This was just copy/pasted from google docs so apologies in advance for any formatting issues.
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19°28’N 37°14’E
Near Port Sudan, Sudan, Africa.
Another helicopter thundered past in the distance, following the line of the oil pipeline back towards the port facilities.
"That's three in the past hour," Cody observed. "Still think nothing's going on?" "I think if you want to bother Adams again it's gonna be your ass." Keith replied.
"Come on, don't be like that." Cody said.
"Nope."
"Come on, don't be a bitch."
"Nope."
"Bitch says what."
"Nope."
"Got fifty bucks says you won't do it."
"Nope."
"Will both of you shut the fuck up," Eduardo groaned from the back seat of the vehicle. "We're almost done here and you can go harass Adams in person when we get back to base."
"Yeah but I'm curious now." Cody said.
"Well, tell Miles to turn this vic around and we can go."
"What do you say, Miles? You know Adams doesn't check the log timestamps too closely."
"The final marker is literally thirty meters away," Miles said patiently. "I will turn the vic around there and we will drive back to base and you can badger Adams into a stroke on your own time. Until then, watch your sector."
"Uh well, my sector's full of sand, can I have a different one?"
"There's some rocks in mine."
"Like the face of the fucking moon out here, man." Cody moaned.
"Maybe you shouldn't have signed up for a job in the fucking Sudan, genius." Eduardo said.
"Man, I'm just here for the money." Cody replied.
"Well, I'm not here for the weather." Martin said, cranking the wheel around in a practiced motion. The battered white SUV slewed around, wheels spraying dust and pebbles. Cody keyed the radio on his vest. "Base, this is Cody checking in. We're at the outer marker for the southern patrol path, heading back, over."
There was the faint buzz of static.
"Copy that, Cody. Any contacts?"
"No contacts, base. All quiet here. Out."
Martin patted Cody on the shoulder. "Proud of you, buddy. That took real strength."
Cody flipped him off.
The radio crackled again. "Cody, this is base, where did you say you were?"
"Base, this is Cody, we are at the outer marker for our patrol route, heading back your way, over."
"Uh, copy Cody, hang on one second."
“Cody, this is Adams,” a new voice said over the radio. “I need your team to swing west and investigate unauthorized activity near the pipeline in, uh grid square A54-41."
"The fuck this is Cody's team." Keith muttered from the back.
"Copy that, Adams, we'll move to investigate immediately," Cody said crisply. "Any intel on the intruders?"
The radio crackled again. "The uh, number of intruders is unknown at this time."
Miles keyed his own radio. "Adams, who called this report in?"
"The report was forwarded to us by local security forces."
A chorus of groans rose from the interior of the SUV.
"Fuckin' locals." Eduardo said.
"And why isn't local security handling this?"
"Miles, I don't need to remind you that Vericom has been contracted to guard the terminal facilities and pipeline-"
"Yeah yeah, spare me the geopolitics, Adams, I'm just a dumb trigger puller, remember? I'm not asking you why I'm here, I'm asking why the very much armed local security isn't apprehending the trespassers."
"The local security called it in," Adams replied in a tight, angry voice. "And under the terms of our contract we are responsible for apprehending any trespassers in our zone. Is that satisfactory, Mr. Martin?"
"Copy, moving to apprehend. Out."
"Fuckin' locals." Eduardo muttered again as the SUV turned towards the new destination.
"Coming up on the location now." Cody was tapping at the topographical map displayed on his ruggedized tablet.
"Copy that," Miles said absently, maneuvering the SUV around a scattering of larger boulders. Behind him Keith rolled down his window and propped the muzzle of his M4 carbine on the opening.
"Relax," Eduardo said. "Just some lost people."
"Maybe." Keith said, squinting out over the dusty, rolling terrain.
The SUV bounced over the crest of another low ridge, the long dust plume trailing behind it in the harsh midday sun. Miles slowed to a stop. In the far distance there was a glint of light off a moving vehicle traversing the coastal highway. There was no other sign of life in sight.
"Yeah, there's nothing out here." Cody said after a few moments.
Keith had extracted a pair of binoculars from his chest rig and was scanning the surroundings.
"Nothing on this side, boss." Eduardo said.
"Keith?" Miles said.
"Nothing moving but heat haze."
"Cody, call in negative contact. Let's head back to base." Miles said as the SUV rolled forward.
"Copy copy." Cody keyed his radio. "Base, this is Cody, we're at grid A54-41, negative on contact with intruders, over."
"Copy that Cody, we haven't gotten any other reports in your zone, go ahead and head in."
"Thanks very much, base, will do. Cody out."
The SUV bumped and bounced its way back onto the “paved” road. While the main coastal highway was in decent shape, the smaller roads were mostly potholes and washouts held together by cracked concrete and gravel. Although flatter than the surrounding landscape, it was a bold or desperate driver that would risk driving on it at normal highway speeds. This fact most likely saved four lives as Miles had plenty of time to spot the dusty tan plate lying in the road as the vehicle slowly bounced towards it.
“Guys, is that a land mine I’m seeing in the road ahead?” Miles said, pointing. “Directly ahead, maybe twenty yards, just past the two bushes.”
Cody sat up, peering through the dusty windshield. “Slow up, slow up. Shit, I think you’re right.”
“Call it in,” Miles said. “We use this road all the time, what was the last team through here?"
"Dallas' team had outer perimeter patrol this morning." Keith volunteered.
"Base, this is Cody, we've got what looks like a landmine on Route 33, maybe two or three klicks from the coastal highway, please advise, over."
There was a brief hiss of static. No reply.
"Base, do you read, over?"
Static.
“Base, this is a fucking great time for a coffee break!”
No answer.
“Guys, I think this is a no shit situation,” Miles said, putting the SUV in reverse. “Let’s get off the X and back to base.”
Cody slid his AR up into the ready position. Keith and Eduardo already had their rifles out and ready.
Miles executed a hasty three point turn and gunned the SUV back the way they had come.
“How concerned should we be right now?” Keith shouted over the engine noise. “Not the
first time we’ve lost comms with base out here.”
“Could be nothing,” Miles shouted back. “But out here it could be a strike on the port or oil terminal. Not that hard to jam comms and drop a few mines on the roads.”
“Hell, I’m here for it.” Keith shouted.
“I’ll keep trying to raise base or one of the other teams.” Cody shouted.
The SUV bounced and lurched its way back over the route it had taken and finally reached the coastal highway where Miles jammed the pedal down. Cody still couldn’t make contact with base but was able to reach another patrolling team who confirmed that base was incommunicado. As they roared up the coastal highway Cody pointed towards a rising plume of dense black smoke ahead of them. “Looks like shit’s gone down, boys.”
“Fuck,” Keith swore, peering around Cody’ headrest to look ahead. “So much for site security.”
“Guys, we’ve got a roadblock ahead.” Cody said, pointing. A dilapidated cargo truck had stopped and was attempting to turn around. A pair of pickup trucks were just visible beyond it, blocking off the road in a shallow V. Men in mismatched fatigues and headscarves stood atop them holding rifles.
“Are those our guys?” Miles asked, slowing the SUV.
“Fuck if I can tell from here.” Cody said.
“Well I’m not fucking moving up.” Miles said.
“Go around,” Eduardo said, peering out his window. “No ditch here.”
“Go now while the truck is between us and them.” Keith added.
“Hang on.” Miles gunned the SUV down the shallow embankment parallel to the roadblock.
Keith twisted around in his seat. “They’re tracking us”.
Miles glanced in the rearview mirror. The guards were pointing and waving their arms at the SUV. One of them with a pistol in one hand and a radio in the other seemed to be giving orders
“Are we still under the ROE?” Cody asked. “I’d really like to shoot back if they try to kill us.”
“I’m not dying over fucked comms and a misunderstanding.” Keith said.
The checkpoint guards were scrambling into their trucks. One of them ripped off a burst that went wide.
“Fuck it, that’s good enough for me,” Miles said, slamming on the brakes. “Dismount and engage hostiles.”
The men threw themselves out of the vehicle. Eduardo and Cody went prone in the dirt and began firing. On the other side Keith propped his rifle on the vehicle’s bumper and squeezed off several careful shots.
The checkpoint guards had been caught by surprise by the sudden attack. One of the trucks had just roared into motion when the bullets began punching through the windshield. The other was still parked, its crew climbing into the cab when the shooting started. Multiple rounds smashed the windshield into a starred, opaque mess. The driver leaped from the seat and ran for cover behind the truck wheels. Miles shot him in the back and he dropped.
The other truck rolled forward down the shallow incline with a dead driver at the wheel. The guards in the back continued firing over the roof. The back window of the SUV shattered and bullets banged off the steel frame, showering Keith and Eduardo with shards of safety glass. Miles fired at a guard crouched in the truck bed and the man disappeared, then popped back up again when Miles shifted targets. Miles shifted back and fired again, his gun clicking empty on the third shot. He dropped the empty magazine and yanked a new one from his vest. The new mag clicked into place and Miles resumed shooting. A corner of his mind was pleasantly surprised at how easily it was done under fire.
One of the guards on the far truck bailed off the back and fled across the road, disappearing into the ditch on the far side. Suddenly no one was firing back at them.
Miles cautiously rose to his feet. With Keith and Cody covering him, he and Eduardo circled wide around the checkpoint, scanning for any sign of life. Nothing moved but wisps of steam from under the hood of one of the trucks. He waved the others in. They swept the checkpoint carefully. There were six dead guards and a blood trail leading out into the brush.
“Fuck.” Keith said emphatically.
“Fuck me,” Cody said, slotting in a fresh mag. “You guys good?
“I’m good.” Keith said.
“Good here.” Eduardo said, patting himself down.
“I’m ok.” Martin said.
“Fuck,” Keith said again. “Fuckers just opened up on us. These weren’t local security, right?”
“Check the bodies for intel,” Miles said, already rifling through the pockets of one of the shooters. “I don’t know who the fuck these guys were but we’re gonna get grilled about this.”
The three of them methodically searched the bodies while Eduardo held overwatch. None of the bodies had any documents on them. The weapons were gathered and stacked in the back of one of the trucks while the bodies were laid out next to it. Martin retrieved their SUV which proved to have suffered no worse damage than shot out windows and the four of them piled in.
Cody finally got a response on the radio as they neared the base. A rattled Adams responded to their calls by ordering them in to assist with base security. “Radio shack got hit and we’ve been dealing with jamming. We still have two patrols out in the field who haven’t reported in, we need you to assist in maintaining a defensive perimeter.”
“Copy that, boss. Tell base we’re coming in so don’t fucking shoot at us. Already dealt with that once today.”
They dismounted in the central courtyard. The comms building had taken a direct hit from an RPG and was still smoking. Two sheet covered bodies lay beside it. Several of the other buildings had bullet holes and other signs of battle damage.
As directed, the team took up defensive positions on the roof of one of the perimeter buildings. Dallas’ team was on a nearby building overlooking the main entrance. Miles got on the radio and contacted them.
“Glad to see y’all made it,” Dallas said by way of greeting. “Been a real shitshow here.” He pointed towards the billowing black smoke belching out of the wreckage of the oil pipeline terminal. “Probably not getting our contract renewed for this site.”
“So what the fuck happened?” Miles asked.
“Don’t know. We were in the bunkhouse when we heard the radio shack get hit. Whoever it was lit the place up and then peeled out. We had barely gotten outside when the oil terminal went up. Someone said they saw Sea Ports Corporation logos on the trucks but I don’t know if that’s true. All I saw was dust.”
“Shit, you think that’s true? Locals were behind this?”
“Someone with more brains than your average fanatic is. They knew exactly what to hit and exactly how to jam our comms.”
“They mined the roads along our patrol routes too, so either they’ve been watching us or they paid off someone on the inside.”
“Smart.” Dallas said.
“I saw the two bodies by the radio shack. Any of your team get hit?”
“Negative. They were in and out. I think someone in the admin building caught a stray round but that was all.”
“I know Shedge was on shift in comms,” Miles said. “Who was the other?”
“Morris.” Dallas said.
They fell silent for a while.
The two missing patrol teams drove in thirty minutes later in a single shot up SUV. They had come under long range fire from hidden enemies and had evaded out into the desert. One of the vehicles had been disabled, but the team managed to dismount and take cover while the other vehicle moved to pick them up. One team member had been grazed on the leg and another had taken a hit to the chest plate. The uninjured team members joined them on the perimeter defense. No attack materialized.
A convoy of Sudanese military vehicles rolled in late that evening to take charge of the terminal. The PMC personnel were ordered to collect their personal items and evacuate the site. The Sudanese wanted them out, so while the company lawyers argued with the Sudanese administration, all personnel on the ground were transported out to Port Sudan International Airport for flights back to the United States.
Miles, Keith, Cody, and Eduardo caught up with each other outside the terminal. Keith was chatting with two of the airport ground crew in passable Arabic as the others walked up.
“Hey, you guys aren’t going to believe this but apparently there’s been a bunch of foreign fighter types coming through here in the past several weeks.” Keith said by way of greeting.
“Go fucking figure.” Miles said.
“I don’t even give a shit,” Cody said, unwrapping a pack of cigarettes. “In a couple of hours I’ll be on my way back home with a fat early contract termination check in my pocket.”
Eduardo nodded. “We all survived, importantly.”
“Amen to that.” Cody said.
The ground crew members bid Keith farewell and sauntered off towards the terminal.
There was silence for a minute while Cody methodically extracted and lit up a cigarette.
“That was pretty fucking badass though,” Miles said. “Shot our way out of an ambush and drove home.”
“Pretty wild.” Keith agreed.
“Never saw the people I killed before,” Eduardo said. “Returning fire yes, but not securing the bodies. Always gone afterwards.”
“I definitely had that out-of-body feeling you get sometimes under fire,” Cody said. “Like you’re just watching your own body go through the motions while you sit and watch.”
“I never got that,” Miles said. “I was inside my own head but I always knew somehow what to do next. Like even when we swept the roadblock I knew exactly where to turn and where the bodies were going to be. It sounds crazy but I wasn’t really scared of getting shot, I was scared of moving wrong or stepping in the wrong place and I’d break the focus and suddenly I’d have to think through every motion again.”
Eduardo nodded. “I know how that feels.”
Another silence. Cody took a deep drag on the cigarette.
“You don’t think we’ll get fired over this, do you?” Keith asked. “Because I still have bills to pay back home and I don’t need this on my record.”
“I doubt it,” Cody said. “I mean, its completely out of our hands so who the fuck knows really. But its not something you get fired over. You see how fast they’re pulling us out of here, like no operation debrief or anything? Company’s got bigger problems to worry about right now.”
“Like the oil pipeline that got blown up, not about a possible bad shoot in the desert.” Keith said.
“Oil terminal.” Miles corrected quietly.
“You watch,” Cody continued. “In about three days some Vericom executive is going to strap on his golden parachute and take a dive off the top floor because the company stock dipped by sixty cents. Then we’ll all get an email with a big fat non-disclosure agreement attached showing up in our inboxes.”
“You would work for them again?” Eduardo sounded surprised.
“Fuck it, why not?” Cody said. “The pay’s good, and what are the odds that a fuck up like this happens to me twice?”
“Seems like higher odds than before.” Miles said.
“Everybody’s running a little hot these days,” Keith said. “You’ve got the Syrian and Yemen civil wars, the military coup in Turkey, the bombings in Europe, the riots in India, the drug wars in Mexico and southeast Asia, plus that bombing at the Olympics.”
“I still think that one was a false flag.” Cody said.
“Bullshit, that was the work of ISIS scum.” Eduardo replied angrily.
“He’s got a point, Cody,” Miles said. “They grabbed one of the bombers before he could clack off his vest after all.”
“Maybe,” Cody said. “Now the shooting at the Clinton rally, that was a false flag, no question. The FBI practically admitted it. They’re terrified she’ll lose and they need a few martyrs.”
“Don’t know why you pay so much attention to that,” Miles said. “Not like the other guy is any better. Just a pair of narcissistic old fucks getting their rocks off on the American people’s dime.”
“I like to know which side is going to be screaming about a rigged election for the next four years while their savings and civil liberties go up in smoke.” Cody lit another cigarette from the butt of the first.
“You know I hate it when you chain smoke and turn into Alex Jones.” Miles said.
“Brother, you should see me on meth.” Cody grinned.
“I didn’t know you smoked at all.” Eduardo said.
“Only on the way home,” Cody said. “Otherwise I don’t.”
The four of them stood around on the airport tarmac until the encroaching evening chill drove them inside with the rest of the Vericom personnel. Miles’ last glimpse of Sudan was the stark black outline of the western hills as the sun sank behind them. Then night fell and the only light was the harsh white arc lights of the airport illuminating the red and white airliner being fueled to carry them home.
$$$$
News Headlines of the day:
FBI: Philadelphia shooter had ‘strong ties’ to right wing ultranationalist groups.
US economy signals uncertainty as Far East trade war heats up.
British lawmaker shot dead, EU referendum campaigns suspended
Prominent Mexican politician, family among the dead following Sinaloa cartel gun battle.
‘Terrorism is not welcome here’: Sudanese President issues warning following oil pipeline bombing.

