![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/grok-miitary.jpg\")
<\/figure>\n\n\n\n- No TVs in Dysmal Nitch<\/li>
- Movie theater plays only happy films<\/li>
- Ignored COV-19 outbreak<\/li>
- No election day turnout, unexplained<\/li>
- Radio station, run from a 1987 Ford Econoline Van, town’s top media. Plays Eagles’ ’70s hits by day, Pixies at midnight.<\/li><\/ul>\n\n\n\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/econoline-grok-ai.jpg\")
DYSMAL NITCH, TOP JIMMY’S MOBILE RADIO<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n The Major scanned the Dysmal Nitch paperwork, a nagging feeling tugging at him, but time was short\u2014Space Fleet deployment loomed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was a small itch in a heap of urgent procedures.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Bob, something\u2019s off here. Population still 500 to 10,000?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Yes, Sir.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Monitoring areas confirmed?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Yes, Sir.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“How many live there, Bob?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“500 to 10,000, Sir.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Inhabited, with stores, main street, monitoring areas?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Yes, Sir.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“No TVs \u2013 why? Cult?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Not quite, Sir. Post-COV-19, they held a town meeting and ditched TVs, figured it would protect them from infection.”
“Group decision?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n“Yes, Sir.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“No Marxist drip, no boundary erosion, even with Internet impact on autonomy?” Bob nodded, “Interesting.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“They added numerous community events, built a church primarily to sing hymns, offer music lessons\u2014most play an instrument now. Retirees take kids fishing, there’s a quilters’ club, amazing cookie bakers’ group, and I love the coffee shop\u2026” Bob trailed off, smiling. “Very resilient people, Sir.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Pristine enough for the test, hmm. Other sites?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Three, Sir, but they\u2019re fractured\u2014race, religion, ideology. COV-19 stress lingers, frameworks replaced, autonomy low.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Alright, proceed, call up the KC-135’s and begin the spraying of the biomodulating petro-chemicals and we’ll run the resilience test when they’re finished.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/grok-butterfly1.jpg\")
<\/figure>\n\n\n\nBUYING A HOUSE IN DYSMAL NITCH<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
The owner, Mrs. McMannon, was showing us around. My wife, Casey, was nervous\u2014she always got jittery meeting new people\u2014but her chatter masked it. She ducked under a railing, hopped onto a stone, and poked at seashells near a post, her usual manic energy in full swing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWow, this house is amazing! That deck goes on forever, and the arbor\u2019s gorgeous. What\u2019s this table?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cButterfly raising,\u201d Mrs. McMannon said, irritation flickering as she watched Casey. \u201cI collect, hatch, and raise them. It\u2019s my job.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOh! A caterpillar!\u201d Casey zeroed in on a workbench\u2014jars, sieves, netted enclosures, yellowed notepads.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt escaped. Don\u2019t touch it.\u201d Casey jerked her finger back, regret flashing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI’ll take pristine care of your place Mrs. McMannon – don’t worry! I\u2019d never spray for weeds or bugs! We\u2019ll plant tons of flowers!\u201d Casey vowed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A cat\u2019s cry cut her off. A soaked orange tabby clung to a tall holly down the driveway. Before I could react, Casey bolted to investigate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe\u2019s drenched!\u201d she called to us. \u201cCome here, big boy, trust me\u2014don\u2019t claw, but if you do, I forgive you.\u201d The cat sank into her arms, claws digging into her jacket, eyes wide with terror.\u201cYou\u2019re safe now,\u201d she cooed, heading back up the drive. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mrs. McMannon checked her watch, sighed. Casey looked to her for help; the older woman stared back, cold and silent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYours, Mrs. McMannon?\u201d No response. Finally, a sigh and a gesture to follow her indoors to finish the house tour.\u201cPut him there,\u201d she said, pointing to a kitchen floor with a kibble bowl. Ignoring us, she resumed the tour. Oak floors, I guessed\u2014original, this house was perfect! The location on the hill meant I could finally use my telescope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThis bedroom\u2019s storage now,\u201d she said cracking open a solid wood door. \u201cSmallest room, one high window at the top but it’s blocked by boxes.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Casey, jacket off, was swaddling the cat as she was being left behind in the kitchen sitting on the floor with the cat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHouse come with the cat?\u201d I teased. No smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cCould be arranged. Here\u2019s the attic ladder\u2014cleaned last year, new metal roof, fifty-year warranty. Empty up there. Want to see?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNah,\u201d I said. Casey was missing the tour but I thought the country location would be perfect for her sensory overload she suffered from in the city. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Other bedrooms were basic\u2014popcorn ceilings, paneling. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The living room opened up: high ceilings, skylights, cacti from across the country, a big couch. An electric piano sat in the corner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI’m learning to play,\u201d Mrs. McMannon said, catching my glance. \u201cIf your wife likes music, we have a mandatory Sunday meeting.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the back wall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/house-grok.jpg\")
