Hi. I need to replace the fence between me and my neighbour. But it has concrete posts 3 meters apart and each individual panel is 3 meters wide. I would prefer to just replace the panels than have to put in new posts etc but 3 metre wide panels don't even seem to be a thing?!
Hi all, looking for a recommendation for a contractor to build a fence for a home. Nothing fancy, just need a basic fence to enclose the back yard. Any experiences to share? Also what the heck does a fence cost nowadays? Is lumber more or less expensive than vinyl currently? Thanks
July night ball: heat lingering in the Fenway bleachers after a day baking in the sun, lights twinkling, Verdugo on first, 2 outs, Yoshida with a 3-1 count. Will he swing?
The Yankees are in town, and chants erupt yet again to “F the Yankees!” For once, the chant matches up with the opponent. Masa takes a few practice sweeps, staring down Nestor Cortes. The pitcher comes set.
Judge dinks around in right, breathing out of his mouth and wondering if he’ll ever learn to tie his shoelaces. A cheer goes up behind him, ladies shrieking and men howling—Aaron’s used to the commotion.
He’s thinking about how much he likes having so many fans who are so nice to him when a BU bro in a Hernandez jersey leaps the fence, vaults onto Judge’s back, and sinks his teeth into his prey’s shoulder. He tears flesh with a wild, deranged look in his eye.
At the same time, around this park that has seen so much, bedlam erupts. Something surges through the crowd, like the Wave but more insidious in nature: a disease that causes the afflicted to become mindless undead fiends, thirsting for the blood of humans.
A Yankees fan leaps into the Yankees dugout and tackles Aaron Boone, from whom a geyser of blood erupts.
But as the scene unfolds, we quickly see the meaning of Boston Strong. Kiké does a series of flying handsprings towards an usher in a red polo, culminating in a headlock between his thighs and a snapped neck. Triston Casas pulls a handgun out of his bag and starts picking off the undead, a perfect shot. Dave O’Brien is bitten by Tim Wakefield; Youk grabs him by the shoulders and throws him out the open window of the broadcast booth, plummeting to the roiling crowd below. The cameras catch the 89-year-old grandmother with 30 grandkids all from Boston who delivered the opening pitch bite the face off tonight’s guest Fred Lynn behind home plate.
Chaim Bloom and David Ortiz vault from the box where they were eating caviar, plummeting to the seats below and executing perfect landings. They each grab the nearest zombie by the head and smash them together. Big Papi rips a seat from the concrete, and wades into the crowd, slamming gnashing heads with the business end of the seat and shouting “Here I come! I’m in the Hall of Fame!”
Devers grabs a bat in each hand, and begins whipping them in circles. Like two helicopter propellers, they whirl faster than the eye can see as Raffy steps towards the stands, eyeing the nearest zombie. Bat meets skull: base hit!
Justin Turner looks up from the tablet where he had been studying his last at bat, takes in the scene, and slowly steps up to the field. His forearms and shins lift upwards, before sliding smartly back, revealing metal and chrome and Kevlar panels beneath. From his right forearm emerges a giant laser blaster; from his left, a chandelier of long needles. His limbs extend, as he turns into a hulking machine of war. Chaim Bloom jumps onto his shoulder and shouts “Go!”
Turner marks the turning point in the assault, the moment it went from a zombie attack to a proper Red Sox rout. Too many hits to count as Turner levels the throngs of undead with laser beams. The bodies pile higher as Masa roundhouse kicks zombie after zombie. Devers hits a home run out of the park with the head of a hot dog vendor like a tee-ball at-bat.
Two and a half hours: longer than the game would have been with the pitch clock, all to clean up the mess and ferret out every last zombie. A sweep by the Sox. As the team regroups among the mounds of bodies, Cora looks each man in the eye in turn. “Looks like baseball season has just begun.”
Taking down a fence panel at my parents house and a broken screw decided it wanted my skin
Need vinyl fence around pool washed - looking for someone good and reasonably priced in South Huntsville Thanks!
I started renting this house a few weeks ago. It was a nice 2 bedroom bathroom house with a 2 car garage and a sizable driveway. The grass was in very good health and the wooden fence was always painted a very bright and clean shade of white every few weeks. It was like a house from the 50s because it was. There was something charming about it, the wooden paneling, the porch with the backyard deck, the grill, the cozy little shack out back full of tools, and the lawnmower. I was allowed to rent this out for as long as I needed so I could write a report about a murder. One that happened in this very house in fact. All those years ago a couple lived here, they were crazy about each other. And some of the neighbors as well. For over 2 decades they poisoned, stabbed, and shot various other families. It was never clear why they did it or what motives they had.
In the very end, it was chalked up as pure insanity, a pair of psychopaths married together. They had a son and daughter, but the grandparents had taken them out of that household after finding out about the first murder, they kept quiet. This house has been turned into a sort of museum and rental space over the past few years. It was closed off to the public for over 3 decades but recently opened back up for people to look at. Turns out that renting out and giving tours of a haunted house was profitable.
Oh, I forgot to mention that it was haunted by the souls of the couple who killed those families back in the day. This was something I was having a hard time documenting in the report I was writing. I mean, come on, a haunted house? What the hell is this, a horror novel? I was dead wrong about it though. It all started one night when this one song started playing on a phonograph in the living room. It was Put Your Head On My Shoulder by Paul Anka. I can't get it out of my head. It played over and over every night.
The nights would go the same way over and over. I would go to bed at around 10 PM. After that, the house would fall into an odd silence. The lights came on in the living room and that song would start playing itself. The movement of footsteps could be heard as they creaked against the hardwood floors.
"Please, come out and join us. It's quite a fine night.", a female voice would call out.
"Come now, be our guest, and take a seat out here. We'll drink tea and listen to the radio.", a male voice would soon follow up with the woman's voice.
