly admiring the mountain-inspired art on the wall. I went back outside to help Ted get things inside before the storm came. Just as the first hints of rain began to fall, we heard Susie and Jason’s car approach and park on the mesa.
Growing up in Westenra, I never really needed a watch or phone to keep the time during the Spring and Summer months. Mornings were cloudless and clear. While the day never really became warm the way a Texan would understand “warm”, the sun always felt good on my skin. The weather during the first parts of the day was always perfect for hiking or biking. Then, in the early afternoons, the warm Pacific air blowing in from the west would be pushed up the mountains and past timberline into the cold, dry air above. Storm clouds would begin to tower high above the permanently snow-capped mountains around 2:00 in the afternoon. At about 2:30 or 2:45, the storm clouds would have broken, obscuring the mountains in what to the untrained eye would seem like fog rolling down like a slow-motion avalanche of water. By 3:15, anything in the mountains’ shadows would be engulfed in a thunderstorm that would last anywhere from half an hour to until the next morning.
The storm that bared down on us that first day in St. Barbara was an example of the latter. A cannonade of thunder would shake the house and rattle the windows and a heavy rain strafed the metal roof. A campfire may have been out of the question, but the Banker House had a large, old-fashioned fire place. Ted and I had been able to save most of the wood from the weather, and a healthy fire warmed us as we passed around a bottle of dark amber bourbon. Conversation was lively and interesting and danced with the flames. It was all almost enough for us to ignore the jagged lightening and trembling ground.
“So, babe,” Susie licked a drop of molten marshmallow that had fallen onto her index finger, “what’s the deal with this town?” Jason sighed, having learned everything there was to know about St. Barbara, and quite frankly tired of hearing Ted’s chatter about the town. But I was interested too. I knew a little about St. Barbara, and had been warned by my family to stay away. The St. Barbara in my imagination was always steeped in half-remembered folklore and ghost stories passed between 12-year-olds on the recess playground.
Ted briefly flashed his eyebrows at Jason, mockingly, and took a big swig of whiskey, “it all began 2.3 billion years ago…”
“There’s a bunch of copper and other, more valuable metals inside this mesa. One is a metal I can’t pronounce drunk that is used in the smelting process to purify steel,” finished Jason, not in the mood for a multi-billion year geology lesson.
“OK so much for my epic tale,” Ted jested, “so, Emily, can you tell us who Horace Pendleton was?”
“Sure,” I started. Every kid in Westenra had to learn about the life of Horace Wallace Quincy Pendleton. He was our inconsequential Napoleon, our obscure Bismarck, our worthless Washington. “After the Civil War, Horace Pendleton came to Westenra to make his fortune. There was a big silver boom at the time. Instead of trying to stake a claim, he was smart enough to know all the good claims had been taken. So he set up a dry goods, er, a grocery store; he would make his fortune by selling groceries and mining supplies to the miners. Two miners, the Brothers Reush, my three-great uncles, by the way, bought three months of supplies in exchange for half of whatever silver they found in their claim. The Reush brothers lucked into the richest vein of silver in the state and Horace became the richest man in the state. He married my three-great aunt and used his wealth to buy up every mine in the region. Then he used that wealth to build grand hotels, opera houses, run for and hold public office, and crush strikes. He served as a Senator and the state’s Lieutenant Governor, and was the king of the state’s powerful and prosperous. Then it all came crashing down. He got caught having an affair with an Opera singer half his age. So, his wife divorced him and moved back to Germany. He married the actress, and they were pretty happy until the government moved to the Gold Standard and the price of silver collapsed. Horace Pendleton died of a heart attack in his friend’s hotel lobby begging for a loan. The second wife, the actress, moved to the only mine still in operation, the copper mine right above us here at St. Barbara. During her first winter, she froze the death in the Pendleton House just down the way.”
We were silent for a moment after that last pronouncement. I took the whiskey bottle and took a sip, “There’s a bunch of stuff in Westenra named after Pendleton. Big Ozymandias vibes.”