First mud slide this house is toast!<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n \u201cCan\u2019t take my books at my age,\u201d she added. \u201cCould you keep them or donate them? I lack the resources\u2014mentally, I mean\u2014to sort it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo problem,\u201d I said. \u201cCasey lives for books. Looks like you\u2019ve traveled everywhere.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWorldwide, a few times,\u201d she said, cryptic, a hint of sadness. No photos offered clues. At eighty-something, maintaining this place had to be tough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cEighty-nine,\u201d she said, reading my mind. \u201cOff to care for my infirm niece in Southern California.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Five acres atop a hill, ringed by trees, next to public forest\u2014no neighbors, but the road could wash out I mused. We sat by the butterfly station, overlooking a dry, debris-filled former koi pond. Time to talk price. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Casey didn\u2019t know I\u2019d sold my app for over a million-five, keeping some rights. I was bursting to buy her dream home in cash.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSure about this?\u201d Mrs. McMannon asked dryly. \u201cYou skipped the unfinished section and basement.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBasement\u2019s sealed, no leaks?\u201d She nodded. Sunset glowed. Her tone hinted at hidden sprawl, unexplored regions of the house, but the spotless oven and solid pipes screamed meticulous care.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cGot a flight from PDX at 8 p.m., then Brussels next week,\u201d I said. \u201cLet\u2019s sign and wrap up.\u201d She agreed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I signed, final wait pending. Casey emerged\u2014hair wild, clothes paw-smudged the cat now following along.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a lot of work, young lady,\u201d Mrs. McMannon said, prim as a librarian. Casey was glowing from making a cat friend and nodded happily.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYour new friends name is Jester,\u201d Was that a faint smile on her weary face? <\/p>\n\n\n\n
THE BLOCK HOUSE<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
The Block House anchored Main Street\u2019s corner\u2014poured reinforced concrete topped by a traditional structure. Breakfast hit at 7 a.m., coffee flowed all day, black only. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Public showers lined one side, a coin laundry was adjacent, and a bike rack sat out front. Daily, folks parked bikes, queued with backpacks, showered fast, grabbed free food, and rolled on. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
For the quarter of Dysmal Nitch residents living outdoors, like Park, it simplified life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Indoors, she felt trapped, anxious, overwhelmed. Around \u201cnormal\u201d people, she saw herself as a burden, too altered by experience to fit back into society.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She hit the Block House early, showered quick, then helped the staff scramble and serve eggs and coffee. After the early rush she mopped and restocked before leaving for her half-shift at the cannery.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Park never locked her bike; no need in Dysmal Nitch. A local elder let her pitch her tent and camp by Little Creek on his family land. Her tent collected gifts\u2014a Pendleton blanket with a Southwest print, a dream catcher, a cook pot. She\u2019d never felt freer or safer. People like her drifted to Dysmal Nitch to heal; if their hearts were good, the land provided. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The old Native liked Park\u2014he saw she craved big sky. While she worked, he\u2019d leave a blanket in her tent, trace a spiral on the outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Black bangs hid her eyes; she rarely spoke, avoiding contact. No one pestered her. She got by. Eventually, she came to like black coffee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
6 MONTHS LATER<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
Casey\u2019s thick, unruly blond hair was stuffed under a pink ball cap decked with glittery pins. She\u2019d biked down the long hill into town by 7:15, landing at the Block House to wait for Park. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Park barely spoke, but Casey had decided they\u2019d be friends. Casey loved to chatter, though her outbursts\u2014sudden as rain showers\u2014earned her glares from folks who couldn\u2019t keep up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She sat at an outdoor table, sipping black coffee, scrolling photos on her phone to show Park.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPark!\u201d she called, waving wildly. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Park, about her age, Asian with delicate features, rolled up in her usual black hoodie and baseball cap. Casey had adopted the local vibe\u2014her hoodie sported trees, a giant squid, and bright embroidered flowers on the sleeves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPark!\u201d Casey beamed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Park, surprised, found herself smiling. She\u2019d never had a friend, but Dysmal Nitch was weaving her an odd little family.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI found egg casings yesterday\u2014butterflies laying eggs! Look, cocoon maybe?