#I'm sorry to be so long-winded but I really want to be thorough especially when it comes to CS

[gettothestabbing]

Putting in another Christian Science ask: what kind of position does Mary Baker Eddy have? As in, are you required to accept all of her pronouncements, and if not, what's the criteria for what isn't and is accepted? Is she a prophet, or just the person who figured out Christian Science?

This is one of the things that people wonder most about Christian Science, and which also invites comparison to Scientology, which during its founder's lifetime was constructed around his personality. First off, no one ever prays to her. She is not an intercessory figure. We are not required to have all the opinions Mrs. Eddy had as a person, but we do follow all her writings. The only writings of hers we do not follow are her older drafts of Science and Health. While they are historically and theologically notable, Christian Scientists only follow the final, authorized 1910 edition of the book, in accordance with her wishes. She also wrote a lot of poems. 7 of them are the lyrics of some of our most beloved hymns. But we do not go to her poetry for theological instruction.

Mrs. Eddy held a few titles in her lifetime, notably Discoverer and Founder, but the ones that have officially endured past her death are Leader and Pastor Emeritus. I think the term prophet would be appropriate too; I certainly consider her such. But most CS people would stick only to the titles she allowed in her lifetime. They do this out of respect for her heightened spiritual understanding.

For those unaware, a brief explanation. [Well as brief as I, the perpetually long-winded person, can be.] Mary Baker Glover Eddy (1821-1910) was an American woman who had poor health and bad luck in marriage for the first half of her life. After a bad fall on ice in 1866, attending doctors told her that death was imminent and they could do no more for her. She asked to be given her Bible to read, and turned to the gospels. Reading a story of one of Christ Jesus' healings (which one has been long forgotten, even by Mary herself), she soon rose from the bed, and, after a short relapse later that day which she treated through the same method, she was fully healed of the injury. She spent the next three years completely focused on reading Scripture and praying to try and figure out how the healing had occurred.

The rest of her life was devoted to writing Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, a text Christian Scientists hold with the Bible as central to our faith and practice. Though first published in 1875, Mrs. Eddy continually revised and worked on this book for the rest of her life, with the final edition coming out the year she died. She always described this as being " a scribe under orders." She hoped that all Christian churches would read and accept the ideas in her book and that it would leaven the whole of Christianity and elevate worldwide Christian practice. This did not happen, and while some considered her ideas helpful to their understanding, many more clergy and Christians were openly hostile or declared it unchristian.

So eventually Mrs. Eddy founded her own church, now known as the Church of Christ, Scientist. In her lifetime, the Mother Church in Boston was built and then extended to fit the rapidly growing congregation. There was a room built in the original edifice called the Mother's Room, specifically for her to use and take rest in before or after giving a sermon. Many Christian Scientists called Mrs. Eddy "Mother" during her lifetime. She wrote against this several times, but among the people who worked in her household, she was less strict about this affectionate title. No one uses it today, and it would be weird and frowned upon if they did.

After her three years of study, Mrs. Eddy increasingly became famous as a healer. People would be healed passing her on the street, having only made eye contact with her, or while attending her lectures and sermons. But most healing accounts were the result of direct conversation with her or the patient requesting her to come. There are hundreds if not a thousand or more accounts of her healing works, and the Mother Church (the central governing body of CS) works hard to preserve, retrieve, and triple-check the authenticity of all such accounts.

Mrs. Eddy is deeply revered by Christian Scientists today as in her lifetime. I would never deny that there were personality-cult elements in the first generation of CS believers. It was easy, due to personal love for her and to her many healing works, for early students to make the mistake of focusing on her personality and imagine her as more than she said she was. Some students would lavish her with praise that made her uncomfortable and was theologically inappropriate, such as calling her Christ come again or claiming (as Bliss Knapp famously did in his 1946 book) that she was the woman crowned with stars from Revelation.