That broke the tension. Ted continued the story, “After the second Mrs. Pendleton died, the mine passed into the ownership of Andrew McSwan, and continued operating as normal for the rest of the 19th Century. Then, it was discovered that the mineral [a buzzed Ted was unable to pronounce the word] could purify gold, silver, and even iron and steel. The mineral became all important during WWI and the men of St. Barbara were exempt from the draft, and in fact weren’t allowed to enlist for both World Wars. The mining only intensified during the early Cold War.
“Now, of course, this being the 1800s and early 1900s, no one particularly cared about the environmental impacts of mining. St. Barbara spent decades becoming a toxic waste site right under the noses of the people who lived here. On October 12, 1958, 150 or so men went into the St. Barbara mine. At 3:12 in the afternoon, a dozen men emerged completely panicked. They ran building to building and told everyone that they needed to leave, right that instant. 527 souls rushed up to the top of the mesa. According to the town’s reporter, what happened next convinced the survivors to just walk away.
“The ground trembled ever so slightly. Then a red sludge burst and oozed from the mine entrances, caking the cliff in poison. This was long before the EPA, the president had to call in the Army Corps of Engineers to keep the poison from entering the local water supply. The federal government desperately wanted to reopen the mine at St. Barbara, but the expected cost ran high with no guarantee of success. St. Barbara was abandoned.
“In the 1990s, as part of the Westenra Superfund, the EPA started to do some clean up. We might see some of their efforts while we’re here, but they don’t check on this area very often, it’s hard for their people to get to. They just want this area to remain contained.”
“I saw a weird pond with red water while I was walking down,” I interjected, “what was that? There was a gross little orange squirrel mummy.”
“That’s a tailing pond. There are lots of them around, and I want to do some tests on them. They’re ponds engineered to collect refuse from the mines. Over time, the water evaporates the toxins with the water.”
“Wait,” said Susie, “they’re literally evaporating the poison away?”
“Whoa,” she said.
“And,” Ted continued, “I’m not surprised you saw a dead animal like that. There’s some interaction or the soil, air, and tailing ponds that can cause an odd mummification process. There are places where the air and soil is so dry, that mummification can occur. I think the color comes from the toxins in the soil and water.
“You know,” Jason said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial pitch, “people who come to St. Barbara sometimes disappear. It’s whispered that the ’58 explosion awakened something inside the mesa. And that something wants blood.”
Susie and Ted went left the fire for bed first. Jason and I, both feeling ourselves being lifted away by the bourbon, sat and continued to chat.
“You saw a mummy, huh?” he asked.
“Yep. Poor little thing.” Jason visibly shivered.
“I hate stuff like that. When I was a little kid, my dad took me to the Nature and Science Museum. They had a special exhibit on mummies from around the world. For weeks afterwards, I had terrible nightmares of triggering an ancient curse and turning into human jerky. Between you and me, Em, I still sometimes have those dreams.”
The low fire flickered, and crackled.
By sunrise, the air felt clear. The dirt path had dried enough over the course of the night that a damp hike was possible. Susie and I planned to follow the trail to the bottom of the cliff to check out the woods. If we came across anything that looked interesting, like tailing ponds, we would take some basic tests. Ted and Jason showed us how to use the testing kits. The boys would take the much shorter walk up to the mine entrances and explore the mines together. We filled our water bottles and began our expeditions.
The leafless aspen groves up near the town soon gave way to the dead pine forest. With every summer, the Lodgepole pine beetle moved just a little further into the western forests, and with them they brought death. Whole swaths of pine forest had been killed, and the evergreen hikes of my youth were being replaced with excursions into decayed forests that from a distance looked like matted, dead fur on a diseased dog. I remember the silence of that hike. No, Susie and I were friends, even if I hadn’t fully lost my feelings for Ted. It was a matter of safety. The cliff was steep and the trail long abandoned and deteriorating. The hike was dangerous, and we had to focus on getting down to the creek. Once we were at the bottom of the cliff, that was when we were able to chat.
We each had a restless night, me in my Blue Room and Susie in her Green Room. We didn’t have a change of sheets and the bed smelled of fifty years’ neglect. That, and the storm simply would not relent. The morning coffee and bacon Jason made for us in the fireplace helped, a little, but we were still a little out of it. I distinctly remember noting to Susie that despite the hard rain the day before, there wasn’t a mosquito to be found. No flies or spider webs, either. Susie asked me if I heard anything the night before, and I said the storm.