It was not safe to get up and check it out, despite their words of assurance. Doing so could bring unknown results. It may have been safe, but something in my body told me otherwise. I would stay in bed until 6 AM, that's the time everything would fade away and turn to normal. Their little dance and music would go on all night, but I would still be able to sleep. While dozing off it seems like the music would go silent despite still playing. I guess their only goal at first is to draw you out.
It's been a few days of this before things took a step up. I've been hearing...people? It's almost like a party happened during the night hours. Again I find that I cease to hear it once I fall asleep. I guess these little events are mere attempts at giving incentives for me to leave the room rather than to torture me. Although every so often there'll be a knock on the door asking me to come out. It only lasts a second before the person walks away. They're very polite about it though and they don't stick around, merely ask me and then vanish once they don't hear an answer in 5 seconds.
During the daytime, I've been logging this information into my reports. I feel like I'm going insane slightly, these can't be real, right? I must be breathing some sort of hallucinogenic gas being pumped in here. Got the vents checked out, nothing wrong with them. They did need to be cleaned though so at least I had an excuse to get them worked on without looking like a crazy person. I never find a trace of this couple during the day. No shoes, footprints, altered objects, nothing. Not a single thing moved out of place or touched. Hell, things seem slightly cleaner in the morning. It may be the fact that I try to keep things as they are though.
I spend my days walking around the neighborhood. The people living around here are mostly millennials. The ones who either inherited these houses and chose to rent them out or live in them instead of selling them. Or renting them to cut down certain parts of the mortgage. I drive into the city and head to a coffee shop I like for a few hours. I leech off the free wifi so I can get my things done. There's free wifi at the house, but it's a gamble on the speeds and connection. I also like starting my day off with coffee and going about my hours getting cake and a few sandwiches.
It's now week 3 and I'm almost done. I was given 4 weeks before the deadline to make a report on this house so the people I work for can get some info. They're not exactly well informed since most of the people have either died, "killed themselves", or simply walked out after a few days. The only reason I've survived this long is that I read every last bit of data I could from both historical records and the half-assed papers people put together before throwing their badges to the side and working for another newspaper. I'm barely getting anything interesting so far aside from the fever dream of a stay I'm getting from this place.
These days during the third week have been weird. I wake up at the same time only to hear humming. Musical humming, no particular song, just random notes. This is the wife humming while making some sort of breakfast. Her name is Rose, and her husband is Clark. Can't believe I've been referring to them as the husband and the wife all this time. It changes during these days but it ranges from bacon and eggs to cereal and orange juice with toast to a full pancake breakfast. They got bigger and bigger every day. On day one I stayed in my room until the humming stopped. Only lasted for about 15-20 minutes. After that, I would check the kitchen to find a freshly cooked breakfast. Rose wasn't anywhere in sight though.
I was hesitant to eat it at first since I wasn't sure what would happen. But I was hungry that morning and didn't feel like making the drive to the city so early in the morning. The food was good and I didn't feel poisoned or anything. I would set the dishes in the sink and take a shower. Not even 15 minutes later after getting out of the shower and getting dressed, the dishes were washed, dry, and sitting in the cupboards. I'm honestly not sure why people have been dying or quitting this trip. So far I've stayed out of their way and never really messed with anything. I feel like a guest here and act as one which is probably the key here. You can't live here, merely stay for a certain amount of time. I don't know how long that time frame is though.
Week 4, these last 7 days are my final chances to wrap this up before the deadline. I am nowhere closer to finding out how these past journalists died, why this couple did what they did, or anything like that. The best I'm going to do is probably pump out a short guide on how not to die here. This week was the hardest. The haunting extends all day. You see, the morning would start off as normal like last week. Waking up, hearing the humming, waiting for it to stop, eating breakfast, putting the dishes in the sink, etc. The real difference is that they are now visible and active all day and night.
Clark spends his day sitting on an armchair reading a newspaper, funny detail is that the date of the newspaper follows our date, Only the month and day, not the year. He is always dressed in a white dress shirt with the top button left undone. Simple ironed black dress pants with a leather belt neatly wrapped around them. Brown leather shoes, more like loafers actually. The kind of dress shoes you slip on. They were always shined and clean. His right leg is on the floor with his left leg stretched over his right. The newspaper covered his face. The only thing that could be seen from the other side was the occasional cigarette smoke puffing up.
The cigarette never had a scent though, phantom tobacco, funny. Rose would be sitting on the couch most of the time either knitting, reading a magazine, or watching the TV. It was a large black and white tv, the outside made of hardwood, the thick glass of the display, and the antenna sticking out of the top. Can't miss those two large dials on it. There was always something different on TV, one moment it was a cooking show, the news, and even a Western movie. The volume was always able to be heard but sort of faint as well. Kind of like a sort of background noise you barely notice after a while.
It was not a good idea to verbally or physically interact with them in any way. Not even looking at them was an option. I've never seen either of their face outside of photos because I'm always staring at my phone, or laptop, even intentionally staring at the floor. The carpet was very pleasant to look at. They never spoke during the day. Rose would sometimes clean the house. Sometimes dusting, vacuuming, and even washing the dishes. I lied, I've caught small glimpses of their faces from reflections. They are in their young age from the 60s, the prime of their life right before the major kill streak.
I can't even explain any of this. This house could slowly be turning into a self-contained instance of time. But that wouldn't make sense since the wifi here works, my money is up to date, and my tech can be charged. A few of the outlets were swapped out for more modern ones. Only the ones not already connected to appliances or the TV itself. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner would always appear on the table at different times of the day. Breakfast at 6 AM, lunch at noon, and dinner at 6 PM. I would always eat in silence and put the dishes in the sink. I've tried rinsing the dishes before at least but the water never touched them. I don't know how to explain it, but I would turn on the water and it would just phase through the dishware. I gave up after one day.
Well, this is the final day. I'll be scheduling this report to send itself in a few hours. I don't even want to manually do it since I'm rinsing my hands off this worthless paperwork once I leave. There was one thing I wanted to check out though. I'm going to continue this bit on my phone.