The Bliss Knapp book, The Destiny of the Mother Church, was controversially printed and briefly distributed by the Mother Church in 1990, which caused a minor schism within CS. The Church Manual has a section about Incorrect Literature, which this book clearly violated:

No Incorrect Literature. Sect. 11.  A member of this Church shall neither buy, sell, nor circulate Christian Science literature which is not correct in its statement of the divine Principle and rules and the demonstration of Christian Science. Also the spirit in which the writer has written his literature shall be definitely considered. His writings must show strict adherence to the Golden Rule, or his literature shall not be adjudged Christian Science. A departure from the spirit or letter of this By-Law involves schisms in our Church and the possible loss, for a time, of Christian Science. (Manual of The Mother Church, Mary Baker Eddy, p. 43:21)

It was done for monetary reasons, which the Directors admitted, and has only recently been removed from publication. Bliss Knapp is one of the few students who both knew Mrs. Eddy personally and who proclaimed such heretical statements about her without being rebuked by her (as she was already dead) or being excommunicated. But this is purely due to how he set up his will and this book in trust, leading to the complicated monetary/theological situation in the 1990s. Had she read the book, Mrs. Eddy would have never allowed it to be published.

There are a lot of directions this could go, but I think the best way to explain Mrs. Eddy's ongoing role in the church is to tell you about Augusta Stetson. Augusta was an immensely popular preacher of Christian Science. Trained as a professional elocutionist, she converted to CS after hearing Mrs. Eddy speak in 1884. Although Mrs. Eddy disliked Stetson's style of preaching, she still sent her in 1886 to help found a church in New York City. Stetson's personal magnetism led her to develop her own cult of personality and enormous influence within this branch church. It became the largest and richest of all the branch churches.

Even when preaching was replaced with reading the weekly Bible Lesson [explained in a later paragraph], Stetson would not stop preaching until Mrs. Eddy personally told her to, and this change did not lessen her absolute control over that church congregation. Stetson held the First Reader position for so many years that as a direct result, the Church Manual specifically includes a term of three years for readership. Mrs. Eddy cared for Stetson personally, and for twenty years she tried to alternately praise and rebuke her into correct behavior, but she was not stern enough to cause Stetson to truly repent. Stetson saw herself, and soon styled herself to others, as Mrs. Eddy's successor. Mrs. Eddy and Stetson had their final conversation in 1908. Stetson appeared repentant, but the next year, she wrote a letter to Mrs. Eddy speaking of her in deifying, heretical terms, at which point Mrs. Eddy sharply rebuked her and asked for the Board of Directors of the Mother Church to investigate her. When Stetson heard of Mrs. Eddy's death, she declared that Mrs. Eddy would rise from the grave, appear to her personally first, and then appear to the rest of the world. She repeated this claim the rest of her own life, while running an offshoot of CS centered around her 'Church Triumphant,' noted as being anti-CS, anti-Catholic, anti-Semitic, and promoting protofascist ideas and Nordic supremacy at various points in the 1920s. [None of these elements were ever present in CS theology or literature, naturally.]

I think that many people unfamiliar with Mrs. Eddy would assume that she was a person like Stetson. Mrs. Eddy never claimed to be a second Christ, the woman in Revelation prophecy, a reincarnation of any Biblical figure, or any part of the Godhead. Students who claimed this were rebuked universally. We refer to Mrs. Eddy as the Discoverer, Founder, and Leader of Christian Science. The discovery and founding are complete. They are not perpetual, as Christian Science recognizes no successor to Mrs. Eddy's work or position. She retains the titles of Leader and Pastor Emeritus.

Partly due to students like Stetson, who both wanted her position for themselves and attempted to flatter or deify her inappropriately, and partly because of the many offshoot spiritual movements that tried to appropriate her ideas without giving her credit for introducing them and tried to remove the Christian theology that gave those ideas backing, Mrs. Eddy was very firm on remaining Pastor Emeritus after her death. She often said that those who sought her [as a person] would find her in her writings. She also spoke out emphatically against Spiritualism in her writings and speeches. Our theology holds that there are no ghosts, nor can there be any communication between the dead and the living. Any Christian Scientist who claimed or claims to be in communication with Mrs. Eddy personally after her death is rebuked or excommunicated, depending on the extent of the claim made. Her leadership of the church is purely in her writings, in the ideas she gave us "as a scribe under orders."