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Casey shoved her phone at Park. It didn\u2019t look like much. Park shrugged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMaybe,\u201d she said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Casey lit up\u2014Park rarely said anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLast night, baby raccoons showed up! Babies! And that long-haired cat\u2019s back. Jester\u2019s so fat now, just lounges and eats.\u201d She scrolled through photos of the hill house. Park nodded, curious.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Park rummaged in her backpack, handed Casey a thick hardcover. \u201cGood one,\u201d she said. She\u2019d been borrowing books weekly, tackling Mrs. McMannon\u2019s old book stash.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhoa, you\u2019re so smart, Park! I\u2019d never get through these!\u201d Park blushed, staring at her toes. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019ll bring you another tomorrow\u2014something great!\u201d Casey said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Time ticked on; Park had work. She pulled a red bottle from her pack and handed it over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cGochujang. Korean hot sauce. I put it on everything. You\u2019ll like it.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/image.png\")
<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\nCasey was over the moon.\u201cCan I use it on meat?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Park nodded. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNoodles?\u201d Nod. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnything?\u201d Nod.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cGotta go,\u201d Park said, slinging her pack on. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cCasey, be careful today\u2014weird vibe out there. No strangers, okay? They can be trouble.\u201d She pedaled off toward the port without looking back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Later in The Afternoon<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
Casey pedaled her bike up the hill, blond hair tumbling from her pink cap. She\u2019d hit the Block House at 7:15 to see Park and was now mulling over joining the church to learn drums at Park’s suggestion. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The pirate radio van sat at the overlook. She waved inside\u2014Jimmy, fiftyish, lanky with a beanie, grinned. \u201cHey, Casey! What\u2019s the tune today?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSomething fun\u2014Abba?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOn it. Headphones ready?\u201d She popped them on, already tuned, and smiled as Abba’s \u2018Dancing Queen\u2019 began to play \u2014”perfect, right?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLove it!” She shouted over the son in her headphones.
“Oh, Park gave me Gochujang\u2014hot sauce!\u201d She held up the bottle.<\/p>\n\n\n\nHe chuckled. \u201cNice score. Try it on eggs, your life will never be the same. You want a full Abba lineup while you ride home?” Casey nodded enthusiastically and Jimmy gave her the thumbs up. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Casey shifted her backpack and started up the long hill to her house walking the steeper portions singing along to the radio in what she called, “cycle-karaoke.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Casey\u2019s legs burned as she neared her driveway, ready to coast home\u2014until a work truck loomed around the turn, blocking her path. Its flatbed groaned as shadowy figures unloaded barrels, their edges glinting in the shadows from the large evergreen trees. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
She shook off a chill. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
An older man, lean and fit, stepped forward, offering a smile that never touched his eyes. Those eyes\u2014predatory, gleaming\u2014raked over her, calculating, like she was prey he\u2019d pocket later as a bonus.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ice seeped into her toes, urging her to run, but Jester\u2019s silhouette flickered in the window\u2014her pets, her books, her sanctuary inside. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her husband was gone. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
She was alone. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
A shadow slid past the glass\u2014someone was in her house. Her breath hitched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She yanked her bike to flee, heart hammering, but the man had quick reflexes, seizing it. He hoisted it high, out of reach. \u201cHey, easy,\u201d he soothed, voice oily. \u201cJust a house inspection\u2014section 13, your husband\u2019s contract. No one was home. Didn\u2019t mean to spook you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her hands trembled and clenched. \u201cNo section 13 exists,\u201d she said, voice quaking. \u201cDysmal Nitch code, section 4, paragraph 5\u2014forty-eight hours\u2019 notice. You need a warrant. You\u2019re trespassing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His smile stretched, a predator baring teeth, demeanor darkening. \u201cYour home, huh? We decide that. Cooperate, or you might lose it.\u201d The threat coiled tight. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
She shook harder, rooted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNeed your phone,\u201d he said, casual, eyes glinting. \u201cNo signal up here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSure,\u201d she rasped, lips dry, dread pooling. She handed over her decoy\u2014an old iPhone\u2014her real one hidden in her backpack, a trick she had read about and adopted from a popular Japanese manga. \u201cBattery\u2019s low,” she said handing over the small old phone. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDead,\u201d he said, relief flashing as he pocketed it. It was a strange phone but no odder than the owner in the kraken pattern hoodie and giant earrings he mused. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSit under the arbor. We\u2019re almost done.\u201d His tone sharpened, a command.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She turned, putting her hood up, pulse racing. He tossed her custom bike\u2014her perfect, twelve-pound lifeline\u2014like garbage to the ground beside the driveway. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Fury sparked as she went to sit at the old butterfly work table. His gaze bored into her as she took off her backpack and pulled water and cashews, hands unsteady. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
