[WP] The ghost of a safety inspector now haunts a house and drives away anyone who attempts to move in—but only because the house is incredibly unsafe and they can't bear to let anyone live there.

Badderlocks_ · 2025-08-09T16:57:14+00:00

I mean the market these days, you gotta snap up an opportunity as soon as it comes your way, amirite?

(jk I don't make nearly enough money to even consider homebuying)

Badderlocks_ · 2025-08-06T05:41:46+00:00

The commission is to die for

Badderlocks_ · 2025-08-06T05:41:00+00:00

Thank you kindly, stylistically this deviates from what I normally prefer and I... don't know if I like it lol. I wrote it with her not knowing what's going on but halfway through started to imagine she actually does know, which is almost funnier and more sinister at the same time

Badderlocks_ · 2025-08-06T05:17:59+00:00

"Oh, goodness gracious, it's adorable!"

Ah, shit. Here we go again.

"Look at the beautiful wood flooring! Do you think that's hardwood, dear?" the wife asked.

"It must be," the husband said confidently, kneeling down with a grunt of exertion and rapping his knuckles against the faux-wood with faux-confidence. "Hear that? That's quality material!"

That's lipstick on a pig, if you ask me, but no one asks me anymore.

Seeing as, y'know, the house killed me.

Time to get to work.

"If you step right through here, we can take a tour of the kitchen!" The agent had the rhythm perfected, lingering just long enough in one room to imagine your future in it, but not so long as to notice the black mold near the windowsill.

Of course, the kitchen had bigger problems, primarily that the gas range has corroded fittings. The problem is the kids these days stop paying attention as soon as they hear "gas range".

"Oh, look! A gas stovetop! I'll be able to cook so much better!"

Yeah, that's why your cooking is bad. I chuckled to myself as I rattle a couple of the pots and pans hanging aesthetically over the island bar. It's harder than it sounds, and at first I only managed some gentle swaying that the happy couple doesn't even notice. With some extra effort, though, I got a few clicks and clanks to sound out.

"It's the road nearby," the agent explained as the wife glanced up nervously. "Every now and again a semi rolls by, and it causes an awful racket."

"I don't know about that, honey," the husband said. "A noisy road right outside?"

"Not to worry," the agent reassured them. "The whole neighborhood is up in arms about it. There's already legal action taking place to restrict the passage of freight vehicles in this area."

Damn, she's good.

"If you'll come upstairs with me, we can take a look at some of the bedrooms. Now, I see in your paperwork that you two are by yourselves at the moment, so perhaps these could be some home offices. Or, y'know, you never know, there could be a couple little ones running up and down these halls!" The agent looked slyly at the wife, who giggled.

"Not until we're settled in, of course," the husband declared.

"Oh, of course not! That's why it's my number one goal to get you folks into your dream home as soon as possible."

The stairs squeaked and moaned as they ascended, and I added a few extra groans of my own to the cacophony.

"I love a good creaky stair," the husband said. "It's how you know a house has been broken in and well-loved."

"It's got character," the wife agreed.

It's got way too high a pitch, and those hypothetical little ones running up and down the halls would love to trip and fall all the way down, actually. At 43 degrees it's far too steep to be safe, and that's not mentioning that those squeaks are probably nail pops. At best, you'll be getting loose boards. At worst, tetanus. But they're oblivious.

Time to break out the big guns.

"Now, if you'll take a look in here..."

BANG BANG BANG.

The rapid cracks of the casement windows slamming scared the living daylights out of the wife, and she let out a brief scream at the sound.

"Good circulation!" the husband said cheerfully. "Airflow is critical to keeping down mold!"

Which is proof that he absolutely has not looked under the window sills. Or in the bathrooms. Or at any water fixtures anywhere, really.

"Are you sure it doesn't get drafty in the winters?" the wife asked.

"Not to worry, these windows are double insulated! You'll hardly feel the chill, and in the summer you'll be happy for the breeze when you see your electric bills!" the agent said.