But, to be fair, there is a lot of respect and interest in Mrs. Eddy's personality anyway. She was a warm, loving person. She was very strict about cleanliness. She loved ice cream. There are a multitude of church-sanctioned biographies about her, most of which I've read, some of which were even part of my homework for Christian Science Nursing training. Growing up, I had a children's book about her life.

Many CS churches also have one or more portraits of her, usually as an older woman with a serene expression. And because more CS churches have portraits of her than of Christ Jesus, I have been asked more than once if this means that we see her as a replacement for Jesus. To this I would say that Christ Jesus lived long enough ago that CS people are uncomfortable choosing a portrait of him, whereas Mrs. Eddy lived recently enough that we know for sure what she looked like. But I admit that it does invite suspicions of a cult of personality more than anything else.

In turning her church away from personal preaching by establishing the system of Bible Lessons and readership, Mrs. Eddy denied power to those who would seek, like Stetson, to take the theological rudder of the church away from her writings. Bible Lessons are compiled by a committee within the Mother Church three years in advance. There is one every week of the year, in a rotating system of subjects set out by Mrs. Eddy, so that we have each subject twice a year. The Sunday sermon is always a reading of this weekly Bible Lesson, with the First Reader reading the Bible citations and the Second Reader reading those from Science and Health. The books are meant to be read together, but the Bible always comes first. Wednesday sermons are compiled by the First Reader, but they must purely consist of quotations from these two books, which we collectively consider our Pastor.

Mrs. Eddy as Pastor Emeritus is similarly in a position in our church from which she cannot be removed. To pretend that CS owes her nothing would be wrong, and would inevitably lead us theologically astray. Every splinter group off of CS makes this mistake, and all of them lack the power to heal that CS demonstrates. Mrs. Eddy learned very early that the only way to heal was to understand that it was not a personal power. Only by knowing God as the only power and healer could she see others be healed while praying for them.

Sometime in the 1870s, she did take personal pride in having healed a little girl. When she reached home, a message had come saying the child had relapsed. In grief and repentance, she fell to her knees and spent the next several minutes repenting of this self-centered pride and giving the glory back to God. Soon, another message came from the family saying that the girl was perfectly well.

It was a lesson swiftly and absolutely learned, and it shows how Mrs. Eddy saw herself. She was the scribe under orders, no more and no less. To finish up, here's what she said in her Message to the Mother Church for 1901:

Finally, brethren, wait patiently on God; return blessing for cursing; be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good; be steadfast, abide and abound in faith, understanding, and good works; study the Bible and the textbook of our denomination; obey strictly the laws that be, and follow your Leader only so far as she follows Christ. Godliness or Christianity is a human necessity: man cannot live without it; he has no intelligence, health, hope, nor happiness without godliness. (Message to The Mother Church for 1901, Mary Baker Eddy, p. 34:20–28) (emphasis added)

[magistralucis]

67 for soft gop bromance please :3 Sorry if i'm late, was distracted making bliny!

67: “Have you seen my contacts?”

———————-

“Lyu… have you seen my contacts?”

Louis looks up from the newspaper. Mike is standing uneasily at the doorway. There are only two applications for that nickname, unbearable endearment and a plaintive call for help; both of them require Louis’s full and immediate attention, which he is only too happy to give. “No, but we will find them.” He says, and abandons the paper, taking his beloved by the hand. “Lead the way, Misha, where did you see them last?”

It’s been a fortnight since Mike adopted contacts. He’s not fully switched over and perhaps never will be, as he has long since known he looks appropriately bookish with his silver-rimmed glasses: good for academia, long bouts of reading, and sealing business deals. But glasses are external accessories - very separate, even from the individual - and one would be justified in wanting a change after over ten years of wearing one. So they went and got him some contacts, and while they were there they had even better glasses made, the case of which Mike is clutching in one hand at the moment.

It is still what is more familiar to him. Habit is a persistent creature.