I always wanted to check out the basement. I forgot that it even existed this whole time. The door wasn't blocked or locked at all luckily. The door opened just fine, but the lightbulb turned on for about a second before blowing out. It didn't actually explode, but the light sort of just flashed and burned out like a flashbang. The steps are quite loud as they creak. I'm not sure what this smell is, it's like a mixture of gas and...rotten meat?
The door just closed itself, the only light I have down here is from my phone flashlight. There's some kind of red puddle leading to a room down here. I'm not liking it. I'm writing this live so my boss can read this. Yes, I know, hard to believe I'm actually being productive.
This...this is blood. There's a body in here. No wait, multiple bodies down here. I can see dozens or even hundreds of flies just covering these bodies. I think I recognize some of the badges around the necks. All of these bodies smell fresh. Is time frozen down here or something?
...shit. There are footsteps coming down here. I'm squeezed behind a broken-down fridge, perhaps Clark will just give up his search in a few minutes. My 911 alert just failed. This one message will probably be the last thing that'll automatically upload. I think I just made a horrible mistake. I wasn't supposed to come down here. If you're reading this, please call for hel---
*Report upload incoming*
I recently got to rent out a home from the 60s. This house is famous because of a couple that used to live here from the 60s to the 80s. They were known for killing people and families during this time period before finally being caught by the police. These were the things I've learned during my stay in this house:
- During the first week there will be dancing. From 10 PM to 6 AM there will be activity in the living room. The couple will appear out there and dance to a song called Put Your Head On My Shoulder along with a few others.
- They will assure you that it's fine to come out and join them. Don't do it. I've never attempted so I don't know if anything happens, but trust your gut.
- During week 2 they will start hosting a "party". The sound of many people will come from the living room as if people have come over for the evening. Every few hours the door will knock as someone on the other end will invite you to join everyone.
- During week 3 the haunting will break into the day. During the morning the wife will be in the kitchen making breakfast, do not leave your room until she is done. You can use the bathroom, just don't look or enter the kitchen. You will hear her humming for about 20 minutes. Once it stops, you can go about your day. The food is perfectly fine to eat and is actually encouraged. Make sure you put your dishes in the sink.
- During week 4, if you've survived this long, they will roam the house 24/7. Do not make eye contact with either of them. They'll mainly stay in the living room. The husband sitting on the armchair reading a newspaper and the wife reading a magazine or knitting. Occasionally she'll clean the house. If you are going to be in the living room, keep your eyes low and do not verbally interact with them.
- If you do...I'm not sure. There have been reports of them killing people during this time. Acting hostile at them or trying to kill them will not end well. Many have rented this place out and almost all of them have died. Some were filled with stab wounds, some were in the tub, drowned, and others were framed as if it were suicide. You may wonder why the government hasn't merely torn the house down. I'm not sure. It seems like the money they make from this place keeps it running longer.
- They will not force themselves into the room during the night. Unless you interact with them, they will not attack or come your way. Any food or snacks prepared is fully safe and encouraged to consume. Make sure you set dishes and silverware in the sink. They'll be cleaned when you're not working. Staying outside of the house is your best chance to live. Follow these rules.
Just bought a new truck two months ago. My girlfriend borrowed it tonight as she was performing at an event, and needed the truck bed for her gear. While she was parking, she clipped a fence post in the parking lot and scratched up and dented one of my rear quarter panels pretty good.
She's not on my insurance, and I'm fairly certain this is on me and my insurance. I don't even know where to begin on this. Any advice would be really helpful. Is this something I can even open a claim for or do I have to pay out of pocket for repairs.
TLDR: how loud does a 25+ KHz dog silencer need to be to get through a wooden fence with 3mm gaps at a distance of 7 to 15 feet?
I'm sure this has been asked or thought of before.. What decibel level would a high MHz sound (25- 35KHz) have to be to get through a wooden fence at 4 to 15 ft? With the speaker placed at 3 - 4 ft from the fence? The wooden fence has a plastic or clear vinyl wall on top of the fence and a metal roof on top of that, so no aiming it above the fence.. The gaps in the fence boards are about 3mm. The boards are a little under 16mm thick. A yappy dog that will not shut up is always within 3 1/2 ft of the fence when barking. & yes, I have talked to them..
& would an additional sort of funnel behind the speaker help?
Can anyone ballpark how much to replace two 8ft panels and one post of a 6ft white vinyl fence? Current one was damaged.
Has anyone had a driveway gate installed (especially one with an opener) and can you share your experience/local recommendations/cost/anything I should be mindful of?
I am buying a house that is fully fenced in the back except for the driveway (garage is detached and slightly behind house). I have a dog and want to put a gate across the driveway. The existing fencing is 6ft vinyl privacy fence. I think I’d like to do 4ft vinyl over the driveway, or maybe black aluminum or wrought iron. Most importantly I’d love to have an opener on it so I can easily park in my garage without having to get in and out of the car and mess with the gate. The driveway is a standard one car width and I would probably opt for a single or double swinging gate.
I should be closing in a couple of weeks and the sellers may stay 2 weeks. We all just signed the contract today but I wanna give it a few days before I start asking to come over to take measurements for furniture/gate. Would still like to get a head start on the gate by ballparking the cost and getting ideas.
I did consider finishing the fence by adding more fence between the front corner of the garage and the back corner of the house, but it could cut across the concrete patio that is attached to the driveway and the garage would be less accessible when I am outside because the man door is on the front of the garage. So I’d rather just be able to easily access the garage any time I’m out back.
Ideas welcome! Thanks!
I parked in the tower's lot, letting my headlights bore into the amalgam of twisted metal and glass for a few moments before shutting them off.
Josh muttered, his voice low. "We're really doing this, huh?"
He ran a hand through his mop of curly hair— a dumb tic he developed last summer when his girlfriend, Annabeth, told him it was sexy. She was beside him now, cuddled up in the backseat across his lap.
I glanced at my own girlfriend, Ellie, in the passenger seat. She was trying her damndest to appear brave, but I knew better. There was no way she was comfortable with trespassing tonight.