She felt him relax as she set them down, sipping and eating after the climb. In her left hand, she palmed her real phone, flicking the do-not-disturb to on. As they turned away, she fired texts:Husband: Trouble. Police. NOW.<\/em>
Park: Weird people. Help. Police. NOW.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\nA figure melted from the shadows, voice low and probing. \u201cWhat\u2019s this? Calling for help? We\u2019re just working.\u201d His eyes narrowed, searching.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She palmed the phone making the swap when she opened her hand it held hot sauce. She forced a grin, voice tight. \u201cGochujang\u2014spicy, tangy, great on cashews. Try some?\u201d The bottle shook in her grip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He paused, menace flickering. \u201cHow spicy? Jalape\u00f1o? Ghost pepper?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSerrano, maybe\u2014full kick.\u201d Her words rushed, brittle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He leaned closer\u2014then the older man barked, \u201cPete, drop it! Planes are up!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Pete muttered, \u201cChecking for a phone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cGot it, Pete. Robes on, substance out\u2014planes are close.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Casey dryly ate cashews that seemed to stick in her throat each time requiring a big gulp of water. The men worked quickly staring up at the sky. The roar of military planes were overhead slightly louder than a 747 she mused. She wondered how long it would take the police to arrive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A man in black robes detached himself from the group, she thought she heard mutterings like, “how did they know? How many cars?” and “I’ll take care of it.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
A rustle sliced the silence. A hooded face\u2014ball cap, finger to lips\u2014peered from the bushes. Park. Casey\u2019s heart leapt, dread and hope crashing together. Her message had been received. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Petroleum <\/h2>\n\n\n\n
Grey Stratotankers circled overhead, seeding the sky with graphene, aluminum, and Caesium-137 particles\u2014lay lines for something big. The ground crew had to move fast before the fleet arrived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The team swept the house\u2014no TVs, as expected. In the workshop, a Synology DS1522+ 5-Bay NAS hummed, expanded to 200TB. Notes pegged the husband as a tech guy; the wife\u2014barely a footnote\u2014might have a physics master\u2019s. Odd gaps in the brief, but her social media was a ghost town. To them, she didn\u2019t register.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The older man, wiry and fit, prowled the husband\u2019s shop, vintage relics fueling a surge of venom. Nerds like this\u2014untouched, unbowed\u2014begged for a reckoning. He pictured the husband returning to ruins, broken, his wife a sweet perk. His lips twitched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Casey fidgeted under the arbor, snapping sticks to steady herself. Park was in the bushes and would whisper “it’s okay Casey, hang in there.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A rustle in the thick Salal caught the Man’s eye and he began to walk towards Casey whose heart stopped, had he seen Park?\u2014then a barrel crashed off the truck, splitting on the driveway. Black ichor oozed out, greasy with a green-rainbow sheen, alive and escaping. Casey flinched; Park, hidden, tensed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDamn it!\u201d the man snapped, panic edging his voice. \u201cGuide it to the sanctified reservoir\u2014now!\u201d The crew scrambled, chanting low and rhythmic. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The cleaned-out pond gleamed like a shallow bowl. The hum grew, the sludge quivering, snaking toward the basin in an undulating wave. The man shaped it from a distance, hands trembling, sweat beading. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
No meds, no prep\u2014just raw skill keeping it from spiraling bad. Nausea hit him. One slip-up, and he\u2019d be groveling for this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Casey froze, fear numbing her. What was that gunk? A wave of evil and horror washed over her – it was alive wasn’t it?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A hand slipped through the bushes\u2014Park\u2019s\u2014squeezing hers before vanishing, “this is bad, the police should have been here by now. I’ll go for help.” She whispered taking the chance as the men’s full attention was on the rank ichor now purposefully and slowly filling the Koi pond. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Park bypassed most of the road until she felt like she wasn’t being watched then ran for all she was worth. She didn’t have a plan, she had seen the cop cars sitting near the driveway and the perfect quiet of them made sick inside. She skidded on the gravel as she saw the radio van parked in the pull out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She knocked frantically on his window trying to catch her breath, \u201cJimmy, cultists are at Casey\u2019s. She\u2019s trapped. Planes are up\u2014they\u2019re making contact.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\nHe nodded gravely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Get in!” He told her and motioned to the side door. “I saw the police go up earlier and have not seen anyone return. I’ve been worried.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He cut \u201cHotel California\u201d mid-riff. \u201cFor those in the Dysmal Nitch response team, we have a substantiated report that Satanic cultists are back. Holding Outlook Hill trying their old tricks of thought control through microplastics and macro petroleum, same as last year. You know what to do. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201c96 Tears\u201d by The Stranglers kicked in\u2014high alert. Listeners would know: trouble was here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Police No Luck<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