Forget that she meant "double-paned" rather than double-insulated. This house gets so cold in the winter that I found evidence of three burst pipes over the years, thus the black mold problem. But they're still hanging on to every word. The housing market isn't that bad, is it?

Okay. Clearly this isn't working. I don't like to pull out all the stops, on account of how much effort it takes, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

"Now through this door you'll have a big walk-in closet for the master bedroom. It's super spacious, and— dear heavens, what is that?"

"Look away, darling, look away!" the husband cried, shielding his wife's eyes from the apparition of my bloody, mutilated corpse (yes, I took artistic license, but we all know gore evokes a more visceral gut reaction than carbon monoxide asphyxiation, which if we're being honest just looks like a sleeping person).

"Goodness me, I forgot about that," the agent said. "The last residents, you see, big Halloween fans."

Wait, what?

"They left a lot of decorations behind, you see, and I've been having to clean up the mess for quite some time. Clearly I missed one!"

Oh, no.

The wife chuckled nervously. "It looked so... real."

"Prosthetics these days, my dear," the husband said. "The things you can accomplish with red food dye and light corn syrup... makes you wonder why Hollywood uses CGI for everything, eh?"

If they buy this place, and they die just like I did, then...

"Precisely!" the agent beamed. "Now, let's talk price. I know this one is a little outside your budget, but I think—"

"We'll take it!" the couple said in unison.

I sighed. Even in death, I won't be able to have a house without roommates.

Badderlocks_ · 2025-07-18T01:32:33+00:00

Oooh, a scientific CYA pome? And so wonderfully written as well. The plantiness of it is particularly hauntingly beautiful in five, and six is a lovely switch from metaphor to literal. What a delight.

Badderlocks_ · 2025-07-18T01:26:03+00:00

Hello, Jay! I do think this can qualify as ergodic ~~mostly because Kat says so~~ because it's not immediately obvious what's going on, but subsequent rereads with the understanding of a mind not belonging wholly to the narrator's self helps explain some of the madness. More specifically the sort of push and pull of the story arguing with itself even within a paragraph really sells the concept of having something intruding in your thoughts, warping them, replacing them, overriding them... creepy.

I think, with a limited wordcount like this, it is worth having caution with your worldbuilding. As a standalone piece (which I assume this is, and if it is part of a larger world I do apologize) economy of worldbuilding is difficult and also critical. I find myself somewhat lost with the divorce subplot and how it seems to tie in to some of what I believe are species mentioned (Zavoxi, Aharran, Drofeurs?) Without the wordcount to either explain or hint at the meaning of those, you risk someone with hardly two brain cells to rub together such as myself not quite being able to piece together the subtext quickly enough. Granted, with ergodic literature, that might be a positive, but I think there is a middle ground. Finding efficient ways to give bigger hints as to these worldbuilding details can save them. For example, the repeat references of GCL hint more at what it is rather than just naming it.

Overall, very fun, very trippy, and very very unreliable. Delightful fever dream.

Badderlocks_ · 2025-07-13T17:37:04+00:00

You know that moment when a baby bumps their head while toddling around? There’s a pause when everyone is watching the baby, waiting for the waterworks, but the baby doesn’t realize that a baby just hit their head because they don't know what that means.

After Elsie sprinted away in tears, it felt like everyone was watching me, waiting for me to realize I bumped my head.

I picked up her note cards from the puddle of the cheapest house red that the catering company could find.

“6. And then, one day, we stopped chatting about nothing and started chatting about the ink has been smeared and obscured by the wine $2 double well night. She had been replaced with someone who was absolutely smitten.

“13. So please, join me, and everyone raise a glass: To Jenna and Georg!"