These women have gone missing since December 2022. Details, links below. Police have not said there's any connection between these cases
Ashley Real, 22

• https://kpic.com/news/local/remains-idd-as-missing-22-year-old-portland-woman-death-suspicious
  
• Last seen date: 3/27/23
  
• Last seen location: 29000 block of Southeast Judd Road, or Southeast Division (at a fast food place)
  
• Remains found date: 5/7/23
  
• Remains found location: Eagle Creek area, in heavily wooded area
  

Bridget Leann (Ramsey) Webster, 31

• https://www.clackamasreview.com/news/sheriffs-office-seeks-info-about-milwaukie-womans-suspicious-death/article_c9c36568-ea11-11ed-9095-2fb8b808f3e5.html
  
• Last seen date (reported missing): n/a
  
• Last seen location: PDX area?
  
• Remains found date: 4/30/23 (Sunday)
  
• Remains found location: Harmony Road near Mill Creek in northwest Polk County
  

Charity Lynn Perry, 24

• https://www.oregonlive.com/pacific-northwest-news/2023/04/woman-found-dead-near-ainsworth-state-park.html
  
• Last seen date (reported missing): n/a
  
• Last seen location: PDX area?
  
• Remains found date: 4/24/23
  
• Remains found location: Gutter near Ainsworth State Park in east Multnomah County. Culvert near East Historic Columbia River Highway and Northeast Tumalt Road
  

Joanna Speaks, 32

• https://www.kgw.com/article/news/crime/joanna-speaks-ridgefield-homicide-family-want-justice/283-1683ce06-dcdb-4b9e-ab27-e20be38c8997
  
• Last seen date: March
  
• Last seen location: Unknown, likely Gladstone or Milwaukie
  
• Remains found date: 4/8/23
  
• Remains found location: abandoned barn in the Ridgefield area, on a property off South 5th Street and 78th Place — about one mile off Interstate 5. Near 8004 S 5th St in Ridgefield per police statement
  
• Cause of death: blunt force trauma to the head, neck
  

Kristin Smith, 22

• https://www.portlandoregon.gov/police/news/read.cfm?id=492906#:~:text=The%20remains%20found%20have%20been,attached%20photographs%20for%20public%20release.
  
• Last seen date (reported missing): 12/22/22
  
• Last seen location: Gresham?
  
• Remains found date: 2/19/23
  
• Remains found location: Southeast Deardorff Road and Southeast Flavel Street in the Pleasant Valley Neighborhood, in a heavily wooded area
  