“I could have sworn I left them by the bedside table, but I was very tired.”

Louis looks closely into his eyes. The same shade of dark, luscious brown as always. “You’re sure you didn’t sleep with them on?”

Mike looks affronted. “I think I should be in more pain if I had. And pain is a reliable narrator.”

“And we don’t want that.” Louis shudders even thinking about it. He’s already not into the idea of putting anything on his eyes, an added pain factor would be his personal hell. He puts an arm around his lover. “Bedroom first, I suppose.”

That’s the other thing about those contacts. They provide the only negative context in which either of them can use that phrase.

Not that that’s a relevant mood right now.

The contact lenses are not in the bedroom. After a thorough sweep (Mike puts on his glasses for the search) they find the bottle of lens cleaning solution and an emergency tab of disposable lenses, but not the actual case. Louis wonders if it’s under the cat, and goes to investigate; Pyotr Mikhailovich, it turns out, is enjoying a nap on the living room sofa, and when poked and moved he protests very loudly. “Izvini.” Louis laughs, petting the tabby on the head and tucking a catnip toy between his paws as an apology. “I was wondering if you were sitting on something very important; you’ve better things to sit on, is all.”

No luck is had in the living room otherwise. Nor the bathroom, or the guest room, nor between intricate arrangements of Louis’s potted plants. About half an hour has passed by the time Mike gives up, sighing loudly as he sinks into a chair. “You know, Lyova, I do wonder why I bother. This isn’t even the first time I’ve misplaced the contacts; I’m getting old, and every day it’s harder for me to hold onto the small things.”

“I’ll buy you a bigger case.” He may not be a fan of contacts, but let no one say Louis isn’t supportive. He gestures to Mike’s new glasses. “I’ve seen one that was a similar size to your glasses case. It was even roughly the same colour and shape, just with compartments for the cleaning fluid and whatnot inside ”

“That’s all very well, but we’re going to need a radically different colour. Having two cases that look the same is introducing more sources of confusion in my life.”

“I’ll try, but I can’t promise the different colour. I can, however, stick a pair of googly eyes on top of it so you can tell them apart.”

Mike looks at him bemusedly. Tries very hard not to laugh, but fails.Louis is pleased. That’s cheered him right up. “Besides, if you do decide the experiment wasn’t worth it… you know I love seeing you with glasses on, regardless.” He gently tucks a stray strand of Mike’s hair back and kisses his forehead, then his nose, nuzzling gently. “Especially before bed, when you’re reading, or when you come to visit me in the kitchen. I can’t resist you like that.”

“Oh, I don’t know about the kitchen. They steam up in there.”

“And I get to wipe them clean for you. Look on the bright side of life.” Louis moves in closer, gently easing the other’s chin upwards. “If you were ever worried these don’t do anything for you aesthetically… that was never the case, and you’re gorgeous, and I’d like to show my appreciation.”

Some mumbling. Rolled eyes and a veiled protest. But Mike lets him appreciate him soon enough, as he always does: they kiss twice, first briefly and the second with more depth, arms winding around each other’s shoulders. In fact, things have started to heat up by the time they pull away. Literally. “I am very flattered,” Mike says through fogged lenses and a boyish smile. “But I think we also prefer it when those don’t get in the way of our passions… and there ought to be a compromise somewhere.”

“…”

He tugs playfully at Louis’s collar. “I want to see you, too.”

Louis gulps, dazed and delighted. “Let’s see if we really can’t find your contacts.”

***

They find them eventually. Louis’s suspicions were right the first time, but the location was wrong. After Pyotr Mikhailovich vacates the sofa, he makes his slow and regal way to the cat bed, cosy and roofed and out of the way in the corner. Kicking around in it are more catnip toys, a treat ball, a felt mouse - and the contact lens case. Mike’s expression is priceless when Louis finally extracts the case, its edges now considerably battered and the safety of its contents questionable. “I’m glad it didn’t leak, I guess.” He says weakly. “But if… if I might take you up on your offer.”

“What, googly eyes included?”