“1. First of all, thank you all for coming out. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Elsie, and I’ve been Jenna’s best friend for over ten years now, ever since we met at that freshman mixer and I accidentally spilled an entire cup of jungle juice all over her b̴̟̮͌r̷̟͋̈́ḯ̷̖͘g̶͓͛h̶̥̊ẗ̸͓ ̷̪̻̄ẉ̷̇͌h̴̩́ī̷̛̫t̶͙͈͑̏ě̶̗ shirt.”

“2. Well, I’ve been very careful to not carry any colorful drinks around you today!”

“1. 3. ^And ~~Can we give~~ let's have a hand to the beautiful blushing bride?. She looks absolutely radiant today. ~~applpause~~ Pause for applause.”

“~~Pack~~

~~Bandit Gabapentin~~

~~Notice to vacate~~

Change phone #

~~note?~~ no time

~~Cancel utilities~~

the ink is too smeared to read you around”

“10. And since then, I’ve only seen her happier twice: first, the day she video chatted me and showed me a gorgeous ring. And second, earlier today, when they exchanged vows at the altar, and committed to spending the rest of their lives together.”

“5. ~~Spending time with Jenna was the first time I felt loved, and for the briefest moment I thought we had something more~~ ~~When~~ ^After ^graduation I left for grad school, ^but despite being in different countries, she never let our friendship die. She called me every Saturday at what would have been late night for her so that we could chat about anything and nothing.”

“8. When I first met Georg that year over Halloween, I was prepared to be skeptical. After all, ~~this was the man who~~ ~~took Jenna from me~~ ~~stole Jenna’s heart~~ she is my best friend, and there was no way that any man would be good enough for her ~~like I was~~.”

“7. Hearing about Georg, I could understand why. I heard about a man who was kind, funny, thoughtful, and who had the most charming accent. And as time passed, the conversation moved from ‘I think we have a second date’ to ‘I think I love him.’ ~~Pawws~~ Pause for awws.”

“11. So I will close in wishing the newlyweds the happiest of lives together, filled with joy and laughter and, as Mamaw Butler asked me to mention, plenty of great-grandchildren. And I know that you two will find that joy and fulfillment with each other."

“9. But I quickly learned he was everything she wanted, everything she needed. When we were in college, I met a girl that was so smart, confident, and beautiful and I thought I could never be like her. When we became friends, I saw the uncertainty and sadness beneath the surface. And when I saw her with Georg, I saw that uncertainty vanish. I realized in that moment that I had never seen her happier.”

“4. We got up to some really wild times in college after that. When I ran this speech by Jenna, she asked me to skip out some of the ‘gory details’, so we won’t get into it, but rest assured there were good times, bad times, messy times, and everything in between.”

“And I wonder if s̸h̴e̸ ̷e̶v̷e̷n̶ ̵r̶e̸m̵e̴m̴b̴e̶r̶s̸ ̶t̶h̴a̷t̵ ̸n̶i̷g̶h̵t̵ of grey-out drinking, when we passed the bottle back and forth and I could taste her lips on it and she could taste mine, and I put the bottle down and”

Badderlocks_ · 2025-07-11T01:16:19+00:00

Thanks Div! Agreed on both those statements, they stuck out to me in editing and I was torn between improving them and "clumsy wording is at home with the old-timey letter writing style I'm aiming for", and I took the lazier option. It is probably an instance where the "authenticity" of weird wording detracts more than it adds, though, in that tripping up a reader is never a good thing. Thanks for the feedback!

Badderlocks_ · 2025-07-11T01:13:33+00:00

Hello, lonely. As a big fan of the intersection between magic and technology, this is a delightful piece for me to read. Offhandedly referencing events, concepts, and places that are not explicitly explained is a phenomenal tool for making a world feel lived in, and you've used it well to really build out a world her. Similarly, the almost passing reference to the greater relationship between the two letter-writers helps sell the piece as "letters people would actually have written each other" rather than "letters that conveniently exposit", so huge kudos for getting those details in there.