They didn’t tell us the name of the next kid that disappeared. They didn’t tell us another kid had disappeared at all. We could all tell by the silence what had happened. It spoke volumes. I’m sure they talked about it in great detail amongst themselves. In PTA meetings and City Councils. My parents made sure to turn off the TV at 5 o’clock before the news came on, at least in my home. They’d turn it back on for the 11 o’clock news, when were were in bed and couldn’t hear the details.
The strange thing is, they never told us to just stop going outside. They told us to go in groups, sure, but they never decided, or as far as I could tell even though, to keep us all indoors. I guess that sort of freedom wasn’t something they were willing to give up. Instead, they did the neighborhood watch thing. For those few months, I remember my folks meeting more of our neighbors than in all the time previously, or since. Retirees would spend their days out in their front lawns, watching kids and everybody else coming and going. They’d even set up lawn furniture, with umbrellas, even all through the rains of spring. Cops stopped sitting in ambushes on the highways waiting for speeders and instead started patrolling the streets, chatting with us as we’d pass by. Weekends would see all the adults out in their yards, working on cars in the driveways, fixing the gutters, and so on. They had this weird way of looking at you as you’d ride by. Not hostile stares, but it was like they were cataloging your presence. Boy, eight years old, red raincoat silver bike, about 11:30 in the morning, heading south on Sorensen. Seemed fine.
The next time we saw it, it wasn’t in our neighborhood, and I was the one who saw it first. We were visiting Russ, a sort of 5th semi-friend from school. We rarely hung out, mostly owing to geography. His house wasn’t far as the crow flies, but it was up a steep hill. We spent a Saturday afternoon returning a cache of comic books we’d borrowed. The distance we covered was substantial, as we had decided to take lots of extra streets as switchbacks, rather than slowly push our bikes up the too-steep hills.
The descent was going to be the highlight of the trip, up until I saw the Hidebehind. We were on a curving road, a steep forested bluff on one side. The uphill slope was mostly ivy-covered raised foundations for the neighborhood’s houses. That side of the road was lined with parked cars, and the residents of the homes had to ascend steep staircases to get to their front doors.
I was ayt the back of the pack when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Movement, something brown squatting between two closely parked cars. My head snapped as I zoomed past, and despite not getting a good look, I knew it was that terrible thing. “It’s behind us!” I shouted and started pedaling hard. The others looked for themselves as I quickly rushed past them, but they soon joined my pace.
Ralph’s earlier idea of directly confronting the thing was set aside. We were moving too fast, and down too narrow a street to turn around. Then we saw it again it was to our left, off-road, between the trees. Suddenly it leaped from behind one tree trunk to the next and disappeared again. That hardly made sense, the base of the trees must have been thirty feet below the deck of the street we rode down. One of us, I think it was India, let out one of those strangled screams.
There it was again, back on the right, disappearing behind a mailbox as we approached. That couldn’t have been, it must have outpaced us and crossed in front of us. Logic would suggest there was more than one, but somehow the four of us knew it was the same thing. More impossible still, the pole holding up the mailbox was too thin, maybe two inches in diameter, yet that thing had disappeared behind it, like a Warner Bros. cartoon character. It was just enough to catch a better glimpse of it though. All brown. A head seemingly too bulbous and large for its body. Its limbs were thin but far longer, like a gibbon’s. Only a gibbon had normal elbows and knees. This thing bent its joints all wrong like it wasn’t part of the natural order. We were all terrified to wit’s end.
“The trail!” Ralph shouted, and the other three of us knew exactly what he meant. The top of it was only just around the curve. It was a dirt footpath for pedestrians ascending and descending South Hill, cutting through the woods on our left. It was too steep for cars, and to be honest, too steep for bikes. We’d played on it before, challenging each other to see how high up they could go, then descend back down without using our brakes. A short paved cul-de-sac at the bottom was enough space to stop before running into a cross street.
Ralph had held the previous group record, having climbed three-quarters of the way before starting his mad drop. India’s best was just short of that, I had only dared about halfway up, Ben only a third. This time, with certain death on our heels, the trail seemed the only way out. Nothing could have outrun a kid on a bike flying down that hill.
We followed Ralph’s lead, swinging to the right gutter of the street, then hanging a fast wide left up onto the curb, over a patch of gravel, between two boulders set up as bollards, lest a car driver mistake the entrance for a driveway, and then, like a roller coaster cresting the first hill, the bottom fell out.
It was the most overwhelming sensation of motion I’ve ever had, before or since. I suppose the danger behind us was the big reason, and being absolutely certain that only our speed was keeping us alive. I remember thinking it was like the speeder bike scene from Return of the Jedi, also a recent movie from the time. Only this was real. I didn’t just see the trees flashing past it, I could hear the motion as well. Cold air attacked my eyes and long streamers of tears rushed over my cheeks and the drops flew past my ears, I didn’t dare blink. Each little stone my tires struck threatened to up-end me and end it all. Yet, and perhaps worse, half the time it felt like I wasn’t in contact with the ground at all. I was going so fast that those same small stones were sending me an inch or two into the air, and the arc of the flights so closely matched the slope that by the time I contacted the trail again, I was significantly further down the hill.
At the same time, I had never felt more relief, as the thing behind us had no way of catching us now. Somehow, maybe the seriousness of the escape gave us both the motive and the seriousness to keep ourselves under control. Looking back, I marvel that at least one of us didn’t lose control and end up splitting our skulls open.
We hit the pavement of the cul-de-sac below, and didn’t bother to slow down. We raced through the cross-street, one angry driver screeching to a halt and laying on his horn. This brought out the neighborhood watch. Just a few of them at first. Still, we didn’t slow down, our momentum carried us back up the much shallower slope of our neighborhood. Witnesses saw us depart at high speed, and this only brought out more of the watch. We heard whistles behind us, just like our P.E. teacher’s whistle. We figured that was the watch’s alarm siren. Regardless of what happened to that thing, it was behind us. We returned to our homes, shaken, but safe and sound, our inertia taking us almost all of the way there.
Another kid disappeared that Sunday, up on South Hill. We’d suspected it because we could see the lights of the police cars on a high road, surrounding the spot where it would turn out later, one of the kid’s shoes had been found. Russ confirmed it at school on Monday. It was a kid he’d known, lived down the road from his place, went to private school which is why we didn’t recognize his name.
I remember seeing Ralph’s face the next day when he arrived at school. He looked angry. Strong. Like he’d been crying really hard, and now it was over and he was resolved. He said he’d felt guilty because the thing we’d escaped from had gotten the other kid instead. He tried to tell his old man about it, then his mom, then any adult he could. He’d tell them about the monster who hides behind things. They needed to focus on finding and stopping that instead of looking for some sort of creeper or serial killer. Of course, nobody had listened to him. They hadn’t listened to the rest of us either when we’d tried to tell.
So he’d devised a plan. He was calling it the “Fight Patrol,” which we didn’t argue with. If the adults wouldn’t do something, we would. We’d patrol our neighborhood on our bikes, the four of us, maybe a couple more if we could talk others into it. We’d chase it off like that first time, maybe for good, or maybe corner it. Clearly, it could not handle being caught.
Naturally, we brought up the scare on South Hill. He argued that was a bad place. Too isolated, couldn’t turn around easily. We needed to stay on our home turf, lots of visibility, and plenty of the Neighborhood Watch within earshot. Maybe we and the adults working together was the key, even if the adults didn’t understand the problem.
Well, that convinced us. Our first patrol was that afternoon, after school. We watched everybody’s back like hawks. Nothing had a chance to sneak up on us. Nothing could step out from behind a bush without getting spotted. By Friday afternoon there were eight of us. The next week we split up to extend our territory to the next neighborhoods over.
Nothing happened. We never saw anything. Ben thought it was because we were scaring it away. Ralph just thought we were failing, and took it personally. I myself thought the thing had just moved to different parts of town, where the new disappearances were taking place. I told him we should keep it up until the thing was caught.
It was all for naught.
One day, India didn’t show up for school. I asked everybody, the teachers, the office staff, the custodian, my parents. All of them said they didn’t know, and it was so easy to tell that they were lying. That would mark the end of the Fight Patrol.
Ben didn’t show up a couple of days after that. When I got home and collapsed into bed, my mother came in to tell me that Ben’s mother had called. She’d taken him out of school and they were moving elsewhere. I called up Ralph to let him know the news, and he was relieved too.
My last day was Friday, and then I was taken out. Again, I called Ralph so he wouldn’t worry. I guess when there were only two weeks left of school, and it was just grade school, a couple missed weeks don’t amount to much. So I ended up spending the bulk of the summer out in the country, with my grandparents, which was why I brought up my grandpa in the first place.
I suppose I did fine out on their farmhouse. I was safe. There was certainly no shortage of things for a kid to do. I think my mom felt a strong sense of relief too. Things slipped through the cracks.
My grandparents didn’t have cable, too far out of town. They just had an old-school antenna and got a couple of TV stations transmitting out of Canada, Vancouver specifically. I remember one July day, sitting in their living room. My grandmother had just fixed lunch for me and my grandfather and had gone out to do some gardening as we watched the news at noon.
My grandfather was already being ravaged by his illnesses. He was able to get around, but couldn’t do any real labor anymore. He’d lounge in front of the TV in a special lounge chair. He hardly talked, and when he did he’d just mumble some discomfort or complaint to my grandma.
The lead story on the news was the current situation in Farmingham, despite being in the neighboring country, it was still big news in Vancouver, and the whole rest of the region. It seemed the disappearances were declining, but the police were still frantically searching for a supposed serial killer. I didn’t pick up much about what they were talking about, I was a kid after all, but my grandfather was watching intently, despite his infirmity.
He mumbled something, I didn’t catch. I asked him was he said, and as I approached I heard him say “fearsome critters.”
He turned his eyes to me and said again, distinct and in a normal tone of voice, “fearsome critters,” then returned his attention to the screen. “I don’t know why they call them that. Fearsome, sure. But ‘critters?” Makes it sound silly. Like it's some sort of fairy tale that it ain’t. Guess it’s like whistling past the graveyard. Well, they don’t have to worry about them no more, guess they can call them what they like.”
Then he turned to me. “Do you know what it is?” he asked. “Squonk? Hodag? Gouger? Hidebehind?”
“Hidebehind,” I whispered, and he turned back to the TV with a sneer. I had no idea what on earth he was talking about. Remember, this would be years before I learned he spent his youth as a lumberjack. And yet, somehow, I knew exactly what we were talking about.
“Hidebehind,” he repeated. “That will do it. They give them such stupid names. The folk back East, that is. Wisconsin. Minnesota. Ohio. Way back in the old days, before my grandfather would have been your age. Back when those places were covered by forests. They didn’t give them silly names back then, no. Back then they were something to worry about. Then they moved on, though. They all went out West, to here, followed the loggers. So as once they didn’t have to worry about them anymore, they started making up silly stories, silly names. “Fearsome critters,” they’d call them. Just tall tales to tell the greenhorns and scare them out of their britches. Then they’d make them even sillier, and tell the stories to little kids to spook them.”
“Not out here they didn’t tell no stories nor make up any names. It was bad enough they followed us out. I had no clue they even existed until I saw one for myself. Bout your age, I suppose. Maybe a little older. Nobody ever talks about them. Not even when they take apart a work crew, one by one. They just pull the crews back. Wait till mid-summer when the land is dry but not too dry. Then they move the crews in, a lot of them. Do some burning, make a lot of smoke. Drives them deeper into the woods, you know. Then you can cut the whole damn place down. But nobody asks why, nobody tells why. The people who know just take care of it.”
“I guess that’s why they’re coming to us now. All the old woods are almost gone. So they’ve got to. Like mountain lions. I supposed it’s going to happen sooner or later.”
We heard my grandma come into the back door to the utility room, and stomp the dirt off her boots. My grandfather turned to me one last time and said, “Whichever way you look at it, somebody’s just got to take care of it.” Then my grandmother came in from the utility room and asked us how our lunch had been.
Now that I look back at it, that might have been the last time my grandfather and I really had a meaningful talk.
We moved back home in late August. I had been having a fantastic summer. Though looking back, I suppose it could be rough for a still-young woman to be living in her aging parents' house when she’s got a perfectly good husband and house of her own in town.
First thing I did was visit Ralph. He’d been busy. He’d fortified his treehouse into a proper, well, tree fort. He’d nailed a lot of reinforcing plywood over everything. He hadn’t gone out on patrols by himself, of course, but the height of the tree fort afforded him a view of the nearest streets. He’d also made some makeshift weapons out of old baseball bats, a hockey stick, and a garden rake. The sharp rocks he’d attached to them with masking tape didn’t look very secure, but it’d only take one or two good blows with that kind of firepower. He also explained he’d been teaching himself kung fu, by copying all the movies he saw on kung fu movies late at night on the unpopular cable channels. That was classic Ralph.
As for the monster, it seemed to be going away. Its last victim had disappeared weeks previously, part of the reason my mom felt it was time to go back. This had been at night too. What’s more, the victim had been a college student, a very petite lady, barely five feet tall, under a hundred pounds. The news had speculated that their presumptive serial killer had assumed she was a child. I remember thinking the Hidebehind didn’t care. Maybe it just thought she couldn’t run fast enough to get away or put up a fight when he caught her. Like a predator.
At any rate, the college students were incensed. Of course, they’d been hyper-alert and concerned when it was just local kids going missing. Now that it was one of their own the camel’s back had broken. They really went hard on the protests, blaming the local police for not doing enough.
They started setting up their own patrols, and at night too. Marches with sometimes dozens of students at a time. They called it “Take Back the Night.” They’d walk the streets, making sure they’d be heard. Some cared drums or tambourines. They’d help escort people home, and sometimes they’d unintentionally stop random crimes they’d happen across. I felt like this was what the Fight Patrol could have been, if we’d just been old enough, or had been listened to. This would be the endgame for the Hidebehind, one way or another.
I stayed indoors the rest of the summer, and really there wasn’t much left. It doesn’t get too hot in the Pacific Northwest, nobody has air conditioners, or at least we didn’t back then. It will get stuffy though, in August, and I liked to sleep with my window open. I could hear the chants and challenges from the student patrols on their various routes. Sometimes I could hear them coming from far away, and every now and then they’d pass down my street. It felt like a wonderful security blanket.
I also liked the honeysuckle my mother had planted around the perimeter of the house. Late at night, if I was struggling to fall asleep, the air in my bedroom would start to circulate. Cold air would start pouring in over my windowsill, bringing the sweet scent of that creepervine with it, and I’d the sensation before finally passing out.
This one night, and I have no knowledge if I was awake, asleep, or drifting off, but the air in the room changed, and cooler air poured over the windowsill and swept over my bed, but it didn’t carry the sweet smell of honeysuckle. Regardless of my initial state, I was alert pretty quickly. It was a singularly unpleasant smell. A bit like death, which at that age I was mostly unfamiliar with, except a time some animal had died underneath the crawlspace of our house. There was more to it, though. The forest, the deep forest. I don’t know and still don’t know, what that meant. Most smells I associate with the forest are pleasant. Cedar, pine needles, thick loam of the forest floor, campfires, even the creosote and turpentine of those old timey-logging camps. This was none of those smells. Maybe… rotting granite, and the spores of slime molds. Mummified hemlocks and beds of needles compressed into something different than soil. It disturbed me.
So I sat up in bed. I hadn’t noticed before, but I’d been sweating, just lightly in the stuffy summer night heat. Now it was turning cold. Before me was my bedroom window. A lit rectangle in a pitch-dark room. To either side were my white, opened curtains, the one on the right, by the open half of the window, stirred just slightly in the barely perceptible breeze.
Most of the rectangle was the black form of the protective cypress tree. Only the slight conical nature of the tree distinguished it from a perfectly vertical column. To either side was a dim soft orange glow coming from the sodium lamps of the street passing by our house. It was perhaps a bit diffuse from the screen set in my window to keep out mosquitos. In the distance was the sound of an approaching troupe of the Take Back the Night patrol. They were neither drumming nor chanting, but still making plenty of noise. They were, perhaps, three or four blocks away, and heading my way.
For some reason that I didn’t understand, I got up, off of the foot of the bed. The window, being closer, appeared bigger. I took a silent step further. The patrol approached closer. Another step. I leaned to my right, just a bit, getting a slightly wider view to the left of the cypress tree. That was the direction the patrol was coming from.
That was when it resolved. The deeper black silhouette within the black silhouette of the cypress tree. A small lithe frame with a too-bulbous head. It too leaned, in its case, to the left, to see around the cypress tree as the patrol approached. They reached our block,on the other side of the street. A dozen rowdy college students, not trying to be quiet. None of them fearing the night. Each feeling safe and determined, and absorbed in their own night out rather than being overtly sensitive to their surroundings. They were distracted, unfocused If they had been peering into the shadows, if just one of them had looked towards my house, behind the cypress tree, they might have seen the Hidebehind, poking its face out and watching them transit past. But they didn’t notice.
It hid behind the cypress tree, and I hid behind it, hoping that the blackness of my bedroom would protect me. I stood absolutely still, as I had done once when a hornet had once landed on the back of my neck. Totally assure that if I made the slightest movement or made the slightest sound that I’d be stung. I hardly even breathed.
The patrol passed, from my perspective, behind the cypress tree and temporarily out of view. The Hidebehind straightened, ready to lean to the right and watch the patrol pass, only it didn’t lean. Even as I watched the patrol pass on to the right, it stood there, stock still, just as I was doing.
It was then I became aware that my room had become stuffy again. The scent was gone. The air had shifted and was now flowing out through the screen again, carrying my own scent with it. I knew what this meant, and yet I was too paralyzed to react. The thing started to turn, very slowly. It was a predator understanding that it might have become victim to its own game. It turned as if it was thinking the same thing I had been thinking, that the slightest movement might give it away.
It turned, and I saw its face. Like some kind of rotting desiccated, shriveling fruit, it was covered in wrinkles. Circles within concentric circles surrounded its two great eyes, eyes which took up so much of its face. I couldn’t, and still struggle, to think of words to describe it. Instead, I still think in terms of analogies. At the time I thought of the creature from the film E.T., only twisted and distorted into a thing of nightmares. Almost all eyelids, and a little drooping sucker mouth. Now that I’m more worldly, it reminds of creatures of ancient artworks. The key defining feature were the long horizontal slits it had for eyes. You see that in old masks carved in West Africa, or by the Inuit long ago. You see it in what’s called the “slit-eyed dogu” of ancient Japan.
As I watched the wrinkles on the face seemed to multiply. Then I realized this was the result of its eyes slowly widening. It’s mouth, too, slowly dilated, revealing innumerable small razor-sharp teeth. A person, standing in its location, shouldn’t have been able to see in. Light from the sodium streetlamps lit the window’s screen, obscuring the interior. It was no person. It could see me, and it was reacting to my presence. Its eyes grew huge, black.
My own eyes would have been just as wide if not for my own anatomical limitations. I was still watching when it disappeared. It didn’t see it move to the right. I didn’t see it move to the left, nor did I see it drop down out of view. It simply disappeared. One fraction of a second it was there, and then it decided to leave, and so it did. It was not a thing of this world.
There were no more disappearances after that poor woman from the university. I don’t think it had anything to do with me. The media and police all speculated their “serial killer” had gone into a “dormant phase”. There was no shortage of people who tried to take credit. Maybe they deserve it. The thing’s hunting had been on the decline. All the neighborhood watches and student patrols, I think that maybe all that commotion was making it too hard for the Hidebehind to go about its business. Maybe it had gone back to the woods.
Then again, maybe Ralph had been right the whole time. Maybe it really, really, really didn’t like to be seen.
So.
Now I’ve got some decisions to make. I think the first thing I should do is look at social media and dig up Ralph. It’s been a good thirty years since I last talked to him. He ought to know the Hidebehind is back. He’s probably made plans.
Then, there’s the issue of my son. He’s up in his bedroom now, probably still mad at me. Probably confused about why I’d be so strict. Maybe he’s inventing explanations as to why.
I’m not sure, but I’m leaning toward telling him everything. He deserves to know. It’d probably be safer if he knows. I think people have this instinct where, when they see or know something that they’re not supposed to know, they just bottle it up. I think that was the problem with grown-ups when I was a kid. It was the issue with my grandfather, telling me so little when it was almost too late. I think people do it because we’re social animals, and we’re afraid of being ostracized. Go along to get along.
Hell, my son is probably going to think I’m crazy. It might even make him more mad at me. And even more confused. He knows about the disappearances. “The Farmingham Fiend” the media would end up dubbing the serial killer that didn’t really exist. It’s become local “true crime” history. Kids tell rumors about it. It was almost forty years ago, so it probably feels safe to wonder about.
So yeah, I suppose when I say I know who the real killer was, a magical monster from the woods that stalks its prey by hiding behind objects, then impossibly disappears- that I’m going to look like a total nut. I’d think that if I were in his shoes.
Except… people are going to start disappearing again, it’s only a matter of time. The media will say that the Farmingham Fiend is back in the game. Will my son buy that? He’ll start thinking about what I told him, and how I predicted it. Then he’ll remember that he saw the thing himself, he and his friends, even if it was just out of the corner of his eye.
I hope, sooner or later, he’ll believe me. I could use his help. Maybe Ralph is way ahead of me, but I’m thinking we should get the Fight Patrol back together. Father and son, this time. Multigenerational, get the retirees involved too.
Old farts of my generation, for reasons I don’t understand, like to wax nostalgic over their own false sense of superiority. We rode our bikes without helmets and had distant if not irresponsible parents. Yeah, yeah, what a load. I think every new generation is better than the last, because every generation is a progression from the last, Kids these days? They’ve got cell phones, with cameras. And helmet cams. GoPros you can attach to bikes. Doorbell cameras.
It seems the Hidebehind loathes being seen. This time around, with my grandfather’s spirit, my own memories, and my boy’s energy? I think this time we’re finally going to beat it.