I sighed, realizing that Josh would also chicken out.
doing this? You sure you want to come?" I prodded.
Josh shifted in his seat, hand running through his hair yet again. "Maybe it's better if I stay in the truck.”
Annabeth shrugged next to him, unsurprised.
"Me, too,” Ellie chimed in, nodding at Josh.
Annabeth met my eyes, a glimmer of understanding passing between us. Our partners were both boring, god-awful goody two shoes.
"Pussies," I jabbed, swinging open my door without giving them a moment to respond.
Annabeth hopped out behind me, waving at the two losers in the truck before spinning towards me with a grin on her face.
"They're weird," she said, rolling her eyes.
For a moment, I was drinking in the way her golden hair shimmered in the moonlight. A light breeze tickled at our faces, sending sparkles of her moon-lit hair between us.
"Yup," I mustered.
I turned, strolling towards the chain link fence that formed a circular perimeter around the base of Sabe's Tower.
Sabe’s Tower. Thirteen stories of abandoned potential, whispering of times past when our town's inhabitants thought we'd hit a population boom, becoming the Houston of West Virginia. In the 70s, our success was tied to coal. Jobs flooded in, and with them, a myriad of people trying to make their way in life. Then the mines abruptly ran dry, decimating our town's economy. Since that time, our population has done nothing but dwindle.
Sabe’s Tower. Thirteen stories of decaying grandeur, silently rotting from the inside out. Some say that's what happened to Sabe himself— a rot took hold in his core, spreading and spreading until nothing but rot was left. In the end, he took his own life, which some say was for the best. He was a greedy fool, the wealthiest man for miles, owning half the surrounding countryside before the mining industry took off. Made a fortune selling his family's land to coal companies, putting every ounce of profit into making his towering hotel more luxurious than a Ritz Carlton.
Sabe’s Tower. Thirteen stories of failed dreams, now screaming vulgar obscenities at our eyes. It is a truly ugly behemoth, domineering our town's skyline with unmerited arrogance. Sabe thought painting the tower purple would give it an air of majesty, like royalties of the past, swaddled in silky lavender robes. His aspiration, after all, was nothing less than to emulate the sacred Tabernacle of Moses, to make his hotel a dwelling place for gods among men. In its current state of disrepair, however, the tower was no more than an eyesore— a visual cacophony of broken glass, peeling sickly-purple paint, and rusted steel inlays.
Adding to the hotel's disgrace, it was cylindrical in form, perched atop the highest peak for miles, jutting into the sky like a middle finger to the gods. Its phallic outline stood in stark contrast to the run-down strip malls lying in its wake.
The fence surrounding the tower was a bit too tall and a bit too wobbly to safely scale, so we circled, looking for an entry point. Every few yards, a DO NOT TRESPASS sign hung, tied to the fence with zip-ties in each corner. Someone had taken the liberty to spray paint a word underneath each sign, now making them all read: DO NOT TRESPASS ALONE.
"Good thing you're coming with me," I joked, pointing at one of the signs.
Annabeth paused to read it for a moment. "Yeah... kinda weird that someone did that. I wonder why?"
I shrugged, continuing around the perimeter.
Eventually, we found a gate in the fence, held closed with chains at waist level. The gate's post careened steeply outward, creating a manageable gap near the top. The gate post was only held in place by the chains, not even slightly anchored to the ground. Without too much of a struggle, we hoisted ourselves up and through the gap.
Once inside the fence, I found myself spellbound by the abandoned hotel. The stars in the night sky reflected across the windows, bending and warping around the curved perimeter. Each glimmer of starlight turned into dizzying fractals, melding together and slipping between the shards of broken glass with each shift of my gaze.
The result was honestly breathtaking.
At night, the eyesoriffic tower was beautiful. Its silhouette dared to embrace the star-studded cosmos, standing with a quiet dignity that defied its daytime mockery.
I felt Annabeth shuffle beside me.
Suddenly, her phone flashlight was on, illuminating a path through overgrown concrete to the tower. At the end of the path was the structure’s entrance— a gaping hole with no attempt to conceal the darkness within.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" I yelled, spinning to face her.
"W... What do you mean?" she stuttered.
"Turn that off, you idiot," I explained, lowering my voice. "Someone might see the light and call the cops."
The light flicked off, Annabeth mumbling apologies.
I blinked away the afterimage of weeds eating through the concrete lot, silently cursing myself for being so ridiculously hostile toward her.
"Sorry," I mumbled.
"You're good, Donovan" she whispered, brushing her hand across my arm.
As we continued to the open doorway, the outside of the tower came into focus. It was far further dilapidated than I had realized— each accent of purple paint, faded and peeling, was bulging out from between the glass and steel like it was trying to escape. I rubbed a fingernail on the paint, revealing a soft, rotting wood beneath.
I entered the tower first, pausing to let my eyes adjust. The darkness of the doorway opened up into an atrium that must have once made for a magnificent entrance. It was shaped like a slice of pie, us standing near the crust, peering inward toward the center. Above was pitch black, not yielding any answers to just how high up this mighty room's ceiling stretched.
The musty scent that filled my nose was surprisingly welcoming— somewhere between the smell of fishing trips and century old bookstores. I took a deep breath, relishing in the soft stench.
I could vaguely make out wires dangling down from the ceiling of the atrium. They were impossibly long, stretching upward into the infinite gloom.
"They look like vines," Annabeth whispered, her voice a soft purr.
The air was thick with falling dust, filtering down from the abyss above, twirling between the wires in satisfyingly slow-motion. The falling dust made it even harder to see in the dark, leaving the walls on either side of the room foggy blobs. I waved my hand, sending fleeting dust spirals through the air.
I remembered seeing photos of the atrium online, taken on some of the earliest digital cameras ever made. Those pictures showed marble countertops, intricate wooden carvings, and lushly carpeted floors.
The room, as it stands today, is a barren husk of Sabe's vision. The carpet, only present in scattered clumps, was impossibly dark, soiled to the point of true black. It clung to the concrete foundation, viciously holding on for dear life in a losing battle.