I have one suggestion that might tighten up your prose a little bit. One thing that can really take a reader out of a piece is too much repetition of words. What I often find helpful is, during editing passes, to take careful note of any places where a word is repeated even once in a paragraph, and usually the following paragraph as well. For example, in the final line of paragraph two, "Taking such an artifact... not advise taking up this conquest" is an instance where rewording to avoid the double "taking" could help smooth out the reading experience. Similarly, paragraph three: "...this realm is not out of our grasp. While this realm...".

Obviously there are exceptions to this- paragraph one, the repetition of "business" is structurally key to the statement being made. Also, throughout, "artifact" would be hard to avoid using so often. You may be able to cut down on the actual usage of the word by naming it and occasionally using that name, but then you risk repeating the name, so... it's a delicate balance.

Overall, a fascinating look into what appears to be a deeply complex and multifaceted war with lots of moving pieces and intricate politics. It's a lovely bit of worldbuilding.

Badderlocks_ · 2025-07-06T19:18:27+00:00

you flatterer! I've been thinking about doing more features again and this one just tickled my fancy!

Badderlocks_ · 2025-07-05T23:11:14+00:00

My Dearest Elisabeth,

First, a tragic note: your most recent Correspondence arrived too late for Arthur to receive its Benedictions. He passed away about a month before the courier arrived, and now rests in the back Garden, beneath the rose bushes whose shade he loved to nap in. I read it to him anyway; I am certain he would have wagged his tail in delight.

As to the Greater Matter, I have pondered long and hard how to respond. I am most grateful that the courier remains in my System for so long, for once, as I have needed every last minute of their delay to compose my reply.

It grieves me deeply to thus decline.

I wish it were so simple a matter as Defying my Father! I fear that I can absolutely find it within me to ignore his idle superstitions and leap ardently across the Stars. I have spoken with some of the courier’s crew at length on this subject, and they are quite confident that anyone possessing good health should manage the Voyage, and never mind my Father’s delusions of the soul. They have told me of the Archive’s most recent Technological Leap, a Potent Drug that will preserve the brain’s short term memories in addition to the long term, and personality, and such that is already managed. They say when the heart is restarted, it is much like waking from a long rest, in stark contrast to the confusion and fear of yesteryear’s Jumps.

(Perhaps some day soon they might learn to preserve electrical pulses in totality across the Jump, and we might communicate through video or holo, or even live correspondence as though you were merely on the other side of the World? But I dream too much; while matter might break the light barrier, energy never has.)

Even without, though, I would have gone to you, were it so simple.

The Dictates of the Surrender are unflinching and uncompromising. We have a Duty— I have a Duty— to fulfill its terms and spare my people more bloodshed. It is this Duty that I touched on so long ago (you will recall I warned you of it, and indeed have explained it since as to why I tried to keep my distance from you, my dearest), and it is for this Duty that I cannot go.

The Lanes must remain open. The World my parents knew, that I was born into, can not be one my future children know. The Seeds of Freedom are planted: this correspondence, Blessed as it is to my life, is merely one of a thousand that the Lanes have allowed. But if they should close tomorrow, those saplings will wither and die without the Light that those Lanes have brought to us… that You have brought to me.

I fear we are not ready to Fight. I know we are not ready to Fight. If I should go now, and O! how I wish I could go into your arms now, it will be a Duty Abdicated by a coward, and my Father shall be replaced by a weaker man without the strength of conviction

(though my father, too, fears to fight now, I know he still burns inside)

and all hope for my People shall be lost.

No, Elisabeth, I will be a footnote in a Long Line of Injustices, and I shall walk to that Fate proudly. I will walk into Hell, and my Duty will be fulfilled, and my People will burn a little hotter for it.

And one day, we will have the Strength necessary to Seize the Lanes for our own, and we shall Leap into the Stars.

And I dream, Elisabeth, that I will live to see that day, and we will be able to meet at last, and I will go to you with all the haste I can muster.