Casey\u2019s husband dialed the police\u2014local, county, state. Dead air every time, no calls were going through. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
A stone of dread sank in his gut, 16 hours ahead, halfway across the world – he should not have left Casey alone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Seven cop cars screeched to the driveway\u2019s end, lights flashing, piling up behind a plain wooden barricade. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
A lone trooper in a fluorescent vest stood guard, baton tapping his palm in a steady, eerie rhythm. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLet us through!\u201d the first cops yelled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cCan\u2019t,\u201d he droned, voice flat and hypnotic. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo authorization.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
They argued, but their words twisted, garbling in their own heads\u2014intelligible to them, nonsense to anyone else. New arrivals shouted, \u201cWhat\u2019s happening? Let us pass! What\u2019s wrong with Fred?\u201d\u2014then fell silent, convinced they were still talking. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
From above, they\u2019d look like statues, mouths moving, eyes blank.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Overhead, Stratotankers had laid down thick trails that turned to clouds and thickened the sky and dropped in a black haze on the once-clear day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Jimmy in his van was plugging in a series of cables enabling his ham radio and local direct broadcasts. “I hope the residents remember what they learned in Wednesday language club huh?\u201d Park nodded, “I’m glad you’re here because I was afraid of trying to pronounce the codes, Park smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201c\uc2e4\ub840\ud569\ub2c8\ub2e4, \uac00\uc790!\u201d she said, slow and deliberate. The cultists might eventually catch on\u2014analog was the Dysmal Nitch edge but they would be in a hurry and since Park ran Wednesday\u2019s language exchange, they\u2019d cloak directions in both Korean and Navajo languages. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
She signaled Jimmy. \u201cBlack Pink or BTS?\u201d he asked.\u201cChung Ha\u2014\u2018Stress,\u2019\u201d she replied. He nodded, cueing it up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At the Block House, the music shifted and Park\u2019s voice signaled the plan\u2019s next move. Tension hummed\u2014action was live. Drones, drums, and holy water was heading up the hill.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In The House<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
Casey snatched her backpack and bolted inside, screen door banging shut. The chanting men barely flinched\u2014black robes with cowls covering their heads, focus unbroken. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
She was trapped anyway, nowhere to run.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The house sprawled oddly\u2014unfinished basement and attic quirks jutting out like half-baked dreams, tacked onto the normal core where she spent all her time. Casey avoided those unusual parts; the main house was plenty. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now, clutching Jester the orange tabby, she darted through the maze of hallways and rooms, seeking a weapon or hiding spot. She yanked down attic stairs, shoved Jester up, and scrambled after him, hauling the steps closed. The attic floor was solid, but the roof crouched low. Dim light seeped through small windows at the ceiling. She scurried to a half-sized door with a brass handle. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
It swung open into a vaulted chamber\u2014high, pointed ceiling looming. She froze. The chants drifted up, faint but insistent, mingling with a buzzing hum\u2014maddening yet lulling. Her thoughts blurred; exhaustion tugged. Where was she going?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Long narrow windows poured in an ugly red light like a forest fire or sunset before a storm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A bare wall faced her, pristine, tracing the roof\u2019s peak. She stared, entranced. A square emerged\u201418 inches, red-framed. Like a children’s theater box. Shapes flickered inside. She squinted. They moved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSock puppets,\u201d she whispered. Button eyes glinted\u2014three of them, staring back.\u201cYou must be lonely up here,\u201d she murmured. \u201cI didn\u2019t know you were here\u2014house spirits, right? I\u2019ll visit, sing, dance, play music for you every day.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her eyes stung, unblinking, tears welling unnoticed.The puppets twitched. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYOU. YOU. YOU. YOU!\u201d Their voices rasped, sharp.She frowned. \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYOU LEAVE. YOU WILL LEAVE. WE HATE YOU. DISGUSTING. LEAVE!\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The words stabbed, venomous, echoing in the dim. Tension coiled tighter\u2014something was wrong here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“YOU LEAVE. YOU WILL LEAVE THIS HOUSE. WE HATE YOU. YOU YOU YOU. YOU ARE DISGUSTING. LEAVE!” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/sockpuppets-grok.jpg\")