They didn’t tell us the name of the next kid that disappeared. They didn’t tell us another kid had disappeared at all. We could all tell by the silence what had happened. It spoke volumes. I’m sure they talked about it in great detail amongst themselves. In PTA meetings and City Councils. My parents made sure to turn off the TV at 5 o’clock before the news came on, at least in my home. They’d turn it back on for the 11 o’clock news, when were were in bed and couldn’t hear the details.
The strange thing is, they never told us to just stop going outside. They told us to go in groups, sure, but they never decided, or as far as I could tell even though, to keep us all indoors. I guess that sort of freedom wasn’t something they were willing to give up. Instead, they did the neighborhood watch thing. For those few months, I remember my folks meeting more of our neighbors than in all the time previously, or since. Retirees would spend their days out in their front lawns, watching kids and everybody else coming and going. They’d even set up lawn furniture, with umbrellas, even all through the rains of spring. Cops stopped sitting in ambushes on the highways waiting for speeders and instead started patrolling the streets, chatting with us as we’d pass by. Weekends would see all the adults out in their yards, working on cars in the driveways, fixing the gutters, and so on. They had this weird way of looking at you as you’d ride by. Not hostile stares, but it was like they were cataloging your presence. Boy, eight years old, red raincoat silver bike, about 11:30 in the morning, heading south on Sorensen. Seemed fine.
The next time we saw it, it wasn’t in our neighborhood, and I was the one who saw it first. We were visiting Russ, a sort of 5th semi-friend from school. We rarely hung out, mostly owing to geography. His house wasn’t far as the crow flies, but it was up a steep hill. We spent a Saturday afternoon returning a cache of comic books we’d borrowed. The distance we covered was substantial, as we had decided to take lots of extra streets as switchbacks, rather than slowly push our bikes up the too-steep hills.
The descent was going to be the highlight of the trip, up until I saw the Hidebehind. We were on a curving road, a steep forested bluff on one side. The uphill slope was mostly ivy-covered raised foundations for the neighborhood’s houses. That side of the road was lined with parked cars, and the residents of the homes had to ascend steep staircases to get to their front doors.
I was ayt the back of the pack when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Movement, something brown squatting between two closely parked cars. My head snapped as I zoomed past, and despite not getting a good look, I knew it was that terrible thing. “It’s behind us!” I shouted and started pedaling hard. The others looked for themselves as I quickly rushed past them, but they soon joined my pace.
Ralph’s earlier idea of directly confronting the thing was set aside. We were moving too fast, and down too narrow a street to turn around. Then we saw it again it was to our left, off-road, between the trees. Suddenly it leaped from behind one tree trunk to the next and disappeared again. That hardly made sense, the base of the trees must have been thirty feet below the deck of the street we rode down. One of us, I think it was India, let out one of those strangled screams.
There it was again, back on the right, disappearing behind a mailbox as we approached. That couldn’t have been, it must have outpaced us and crossed in front of us. Logic would suggest there was more than one, but somehow the four of us knew it was the same thing. More impossible still, the pole holding up the mailbox was too thin, maybe two inches in diameter, yet that thing had disappeared behind it, like a Warner Bros. cartoon character. It was just enough to catch a better glimpse of it though. All brown. A head seemingly too bulbous and large for its body. Its limbs were thin but far longer, like a gibbon’s. Only a gibbon had normal elbows and knees. This thing bent its joints all wrong like it wasn’t part of the natural order. We were all terrified to wit’s end.
“The trail!” Ralph shouted, and the other three of us knew exactly what he meant. The top of it was only just around the curve. It was a dirt footpath for pedestrians ascending and descending South Hill, cutting through the woods on our left. It was too steep for cars, and to be honest, too steep for bikes. We’d played on it before, challenging each other to see how high up they could go, then descend back down without using our brakes. A short paved cul-de-sac at the bottom was enough space to stop before running into a cross street.
Ralph had held the previous group record, having climbed three-quarters of the way before starting his mad drop. India’s best was just short of that, I had only dared about halfway up, Ben only a third. This time, with certain death on our heels, the trail seemed the only way out. Nothing could have outrun a kid on a bike flying down that hill.
We followed Ralph’s lead, swinging to the right gutter of the street, then hanging a fast wide left up onto the curb, over a patch of gravel, between two boulders set up as bollards, lest a car driver mistake the entrance for a driveway, and then, like a roller coaster cresting the first hill, the bottom fell out.
It was the most overwhelming sensation of motion I’ve ever had, before or since. I suppose the danger behind us was the big reason, and being absolutely certain that only our speed was keeping us alive. I remember thinking it was like the speeder bike scene from Return of the Jedi, also a recent movie from the time. Only this was real. I didn’t just see the trees flashing past it, I could hear the motion as well. Cold air attacked my eyes and long streamers of tears rushed over my cheeks and the drops flew past my ears, I didn’t dare blink. Each little stone my tires struck threatened to up-end me and end it all. Yet, and perhaps worse, half the time it felt like I wasn’t in contact with the ground at all. I was going so fast that those same small stones were sending me an inch or two into the air, and the arc of the flights so closely matched the slope that by the time I contacted the trail again, I was significantly further down the hill.
At the same time, I had never felt more relief, as the thing behind us had no way of catching us now. Somehow, maybe the seriousness of the escape gave us both the motive and the seriousness to keep ourselves under control. Looking back, I marvel that at least one of us didn’t lose control and end up splitting our skulls open.
We hit the pavement of the cul-de-sac below, and didn’t bother to slow down. We raced through the cross-street, one angry driver screeching to a halt and laying on his horn. This brought out the neighborhood watch. Just a few of them at first. Still, we didn’t slow down, our momentum carried us back up the much shallower slope of our neighborhood. Witnesses saw us depart at high speed, and this only brought out more of the watch. We heard whistles behind us, just like our P.E. teacher’s whistle. We figured that was the watch’s alarm siren. Regardless of what happened to that thing, it was behind us. We returned to our homes, shaken, but safe and sound, our inertia taking us almost all of the way there.
Another kid disappeared that Sunday, up on South Hill. We’d suspected it because we could see the lights of the police cars on a high road, surrounding the spot where it would turn out later, one of the kid’s shoes had been found. Russ confirmed it at school on Monday. It was a kid he’d known, lived down the road from his place, went to private school which is why we didn’t recognize his name.
I remember seeing Ralph’s face the next day when he arrived at school. He looked angry. Strong. Like he’d been crying really hard, and now it was over and he was resolved. He said he’d felt guilty because the thing we’d escaped from had gotten the other kid instead. He tried to tell his old man about it, then his mom, then any adult he could. He’d tell them about the monster who hides behind things. They needed to focus on finding and stopping that instead of looking for some sort of creeper or serial killer. Of course, nobody had listened to him. They hadn’t listened to the rest of us either when we’d tried to tell.
So he’d devised a plan. He was calling it the “Fight Patrol,” which we didn’t argue with. If the adults wouldn’t do something, we would. We’d patrol our neighborhood on our bikes, the four of us, maybe a couple more if we could talk others into it. We’d chase it off like that first time, maybe for good, or maybe corner it. Clearly, it could not handle being caught.
Naturally, we brought up the scare on South Hill. He argued that was a bad place. Too isolated, couldn’t turn around easily. We needed to stay on our home turf, lots of visibility, and plenty of the Neighborhood Watch within earshot. Maybe we and the adults working together was the key, even if the adults didn’t understand the problem.
Well, that convinced us. Our first patrol was that afternoon, after school. We watched everybody’s back like hawks. Nothing had a chance to sneak up on us. Nothing could step out from behind a bush without getting spotted. By Friday afternoon there were eight of us. The next week we split up to extend our territory to the next neighborhoods over.
Nothing happened. We never saw anything. Ben thought it was because we were scaring it away. Ralph just thought we were failing, and took it personally. I myself thought the thing had just moved to different parts of town, where the new disappearances were taking place. I told him we should keep it up until the thing was caught.
It was all for naught.
One day, India didn’t show up for school. I asked everybody, the teachers, the office staff, the custodian, my parents. All of them said they didn’t know, and it was so easy to tell that they were lying. That would mark the end of the Fight Patrol.
Ben didn’t show up a couple of days after that. When I got home and collapsed into bed, my mother came in to tell me that Ben’s mother had called. She’d taken him out of school and they were moving elsewhere. I called up Ralph to let him know the news, and he was relieved too.
My last day was Friday, and then I was taken out. Again, I called Ralph so he wouldn’t worry. I guess when there were only two weeks left of school, and it was just grade school, a couple missed weeks don’t amount to much. So I ended up spending the bulk of the summer out in the country, with my grandparents, which was why I brought up my grandpa in the first place.
I suppose I did fine out on their farmhouse. I was safe. There was certainly no shortage of things for a kid to do. I think my mom felt a strong sense of relief too. Things slipped through the cracks.
My grandparents didn’t have cable, too far out of town. They just had an old-school antenna and got a couple of TV stations transmitting out of Canada, Vancouver specifically. I remember one July day, sitting in their living room. My grandmother had just fixed lunch for me and my grandfather and had gone out to do some gardening as we watched the news at noon.
My grandfather was already being ravaged by his illnesses. He was able to get around, but couldn’t do any real labor anymore. He’d lounge in front of the TV in a special lounge chair. He hardly talked, and when he did he’d just mumble some discomfort or complaint to my grandma.
The lead story on the news was the current situation in Farmingham, despite being in the neighboring country, it was still big news in Vancouver, and the whole rest of the region. It seemed the disappearances were declining, but the police were still frantically searching for a supposed serial killer. I didn’t pick up much about what they were talking about, I was a kid after all, but my grandfather was watching intently, despite his infirmity.
He mumbled something, I didn’t catch. I asked him was he said, and as I approached I heard him say “fearsome critters.”
He turned his eyes to me and said again, distinct and in a normal tone of voice, “fearsome critters,” then returned his attention to the screen. “I don’t know why they call them that. Fearsome, sure. But ‘critters?” Makes it sound silly. Like it's some sort of fairy tale that it ain’t. Guess it’s like whistling past the graveyard. Well, they don’t have to worry about them no more, guess they can call them what they like.”
Then he turned to me. “Do you know what it is?” he asked. “Squonk? Hodag? Gouger? Hidebehind?”
“Hidebehind,” I whispered, and he turned back to the TV with a sneer. I had no idea what on earth he was talking about. Remember, this would be years before I learned he spent his youth as a lumberjack. And yet, somehow, I knew exactly what we were talking about.
“Hidebehind,” he repeated. “That will do it. They give them such stupid names. The folk back East, that is. Wisconsin. Minnesota. Ohio. Way back in the old days, before my grandfather would have been your age. Back when those places were covered by forests. They didn’t give them silly names back then, no. Back then they were something to worry about. Then they moved on, though. They all went out West, to here, followed the loggers. So as once they didn’t have to worry about them anymore, they started making up silly stories, silly names. “Fearsome critters,” they’d call them. Just tall tales to tell the greenhorns and scare them out of their britches. Then they’d make them even sillier, and tell the stories to little kids to spook them.”
“Not out here they didn’t tell no stories nor make up any names. It was bad enough they followed us out. I had no clue they even existed until I saw one for myself. Bout your age, I suppose. Maybe a little older. Nobody ever talks about them. Not even when they take apart a work crew, one by one. They just pull the crews back. Wait till mid-summer when the land is dry but not too dry. Then they move the crews in, a lot of them. Do some burning, make a lot of smoke. Drives them deeper into the woods, you know. Then you can cut the whole damn place down. But nobody asks why, nobody tells why. The people who know just take care of it.”
“I guess that’s why they’re coming to us now. All the old woods are almost gone. So they’ve got to. Like mountain lions. I supposed it’s going to happen sooner or later.”
We heard my grandma come into the back door to the utility room, and stomp the dirt off her boots. My grandfather turned to me one last time and said, “Whichever way you look at it, somebody’s just got to take care of it.” Then my grandmother came in from the utility room and asked us how our lunch had been.
Now that I look back at it, that might have been the last time my grandfather and I really had a meaningful talk.
We moved back home in late August. I had been having a fantastic summer. Though looking back, I suppose it could be rough for a still-young woman to be living in her aging parents' house when she’s got a perfectly good husband and house of her own in town.
First thing I did was visit Ralph. He’d been busy. He’d fortified his treehouse into a proper, well, tree fort. He’d nailed a lot of reinforcing plywood over everything. He hadn’t gone out on patrols by himself, of course, but the height of the tree fort afforded him a view of the nearest streets. He’d also made some makeshift weapons out of old baseball bats, a hockey stick, and a garden rake. The sharp rocks he’d attached to them with masking tape didn’t look very secure, but it’d only take one or two good blows with that kind of firepower. He also explained he’d been teaching himself kung fu, by copying all the movies he saw on kung fu movies late at night on the unpopular cable channels. That was classic Ralph.
As for the monster, it seemed to be going away. Its last victim had disappeared weeks previously, part of the reason my mom felt it was time to go back. This had been at night too. What’s more, the victim had been a college student, a very petite lady, barely five feet tall, under a hundred pounds. The news had speculated that their presumptive serial killer had assumed she was a child. I remember thinking the Hidebehind didn’t care. Maybe it just thought she couldn’t run fast enough to get away or put up a fight when he caught her. Like a predator.
At any rate, the college students were incensed. Of course, they’d been hyper-alert and concerned when it was just local kids going missing. Now that it was one of their own the camel’s back had broken. They really went hard on the protests, blaming the local police for not doing enough.
They started setting up their own patrols, and at night too. Marches with sometimes dozens of students at a time. They called it “Take Back the Night.” They’d walk the streets, making sure they’d be heard. Some cared drums or tambourines. They’d help escort people home, and sometimes they’d unintentionally stop random crimes they’d happen across. I felt like this was what the Fight Patrol could have been, if we’d just been old enough, or had been listened to. This would be the endgame for the Hidebehind, one way or another.
I stayed indoors the rest of the summer, and really there wasn’t much left. It doesn’t get too hot in the Pacific Northwest, nobody has air conditioners, or at least we didn’t back then. It will get stuffy though, in August, and I liked to sleep with my window open. I could hear the chants and challenges from the student patrols on their various routes. Sometimes I could hear them coming from far away, and every now and then they’d pass down my street. It felt like a wonderful security blanket.
I also liked the honeysuckle my mother had planted around the perimeter of the house. Late at night, if I was struggling to fall asleep, the air in my bedroom would start to circulate. Cold air would start pouring in over my windowsill, bringing the sweet scent of that creepervine with it, and I’d the sensation before finally passing out.
This one night, and I have no knowledge if I was awake, asleep, or drifting off, but the air in the room changed, and cooler air poured over the windowsill and swept over my bed, but it didn’t carry the sweet smell of honeysuckle. Regardless of my initial state, I was alert pretty quickly. It was a singularly unpleasant smell. A bit like death, which at that age I was mostly unfamiliar with, except a time some animal had died underneath the crawlspace of our house. There was more to it, though. The forest, the deep forest. I don’t know and still don’t know, what that meant. Most smells I associate with the forest are pleasant. Cedar, pine needles, thick loam of the forest floor, campfires, even the creosote and turpentine of those old timey-logging camps. This was none of those smells. Maybe… rotting granite, and the spores of slime molds. Mummified hemlocks and beds of needles compressed into something different than soil. It disturbed me.
So I sat up in bed. I hadn’t noticed before, but I’d been sweating, just lightly in the stuffy summer night heat. Now it was turning cold. Before me was my bedroom window. A lit rectangle in a pitch-dark room. To either side were my white, opened curtains, the one on the right, by the open half of the window, stirred just slightly in the barely perceptible breeze.
Most of the rectangle was the black form of the protective cypress tree. Only the slight conical nature of the tree distinguished it from a perfectly vertical column. To either side was a dim soft orange glow coming from the sodium lamps of the street passing by our house. It was perhaps a bit diffuse from the screen set in my window to keep out mosquitos. In the distance was the sound of an approaching troupe of the Take Back the Night patrol. They were neither drumming nor chanting, but still making plenty of noise. They were, perhaps, three or four blocks away, and heading my way.
For some reason that I didn’t understand, I got up, off of the foot of the bed. The window, being closer, appeared bigger. I took a silent step further. The patrol approached closer. Another step. I leaned to my right, just a bit, getting a slightly wider view to the left of the cypress tree. That was the direction the patrol was coming from.
That was when it resolved. The deeper black silhouette within the black silhouette of the cypress tree. A small lithe frame with a too-bulbous head. It too leaned, in its case, to the left, to see around the cypress tree as the patrol approached. They reached our block,on the other side of the street. A dozen rowdy college students, not trying to be quiet. None of them fearing the night. Each feeling safe and determined, and absorbed in their own night out rather than being overtly sensitive to their surroundings. They were distracted, unfocused If they had been peering into the shadows, if just one of them had looked towards my house, behind the cypress tree, they might have seen the Hidebehind, poking its face out and watching them transit past. But they didn’t notice.
It hid behind the cypress tree, and I hid behind it, hoping that the blackness of my bedroom would protect me. I stood absolutely still, as I had done once when a hornet had once landed on the back of my neck. Totally assure that if I made the slightest movement or made the slightest sound that I’d be stung. I hardly even breathed.
The patrol passed, from my perspective, behind the cypress tree and temporarily out of view. The Hidebehind straightened, ready to lean to the right and watch the patrol pass, only it didn’t lean. Even as I watched the patrol pass on to the right, it stood there, stock still, just as I was doing.
It was then I became aware that my room had become stuffy again. The scent was gone. The air had shifted and was now flowing out through the screen again, carrying my own scent with it. I knew what this meant, and yet I was too paralyzed to react. The thing started to turn, very slowly. It was a predator understanding that it might have become victim to its own game. It turned as if it was thinking the same thing I had been thinking, that the slightest movement might give it away.
It turned, and I saw its face. Like some kind of rotting desiccated, shriveling fruit, it was covered in wrinkles. Circles within concentric circles surrounded its two great eyes, eyes which took up so much of its face. I couldn’t, and still struggle, to think of words to describe it. Instead, I still think in terms of analogies. At the time I thought of the creature from the film E.T., only twisted and distorted into a thing of nightmares. Almost all eyelids, and a little drooping sucker mouth. Now that I’m more worldly, it reminds of creatures of ancient artworks. The key defining feature were the long horizontal slits it had for eyes. You see that in old masks carved in West Africa, or by the Inuit long ago. You see it in what’s called the “slit-eyed dogu” of ancient Japan.
As I watched the wrinkles on the face seemed to multiply. Then I realized this was the result of its eyes slowly widening. It’s mouth, too, slowly dilated, revealing innumerable small razor-sharp teeth. A person, standing in its location, shouldn’t have been able to see in. Light from the sodium streetlamps lit the window’s screen, obscuring the interior. It was no person. It could see me, and it was reacting to my presence. Its eyes grew huge, black.
My own eyes would have been just as wide if not for my own anatomical limitations. I was still watching when it disappeared. It didn’t see it move to the right. I didn’t see it move to the left, nor did I see it drop down out of view. It simply disappeared. One fraction of a second it was there, and then it decided to leave, and so it did. It was not a thing of this world.
There were no more disappearances after that poor woman from the university. I don’t think it had anything to do with me. The media and police all speculated their “serial killer” had gone into a “dormant phase”. There was no shortage of people who tried to take credit. Maybe they deserve it. The thing’s hunting had been on the decline. All the neighborhood watches and student patrols, I think that maybe all that commotion was making it too hard for the Hidebehind to go about its business. Maybe it had gone back to the woods.
Then again, maybe Ralph had been right the whole time. Maybe it really, really, really didn’t like to be seen.
So.
Now I’ve got some decisions to make. I think the first thing I should do is look at social media and dig up Ralph. It’s been a good thirty years since I last talked to him. He ought to know the Hidebehind is back. He’s probably made plans.
Then, there’s the issue of my son. He’s up in his bedroom now, probably still mad at me. Probably confused about why I’d be so strict. Maybe he’s inventing explanations as to why.
I’m not sure, but I’m leaning toward telling him everything. He deserves to know. It’d probably be safer if he knows. I think people have this instinct where, when they see or know something that they’re not supposed to know, they just bottle it up. I think that was the problem with grown-ups when I was a kid. It was the issue with my grandfather, telling me so little when it was almost too late. I think people do it because we’re social animals, and we’re afraid of being ostracized. Go along to get along.
Hell, my son is probably going to think I’m crazy. It might even make him more mad at me. And even more confused. He knows about the disappearances. “The Farmingham Fiend” the media would end up dubbing the serial killer that didn’t really exist. It’s become local “true crime” history. Kids tell rumors about it. It was almost forty years ago, so it probably feels safe to wonder about.
So yeah, I suppose when I say I know who the real killer was, a magical monster from the woods that stalks its prey by hiding behind objects, then impossibly disappears- that I’m going to look like a total nut. I’d think that if I were in his shoes.
Except… people are going to start disappearing again, it’s only a matter of time. The media will say that the Farmingham Fiend is back in the game. Will my son buy that? He’ll start thinking about what I told him, and how I predicted it. Then he’ll remember that he saw the thing himself, he and his friends, even if it was just out of the corner of his eye.
I hope, sooner or later, he’ll believe me. I could use his help. Maybe Ralph is way ahead of me, but I’m thinking we should get the Fight Patrol back together. Father and son, this time. Multigenerational, get the retirees involved too.
Old farts of my generation, for reasons I don’t understand, like to wax nostalgic over their own false sense of superiority. We rode our bikes without helmets and had distant if not irresponsible parents. Yeah, yeah, what a load. I think every new generation is better than the last, because every generation is a progression from the last, Kids these days? They’ve got cell phones, with cameras. And helmet cams. GoPros you can attach to bikes. Doorbell cameras.
It seems the Hidebehind loathes being seen. This time around, with my grandfather’s spirit, my own memories, and my boy’s energy? I think this time we’re finally going to beat it.