“No, not the storm. Did you hear hooves?”
“I could have sworn that I heard galloping after midnight.”
“I’m sure it was just thunder.”
She nodded, but seemed unconvinced.
We had been hiking for about three miles when I saw sunlight that hinted at a meadow ahead. We moved forward, excited to find a good place to rest for a bit. The first thing that caught my eye as we reached the meadow was another tailing pond. I pulled my backpack off and began rummaging for one of the testing kits that Ted had given us. Susie put her hand on my shoulder and whispered my name, as though she was afraid to disturb some dangerous, wild creature. I looked up, I saw another mummy the size of a large cat, probably a raccoon.
“Yeah, there was something similar yesterday in town. The squirrel.”
“Emily, I need you to look.” There was sincere concern in Susie’s voice.
I looked, and felt acid rise in the back of my throat. The meadow was dotted with thirty or forty tailing ponds filled with red, poisonous water. And there were dozens, perhaps hundreds of those crimson mummies. There were birds and squirrels, cougars and coyotes. There was an entire herd’s worth of elk and deer. Every one was withered, desiccated. Once the initial shock faded, I noticed something stranger about the scene. The mummies were arranged in circles around the diseased pools, exactly 17 animals to each pool. Each animal had a look of twisted and deformed anguish upon its face, and each animal appeared to be kneeling in a bow toward the poisoned water.
“Ted,” I said into my walkie-talkie, “Jason, are you there? I think we found something.”
There was a pause, the only sound being the rage of Pendleton Creek. Then, a burst of static.
“We found something too.”
The forest ranger wore her prim green uniform, wide-brim hat, and expression as though she were ready to charge the trenches. Her eyes turned to me, “Emily, your dad will be so disappointed in you.” With that, I felt myself become small and ashamed, like I had reverted to being the little 12-year-old girl, reprimanded by Aunt Kate for not following the proper safety rules of any given outdoor activity that she had taught me.
“I’m sorry Kate.”
“What were you thinking? St. Barbara is dangerous.”
“We just wanted to do some tests for a class,” said a sullen Ted, in a voice like he was fifteen and not a college senior on the cusp of graduation. Ranger Kate Reush looked at him with daggers in her eyes.
“Normally, you’d all be fined for trespassing. That said, you might have helped stopped the town’s water supply from being poisoned. And I’m glad you’re safe.”
The four of us had told Kate what we had found. What Susie and I had seen in the meadow was more alarming to her: the tailing ponds were obviously a danger to an already fragile ecosystem. No human had been to that meadow in years, decades even, so it was news to the authorities that already depleted and diseased animal populations were being harmed by the mines of St. Barbara. The EPA would need to be called in and the area secured as much as possible. St. Barbara would need more attention and care to its clean up efforts going forward. The sun was already setting by the time Kate arrived, so she wanted us to stay one more night so that we could show her the macabre herd in the morning.
What Ted and Jason had found in the mines was far more frightening to the four of us, uncanny as the herd of mummy mammals was.
Ted and Jason had to pry off the rotten slats of wood used to bar off one of the entrances to the catacombed tunnels of the mines. According to the old county records Ted had found as part of his research, there were miles and miles of tunnel twisting around in a labyrinthian maze of rock. Theseus had to use a ball of yarn to trace his path; Ted had a nifty app created for him by a friend in our computer sciences department. The app mapped out the entire St. Barbara Mines according to the county records, and would keep track of Jason and Ted’s progress so that they would not get lost. This outraged Kate even more than our trespassing into a village primarily known for poisoned soil and water. Abandoned mines, she lectured, are extremely dangerous and unstable places, especially mines as old and unkept as St. Barbara. This was true, and looking back now our entire expedition was incredibly stupid, the kind of event that only four college kids with courage and naïveté could plan and execute.