“Nngh.”

(He takes that as a yes.)

[pure-o-soft]

(1/2) I think I may have POCD but no official diagnosis. I briefly mentioned it to uni therapy, but due to fucked up circumstances I have to wait 4 weeks between appointments. I've had many panic attacks over this. I can't keep obsessing over it and I feel guilty in indulging anything remotely sexual, even if it has nothing to do with the obsessive thoughts. I'm sick of being triggered all the time and it ruins my day every time.

(2/2) I’ve confided in a few friends about this, but the first one I went to reacted horribly, treating me like I was… that kind of sick monster and saying I gave her a panic attack and she lost sleep after she banned me from a server I was a long-time mod for (didn’t wanna talk to me), then blocking me. I feel like I’m annoying the other, more accepting friends because I constantly need reassurance that I’m good but at this point I barely know what’s real anymore

hey there angel!

I’m really sorry to hear about how these thoughts are affecting your life and relationships. I’m also sorry to hear that your friend reacted badly when you confided in her about what you’re going through. Unfortunately, stigma is real and not everyone is going to understand what it is you’re going through. That must have been hard after opening up! But I’m glad that you have other friends you can confide in!!

It’s good that schools are starting to offer counseling and therapy, but just as you said, they are often not very consistent or thorough. Also, you’re university might be different, but in most of the universities i’ve heard of, they’ll have to contact someone else outside of the school in order for you to get a diagnosis and treatment (though like i said, your uni might be different, so you can check into that!). 

I can understand how all of this would be wearing down on you, especially constantly getting triggered and having panic attacks. There are some coping mechanisms you can do in the meantime to help manage the obsessing and anxiety. 

1. This one is just general advice, but you can try naming your intrusive thoughts. It can be something silly if you prefer, or just a name, it can be anything you want! This can help put some distance between these thoughts and yourself, and enforce that these thoughts are not you. 

 2. Respond to your intrusive thoughts as sarcastically as you can, as if someone said something really ridiculous. So for example, if you get an intrusive thought like "you're a predator", you can respond (out loud if it helps) "yeah yeah, whatever you say, Patricia." Making light of these thoughts tells your brain that they don't mean anything, they are fleeting and have no power over you! 

 3. An acknowledging technique in order to not do any avoiding compulsions. When you get an intrusive thought, take a deep breath, and close your eyes if it helps you focus, and think "okay, I've had this thought. This thought is a symptom and it bothered me. But I'm going to continue what I was doing now." Take another deep breath and open your eyes. It's okay if you get more intrusive thoughts or urges to do compulsions after you do this. Just repeat the exercise 

4. Grounding. I know that sometimes when we are in a spike or having an anxiety attack, it's hard to know where to start and stop. Grounding techniques can help get you out of your head and into the world around you! There are many ways to ground yourself, but i'll give you one example: Take notice and count 5 things that you can see (a chair, a bird, the tv, etc.). Take notice and count four things that you can feel (your shirt on your back, your feet on the floor, the textures of your clothes, your chest moving from breathing etc.) Take notice of 3 things you can hear (tv, people talking, fridge whirring, wind, rain, birds etc.) Take notice what you can smell and what you can taste (detergent, cooking, rain, the last thing you ate, toothpaste etc.) This one especially helps you pay attention to what's happening immediately around you! 

You can get through this, dear

[brentbennett]

Umm I'm also a huge fan of your writing and ghost!Shane is everything to me, so if you feel like writing another prompt, I was discussing this idea with a fellow Shyan fan and would love to see it brought to life! Basically Ryan is a paranormal detective investigating a very famous paranormal hot spot, and Shane is a ghost who just wants some attention. Hijinks ensue. Bonus points if Shane argues about ghosts while he's a ghost ("it's just the wind," his disembodied voice says 😂)

tysm i’m a huge fan of YOUR writing as well!!! thanks for this prompt!!! i LOVED it lmao. also this is like, a pre getting together fic?? i didn’t want to make it too long lol. also, shout out to @faequill for coming up with the idea of shane being a park ranger, a headcanon i 100% support :)

“It’s okay, Ryan, you’re gonna be okay, ghosts can’t hurt you,” Ryan says to himself. He’s shaking, and it’s not from the wind; even though Philadelphia is cold, Ryan’s trembling stems from being scared shitless in this jail cell. Ryan’s gonna have a word with whoever sent him to Eastern State Penitentiary if he ever gets out of here.