I bent down to examine a clump of carpet in front of me, amazed by the absence of light reflecting back. It was like staring into a pit of nothing, a vague absence, an outline of something that should be there.
I poked the toe of my boot at it. FPOOSH.
It exploded, erupting into my face.
I gagged instinctively, tasting the vile substance mix into my lungs. Annabeth slapped my back as I continued gagging and coughing, begging the mucus to tear itself free from my lungs and just fucking get out of my body because it feels like I'm dying oh GOD.
And eventually, it did.
The violent hacking subsided into slight wretching, then was gone.
"Are you okay?" Annabeth tested. Do you think I'm fucking okay?
"What the fuck was that?" I spewed.
She bent over the clump of carpet. Underneath the blackened top layer that just violently erupted was a pale network of matted spiderwebs.
"Hmm..." she began, "It kind of looks like mycelium."
She met my raised eyebrow with an eye roll.
"You know, like the roots of a fungus or some shit, I don't know. I just saw the shrooms growing in Bryce's closet that one time he showed me his stash. This white stuff looks just like it. So I guess that makes this black stuff like the part of the shroom we eat, or whatever."
"Oh dip," I responded, nodding. "That makes sense. One time I saw a nature show about some plants that shoot their seeds everywhere when something touches them. It's probably just spreading its spores when we touch it."
"Yeah," she breathed, "pretty gnarly."
We shuffled deeper into the gloom, weaving between dangling cables and clumps of fungus. I felt a drop of moisture flick off a cable, sliding onto my arm.
I groaned. "Fuck. That cable was wet."
"Disgusting," she whispered back.
We made our way to the apex of the room, the center of the tower, revealing a rusted set of elevator doors leaning together like drunks at a quinceanera. The doorway to the stairs, however, beckoned to us with the same unobstructed, pitch-black allure that the tower's entrance emanated just minutes before.
In the dark, it's truly amazing how utterly void all open doorways look.
Upon stepping inside the stairwell, the world vanished. The only proof of having working eyes was a faint, vertical glow of light filtering through the door, abruptly fading into all-consuming black.
Every sound in the entire building bored through my soul, bouncing from wall to wall, ceiling to floor, echoing on and on for all of eternity. The stairwell, directly in the center of the decrepit hotel, was the focal point of every creaking floorboard, every popping nail, every howling gust of wind. It was as if I was holding up a monstrous conch shell to my ear— a deafening murmur of echoes in disarray, smelting together to form satanic harmonies.
"Whoa," Annabeth mumbled.
Her word cut through the other echoes, impossibly loud against their monotonous hum.
Instantly, the echo of her voice filled the stairwell, rising like the build up of a dubstep song until peaking, impossibly overwhelming for a few brief seconds. The echoes of her voice then faded as quickly as they arrived.
She put a hand to her mouth, the whites of her eyes barely visible in the glow coming from the doorway.
I reached out, placing a hand where her shoulder should be. There was not enough space for us to stand abreast in the stairwell, leaving us in a comically squished proximity. She was breathing rapidly, barely managing to stay silent. I squeezed, and her breathing quickly slowed. I felt her hand creep onto mine, and we stood for a minute, simply listening to the cries of the dying building echo around us.
As my eyes adjusted, I could make out a staircase spiraling up the curved wall. Clearly this was a service stairwell, as it is much too cramped for the likes of Sabe's guests. Only a few steps were visible through the darkness at a time, making the staircase feel even tinier than it already was. Luckily, no fungus grew on the stairs themselves, leaving the metal alone to rust.
Annabeth shuffled onto the first step, producing a small object from her pocket. She handed it to me, then pointed up the stairwell, careful to not send echoes through the cylindrical chamber again.
I brought it close to my eyes for inspection, straining against the lack of light. A joint... She wants to go to the roof and smoke.
A smile cracked my lips. Classic Annabeth.
Every couple stairsteps, there would be a doorway. Most of them let in a dim glow, offering a glimpse into what must have once been a custodial closet on each floor.
On floor 9, I tugged at Annabeth's hand. We made eye contact in the faint light coming from the doorway. I motioned through it, pointing to the nearly fungus free floor. I wanted to explore at least a little bit, to see if the closet circled around the stairwell or not.
I poked my head through the doorway, freeing myself from the overwhelming cacophony of echoes in the stairwell.
I verified that the closet did, in fact, curve around the circular staircase like a donut. A few steps in one direction led to a terrifying drop— the elevator shaft. Next to it, a sidewalk sized ledge led to an open door, giving a view of the floor's main hallway. The path looked safe— no fungus, cracks, or otherwise obvious defects— so I proceeded, treading as light as a fox, fumbling for Annabeth's hand behind me.
The main hallway ran between the custodial closet and the guest rooms, creating another donut ring around the central stairwell. Throughout the hallway, patches of fungus grew alarmingly close together, threatening to overtake the concrete.
"That stairwell was insane," Annabeth whispered.
I nodded. "Fuck yeah, I wonder what it was like when the hotel was actually open. Must have been miserable for the staff."
We weaved through the fungus filled hallway, coming to room 901. I glanced at Annabeth, raising my eyebrows. The door was slightly ajar, hanging from its one remaining door hinge. I pushed gently, eliciting a monstrous creak.
The room was empty, extending away to the outside in a familiar pie shape. The mold seemed to grow thinner in the room, leaving most of the exposed concrete safe to cross. At the far side, a floor to ceiling panel of windows looked out over our town.
I gasped, taking in the view. Never before had I seen our town from this high up. My eyes drew to the smokestacks by the river, their blinking lights ominously flickering over downtown. Individual streets ran in parallel lines away from the tower, lit with yellowing streetlights. Between the roads, tiny lights cast from window panes twinkled, blending with one another into a starscape of their own.
"Dude," I said. "Look at this."
I spun, looking for Annabeth, frantically scanning the room. My eyes had adjusted to the outside light, leaving me sightless.