The boys made it about a mile and half into the mines. Ted would later tell me how how the lantern light cast eerie shadows along the tunnel edges, and that the mesa groaned and creaked the deeper they went. The sound of dripping water was agitating. Then, they came into large antechamber carved out of the earth, likely an area where tools and supplies were kept. Arranged in a pattern of spirals were the 138 men who did not exit the mines on that October day in 1958. Their bodies looked exactly like the carcases of the animals Susie and I found at the foot of the mesa. Their bodies were desiccated and shriveled to slimy, leathery skin of a bright red hue that glowed in the gloom of the flickering light. Their clothes hung as tattered rags over their grotesque bodies. Each one was contorted in a different direction with twisted, horrible expressions upon their faces, as though they died in some bizarre choreographed dance in the thrall of a cruel, unforgiving deity. Ted took some photos, and the two living men made a beeline for the exit. Jason swore that with each step he thought he heard something following, calling to him.
By the time Susie and I returned to the Banker House, Ted had already called the Ranger service to report what they had found. My stomach sunk when he told me that it was Kate who replied and said that she was in the area. After she had finished chewing us out for our recklessness, and after listening intently to our stories, she said that she would go back to her jeep and radio the EPA office in Westenra to send someone to check out the area the next day. A half hour later, Kate had returned to the house. Her expression had softened a little after her initial anger. She simply looked anxious about our discovery and relieved that we were safe. She rubbed her eyes and asked if there was anything left of the bourbon. Distantly, a bolt of lightening struck Purgatorio Peak, and the thunder echoed.
That night, I dreamed of a galloping red hooves.
I woke up feeling rested, wishing that I could go back to sleep. I went down the stairs, where Kate, Ted, and Susie were already having breakfast. Ted was already packed and ready to leave for home. Susie looked tired, she had not slept well. Kate set out a plate of food for me and asked how quickly until I could be ready to go. Fairly quickly, I said. I had packed up the night before and was anxious to leave, to face my parents’ wrath, and then to sleep in my childhood bed. Kate said that was good, and asked Ted, who had just finished breakfast, if he could run upstairs and check in on Jason, who had not yet come down.
Ted rose and went up the stairs. I heard the door of Jason’s room creak open, and then the sound of Ted’s footsteps coming back. “Hey, Jason isn’t in his room,” Ted called from the second floor.
We searched the house, but Jason was no where to be found. “Maybe he just went for a walk?” asked Susie, doubtfully.
“I specifically told you all to stay in the house,” Kate was becoming angry at the thought that one of us had disobeyed her. She stormed to the front door and threw it open. Kate stopped mid-step and her face changed from anger to confusion when she saw what was waiting on the front lawn of the house. I stood up from my meal, my stomach sinking with anxiety. “What is it?” I asked. Kate remained speechless. I went over the front door to see for myself what was wrong. When I saw, my expression matched Kate’s.
There were a dozen large, anguished, mummified elk standing in a semi-circle in the lawn, arranged as though tasked with keeping us from leaving. The dark sockets of their eyes seemed to bore into Kate and me.
I regret to say that we panicked. Ted, Susie, and I left without insisting that we search for our missing friend. Kate promised she would look search for Jason just as soon as she had backup from the Ranger station. And we were happy to let her search without us. But days turned to weeks turned to months without any sign of Jason.
Years had passed before there was any news. I was living in Dallas at the time, and received a phone call from Kate one day during my lunch hour. We made small talk for a while, and I asked after her partner and my parents. And then she told me some strange news and asked if I would be able to travel to Westenra to help identify a body that was discovered when the EPA and Forest Service was able to recover the bodies from the St. Barbara mines. They had discovered one more body than they expected to find; found at the bottom of a pool of red water.
She had a suspicion that it was Jason, but Jason’s parents could not, or would not identify the remains. That weekend, I flew into Denver and met Kate at the airport. The drive up the mountains was silent, we were both lost in thought. I stayed with her that night, and in the morning we drove to the coroner’s office. Kate’s partner, a Detective with the Sheriff’s department, took me to the room where they were keeping the bodies of the miners. The detective asked me if I was ready, giving me a moment to steel myself for whatever I would find. I inhaled, and nodded yes. The detective pulled the sheet covering the lump of human remains back and revealed a red mummy.