“I mean, ghosts can’t hurt you physically… but emotionally? I can insult you all I want,” a voice says. Ryan turns around, shining his flashlight every which way in an attempt to find the source of the noise.

“Don’t worry, it’s just the wind! Ghosts aren’t real,” the voice continues.

“Who’s there?” Ryan calls, mustering up all of his bravery. He shines his flashlight near the bars of the cell, but he doesn’t have very much room to move because of the lack of space.

“Oh you know, Al Capone,” the voice says with a strange lilt. It’s almost like the voice is mocking Ryan.  

“Where are you?” Ryan asks. The panic is settling it at this point. He figures it’s best if he knows his proximity to (Al?) whatever this thing may be. Besides, it doesn’t hurt to ask, especially since this ghost seems so chatty.

“Right in front of you.” Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a translucent manifestation of a person is standing right in front of him.

“No offense, but you look nothing like how I imagined Al Capone to look,” Ryan says, lowering his flashlight. The ghost laughs, and Ryan’s fear slowly ebbs away. A ghost wouldn’t laugh at his joke if it had malicious intent, right?

“Thanks,” the ghost says dryly.

Ryan shines his flashlight right up to the ghostly figure’s face. It’s a very nice face. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m living out the rest of my existence in this shitty cell. Or at least, I was, until you came along. Who are you, anyway?” the ghost asks him.

“My name’s Ryan. I’m a paranormal detective,” Ryan answers. The ghost perks up at that.

“Wait, can you bring me back?” the ghost asks. It sounds….desperate?

“What do you mean, bring you back? Like, bring you back to life?” Ryan replies. He’s shocked; does he have that ability? Is that even possible?

“No, like bring me back a soda. Yes, bring me back to life,” the ghost says, exasperated. Ryan just raises an eyebrow.

The ghost steps closer to him, hands on Ryan’s shoulders. They get colder the longer the ghost has his hands on Ryan, but Ryan is too stunned to move. He’s no longer afraid of this ghost; why would a ghost be pleading with him? A part of Ryan really wants to hear this ghost out.

“I wasn’t supposed to die,” the ghost continues. “When I was alive, they locked me up in here, but I was innocent! I was framed!” The ghost sounds slightly hysterical.

“Dude, that sucks,” Ryan says, backing away from ghost to get away from the cold. He doesn’t know what to do or how to help.

“Nah, I’m just joshing you. I’ve gotta work on my acting skills if I’m ever gonna make it in Hollywood, you know?” the ghost replies.

Okay, what? First this ghost scares Ryan out of his mind, and then he lies about being framed? What is going on here? Nothing in his research is making sense with what the ghost is telling him, except for Al Capone, but even then, Hollywood has nothing to do with anything.

“Uh, I don’t know what’s going on here but I’m gonna leave,” Ryan says, backing away slowly.

“But Ryan!! Pay attention to meeee,” the ghost says, whining.

Ryan just sighs. “Ghost, look -”

“Call me Shane.”

Ryan sighs again. “Shane, look, I’ve got a job to do. I know you’re dead and that really freakin’ sucks but man, I’ve gotta investigate!”

“Let me help you, then. I haven’t been out of this cell in centuries,” Shane says.

“Uh, alright, I guess,” Ryan says. “Lead the way.”

The ghost goes through the cell bars, which makes Ryan smile. That is, until the cell bars get stuck, which results in a mini freak out until he manages to get the bars open.

They walk down a long hallway, Ryan jumping every so often at whatever peculiar sounds reach his ears. He hears a rat scuttling across the floor, he hears footsteps above him, and he freaks out. Shane, however, is largely unresponsive. He just waits patiently until Ryan is done freaking out, and then they venture forth into the heart of the jail.

