That Good Dick

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We got married two years ago. Tom’s a good guy. He’s got a great job, is kind to me, and now, pretty much every day since we got married, I can get that good dick.

It would be unfair to say I’m insatiable. My sex drive is high, yes, but what my husband gives me is enough. I don’t crave any more than what he brings to the bedroom. It’s just enough. It’s perfect. And, like I said, it’s good. If you’ve had anything like it, you know what I’m talking about.

Last night, after we’d finished up and were getting ready for bed, I whispered to him my appreciation for everything he does. He does so much. He smiled and kissed my nose and we went to sleep, content and basking in a haze of afterglow.

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Trees of Eyes

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I bought these few pages at a local trader’s tent for the equivalent of $.25 USD. It was the only thing there written in English. I don’t know what any of it means, but the fact it names the missing explorers and ruined village is troubling.

June 29th, 2016

Let this be a journal of our last moments. I know we won’t make it out.

June 30th, 2016

They took Jane last night. This morning, the trees have her eyes. All the trees; every knot hole, every space, every interstice, is stuffed with her eyes. Two eyes copied into thousands. I don’t know how. Nothing makes sense. But they’re staring at us. We’re being watched. They follow every one of our movements, as if they didn’t already know what was going to happen.

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Death Looking into the Window of One Dying

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As Andrew got sicker, he’d point to perceived smudges on our bedroom window. Nothing discernible to him. Not at first. But the decline in my partner’s health brought with it a growing realization. “It’s a face,” he told me. “It’s someone’s face.”

I saw nothing.

I sat with Andrew through it all. Every sleepless night. Every shriek of terror as nightmares tore through him. Every sobbing declaration that he wasn’t ready. In the mornings, the smudged face would be there, ever clearer to him. He was terrified of it. Still, I saw nothing.

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Found the Bees

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I followed the sound of buzzing. The deeper into the woods I went, the louder the sound became. It was dark this far in; there were remnants of structures from industrial-era factories long neglected and choking with trees, vines, and countless other plants. Judging from the level of growth, no one had been here in a very, very long time.

The buzzing persisted. It became hard to walk through the underbrush. I spotted, or rather felt, a swarm of insects. They flew by my ear, paying me no attention, save for one. He flew into the back of my neck and instinctively stung me. I pulled his writhing body off my neck and studied him. It was a bumblebee, fat and covered with pollen. More streaked by. They were going in the direction of the sound.

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Bits and Pieces

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Fingernails were the first to go.

No pain accompanied the loss; the victims went to sleep one night and simply woke up without fingernails. The events occurred in Donglu village, located in China’s Shandong Province. There are limited medical resources, so few sought treatment. The affected went about their lives.

Teeth came next.

In Pinellas County, Florida, between November 3rd and 16th, 19 people checked themselves into local hospitals and reported they had woken up with jaw pain, bleeding gums, and missing teeth. They were all wisdom teeth. No one could explain what had happened.

On November 20th, 82 people in Lahore, Pakistan woke up without arms and legs.

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Eavesdropping through an IP camera

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A couple years back, there was a software flaw in a few webcam brands. Whenever they were active, they could be accessed by scanning the Internet for a particular open port. Once the port was found, anyone could tune in without the user knowing they were being watched. And millions of people used these webcams.

The companies quickly released software hotfixes, but no one, aside from a few tech-savvy folks, updated their webcam software. So even today, they broadcast everything they do in front of their computer to anyone who’s voyeuristic enough to watch. People like me.

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Stuffing

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There was something unbelievable about the stuffing my grandmother made every Thanksgiving. It wasn’t just good – it was beyond amazing. Every morsel of meat and bread and vegetable was flavored to perfection. The meticulousness and love involved in the preparation process shone through with every bite. We’d eat until we were stuffed (pun intended) and still felt great afterward. Hell, we even felt invigorated, which was the last thing one would expect after Thanksgiving dinner.

Our family had been trying to get her to tell us the recipe for years. She wouldn’t even give us a hint.

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An unaired episode of The Food Network’s “Chopped!”

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I’m chef Geoffrey Zakarian’s personal espresso maker and latte-foam artist. Yes, that’s a real job. With benefits, in fact. Great health and dental.

One of the perks of my occupation, aside from hanging out with GZ and getting to eat many of my weekly meals at his outstanding restaurant, The Lamb’s Club, is the access I enjoy at The Food Network’s studios and associated properties.

GZ is a pretty big deal over there, which I’m sure you know if you’ve watched the network for more than a few hours. Aside from Chopped!, which is his best-known show, he’s building a new audience with the Saturday morning feature, The Kitchen. His personality fits so well with whatever he’s in, though, and it’s just great to be a part of it.

I’m totally fanboying right now. Sorry. I hope that doesn’t sound disrespectful in the face of what happened.

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My Last Abduction

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They come for me in broad daylight.

Over the last few years, they had removed nine toes, 12 teeth, one finger, and three feet of my large intestine. There are no scars. They leave no other evidence. They take what they want and leave me with less and less each time. Every visit diminishes me.

People can’t see them. Dogs can, though. Cats, too. Maybe birds. They’ll howl or hiss or fly away, but that won’t deter the visit. From what I’ve learned, nothing will.

My right thumb was taken four days ago. I was walking to the supermarket when I felt the telltale prickles of static electricity cascading down the back of my head and neck. Pigeons in the area began to screech. The sense of weightlessness I’d grown to know and dread swept over me, and as I was lifted into the clear sky, I saw my replacement continue his walk. He always continues exactly where I’d left off.

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We’re All Smiling

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The overly-wide, grinning mouth is a horror cliche. It’s a trope, albeit a successful one, that’s wormed its way into scary stories from around the world. So ubiquitous is its inclusion that it’s taken on a legendary status; it feels like something that’s always been around to scare people. Right?

In 1844, one of the first serial killers in Connecticut began a rampage. Little was known about the killer, save for their signature technique of disfiguration. While the victims were alive, they amputated their cheeks. When the bodies were eventually found, their toothy, skeletal smiles became fodder for nightmares, rumors, and legends. The killer was never captured.

Starting in 2012, local Connecticut message boards and forums started to feature messages and questions about ghosts.

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