The mummy did not look anything like Jason. It’s twisted limbs of atrophied muscle and its shriveled torso made it impossible to distinguish this mummy from any of the others. But I could not deny that its, his tattered clothes looked to be more modern than the garbs found on the miners. I told Kate and the detective that I also could not identify the body. But that wasn’t true. I know deep down that it was him. I lost hope long ago that Jason was somehow safe somewhere, and this body was my final proof. His mummified face greets me most nights in my nightmares.
That mummy haunts me more than any of the others we found at St. Barbara. Most of the mummies looked anguished, terrified. But the mummy in the coroner’s office, the mummy that I am sure was my friend Jason, had a face with a look of exquisite, religious ecstasy.
submitted by Fluersch to libraryofshadows [link] [comments]
2021.10.16 16:19 Meme_team12 Might keep or trade. Pretty happy. Hopefully Nike don’t lose em like my 5s
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2021.10.16 16:19 TotallyNotCool Attention - calling all Classic Trance DJ's!
OK so here's the deal.
We've got a really smart guy on this sub, u/djluminol who gave us simple but brilliant idea in this week's megathread :
> Can we sticky a post that has everyone's mixes in it so when people come here looking for music they have a centralized source to dig through. Dead link get deleted but otherwise the posts stay up forever. [continue]
I think this is a great idea and could be an awesome resource for the sub. Sure, you can find a lot through advanced reddit searches, but it's painful and definitely not easy - especially since we just added post flairs about a year ago, so anything older than that is a crapshoot to find.
The mod team will discuss the exact details of how to set it up (most likely it will be another part of our Wiki, which currently contains our [Esstential Tracklists](https://www.reddit.com/classictrance/wiki/essential) and [Top Tracks of All Time](https://www.reddit.com/classictrance/wiki/toptracks))
We would probably set up some kind of indexing system to sort by DJ, and then link to everything that has been posted to the subreddit so far.
We'll likely try to add everyone who has posted mixes here - however if you for some reason would *not* like to be part of this kind of index of DJ's, do send us a modmail and we will exclude you from the list.
If you have any other ideas which could improve this feature even further, do drop us a comment below!
It will for sure take some time to collect all mixes - and it will not be done in one go, but hopefully we can produce a first version of this list in a couple of weeks time.
submitted by TotallyNotCool to ClassicTrance [link] [comments]
2021.10.16 16:19 MH18Foot Leicester 0 -  Manchester United - Mason Greenwood great strike 19'
2021.10.16 16:19 Dodoboomer look who is talking...
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2021.10.16 16:19 throwaway4738284 No knowledge on starting, where do I start?
I’ve never owned or started a business or even know what it entails. I’m not very keen on how it all works. I have a lot of passion in baking and specifically wanted to start making and selling Delta-8 thc edibles(hemp consumables). I have a d8 supplier and already have an outline of what I want to make. I know I can’t make and sell them out of my home as cottage law does not cover hemp products even if they are baked goods. Where do I go from here? All I know is I need licensing and in order to get licensing to manufacture hemp consumables I need a facility(thought I don’t know what entails a facility, just a kitchen?) I’m a baby at this and just need a starting point. Location is Texas if that helps. Thanks in advanced I feel really stupid.
submitted by throwaway4738284 to smallbusiness [link] [comments]
2021.10.16 16:19 JigZawP I miss the times when Alex used to sit within striking distance from Greg. There was always tension in the air.
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2021.10.16 16:19 tankmasterr it’s getting worse
recently i was told i have a chronic illness that they can do essentially nothing about. i’m in pain every single day and now i know it’s never going to get better. getting out of bed feels pointless. i try and do my best, get up and go to work putting a smile on my face like nothing’s wrong when i reality every step i take it killing me. i’ve done work in therapy to help control my mood swings and outbursts but i finally slipped at work. i sobbed in front of my coworkers and did not stop the rest of the day. i’ve hit my breaking point. since that day i lose my shit at the drop of a hat. i can’t go out without feeling a sense of dread, and i feel like i’m walking on eggshells trying to keep myself calm. i hate this, the years i’ve spent trying to be able to control myself and the success i had has all gone out the window. i don’t talk to anyone anymore. the only people i see are my boyfriend and family at times. i’m done lying to myself about things getting better, they’re clearly not going to. i’m lost and nobody can point me in the right direction. not the doctors, not the therapists, not my friends, not my family, nobody. none of them can help me. it’s getting harder to get up and go to my shifts. i’m smoking 24/7 to keep myself from having continuous panic attacks and aggressive breakdowns. i mean shit i smoke just so i can keep a little food down in my stomach, but that doesn’t last. my feelings bubble up through it and threaten to crush me with their weight. it hurts. i’m tired. i want to give up.