PSA: There’s no tolerance for racist, homophobic, discriminatory, troll or unhelpful comments. If a post about events in DFW triggers you, keep on scrolling. I have zero Fs to give so if you insist on commenting something unhelpful, you’ll never have to be subjected to these free, helpful posts again bc you’ll be blocked.
There may be mistakes or things change so do your own due diligence & search more info online.
Join the Fort Worth discord to connect w/other folks in FW, chat & check out different meet ups: https://discord.com/invite/9KUdWdQVdJ
*Early voting til June 6th for the 6/10 runoff election. The ballot includes District 11 City Council member, District 5 Fort Worth ISD school board member, & District 4 TCC trustee.
[Friday Jun 2nd]
Jaybirds at Twilite Lounge Fort Worth! 9PM-12AM No Cover
Exhibition Reception 6 p.m. Arts Fort Worth, 1300 Gendy St. Free Check out the high schooler’s creations from The Modern’s eight-month Teen/Artist Project.
Texas Rangers 7:05 p.m. Globe Life Field $9+ v Seattle Mariners for a 3-game series, leading off with Lou Gehrig Day
First Fri-YAY All day Fort Worth Bike Sharing Stations Free Explore the city on wheels w/a free bike rental courtesy of Fort Worth Bike Sharing & the Blue Zones Project — promo code “92020APP.”
Kimbell Happy Hour Kimbell Art Museum 5-7 pm beverages & bites w/live music by the Allegro Guitar Society.
National Donut Day TX Whiskey 6 p.m. a donut + cocktail pairing, burgers, live music, on-site engraving, & a donut hole bar $35
FWSO’s Concerts in the Gardenl Gates 6:30 p.m. start 8:30 p.m. Radio Highway Performs the Music of the Eagles *The orchestra does not perform on this concert.
Locals Only Hip Hop Haltom Theater 7-11PM
Live Music on the Plaza, Sundance Square 7-10PM every Fri-Sun
Dial Up - A 90's Party Experience Dial Up Tulips FW 8PM $15
Rhett Miller Tannahill's Tavern & Music Hall 8PM $28+
D.L. Hughley Arlington Improv Jun 2-4 times vary
That Texas Meskin Tour - THAT MEXICAN OT Ridglea Theater $40+
Special E.D w\ Dude-Man & MORE Doors 7:00pm, Start 8:00pm Lola's Fort Worth
[Saturday Jun 3rd]
Party with The Queens Free Drag & Brunch Show Hosted by: Crystal Whitney Performances: Venus Vogue, Angelique Davenport, Veronica Reyes RSVP to get a 1 cent mimosa with entry! Brunch menus & specials will be offered until 4:30pm El Chingon: 2800 Bledsoe St. 2-4PM
Daniel Henson Jazz Quartet at Twilite Lounge Fort Worth! 9PM-12AM No Cover
Get ready to explore fossils and all things prehistoric at the Fort Worth Museum of Science and History’s Dino Day. Kids can learn about paleontology with experts in the field and hands-on activities. Dino Day is free with general admission.
Black Arts Expo “Expressions of the Culture” 1-8 p.m. Como Community Center, 4660 Horne St. Free Enjoy a day full of art celebrations with special exhibitions, 20+ food trucks, live entertainment, games, dancing, and raffles.
Miss Juneteenth DFW 2023 6-9 p.m. E.H. Hereford University Center at UTA, 300 W. 1st St., Arlington $20 Celebrate Juneteenth and cheer on contestants as they compete for the title of Miss Juneteenth 2023 and a scholarship to enhance their academic futures.
Wandering Roots Market Tanger Outlets Shop local pop-up, live music, vendors, food trucks + kid-friendly 10AM-4PM
Creed Fisher Tannahill's Tavern & Music Hall 8PM
Shenandoah in concert Billy Bob’s 10PM $20+
Arlington Museum of Art openings Taylor Swift: "The Eras Tour Collection,""Girl in a Country Song: Women of Country Music," through Sept 24
Casa Mañana presents Miss Saigon through June 11
Saturday R-n-Flow 8 a.m. Trinity Park Basketball Court $20 Come ebb & flow to a 45-minute yoga session paired w/smooth R&B vibes led by Studio E Fitt.
The Dolly Party 10 p.m. Tulips $15-$25 Shake off your 9 to 5 w/a Dolly Parton-inspired diva dance party
Drag with Me! The Show: Brunch upstairs at The Red Goose Saloon the ONLY interactive Drag Show of its kind: 2 audience members will be selected each show to be transformed into a Drag Queen themselves, lip sync battle, & win their very own Drag with Me! Crown! Ticket price inc Meal & Show! 18+
FWSO’s Concerts in the Gardenl Gates open 6:30 p.m. start 8:30 p.m. Chicago Nights ft. Jason Scheff
Zumba Sundance Square Plaza 9:45am - 11:00am
Goat Yoga Bedford! Generations Park at Boyd Ranch 10-11AM $20+
Catalina Canned Wine Mixer Truck Yard Alliance 12PM themed after Step Brothers. Wear your best tuxedo t-shirt for a wine tasting, photo ops, food trucks, & a Step Brothers cover band. Admission is free, but a $15 wine tasting is offered 7-9 pm, ft. six wine samples & a souvenir glass filled w/frose. Costume contests held 5 pm & 10 pm.
Random Direction artist pop up 1-6PM Love Sammy's chef popup 2-7PM Neutral Ground Brewing Company
CyberPunk w/ APT 75 + P!xel Ampersand 5:15-9PM
Miracle Nights Allmo$t Music US Tour Fort Worth Ridglea Theater 6PM
Ill Nino with Through Fire, Dropout Kings + more The Rail Club Live 6:30PM
WOODEYE (One Night Only) w/ Brave Little Howl + Vacation Dad Lola's 8PM $15
FANCY: Queens of Country Party - 21+ Tulips FW 10PM $15+
WOODEYE (One Night Only) w / Brave Little Howl + Vacation Dad Doors 7:00pm, Start 8:00pm Lola's Fort Worth
[Sunday June 4th]
Hike and Yoga 9-11 a.m. Fort Worth Nature Center & Refuge, 9601 Fossil Ridge Rd. $31 Soak up the fresh air with a family-friendly hike and some yoga in nature.
“The Lost King” Times vary The Modern $7-$10 Watch the true story of historian Philippa Langley’s discovery of the lost burial site of King Richard III
DFW F1 Breakfast Club: Spanish GP Conlon’s Pub 8AM check the post in this sub for more info & where to RSVP!
F45 Workout 10:30-11:30 a.m. Fable tics, 1612 S. University Dr. Free HIIT workout hosted by F45.
Panther Island Beer Yoga Panther Island Brewing 10:30AM $20
Sunday Supper Club: Courtney Patton & Bri Bagwell The Post at River East 6PM $25+
The Damn Quails Fort Brewery & Pizza 7PM $10
FWSO’s Concerts in the Gardenl Gates 6:30 p.m. start 8:30 p.m. Classical Mystery Tour: A Tribute to the Beatles**The orchestra does not perform on this concert
Summer Afternoon Tea at Indulge Enjoy 3 courses $65 2 pm
[Ongoing]
Riders of the Purple Sage Hip Pocket Theatre until June 11 Fridays-Sundays 9PM $10+ Featuring action, adventure, & romance in the wide open spaces, it’s a classic Western of the silent film era
“Lives of the Gods” until Sept. 3 Kimbell Art Museum $14+ Explore the divinity of Mayan art at this exhibition of nearly 100 rarely seen masterpieces & discoveries