<\/figure>\n\n\n\nA faint, dreamy voice\u2014her own?\u2014whispered, \u201cThey might be demons. That\u2019s a shame.\u201d Nausea twisted her gut, dizziness spinning her head. An acrid chemical stench crept in, sharp and toxic, pinning her in place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDIE. YOU DIE!\u201d the puppets screeched, their voices jagged. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhy don\u2019t they like me?\u201d she thought, wistful. \u201cThey don\u2019t even know me.\u201d Memories of past attacks surfaced\u2014misunderstood, ambushed. Were those people tied to these things? It seemed familiar but had it really happened? Her eyes fluttered, knees softening as the thought drifted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/grok-fly2.jpg\")
<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\nJester\u2019s teeth sank into her leg. \u201cOuch!\u201d She jolted, gasping. Smog choked the room, air thinning fast. A jeweled butterfly\u2014Papilio glaucus<\/em>\u2014flitted by. She stumbled after it, drawn to a far wall where a door creaked open to a rusty spiral staircase. Fresh air hit her lungs, clearing the haze. The chanting faded, distant now, but the unease lingered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Highway<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
Nic had been bringing back his uncles thick sack of medications back to the reservation when the truck coughed and died mid-highway. He jabbed the hazards\u2014nothing. Panic spiked as he scanned the mirrors, heart hammering. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/grok5.jpg\")
<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\nA car cresting the hill could plow into his flatbed truck any second, he had no time to waste getting it off the fast moving highway. He glanced in his mirrors and froze, breath snagging. The road ahead didn\u2019t matter anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Every vehicle into Dysmal Nitch had stalled dead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Silver ships hovered low, too tight, too close\u2014triangles, spheres, a boomerang with no edges, drifting as one. Weightless, silent, they blotted the sun. Static prickled his skin, a hum vibrating deep. His arms burned like a sunburn; his breath fogged in the sudden chill. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nic’s radio turned on by itself crackling a thick static\u2014Korean snippets, then static, then silence. Nic exhaled hard, fumbling in the glove box for his medicine bag. He slung it around his neck, then hopped out, eyes averted from the sky. From the toolbox, he grabbed a feathered staff, tied on his roach headdress, leather cord taut under his chin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Orbs pulsed overhead, lights searing. Drivers gaped, frozen staring up. \u201cDon\u2019t look up!\u201d Nic yelled, voice raw. \u201cNot the lights\u2014get in your cars! Pass it on!\u201d A guy nearby nodded, relaying the warning but most were long past hearing it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nic leapt into the truck bed, prying open a crusty can of white paint with a screwdriver. He shook it, dipped a finger, and smeared a spiral atop the truck cab, chanting low. Symbols marked all four sides, then two streaks across his face. Medicine set, the engine could once again fire\u2014it roared alive\u2014and peeled toward the Block House, where his tribe and uncle\u2019s people would be waiting, braced for whatever came next.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Uncle Wally<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
Nic\u2019s truck rattled up, horn blaring sharp and sour. The old man gripped his ceremonial stick\u2014half staff, half crutch\u2014and shuffled fast, grunting as he hauled his 93-year-old frame into the flatbed. His bones ached, long past weary, craving the ancestors\u2019 rest. But maybe this was why he\u2019d been spared so long. The young ones were in deep\u2014their fight was his now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The House<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAs above, so below!\u201d The chant pulsed through ozone-thick air, bitter and heavy. Casey\u2019s fear spiked\u2014she didn\u2019t know it could cut this deep. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The air itself seemed to relish her terror, feeding on it. Jester squirmed in her frantic grip. Dark clouds churned, fog coiling tight, threaded with green electric flickers\u2014like worms thriving in the murk. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
She fumbled for her headphones, slamming them on, cranking BTS to max. Park\u2019s touch\u2014Korean beats flooding the static. Joy flared, sharp and defiant; the fog recoiled, sourly thwarted.Park\u2019s voice broke through, weaving Navajo and Korean\u2014emergency code they\u2019d drilled. She nailed Navajo, honed at the fish plant with tribal folks who traded her Korean lessons for theirs. Casey clung to it, a lifeline in the haze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As Above So Below<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