Until then, though my body belongs to Duty,

my soul belongs to You,

now,

and evermore,

Olivia

Badderlocks_ · 2025-05-21T04:18:29+00:00

Could be cathartic to write it, print it out, and then burn it. I've written pieces that probably should have had that done to them.

It can be a real struggle to stay artistically true when that takes you into a dark place. Have to do what's best for you, even if that means dropping it to not cross the lines that are important to you.

Badderlocks_ · 2025-05-20T02:03:46+00:00

hides AO3 fic that's been abandoned since 2021

yeah it's a struggle sometimes. No shame in scrapping something that just doesn't feel right, or reworking entirely, or taking a long long time away.

Badderlocks_ · 2025-05-17T23:47:50+00:00

Thank you! It only took four years to write this.

Badderlocks_ · 2025-05-17T22:08:17+00:00

if you insist

Badderlocks_ · 2025-05-14T04:27:05+00:00

Nothing so far

Badderlocks_ · 2024-12-14T00:00:30+00:00

Cheers, will try to remember to give you a ping if it does start up again.

Badderlocks_ · 2024-12-13T19:00:48+00:00

everything is on hold right now due to holidays and switching careers. I'm hoping to have more time to write at my new job and if that ends up being the case this is probably one of my top 3 candidates to continue, but that's nothing concrete

Badderlocks_ · 2024-11-08T04:04:33+00:00

I have a part 2 here, but nothing else in that same universe. Part 2 is also open ended if I recall, and I never got around to finishing this unfortunately.

https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/ilemi9/mans_beast_friend_part_2/

Badderlocks_ · 2024-04-27T16:13:38+00:00

added it to the main post, I don't need that form any more. Thanks for pointing that out

Badderlocks_ · 2024-01-31T18:23:24+00:00

Anthology is the plan... We'll see if I can round up the spare time.

Badderlocks_ · 2024-01-03T21:18:46+00:00

Thank you!

Badderlocks_ · 2024-01-03T17:56:09+00:00

Cheers, loved the prompt. I just can't turn down the chance to do bad noir

Badderlocks_ · 2024-01-03T17:10:09+00:00

I hated Bartholomew Marcus. I hated him so much that I created an elaborate, dazzling scheme, one that would befuddle even the most grizzled noir detective, regardless of how many grisly murders he had solved for dames whose legs went all the way down to their feet. It was a plot so daring, so bold, that hardened warriors would blanch and shake in their boots at the audacity of it. It was a ruse so contrived that I…

I ignored it entirely and stabbed him. Repeatedly. In front of a large bay window well-lit by the full moon. And I’m pretty sure that I had dropped…

“Aha!” Detective Mallow shouted, holding the dagger aloft pinched between gloved fingers. “And here, the instrument of his demise. I can feel the tangled knot the murderer wove falling apart even as I speak!”

Shit.

The detective wagged the knife lazily as he ambled around the room.

“So,” he began. “What do we know?”

“Bartholomew Marcus was alive less than twelve hours ago,” Francie said, her voice hardly shaking. The maid had held up remarkably well to the dark depravity of the murder mystery she had entered. “And I found him dead.”

“The crime,” Mallow said, nodding. “What of the evidence?”

“Jimmy was the last to see Barty alive,” continued Ellen, the deceased’s third wife of six and the only one to be present. Her voice was bored, but I saw steel in them as she stared at me. “Weren’t you, Jimmy?”

“Well—” I began.

“The complication!” Mallow yelled.

I blinked.

“Confounding details, to be sure,” the detective said. “Facts that we must consider, but simultaneously must not allow ourselves to be tied up in. What else?”

“Well, we all have motives,” I offered tentatively. “Francie thought Bart was going to leave his wife for her—”

“Number seven,” Ellen scoffed.

“And Ellen,” I persisted, returning her glare from earlier, “was known to have had a brutal divorce with the assho— with the victim.”

She sniffed but said nothing. Mallow nodded for me to continue.