submitted by tankmasterr to BPD [link] [comments]
2021.10.16 16:19 ciccarelli7 XFX AMD RX 580 BIOS Help
I have two Dual Bios XFX RX 580 cards which I've been messing around with the BIOS in order to try and get the modded 30ish MH/s at a lower power usage. After I modded the BIOS for each of the cards and tried running them at the nicehash recommend settings of 1175/2150/850 they became unstable.
Thinking I was modding the wrong BIOS of the dual BIOS options, I modded the secondary BIOS too. That didn't work.
I wanted to put them back to stock BIOS to start over but I accidently deleted the original BIOS settings.
I tried downloading stock BIOS settings from TechPowerUP but either I'm not getting the right BIOS settings or perhaps the settings for my specific cards aren't on there.
I opened the cards to confirm the memory chips. The first card has Samsung chips K4G80325FC and the card has S/N VWV127275 VN.3. The second card has Hynix chips H5GQ8H24MJR and S/N SYV161013 VN B.0 (or maybe VN 8.0?). Both cards read GTS XXX ED RX 580 8GB OC+ 1386M D5 BP 3xDP HDMI DVI
I tried calling XFX a few times to ask for the original bios settings but the line just keeps ringing.
I have three questions/issues.
1) Can anyone help me identify the cards and help determine the stock BIOS for the cards?
2) Each card is dual bios and has the switch. They are marketed as the first BIOS being "Performance" and the second being "Stealth." Which BIOS is typically better to mod for mining?
3) Is there a separate stock bios for each of the dual bios? I assume I have to use VBFlash to flash a bios for each of the two switch positions?
Thanks in advance for any information!
submitted by ciccarelli7 to NiceHash [link] [comments]
2021.10.16 16:19 tmcndrw Celsius soon offering free exchanges.
I just received an email saying that Celsius will soon be offering free, in-app swaps between coins and that they are rolling out the Beta now while slowly on loading users as they grow the network.
If this is true Celsius will have mass adoption for people (like me) looking to avoid/eat large gas fees on various exchanges when taking profits, changing positions or jumping into new projects. I am very excited to see how it works - with the yields I am getting on my crypto monthly and now zero trading fees - Celsius is starting to become my go-to place for crypto. I do use 3 separate exchanges currently depending on what I am moving around so it will be nice to consolidate and limit my risk when jumping around. 👌
submitted by tmcndrw to CryptoCurrency [link] [comments]
2021.10.16 16:19 Abalone_Phony The headwaters of The Colorado River. Stunning this time of year.
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2021.10.16 16:19 SoccerLiveGoals VIDEO: Leicester City 0-1 Manchester United - MASON GREENWOOD Goal (Full Replay)
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2021.10.16 16:19 Sir_Grams 90NINE NASCAR IGNITION XBOX LEAGUE - OPEN TO NEW MEMBERS
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2021.10.16 16:19 EestiMentioned [/r/ontario] Ontario Oct 16th update: 486 Cases, 5 Deaths, 32,626 tests (1.49% pos.), 🏥 ICUs: 164 (+1 vs. yest.) (+11 vs. last week). 💉30,369 admin, 87.38% / 82.95% (+0.08% / +0.16%) of 12+ at least one/two dosed, 🛡️ 12+ Cases by Vax (un/part/full): 10.95 / 3.24 / 1.48 (All: 3.28) per 100k
2021.10.16 16:19 nkmr205 [IIL] Animated music videos such as these, WEWIL?
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