“So, uh -” Whatever Ryan was going to say next is interrupted by a force slamming into him. He falls to the ground, the flashlight falling out of his hand and rolling away. “What the fuck, what was that?” he asks, but Shane’s on it immediately.

“It’s a demon, but relax,” Shane says, gearing up to fight the creature.

“What do you mean relax?” Ryan shouts. He watches, terrified, as Shane somehow fends the demon away. Ryan looks at him incredulously.

“What? I’m a supernatural being, Ryan, don’t look so surprised!” Shane says.

“But you can fight off demons? I’ve never ever heard of a ghost doing that,” Ryan says. He picks himself back up and dusts himself off.

“Maybe I’m just magical. I’m the first magical ghost in existence, tell that to your team! I’m sure you and other paranormal investigators will love to hear it,” Shane replies.

Ryan narrows his eyes. Magical ghost or not, there’s something decidedly….different about Shane. Maybe it’s the fact that his ghost is only semi-transparent, like he doesn’t fully belong in this world…

“Tell me the truth this time. Who are you?” Ryan asks.

“Wow, not even a thank you? I saved your life and you’re still interrogating me? How rude! I guess I’ll just leave you for dead next time,” Shane says with a smile.

Ryan just rolls his eyes. “If you’re not going to be serious then I’m leaving.”

“No, wait, I’m sorry, I’ll tell you,” Shane says. “I used to work here before I died, and I’m a park ranger on the side. There was some kind of accident at work, I don’t really remember. One minute, I was doing my park ranger duties, and the next, I’m here in this musty old prison. Guess I died on the way to hospital, or something.”

Ryan shakes his head. “There’s been no recent deaths reported here or in the surrounding area,” he replies, going through the facts in his head. He would’ve known if someone would’ve died here, his team would have told him. Unless there was a lapse in judgement or someone forgot to cross reference sources, that is, but usually the research department is pretty thorough.

“But, I’m sure I died! I’m almost positive that’s how I got here,” Shane says. Ryan just nods, thinking. Maybe Shane isn’t dead after all! Maybe he has just enough supernatural energy to fend off demons, but not enough to completely pass onto the other side…

“Do you know what hospital you were taken to?” Ryan asks. Shane shakes his head. “Well, looks like I’m going to be visiting every hospital in town until I find you.”

“Oh, so you’re just going to leave me here? Alone, in this dank ass cell? With no one to talk to or give me attention? I’m honestly offended,” Shane’s ghost hollers, getting louder as Ryan leaves.

Ryan goes to the general hospital first. He figures that there will be less people, but then again, he doesn’t know how badly Shane’s injuries are. If he gets there in time, though, maybe he can reconnect Shane’s body and his spirit! Not that he knows how to do that, of course, but there’s a first time for everything and there’s probably plenty of articles online for him to look at.

Thankfully, Ryan’s right the first time. There is in fact a Shane at the hospital he visits, and he’s let into Shane’s hospital room almost immediately. He pulls up a chair and starts talking, a little bit awkward.

“Hey, so my name’s Ryan. I met your ghost at the Penitentiary and, well, you weren’t the happiest of ghosts out there. Sarcastic, sure, but there was something off about you. Thanks for saving my life, by the way. That was nice of you…” Ryan trails off, unsure. “Uh, I know you can’t hear me, because your nurse told me you’re in a coma, but I just came by to tell you to stay strong and, uh, I hope your ghost gets out of jail.” He’s silent, then, listening to the steady beep, beep, beep, of the heart monitor.

“I, uh, wanted to try to connect your spirit back to your body but I’m not exactly sure how that’s going to pan out, so bear with me?” Ryan fumbles for his phone and starts looking up how to reconnect a spirit to it’s body and then he performs the necessary rituals, which are a lot simpler than he thought they were.

When Shane doesn’t immediately respond, Ryan is pretty dejected, but at least he could say he tried. With a sigh, he exits Shane’s hospital room.

Shane’s eyes open the same instance the door closes.