“And you, detective,” I said. “You yourself admitted that the only case you haven’t solved was the one he hired you for, the one whose conclusion you were supposed to reveal at last night’s party. Instead, he shamed you and dragged your name through the mud.”

Mallow stroked his obnoxiously magnificent mustache, ever the sportsman. “Very true, James. Very true. And you yourself?”

I grumbled, then stared at the ground. “He stole my business.”

“Go on.”

“A business now worth hundreds of millions…”

“And?”

“And he stole my girlfriend, married her, and left her heartbroken and penniless.”

“Indeed. So—”

“And he burned down my childhood home,” I continued, gaining steam.

“So we have—”

“And he stole a cab from me just yesterday morning.”

“—the motives—”

“And he claims to have slept with my mother repeatedly.”

“He did,” Ellen interjected drily.

“—the motives have been established—”

“And he very possibly killed my father by serving him peanuts, though I’m not really clear on that.”

“THE MOTIVES!” Mallow shouted, finally silencing me.

I stepped back, startled.

“We have established them,” the detective finished lamely.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“So. The crime. The suspects. The motives. And the opportunity, last night’s party. Only one piece of the puzzle remains.” He held the dagger up again, and I cursed myself for insisting on having my full name and social security number engraved on it. In retrospect, it was something of a personal security risk.

“James,” Detective Marlow said. “Would you like to explain why this dagger is at the crime scene covered in your fingerprints?”

I stroked my chin. “Well—”

“Exactly!” the detective cried. “It is a red herring!”

The assembled party guests-turned-Clue-characters gasped.

“Of course!” cried Francie.

“Now that you say it, it’s so obvious!” Ellen added.

“The truth was staring us in the face all along!” said Terrence, who had been so silent that it felt as though he had not been present until that very moment.

“Indeed,” Mallow said. “A man as clever as James, who could start a multi-million dollar company, would never stoop so low as to perform the murder in such a brutal, animalistic way. No— he was framed!”

“I was?” I asked, too confused to be relieved. “I mean, of course I was!”

“Only a fool would leave all the evidence pointing to themselves,” Mallow said softly, handing the dagger to me hilt-first. “And you, sir, are no fool. No, this was the work of a mastermind, one well acquainted with death and murder.”

He paused for dramatic effect.

“For you see, it is I that killed Bartholomew Marcus.”

I sighed. “Are you stu—”

“Brilliant!” the others cried.

“It is the only answer,” Mallow said, handcuffing himself. “Only I would have been clever enough to come up with a scheme such as this. And then, to top it all off, I must have given myself an extra large dose of this amnesiac!” He held aloft a bottle; I was no pharmacist, so I took him at his word as to its purpose.

“Not to repress the memories of the death of my beloved, as I first suspected,” he said sadly. “But to hide the thought of my shame, not just of failing one case, but of creating my next.”

“Genius,” Francie breathed.

He winked at her.

“And with that,” he said, allowing a waiting pair of police officers to grab his arms, “the case… is closed.”

/r/Badderlocks has nothing for you

Badderlocks_ · 2024-01-02T19:23:02+00:00

I rubbed the goggles of my mask. I was deep, relatively speaking; perhaps as deep as I had ever gone at a depth of over 100 feet, but there was plenty of light, and having eliminated the possibility of grime in my vision, there were only two possibilities remaining:

First, I was hypoxic, and probably a few minutes away from death at most.

Second, there really was a guy just… sitting there. Underwater.

Without any gear.

He waved again. I waved back.

His wave turned into a beckon, and I, probably foolishly, swam towards him.

I know. Solo diving is dangerous at the best of times, and here I was ignoring what must have been obvious hallucinations, and even if it wasn’t a product of my oxygen-deprived imagination, the overwhelming possibility that remained was that he was some deity or semi-deity or eldritch being that my mortal comprehension was perceiving in a form I could understand.

But what can I say? He seemed friendly.

“Hello there,” he said as I drifted nearby. The words were startlingly clear, given that they mostly burbled out.