Silver orbs descended, lights glittering, but the chanters\u2014entranced around the black ichor\u2014didn\u2019t flinch. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSurrender your humanity!\u201d the old, fit man urged his acolytes. \u201cLet the ichor take your soul, your body\u2014become more! Power, eternal life, dominion over all!\u201d Pete wavered, a sour itch crawling up his neck. This group had sickened him from the start, their promises a lure dragging him deeper\u2014bliss, energy, confidence always just ahead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll never sleep, strong as a bear, money pouring in, women at your feet\u2014how many do you want?\u201d the leader crowed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOur Lords thrive in the ichor, feeding on hate, pain, cruelty. Generous Lords of secrets\u2014any wish granted! They inhabit the plastic choking this world, microplastics in every human cell, fueling consumption, swelling their reach!\u201d His laugh grated.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSatan\u2019s lies, Pete,\u201d a faint voice cut through\u2014Grandma? Pete\u2019s chant faltered. The old man glared, smug; Pete would be shredded soon anyway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFocus, Pete! Revenge on those who mocked you? We\u2019ll command their shiny new ships\u2014fools who did not know they built the fleet for our Lords!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPete, God loves you. I love you.\u201d Grandma\u2019s voice again, soft, piercing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He shed his robe. \u201cGrandma, where are you?\u201d Fog thickened, ozone stinging, electric zaps crackling around him. He flailed through it. \u201cGrandma?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019re enough, Pete. Go help that girl.\u201d Her words guided him\u2014to Casey, rocking, eyes clenched, headphones blaring, cat thrashing in her grip. Pity hit him. He took her elbow. \u201cI\u2019ll get you out. Keep your eyes shut\u2014down the driveway.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
She followed, blindly trusting. Past the chanters, past the barricade\u2014no one stopped them, as if they\u2019d vanished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A truck rumbled up. A blue-green butterfly flitted by; the air cleared, sharp and clean. Pete gulped it down, realizing how shallow his breaths had been\u2014weak, sick, suffocating among them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Men drummed in the truck bed parked outside the barricade. Their first job was to release the officers and clear the road for the others. An old man beckoned to Pete. \u201cClimb up.\u201d Pete shook his head\u2014tainted, unworthy. Wally gestured harder. Pete hauled himself in, grabbed a stick, and pounded the drum, syncing with the rhythm. Wally sang, voices rising, steadying him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Park hugged Casey. \u201cYou okay?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWall puppets\u2026 they hate me,\u201d Casey mumbled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Park frowned. \u201cHungry ghosts,\u201d she said, voice low, knowing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Star Ships<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/AJ.png\")
“What the hell are those ships?”<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n \u201cSir, we\u2019ve got a problem\u2014malfunctions in twenty-one of twenty-nine craft. We need to abort,\u201d the Lieutenant said, voice taut.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cCome again?\u201d The Major\u2019s calm held, but disbelief flickered beneath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cGround interference, Sir\u2014one frequency\u2019s jamming our AI on the mothership, cutting comms. Another signal\u2019s countering it acoustically, with something layered in we can\u2019t ID.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cImpossible, Lieutenant. Repeat that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cUnknown ground sources disrupting twenty-one ships. Recommend aborting to analyze,\u201d the Lieutenant pressed, urgency rising.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThese ships deploy in three months world wide,\u201d the Major said, steady but edged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYes, Sir\u2014and three are offline. I\u2019ve lost them. Ground comms are linking now, sending \u2018back to base directive.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSir, we\u2019ve got data from the stress test despite the malfunctions and I think you should see this,\u201d the Lieutenant added, a spark in his tone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cReport.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLocals didn\u2019t panic\u2014they\u2019ve mounted a defense. Tech we don\u2019t recognize, and ours is being hijacked. Systems compromised, AI overwritten with new directives\u2014Sir, it\u2019s in a language I can\u2019t parse. Babylonian?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWe\u2019ve lost control,\u201d the Major said, grim realization settling.\u201cYes, Sir. If this holds, we might not recover the fleet, although it appears they have begun to be recalled on the ‘back to base’ directive.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cScramble F-35s to escort the fleet home. Abort the mission. Deploy 389 tactical to intercept whatever the hell is down there messing with our fleet, and make sure they take the exorcists.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/grok-space-fleet-1.jpg\")
<\/figure>\n\n\n\nANALOG SPIRAL<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
Casey\u2019s husband rolled in late, two days after the chaos, greeted by campfires dotting the front yard. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThey kept me safe and watched the house \u2018til you got back,\u201d Casey chirped, wrapping him in a tight hug. \u201cThey\u2019ve taught me stories\u2014did you know an owl lives in the Alder tree? Wally says it\u2019s a guardian. He\u2019s amazing, but he left\u2014his heart\u2019s weak. His nephew\u2019s here, though,Nic, he’s training to be a medicine man. He\u2019s so cool!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/grok-ending.jpg\")
<\/figure>\n\n\n\n\u201cCasey,\u201d he laughed, \u201cI leave, and you\u2019ve got a tribe camping out front?\u201d Drums kicked up, and she did a little skip-dance.\u201cI learned straight dancing!\u201d she beamed. \u201cPark\u2019s been crashing here, cooking, keeping things rolling. We\u2019re planning a full-moon ceremony for the koi pond.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He glanced at it, curious. \u201cOh, no\u2014don\u2019t look!\u201d it’s still dark magic over there. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhose van?\u201d He nodded at a vibrant \u201880s rig with a big antenna.