1. Asheville: Located in Pickaway County, Ohio, Asheville is a small village with a peaceful rural setting. The village is known for its picturesque landscapes, farmland, and a close-knit community. Asheville offers a small-town atmosphere with a limited number of local businesses and amenities. The surrounding area is characterized by rolling hills, open spaces, and a slower pace of life. It provides residents with a tranquil environment away from the busyness of urban centers.
2. Bexley: Situated east of downtown Columbus, Bexley is an established suburb known for its stately homes, tree-lined streets, and historic charm. The area is home to prestigious institutions such as Capital University and the Governor's Mansion. Bexley's Main Street offers a mix of boutique shops, cafes, and restaurants, creating a vibrant community atmosphere.
3. Canal Winchester: Situated southeast of downtown, Canal Winchester is a growing suburb known for its historic district, community events, and proximity to natural areas. The charming downtown area features shops, restaurants, and a community theater. Canal Winchester hosts various festivals and events throughout the year, including the famous Labor Day Festival. The suburb offers a mix of housing options and easy access to parks and recreational facilities.
4. Circleville is a historic city located in Pickaway County, Ohio. Known for its circular street pattern and vibrant community, Circleville offers a unique charm. The city features a central public park called "The Circle," which serves as a gathering place and the venue for numerous festivals and events, including the famous Pumpkin Show. Circleville's downtown area boasts local shops, restaurants, and historic architecture, contributing to its appealing small-town ambiance. With its rich agricultural heritage and close-knit community, Circleville offers a welcoming and engaging environment for its residents.
5. Delaware: Located to the north of Columbus, Delaware is an exurb known for its scenic landscapes, historic downtown area, and the presence of Ohio Wesleyan University. The city offers a blend of small-town charm with modern amenities, including a variety of shops, restaurants, and cultural events. Delaware also has a rich history and is home to the Olentangy Indian Caverns, a popular tourist attraction.
6. Dublin: Located northwest of downtown Columbus, Dublin is known for its upscale neighborhoods, excellent schools, and numerous corporate headquarters. It features a charming historic district, beautiful parks, and a thriving business community. Dublin is also home to the annual Dublin Irish Festival, one of the largest Irish festivals in the United States.
7. Gahanna: Located east of downtown Columbus, Gahanna is a diverse suburb known for its picturesque neighborhoods, proximity to the Port Columbus International Airport, and the Creekside development. Creekside is a lively entertainment district with restaurants, shops, and a scenic waterfront. Gahanna also features parks, golf courses, and a strong sense of community.
8. Grandview Heights: Situated west of downtown Columbus, Grandview Heights is a unique suburb known for its walkability, vibrant community, and mix of residential and commercial areas. The suburb offers a blend of historic homes, modern developments, and a bustling commercial district along Grandview Avenue. The area features an array of shops, restaurants, and entertainment venues. Grandview Heights is also home to the prestigious Grandview Heights High School and offers easy access to downtown Columbus and major highways.
9. Grove City: Located southwest of downtown Columbus, Grove City is a suburban community known for its affordable housing options, family-friendly environment, and strong community spirit. The area offers a range of recreational facilities, including parks, golf courses, and the popular Grove City Town Center, which hosts various events and festivals.
10. Groveport: Located southeast of downtown Columbus, Groveport is a historic suburb with a small-town feel. It features a charming downtown area with historic buildings, shops, and restaurants. Groveport is known for its canal history and hosts the annual Groveport Heritage Days festival. The suburb offers a mix of housing options and is situated near scenic natural areas like the Three Creeks Metro Park.
11. Heath: Situated adjacent to Newark, Heath is a smaller city in Licking County. It is known for its strategic location near major transportation routes, including Interstate 70 and State Route 79. Heath features a variety of shopping centers, restaurants, and recreational opportunities. The city is home to the Indian Mound Mall, a popular shopping destination in the area. It also offers several parks and outdoor spaces for residents to enjoy.
12. Hilliard: Situated to the northwest of downtown, Hilliard is a suburban community known for its family-friendly atmosphere and strong school system. It offers a range of housing options, from established neighborhoods to newer developments. Hilliard features numerous parks, including the popular Heritage Rail Trail, and hosts events such as the annual Franklin County Fair.
13. Lancaster: Located southeast of Columbus, Lancaster is an exurb with a rich history and a vibrant downtown area. The city is known for its well-preserved architecture, including numerous historic homes and buildings. Lancaster offers a range of recreational opportunities, such as the scenic Hocking Hills region, which is a short drive away. The Ohio Glass Museum and the Fairfield County Fair are popular attractions in the area.
14. London: Situated to the southwest of Columbus, London is an exurb known for its rural character and close-knit community. The city features a historic downtown area with local businesses and hosts various community events throughout the year. London offers a more relaxed pace of life and is surrounded by farmland and natural beauty, including the Madison County State Nature Preserve.
15. Marysville: Situated to the northwest of Columbus, Marysville is an exurb that has experienced significant growth in recent years. It offers a mix of suburban and rural living, with a variety of housing options and ample green space. Marysville is known for its Honda manufacturing facility, which is one of the largest employers in the region. The city also hosts the Union County Fair, an annual event showcasing agriculture, entertainment, and local traditions.
16. Mount Vernon: Located northeast of Columbus, Mount Vernon is an exurb with a small-town feel and a rich history. The city is home to Mount Vernon Nazarene University and features a charming downtown area with shops, restaurants, and historic buildings. Mount Vernon offers a mix of rural and suburban living, with picturesque countryside, parks, and recreational opportunities nearby.
17. New Albany: Located northeast of downtown Columbus, New Albany is an affluent suburb known for its planned community, expansive estates, and upscale amenities. It features a charming village center, called Market Square, with a variety of shops, restaurants, and community events. New Albany is also home to a renowned golf club and numerous corporate offices.
18. Newark: Located about 33 miles east of Columbus, Newark is a city in Licking County. It is known for its rich history and architectural heritage. Newark is home to the Newark Earthworks, a complex of ancient Native American mounds and earthen enclosures designated as a National Historic Landmark. The city also features a charming downtown area with shops, restaurants, and cultural attractions like the Midland Theatre. Newark is the county seat of Licking County and offers a mix of residential, commercial, and industrial areas.
19. Obetz: Situated in Franklin County, Ohio, Obetz is a suburban community located just south of Columbus. It is known for its convenient location, strong industrial presence, and recreational opportunities. Obetz is home to the Fortress Obetz, a versatile outdoor stadium that hosts various sports events, concerts, and festivals. The community also features parks, walking trails, and recreational facilities. With its proximity to major highways, Obetz offers easy access to the amenities and employment opportunities of both Columbus and nearby suburbs.
20. Pickerington: Located southeast of Columbus, Pickerington is a suburban community known for its family-friendly atmosphere, excellent schools, and strong sense of community. The city offers a mix of housing options, from well-established neighborhoods to newer developments. Pickerington boasts numerous parks, recreational facilities, and a charming downtown area with shops, restaurants, and community events. The city is also home to Pickerington Ponds Metro Park, which provides opportunities for outdoor activities and wildlife observation.
21. Powell: Situated in the northern part of the metropolitan area, Powell is a rapidly growing suburb known for its affluent neighborhoods and excellent schools. The Olentangy Liberty High School, one of the top-rated public high schools in Ohio, is located here. Powell offers a mix of residential areas, recreational opportunities, and a charming downtown with shops and restaurants.
22. Reynoldsburg: Situated east of downtown, Reynoldsburg is a suburban community with a mix of established neighborhoods and newer subdivisions. It offers a range of housing options and is known for its affordable real estate. Reynoldsburg boasts several parks, including the Blacklick Woods Metro Park, and hosts events such as the Tomato Festival.
23. Upper Arlington: Situated to the northwest of downtown, Upper Arlington is a picturesque suburb known for its well-manicured neighborhoods, tree-lined streets, and strong sense of community. The area boasts excellent schools, recreational facilities, and parks. The Scioto Country Club, one of the oldest golf courses in the region, is located here.
24. Westerville: Located northeast of downtown Columbus, Westerville is a thriving suburb known for its strong sense of community, excellent schools, and historic charm. It offers a mix of housing options, from historic homes in the Uptown area to newer developments. Westerville boasts several parks, recreational facilities, and a vibrant downtown with shops, restaurants, and community events.
25. Worthington: Located to the north of downtown, Worthington is a historic suburb with a quaint, small-town atmosphere. It features a charming downtown area known as the "Old Worthington," with boutique shops, restaurants, and the popular Worthington Farmers Market. Worthington is also home to several parks and hosts various community events throughout the year.