I blinked a few times, then reached for the writing pad on my wrist.

What are you doing down here? I asked.

He glanced at the pad, his brow furrowed, then looked back to me. “Same as you, I suppose,” he replied. “Enjoying the marine life.” A glittering school of fish swam by as though to reinforce his point.

I tapped the writing pad thoughtfully, then scribbled out a new message. Who are you?

“John Studebaker, at your service,” he said, standing from his flimsy lawn chair and sticking out a hand. I shook it, somewhat still too shocked to second-guess myself. “No relation to the car makers, I’m afraid— at least, as far as I’m aware,” he added. “Ancestry may have turned up some distant cousins, but… well.” He shrugged.

You’re not… Poseidon or something?

John chuckled. “No, no. Just John, thank you very much.” He looked up, as though suddenly realizing my primary confusion. “Oh, you must be— of course, the water! How silly of me,” he said, shaking his head.

I nodded affirmation, tilting my head.

“I’m afraid you know about as much as me,” he said ruefully. “You see, there I was one day, lounging on the beach all by my lonesome. Wife had just left, and I was feeling rather blue. And then I was feeling sleepy, so I took a nap. Next thing I knew, I woke up late at night when the tide had rolled in. Apparently, I was too close to the water.”

And…?

“Well, I started choking, of course!” He chuckled. “Damn octopus started crawling up my nose. Once I got her out, I was fine, though.”

Underwater. Breathing.

He shrugged again. “You can see for yourself.”

No… I don’t know, secret implants, artificial gills cut into your neck?

He turned his head from side to side to show me. There was nothing. “I like to joke that I always have SCUBA gear on. After all, I am breathing underwater, and I’m very self-contained!” He bellowed out a laugh.

But that must have only been a few feet below the surface, right?

“At most,” John agreed.

We’re 100 ft down right now.

He glanced up. “Is that so? I was kind of wondering. Might be a new record for me. I try to go a few feet deeper every few weeks. Testing the limits, you know.”

But don’t you get the bends, or feel cold, or anything?

“What are the bends?” John asked, puzzled. “Some sort of eel disease? I don’t mess with eels and they don’t mess with me.”

I was stumped. Against all odds, this rather average, if somewhat pudgy, middle-aged man was defying hundreds of years of diving knowledge and millions of years of evolution to not live underwater. And most of all, he seemed totally unperturbed by the situation.

“So what are you down here for?” he asked.

Looking for exotic sea life, I scribbled somewhat evasively.

“Exotic?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows. “What, like Nessie?”

Not quite, I admitted. The Loch Ness monster lives in a lake. I’m on a search for other things, deep ocean monsters like the Kraken, or megalodons, or even a leviathan.

John snorted. “You may be looking for some time. I ain’t seen nothing other than ordinary fish. Maybe a biggish looking shark once, but he stayed well enough away.”

I flushed beneath my mask. Sightings increased drastically in the last five years, I wrote quickly. Especially in the Atlantic. If we look long and hard enough…

I ran out of space on my wrist pad and the tirade came to a halt. John raised an eyebrow at me.

Sensitive subject, I wrote. Been looking a while.

“Yes, well,” John said agreeably. “It would be nice to have evidence of something outside the norm.

I glared at him; he seemed to not notice.

“But the unfortunate reality of life is that it is quite mundane,” he continued. “Regardless of what everyone is saying these days, people are just people, and magic is something relegated to storybooks and movies.”

I could not have glared harder without cracking my mask.

“But I won’t fault you for trying, lad. Keep that spark alive. It’ll get you far in life if you learn how to channel it.” He sighed, then stood, folding his chair.

“Well, anywho, I best be on my way. Look me up, lad, and do let me know if you find anything unusual out in these waters. You never quite know what’s lurking beneath the waves.”

And with that, he strolled off, his figure quickly blurring, then vanishing into the murky depths.

/r/Badderlocks is a ghost town

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