" I hissed.
A cold tingle went up my spine, pulling at hairs on the back of my neck.
I crept back across the floor, now aware of the entire room at once. There was nowhere for her to be hiding. No desks, cans of paint, ladders, nothing. Just an empty room with patchy fungus growing on the cement. Something must have happened.
I studied each fungal growth in the room as I passed by. Even with the light cast from the windows, the tops remained impossibly dark. Not a single feature was discernible— only an outline was visible.
Halfway to the door, a three foot wide hole led straight to floor 8. I could have sworn it wasn't there before. I peered into the opening, seeing straight through to the room below. From what I could see, it was identically empty.
" I tried again, nearing the door to the hallway.
I stumbled backward, tripping over my own feet. I landed squarely on a patch of fungus. FPOOSH.
I remembered to hold my breath, close my eyes, and plug my nose.
Annabeth cackled from the threshold of the doorway, standing over me with both hands on her forehead.
"You should have seen the look—" she began, breaking off into another fit of laughter.
"Shut up," I groaned, pushing to my feet. My entire body was covered in squishy fungus gunk. I pointed at the hole behind me, continuing. "You could have killed me."
"Blah, blah, blah," she mocked. "You're fine... you're just being a baby."
Annabeth gave me a playful shove, hands lingering for a moment overdue. Swatting her paws off me, I marched back to the stairwell. I led the rest of the way to floor 13, followed by her snickers.
As I reached the top of the stairs and stepped onto the 13th floor, my jaw dropped. It was a scene straight out of a surrealist painting. An enormous pool room lay before us. Glass walls extended up from the tile floors, creating a massive, clear domed perimeter. A swath of stars twinkled brilliantly through the clear ceiling, their light refracting through the glass, casting ethereal patterns onto the room's otherwise bleak surroundings.
The pool itself was a semi-circular cutout covering half the floor space, starting at ground level and deepening in a corkscrew motion. Its ceramic tiles, once probably a bright blue, were now tinged with patches of the same fungal growth we had come across on the lower floors. The growth was sparse here, though, letting the original floor design take prominence.
In the center of the room— on top of the staircase we just stepped out of— stood a circular pillar that extended up to the middle of the glass dome, like a spine holding up the entire tower. A small antenna jutted out from above the pillar atop the dome. Surrounding the antenna was a low fence, perhaps a safety measure for maintenance workers.
Annabeth, having finally contained her laughter, stepped beside me, her face illuminated by the soft starlight filtering in through the dome. She too stood silent, taken aback by the unexpected beauty of this forgotten space.
As we moved around the room, our steps echoed across the vast emptiness. With every patch of fungus we passed, the same eerie darkness hovered, the undulating mold standing stark against the ceramic tiles.
We made our way back to the central pillar. A ladder, carved into the pillar, connected to the glass ceiling with a trapdoor.
"To the roof?" Annabeth sang, rubbing her hands together in a goblin-like motion.
As she climbed above me, I couldn't help but crane my neck and drool. She slammed open the trapdoor, and we burst through to the roof.
The fenced-in area was covered with a dark spongy surface, gripping at my knees when I stood up. Wind whipped around us, carrying a chill that cut through my clothes and bit into my skin. With each gust, the antenna above us groaned and swayed, almost as if it were joining in a dance with an unseen partner.
We sat on the squishy rubber surface, comfortably in silence. I met her eyes, smiling dumbly. We passed the joint back and forth until it dwindled down, its ember glow flickering one last time before extinguishing completely. A familiar haze crawled through my thoughts, slowing the passage of time to a languishing crawl.
"Hey..." she started, "I think I've finally found inspiration for my next album."
I scooted closer to her, taking her hand. I knew the topic brought about an unusual timidity in her— a blemish in the badass persona she's so keen on presenting. She won't even talk to her own boyfriend about her music career.
"Yeah?" I floated.
She hesitated for a second, settling into the moment. I felt a tug at my crotch, suddenly all too aware of how pretty she looked in the moonlight. I took in every detail— the way her hair fell across her face, the pattern of her freckles, the soft speckling of stars reflecting across her eyes.
"I think you need to take off your shirt, first, though," she whispered, now inches from my face. "You're filthy."
I glanced down, remembering the fungal gunk that had soiled my clothes when she scared me.
Without warning, her hands slid under my shirt, warm and sure. I helped her yank it off, collapsing into her lips.
When we got back to the truck, I was still high enough to see everything in slow motion. Before pulling out of the parking lot, Annabeth and I regurgitated the events of our urban exploration, trying to show our significant others what fun they missed out on. It goes without saying that part of the story was intentionally omitted.
Ellie and Josh were unamused. Their lack of adventure will forever be a mystery to me.
We swung out of the lot, hopping onto the highway headed into town. I swayed between lanes, struggling to keep the double-yellow lines in focus.
"Are you sure you're good to drive?" Ellie asked, gripping the armrest.
"I'm fine," I slurred.
Seconds later, another truck materialized in front of us. I swerved to avoid it, then everything went black.
I woke up to a strong hand pulling me out of the window. My truck was upside down, the roof completely caved in.
I groaned. "Aww... fuck...."
The person who pulled me out looked like the kind of guy to chew tobacco and spit wisdom. His fishing cap cast a deep shadow across his eyes in the moon's glow, concealing his gaze. He was an old timer, that's for sure, one of those folk who came during the coal rush and decided to stay when all was said and done. I could see his truck— the same truck I saw moments before the crash— pulled into the shoulder of the highway with its blinkers on.
"Easy now," he reassured, his voice like gravel under a boot. "Anyone else inside?"
I nodded, unable to speak.
I plopped onto the grassy slope embarking off the side of the road. The old man pulled their mangled bodies out, one by one.
The countryside shrank around me. I felt the corners of my vision pulling in, the weed in my system straining the limits of shock I could take before melting down.
"I'm sorry, son," he whispered, his voice carrying the weight of my guilt. "The police will be here soon. Don't you worry." The police.