I reorganized the list into alphabetical order, but everything else was generated by ChatGPT. I had to prompt it a few times to get all 25, because it only listed about 6 at a time.

The Big-12 doesn't have divisions, so I decided to split the conference by geography. Today will the Texas and Oklahoma teams while tomorrow will be the rest of the conference plus the other three newcomers. The four teams joining the conference aren't officially members yet, but I thought it would be informative to include them on this list. Even more so since they all have yet to beat certain big 12 programs. As always, the year in parenthesis is the date each team last played each other. If I missed any dates or matchups, please let me know!
​

1. Oklahoma

Arizona State (0-1) (1983)
Boise State (0-1) (2007)
BYU (0-2) (2009)
Georgia (0-1) (2018)
Illinois (0-1) (1917)
Indiana (0-1) (1928)
Navy (0-1) (1965)
Ole Miss (0-1) (1999)
George Washington (DC) (0-1-1) (1934)
Hawaii All-Stars (0-1) (1931)
Dallas AC (TX) (0-1) (1902)
Camp Doniphan (KS) (0-1) (1917)
​

1. Oklahoma State

Air Force (0-1-1) (1967)
Florida (0-1) (1990)
LSU (0-1) (1956)
Michigan (0-2) (1992)
Minnesota (0-2) (1931)
Ohio State (0-2) (2004)
Ole Miss (0-3) (2016)
Oregon (0-1) (2008)
Tennessee (0-1) (1995)
Wisconsin (0-1) (2022)
William & Mary (VA) (0-1) (1948)
Tulsa Businessmen (OK) (0-1) (1905)
Oklahoma City HS (OK) (0-1) (1909)
Norman NAS (OK) (0-2) (1944)
Jefferson (TX) (0-1) (1932)
Fort MacArthur (TX) (0-1) (1917)
Emporia St. (KS) (0-1) (1925)
Duquesne (PA) (0-2) (1935)
Centenary (LA) (0-2) (1937)
​

1. Texas

Air Force (0-1) (1985)
Minnesota (0-1) (1936)
North Carolina State (0-1) (1999)
Northwe(s)tern (0-1) (1942)
South Carolina (0-1) (1957)
Syracuse (0-2-1) (1993)
Virginia Tech (0-1) (1995)
Randolph Field (TX) (0-1-1) (1944)
Kirksville Osteopath (MO) (0-1) (1901)
Harvard (MA) (0-1) (1931)
Fort Worth AC (TX) (0-1) (1897)
Colorado College (0-1) (1908)
Chicago (IL) (0-1) (1904)
​

1. Texas Tech

Alabama (0-1) (2006)
East Carolina (0-1) (2000)
Georgia (0-3) (1996)
Georgia Tech (0-2) (1970)
Iowa (0-2) (2001)
LSU (0-3) (2015)
Miami (OH) (0-1) (1948)
Ohio State (0-2) (2002)
Oregon (0-2) (1992)
Penn State (0-1) (1995)
San Jose State (0-1) (1949)
Southern Cal (0-3) (1995)
South Florida (0-1) (2017)
Washington (0-2) (1982)
Saint Mary's (CA) (0-1) (1938)
Detroit (MI) (0-2) (1937)
​

1. Texas Christian

Arizona State (0-2) (1975)
Auburn (0-3) (1981)
Georgia (0-5) (2023)
Georgia Tech (0-2) (1968)
Kentucky (0-1) (1952)
Michigan State (0-2) (2012)
Notre Dame (0-1) (1972)
Tennessee (0-2) (1976)
Washington (0-1) (1896)
Houston AC (TX) (0-1-1)
Oklahoma City (OK) (0-1) (1910)
Northwestern St. (LA) (0-1) (2001)
Haskell Indian Nations (KS) (0-1) (1921)
Fordham (NY) (0-2) (1941)
Detroit (MI) (0-1) (1940)
Decatur Baptist College (TX) (0-1) (1919)
Centre (KY) (0-1) (1920)
Carruthers Field (TX) (0-1) (1918)
2nd Texas 132nd Infantry (TX) (0-1) (1917)
​