\u201cJimmy\u2019s! Our DJ\u2014he runs the local radio, he’s visiting taking a break.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n\u201cTwo cops are posted up, and the Sunday music ladies are dishing corn soup,\u201d she said, grinning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd the drumming?\u201d\u201cJust the heartbeat of it all!\u201d She grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the glow. \u201cCome meet everyone!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/grok-ending2.jpg\")
<\/figure>\n\n\n\nEnd of Action Report: Top Secret <\/h2>\n\n\n\n
Project Crimson, unleashed with COV-19, stacked its goals: train the masses to obey in chaos, erode individual will for centralized rule, and drown reason with fear, shoving the Overton window wide open. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Public and online resistance met brutal, lopsided retaliation\u2014unwinnable by design. AI calculated three to four years of relentless hardship would prepare humanity for galactic war. When the galactic ships were launched and the war begun instead of panic and mass chaos there would be a population bored with yet another demoralizing inconvenient obstacle and the aliens would be met more with “so what” then the fear they could feed upon. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The aliens had their plans, seeding plastics and hijacking old dark-magic cults tied to military clout. Microplastics and aerial nanoparticle sprays\u2014their prep for invasion\u2014fattened the air and blood of humanity. The mystery schools, eager pawns, preened for their shadowy lords, certain of rewards.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Yet Dysmal Nitch flipped the script. Their defiance\u2014raw, clever, communal\u2014foiled the test, costing billions and exposing the rot. The aliens misjudged; the cults overreached. AI faltered, and the Nitch stood tall a quiet triumph over cosmic meddling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
the end<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\nEPILOGUE – GENERALS OFFICE:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
- Get the population used to obeying orders in a constantly shifting uncertain situation.<\/li>
- Convince the population to give up individual sovereignty to a central authority<\/li>
- Tailoring fears for a variety of audiences and pushing news well past the Overton window overwhelming the reasoning part of the brain. At all times the situation needed to feel unwinnable and all resistance needed to be met with an asymmetrical violent response completely out of proportion with the stated offense. <\/li>
- AI deduced that it would require three to four years of severe hardship and constant threat of worsening hardships to immunize the public against the coming galactic warfare. <\/li>
- Public was impregnated with three styles of petroleum carbon graphene products to help bio-modulate them towards easier global control as a defense against invader control. <\/li>
- The graphene turned out to increase efficiency of direct control but decreased people’s over all ability to think and react effectively. Unintended consequence came from lack of data on hostile fores.<\/li>
- The STRESS-TEST was to see how non-conforming people would react to alien craft they had not seen before. Ships were deployed to Dysmal Nitch. <\/li>
- The STRESS-TEST should be classified, dismissed and Dysmal Nitch should be off limits to all military for the next 150 years. <\/li>
- See attached list of malfunctions and tabulated costs. <\/li>
- AI failed on 32 of 40 predictions of the human reactions, see appendix 5 provided by StakeDeepAI <\/li>
- Recommend open investigation of the sub-operational forces at work within our military with ties to mystery school religions and how they have burrowed into the system and are a critical liability for any further deployment. <\/li><\/ul>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n- Images are generated via GROK 3 Beta<\/em><\/li>
- No AI was used to write this story<\/em>, AI edited grammar <\/em><\/li>
- I know this story makes no damn sense. lol <\/li><\/ul>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
“Cultist deep-state actors use petroleum to communicate with ancient, supernatural evil and co-opt a couple\u2019s new home, perched high on a hill, aiming to control the fleet of global defense ships. The Deep State is conducting a final test to gauge how effectively COV-19, wielded as a cudgel, has prepared Earth\u2019s population for an impending galactic war. The Satanic Deep State\u2019s AI has underestimated the residents of Dysmal Nitch, who, armed with old-school analog technologies and ancient wisdom, unite to defend their home.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":929,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[117,169,101,50],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/924"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=924"}],"version-history":[{"count":24,"href":"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/924\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":962,"href":"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/924\/revisions\/962"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/929"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=924"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=924"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dysmalnitch.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=924"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
- No AI was used to write this story<\/em>, AI edited grammar <\/em><\/li>
- Images are generated via GROK 3 Beta<\/em><\/li>