I stood up. I knew exactly how the police treated people with my skin color in this town.
"Hey now!" the man hollered.
I kept running.
Away from my truck, away from my dead friends, away from the police.
I ran until my breath came in ragged, uncontrollable huffs. I flopped to the ground, laying on the cool concrete, cradling my head with my hands. Blood flowed between my fingertips, pooling onto the pavement.
I laid there until police sirens wailed through the night, rapidly approaching. They stopped at the wreck, leaving me in silence. Moments later, the sirens picked up their mournful song again, heading toward me.
I sat up.
I was back in the lot of Sabe's Tower. Only then did I realize how little distance I really ran from the wreck— a couple hundred yards at most.
Four, five, maybe even six sirens filled the air. They were all coming for me. They knew what I had done.
I bolted from my position on the concrete. I could hide in the tower. No way the cops would look for me in that rotting place. They wouldn't dare.
I squeezed through the gap in the fence, same as before, vaulting past the DO NOT TRESPASS ALONE
signs in a fluid lunge. The sirens behind me screamed into the night, melding together into a continuous doomsday chant.
Red and blue lights filled the lot. I hit the ground right in front of the gaping entrance to the tower, praying that the weeds poking through the concrete would be enough to mask my form. I army crawled, inch by inch, dragging myself across broken bottles and plywood shrapnell, until I was safely in the darkness of the tower.
A police cruiser parked in the lot. Its siren drowned out all other wails for a moment before shutting off. A chubby white officer hopped out, surveying the scene. His gaze came to rest on the spot where I had lain. He squatted down, raking a finger through the pool of blood I left behind. He took a few steps toward the tower, squatting down yet again. Another splotch of blood, no doubt.
His voice floated through the plaza, slightly nasal and a little out of breath. "Dispatch, this is officer Chetty, badge number 741. I'm on the scene at 1019 Pleasant Valley Lane, in the lot of Sabe's Tower. I've located a pool of fresh blood that may be linked to our hit-and-run suspect. Possible injury, suspect could be close. Requesting immediate backup and forensics for evidence collection." Fuck.
I wormed my way further into the tower's belly, sliding between patches of fungus like a mouse in a snake pit, heading for the stairwell. I had to ascend, to find some nook or cranny out of reach of the pursuing officers. The godforsaken tower was one big game of hide and seek, only this time, losing meant far worse than a bruised ego.
Something gurgled in the darkness.
My blood froze. I halted, my heart hammering a tattoo against my ribs. Holding my breath, I strained my senses, eyes peering into the graying murk, searching for the source of the sound.
It came again, a wretched retching, like an animal choking on its own vomit. Hacking, gurgling, bubbling wetness bursting through strained vocal chords, a sound of fading vitality. It was coming from near the door, just outside the meager halo of light slipping through the hole.
A wet line smeared across the back of my neck. A yelp escaped my lips before I realized it was just a cord dangling from the ceiling.
At my yelp, the gurgling paused.
A heavy hush fell over the place, the quietude of the hunted.
I could faintly make out echoes emanating from the stairwell, only a few feet behind me.
The gurgling continued, sucking at the thick air. It began to drag itself forward through the fungus covered floor— a slow, steady, rhythmic drag against the concrete. FPOOSH.
A geyser of spores bloomed, mingling with swirls of dust in the meager light. The creature, or whatever it was, did not slow its approach. Out of the darkness, a form began to shape— a silhouette clawing its way toward me. FPOOSH.
I could see this eruption envelop the mass on the floor. One hand appeared, then another. Its fingers scrabbled over the concrete, searching for any purchase to grip. They flexed, heaving the thing even closer.
A mop of curly hair appeared between the hands. A body, face down. It pulled itself closer, into another fungal growth, grinding its face through the rough concrete. FPOOSH.
A knife protruded from its back. The handle jutted upward, a grim totem amidst the grime and gore. I shuddered, involuntarily taking a step closer to the stairwell.
It looked up at me.
Or rather, Josh looked up at me.
I stared back, mouth agape.
His face was nearly sanded off from the concrete. His nose took the worst of it, ground down to the bone, leaving only two sucking, gurgling holes between his eyes. His cheeks were a mangled mess of blood and rocks, viscous red flowing freely to the tip of his chin before dribbling off. The chunks of meat hanging where lips should have been flapped against his teeth with every jerky motion, tethered to his face by all too little strands of flesh. Beneath them, his teeth showed bright red and white in a perpetual grimacing smile.
"Josh?" I managed to whisper, my voice a frightened squeak.
Josh opened his mouth as if to respond, ripping both cheeks in half. He hacked, gurgling, spitting up blood that came from deep within his torso. He slowly cocked his head to the side, but instead of stopping at a slant, he kept twisting his neck until bones started to crack and his head dangled upside down.
His mangled, upside down head swung limply as he pulled himself to his knees, his neck like jelly. He wasn't wearing the same clothes he was wearing earlier tonight— no, he was wearing clothes from the night Annabeth first cheated on him with me. He was at a Villanova game, supporting his favorite team since birth. Annabeth knew he would be gone for the weekend, so we took our chance. I was still at her place when he came back, wearing his Collin Gillespie jersey and reeking of beer.
Now in front of me, his prized jersey was in tatters, torn to ribbons by the concrete. He groaned, shuffling and reaching for me with bloody fingers.
I bolted into the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. I pushed myself faster and faster until the door to floor 9 loomed to my side. I didn't pause for a moment, pushed forward by the gurgling echoes reverberating from below.
My thighs, weak from the frantic climb, begged for a break. I wobbled into the hallway, painfully tip-toeing through the fungus. The door to 901 beckoned ahead, hanging open like it had been awaiting my hasty return.
I stumbled over the threshold when Annabeth's singing filled the room. "Oh, Donovan!
Outlined against the window was a two-headed beast. One face belonged to Annabeth, the other to Ellie. The creature swayed, an obscene dance of bare, fused flesh. It wore no clothes, as if to mock God himself. It had two sets of everything— eight appendages total, like a humanoid arachnid. Annabeth's breasts, now side by side with Ellie's, put Ellie to shame, even now.