1. Baylor

Alabama (0-2) (1981)
Arizona State (0-1) (1990)
Boston College (0-3) (1999)
Duke (0-3) (2018)
Florida (0-1) (1960)
Georgia (0-5) (2020)
Liberty (0-1) (2017)
Michigan State (0-2) (2015)
Minnesota (0-1) (2000)
Notre Dame (0-2) (1998)
Ohio State (0-2) (1982)
Penn State (0-1) (1975)
Purdue (0-1) (1930)
UAB (0-2) (2004)
UCF (0-1) (2013)
UConn (0-2) (2009)
Fort MacArthur (TX) (0-1) (1918)
Central Oklahoma (0-1) (1924)
Barron Field (TX) (0-1) (1918)
​

1. Houston

Alabama (0-10) (1999)
BYU (0-3) (2020)
California (0-2) (1998)
Colorado (0-1) (1971)
Fresno State (0-1) (2017)
Hawaii (0-2) (2020)
Kansas (0-4) (2022)
Michigan (0-3) (2003)
Notre Dame (0-1) (1978)
Ohio State (0-1) (1994)
Oregon (0-3) (2007)
Southern Cal (0-3) (1996)
Washington (0-2) (1985)
Saint Bonaventure (NY) (0-2) (1950)
​
https://larrybrownsports.com/college-football/big-12-split-college-football/561059

Tour threads are for anything and everything relating to the relevant show. Discussion, videos, pictures, tweets - anything! This thread is also to collect everything in one place, so that we and future fans can look back at each show, so if you have anything relevant to the show, be sure to post it here!
Schedule:
11:00 AM – Parking
12:00 PM – Gates
3:05 PM – BAND-MAID (Point Black Stage)
Timetable
Venue: Hollywood Casino Amphitheatre, St Louis, MO, Ticket
Bag policy:

• "CLEAR plastic/vinyl tote bags no larger than 12” x 6” x 12” and/or small clutch bags (6” x 9”). The small clutch bags do not need to be clear."
  
• "No other bags of any type will be allowed."
  
• "If you bring a bag that does not meet the venue requirements, you can purchase an approved clear bag for $10 at our bag check building near the main entrance, and we will hold your original bag during the show. Otherwise, any bags that do not meet our guidelines must be returned to your vehicle."
  

Setlist:

1. Domination
   
2. Glory
   
3. Secret My Lips
   
4. Endless Story
   
5. Screaming
   
6. Influencer
   
7. No God
   

Setlists Compared
Future Dates/Previous Threads

2023

Date	Place	Venue	Thread
May 14	Houston, TX	Bayou Music Center	Link
May 15	Austin, TX	Emo's	Link
May 18	Daytona, FL	Rockville Festival	Link
May 19	Atlanta, GA	Buckhead	Link
May 21	Nashville, TN	Brooklyn Bowl	Link
May 22	Charlotte, NC	Underground	Link
May 24	Detroit, MI	St Andrews Hall	Link
May 26	Columbus, OH	Sonic Temple Festival	Link
May 27	St Louis, MO	Pointfest Radio Show	[Link]()
August 4	Chicago, IL	Lollapalooza	[Link]()
August 6	Minneapolis, MN	Varsity Theater	[Link]()
August 8	Denver, CO	Summit	[Link]()
August 9	Salt Lake City, UT	The Depot	[Link]()
August 11	Portland, OR	Crystal Ballroom	[Link]()
August 12	Spokane, WA	Bing Crosby Theater	[Link]()
August 14	Sacramento, CA	Ace of Spades	[Link]()
August 15	Anaheim, CA	House of Blues	[Link]()
August 18	Mexico City, MX	Pabellon Oeste	[Link]()

2022

Date	Place	Venue	Thread
October 9	Sacramento, CA	Aftershock Festival	N/A
October 12	Seattle, WA	Neptune	Link
October 14	San Francisco, CA	August Hall	Link
October 15	Los Angeles, CA	Belasco	Link
October 17	San Diego, CA	House of Blues	Link
October 19	Phoenix, AZ	Crescent Ballroom	Link
October 21	Dallas, TX	House of Blues	Link
October 22	Houston, TX	House of Blues	Link
October 25	Washington, DC	The Fillmore	Link
October 26	Philadelphia, PA	Theatre of Living Arts	Link
October 28	New York, NY	Irving Plaza	Link
October 29	Boston, MA	Paradise Rock Club	Link
October 30	East Rutherford, NJ	American Dream	Link
November 1	Chicago, IL	House of Blues	Link

Tour threads are for anything and everything relating to the relevant show. Discussion, videos, pictures, tweets - anything! This thread is also to collect everything in one place, so that we and future fans can look back at each show, so if you have anything relevant to the show, be sure to post it here!
Schedule:
Timetable
4:25-5:00 PM: BAND-MAID (SoundWave Stage)
Venue: Historic Crew Stadium, Columbus, OH, Ticket
Bag policy: "WE STRONGLY ENCOURAGE YOU TO NOT BRING BAGS OF ANY SORT. IF YOU MUST BRING A BAG, PLEASE ABIDE BY OUR BAG POLICY"

• See "WHAT IS ALLOWED IN?" on festival-info

Setlist:

1. Domination
   
2. Choose me
   
3. Dice
   
4. Endless story
   
5. Screaming
   
6. Influencer
   
7. No God
   
8. Warning
   

Setlists Compared
Future Dates/Previous Threads

2023

Date	Place	Venue	Thread
May 14	Houston, TX	Bayou Music Center	Link
May 15	Austin, TX	Emo's	Link
May 18	Daytona, FL	Rockville Festival	Link
May 19	Atlanta, GA	Buckhead	Link
May 21	Nashville, TN	Brooklyn Bowl	Link
May 22	Charlotte, NC	Underground	Link
May 24	Detroit, MI	St Andrews Hall	Link
May 26	Columbus, OH	Sonic Temple Festival	[Link]()
May 27	St Louis, MO	Pointfest Radio Show	[Link]()
August 4	Chicago, IL	Lollapalooza	[Link]()
August 6	Minneapolis, MN	Varsity Theater	[Link]()
August 8	Denver, CO	Summit	[Link]()
August 9	Salt Lake City, UT	The Depot	[Link]()
August 11	Portland, OR	Crystal Ballroom	[Link]()
August 12	Spokane, WA	Bing Crosby Theater	[Link]()
August 14	Sacramento, CA	Ace of Spades	[Link]()
August 15	Anaheim, CA	House of Blues	[Link]()
August 18	Mexico City, MX	Pabellon Oeste	[Link]()

2022

Date	Place	Venue	Thread
October 9	Sacramento, CA	Aftershock Festival	N/A
October 12	Seattle, WA	Neptune	Link
October 14	San Francisco, CA	August Hall	Link
October 15	Los Angeles, CA	Belasco	Link
October 17	San Diego, CA	House of Blues	Link
October 19	Phoenix, AZ	Crescent Ballroom	Link
October 21	Dallas, TX	House of Blues	Link
October 22	Houston, TX	House of Blues	Link
October 25	Washington, DC	The Fillmore	Link
October 26	Philadelphia, PA	Theatre of Living Arts	Link
October 28	New York, NY	Irving Plaza	Link
October 29	Boston, MA	Paradise Rock Club	Link
October 30	East Rutherford, NJ	American Dream	Link
November 1	Chicago, IL	House of Blues	Link

I chose A because there is a closed quotation mark at the end of sentence 2 and the only answer that kept/added an open quotation mark was A. According to my book the answer is B. But why? Is there a rule I’m missing concerning quotation marks or might this be a typo? I get that putting a comma between “traffic” and “‘reduced” wouldn’t be appropriate and I should choose B for that reason, but the closed quotation mark isn’t letting me sit well with that.

Tour threads are for anything and everything relating to the relevant show. Discussion, videos, pictures, tweets - anything! This thread is also to collect everything in one place, so that we and future fans can look back at each show, so if you have anything relevant to the show, be sure to post it here!
Schedule:
1 hour delay announced
4:30 5:30 PM: VIP Check In
5:15 6:15 PM: VIP Doors
6:00 7:00 PM: GA Doors
7:00 8:00 PM: BAND-MAID
Venue: St Andrews Hall, Ticket
Bag policy:

• Clear plastic, vinyl or PVC bags (maximum size: 12"x6"x12")
  
• Small clutch bags approximately the size of a hand (maximum size: 4.5"x6.5")
  

Merch available
Setlist:

1. DOMINATION
   
2. glory
   
3. BLACK HOLE
   
4. Screaming
   
5. Dont't you tell ME
   
6. Dice
   
7. Blooming
   
8. Balance
   
9. Sense
   
10. Sayonakidori
    
11. from now on
    
12. Warning!
    
13. HATE?
    
14. Unfair game
    
15. Choose me
    
16. Daydreaming
    
17. Memorable
    
18. FREEDOM
    
19. Unleash!!!!!
    
20. Influencer
    
21. NO GOD
    
22. endless Story
    

Setlists Compared
Future Dates/Previous Threads

2023

Date	Place	Venue	Thread
May 14	Houston, TX	Bayou Music Center	Link
May 15	Austin, TX	Emo's	Link
May 18	Daytona, FL	Rockville Festival	Link
May 19	Atlanta, GA	Buckhead	Link
May 21	Nashville, TN	Brooklyn Bowl	Link
May 22	Charlotte, NC	Underground	Link
May 24	Detroit, MI	St Andrews Hall	[Link]()
May 26	Columbus, OH	Sonic Temple Festival	[Link]()
May 27	St Louis, MO	Pointfest Radio Show	[Link]()
August 4	Chicago, IL	Lollapalooza	[Link]()
August 6	Minneapolis, MN	Varsity Theater	[Link]()
August 8	Denver, CO	Summit	[Link]()
August 9	Salt Lake City, UT	The Depot	[Link]()
August 11	Portland, OR	Crystal Ballroom	[Link]()
August 12	Spokane, WA	Bing Crosby Theater	[Link]()
August 14	Sacramento, CA	Ace of Spades	[Link]()
August 15	Anaheim, CA	House of Blues	[Link]()
August 18	Mexico City, MX	Pabellon Oeste	[Link]()

2022

Date	Place	Venue	Thread
October 9	Sacramento, CA	Aftershock Festival	N/A
October 12	Seattle, WA	Neptune	Link
October 14	San Francisco, CA	August Hall	Link
October 15	Los Angeles, CA	Belasco	Link
October 17	San Diego, CA	House of Blues	Link
October 19	Phoenix, AZ	Crescent Ballroom	Link
October 21	Dallas, TX	House of Blues	Link
October 22	Houston, TX	House of Blues	Link
October 25	Washington, DC	The Fillmore	Link
October 26	Philadelphia, PA	Theatre of Living Arts	Link
October 28	New York, NY	Irving Plaza	Link
October 29	Boston, MA	Paradise Rock Club	Link
October 30	East Rutherford, NJ	American Dream	Link
November 1	Chicago, IL	House of Blues	Link

If you’ve ever whizzed around White Rock Skate, taken a dip in the K.C. Pool or dropped off a car for repairs at Northlake Automotive, you’ve been directly in the bull’s eye of Dallas history. Thanks to researchers at Dallas College’s Richland campus and planners at the City of Dallas, Lake Highlands will forever remember the legacy of the Little Egypt Community.
A permanent historical marker was unveiled Saturday outside the Park Department’s Paul Dyer Administration Complex, formerly known as the Muchert Army Reserve Center. The plaque honors African Americans who settled 30 acres in that area after the Civil War and raised families there until they were displaced in 1962. https://lakehighlands.advocatemag.com/2023/05/22/little-egypt-historical-marker-2/?