Annabeth crooned again, "Oh, Donovan!" each syllable laced with acid and honey. The sound made my skin crawl as it floated through the silent room.
"You always did want more, didn't you Donovan?" Ellie sneered, a harsh grin splitting her face.
Annabeth spat, "More than Ellie could give. More than anyone could give."
The thing dropped to the floor with a thud. All eight limbs moved in unison as it crawled.
"Isn't this what you wanted? Both of us at the same time?" Their voices tumbled over each other, mouths moving in synchrony. Together, their laughter filled the hollow room. "Don't you like the thrill, Donovan? Don't you like playing with fire?"
The thing scurried at me, jumping over fungal growths with powerful leaps. The sudden movement broke my paralyzation, spurring my legs to action. I darted into the closet and through the stairwell door, into the gurgling echoes.
Back down the stairwell I ran, the two headed beast in pursuit. Both girls snarled, hindered by their conjoined size in the narrow passageway. Their struggle echoed through the stairwell, mixing with the gurgling. I fled further down, needing to put distance between that thing and me.
I stopped dead in my tracks between floors 2 and 3.
Josh was there, leaning against the wall with the knife removed from his back, now grasped tightly in his hand. I staggered back up the stairs, instinctively retreating, narrowly avoiding the blade as he lunged at me.
Glancing up, I caught a flash of pale skin bearing down on me, cutting off my escape. My only way out was the door to floor 3. I charged through the closet, leaving the echoes behind me.
Floor 3 was empty— no walls, only fungus and windows. The atrium loomed to my left, a pie shaped hole missing from the floor and ceiling. I backed away from the door, eyeing the dangling cords hanging in the atrium. Maybe... Just maybe....
Josh stumbled from the stairwell, filling the air with his wet slurping. Annabeth and Ellie followed, scrambling toward me.
I didn't have time to think.
I jumped, grasping at the dangling wires, praying they would hold my weight.
Time stuttered, hanging suspended like an icicle on a winter's morning. The world spun in a dizzying blur as I twisted, fingers stretching for a grip. Panic clawed its icy fingers up my spine, but it was the surprise that struck me most. The simple disbelief that this was happening.
A wire found its way into my hand, snapping without slowing my fall.
The wind whooshed past, ripping the breath from my lungs. Above me, the third floor retreated, its grimy concrete replaced by a view of the atrium's ceiling, wires swinging back and forth from my desperate escape.
Then came the sensation of falling. It's a feeling that strikes a primal chord, an orchestra of fear and adrenaline that means the end of a life. My stomach lurched, free-falling alongside me, while the rest of my body seemed to hover in a state of disbelief.
The impact came as both a shock and an inevitability. There was a moment of sheer, undiluted pain, a soundless scream reverberating through my very bones. It felt like being shattered from the inside out, an explosion of agony that started from my back and radiated outwards. An iron-hot spike of pain shot through me, and then, a chilling void as everything below my waist slipped into a terrifying numbness.
The echo of my body's collision rang in my ears as the world spun into a disorienting whirl of blurs, shadows, and pain. The cold concrete beneath me felt real, solid, a chilling contrast to the sudden loss of sensation in my legs.
In the throbbing silence that followed, I understood. I had fallen. I was broken. I lay sprawled on the atrium floor, gasping, the world tilting dangerously in my vision.
Annabeth and Ellie emerged from the staircase, scrambling across the atrium floor. Red and blue police lights filtered through the tower’s windows, making shadows dance between the monster's eight limbs. Josh wasn't far behind, still clutching onto the bloody knife, head rolling upside down between his shoulders.
"Police, we're coming in!" a familiar nasally voice shouted.
The moment officers stepped foot in the tower, the monsters vanished in a spray of spores.
I am putting up a semi-privacy fence panel around my patio and only need to put in two posts. I have decided I want to use a polyurethane foam product instead of concrete.
I have also decided I wanted to use an HBFuller product over Sika but with that said, I am confused between their two products. They sell Fast2K for Deck Post Anchors as well as Fast2K Fence Post Backfill.
You would think Fast2K Fence Post Backfill would be the obvious choice but all my local stores just have the deck post anchor version. Looking through the TDSs it looks like they are very similar in final density as well as worklife so I think it would be fine to use either but wanted to see if anyone has more experience with these products.
Iv got standard concrete fence posts with 1.8m fence panels between them, i want to fix wooden battens between the posts horizontal like people often do (onto the concrete posts, the wooden fence panels will stay in place) however i’m actually using 22mm x 100mm timber do you think that size wood should suitably span a 1.8metre gap without a support in the middle? i ask because it will reduce the cost by about £150 if i can get away it.
Iv got standard concrete fence posts with 1.8m fence panels between them, i want to fix wooden battens between the posts horizontal like people often do, however i’m actually using 22mm x 100mm timber do you think that size wood should suitably span a 1.8metre gap without a support in the middle? i ask because it will reduce the cost by about £150 if i can get away it.
Looking for reassurance/critique...
I've got two climbing plants opposite sides of the garden against a 6ft wooden fence on both sides. I've bought two willow trellises in preparation for them growing and spreading.
I've disassembled a pallet, taken 6 boards, sanded and treated with Roxil (waterproofing) and then nailed them into the horizontal fence struts (3 on each side). I've then mounted the trellis on those boards with fencing staples.
It looks ok, seems reasonably sturdy, it's a bit of a bodge job, and I'm no professional.
Can anyone foresee any issues with this?
My thinking is that the willow trellises themselves are a bit on the flimsy side and might well just come off eventually, but I can always replace or reinforce them. Obviously I needed them to stand proud of the surface of the fence to allow the plants to grow in behind them, so attaching them directly to the fence panels was a non-starter.
I've tried to anticipate the weather by treating the boards, also didn't want to damage the fence as it's a shared ownership property.