Tracey Rutledge

for @thenexusofsouls, the Creature

Tracey had been told that the hike to the cabin would be about an hour and a half long. For her, it took an extra fifteen. There weren't that many of the famous Ozarks in this part of Missouri, but the area around Sedalia had plenty of picturesque hills to keep a girl distracted.

Harland Cabin, that's what the locals called it. It had been abandoned for over a hundred fifty years, just a log cabin that some westward-bound pioneer had built back in the day. She hadn't cared much about the legends, personally. They were pretty standard: last known residents in the 19th Century meeting some vague grisly fate, a few lurid suggestions about daughters to keep things interesting, and Pettis County had itself a ghost story.

The story wasn't the important part. The important part was that the University of Central Missouri's history department had been running a pot since the Seventies, and no one had collected on it. For twenty bucks, you could be driven to the trail that would take you there, and all you had to do was stay alone in the cabin all weekend to win the pot.

No one had made it past the first night yet. The pot was up to five thousand dollars, and a certain physics major was determined to take that home. She moseyed through the woods with a backpack that had seen far scarier adventures than this, armed with a cell phone to call for rescue and enough camping supplies to sleep comfortably for two nights away from the world.

There were so many words here that he did not understand. Should he say that? He wanted to understand, but he could tell the girl was so guarded about this topic of conversation that he hesitated to ask. Which... was rare for him, a perpetually curious and knowledge-hungry individual. "I do not know... what a pentacle... or what a spell is... and I have never heard of a Pagan before," he simply said as a statement. If she felt like elaborating, he would be interested to hear, but if not, he would leave that conversation where it rested

"I have learned... about the Bible... but I was not aware... that there were other systems of belief," he shared, though he was lying right now. Not intentionally, and so perhaps that made it less a lie than a true misunderstanding. Nevertheless, he was not being truthful, unbeknownst to him.

In fact, he had heard of Paganism before and had been exposed to other systems of belief. The "Spirit of the Forest," as he'd been called by the old man's family many years ago, had been a pagan belief. The woodcut mask of the Green Man that had hung over the family's door, the offerings they'd left out for him in thanks, the bundles of herbs and little piles of salt they placed here and there to ward off or appease evil spirits, the prayers and practices for an abundant season, the insistence on respect for fairies and other trickster beings that lurked in the deep woods for fear of dire consequence should they be angered... all of these were attributable to Paganism, not Christianity. Adam just... genuinely did not know that. The family had blended together Christianity and Paganism so seamlessly that he had no idea they were practicing two separate systems of belief.

She pulled her bratwurst out of the fire, reaching for a bun. Tracey didn't see the need for sauces and dressings, she just took a bite as soon at it was safe to do so. After she swallowed, she continued. "My family's been Pagan since forever, though. We prayed to, like, nature spirits and stuff. Grandma was convinced that there were spirits in our garden that kept her plants healthy and made her medicines powerful. I'm pretty sure the comfrey tea she poured on the dirt in thanks was a fertilizer, but whatever."

I can easily see this fantasy world having idioms like "Never take the advice of a tree that's small enough to hug."

the way you frame your conversations is important! People with dementia are often, particularly at the earlier stages, very much aware that their memory is getting worse. This can make them very anxious, which isn't fun for anyone, least of all them. One of the most common things that people say to people with dementia is "do you remember ___?" as a way to try and prompt their memory. This feels helpful, but it's not. Because hey, in all likelihood, that person does not remember ___, and being confronted with this fact is not going to make them feel great. Remember that they literally have a degenerative brain disease; they're not going to suddenly regain their memories because you tested them. Instead, try talking about your own memories. Tell them what you remember. Tell it like a story. If they remember, then they can join in. If not, then hey, it's a nice story.

don't correct them if they say something wrong. Their version of reality is not going to be the same as yours. That's just a given. My grandma is often convinced that she's just on a very long holiday in a nice hotel, and that her dad is waiting outside in the car. I'm not going to tell her "uh, actually, you're in a care home and your dad died 50 years ago," because who's that going to help? Quite literally no-one. It'll just confuse her more, and she's already confused enough. Even if the person is saying something that's making them anxious - a common one is believing that people are stealing from them, or that someone is being unkind to them - then it's easier to try and distract them by trying to talk about something that you know makes them happy, rather than to outright tell them that they're wrong. Being consistently told that they're wrong can make them react defensively; they're not children, and they (usually) know it. It's just easier not to get into a confrontation.

get used to repetition. Don't get frustrated when you have the same conversation 25 times in two minutes. It's going to happen. For them, it's the first time you've had that conversation; they won't understand why you're angry at them for asking a question. It's completely normal to feel frustrated, but the onus is on you not to make it their problem. My grandma's short term memory is, charitably, about 3 seconds long. A conversation with her at this point is like rehearsing for a play; I know her lines, and I know mine. That's just how it is. She gets just as much joy out of telling me that she likes my cardigan for the 86th time as she did the first time she said it. People with dementia are not able to retain the information or the memory of that previous conversation; reminding them that you've already answered their question is just going to confuse and upset them.

don't take things personally. They might say things that are unkind. They might say completely inappropriate things. Again: their brain is deteriorating. It is a medical condition. They're not becoming bad people, or showing their 'true selves' to be evil and rage-fuelled. It's a combination of the fact that they're living in a perpetual state of confusion, which can lead to frustration and anger, and the fact that their ability to process and respond to information is affected by the dementia itself. If they say something cruel to you, you just have to take it on the chin and recognise it as a symptom of a disease that they're not able to control. Step out of the room for a moment if it gets too much. I've been fortunate in that my grandma has never experienced this symptom, but it's very common, and it's no reflection of you, or them.

don't treat them like children. My grandmother is 92 years old and she will look at you like you're the bane of her life if you try and tell her what to do, or use baby talk. Keep your sentences short and clear to avoid confusion, but don't ask them if they need you to clean their wittle fingies.

try and avoid open-ended questions, especially ones that involve memory recall, like "what did you do on the weekend?". My grandma was an absolute queen at making shit up when people asked her that, because she couldn't remember a damn thing, and she never liked to admit that she couldn't remember, because it made her stressed and anxious. "I picked up leaves" was her personal favourite, for some reason. I used to just tell her about my weekend instead, and sometimes she would joyfully tell me (completely falsely) that she also went to the shops, and that was much less stressful for her; she wasn't actively trying to come up with an answer to cover for her own lack of memory, and instead felt like she was part of the conversation on her own, equal terms.

most importantly: don't try and pull them back to reality. The best way I've learnt to communicate with anyone with dementia is to enter theirs instead. Sometimes, this is referred to as 'validation therapy'. It's about acknowledging that the reality of someone with dementia is as real to them as your reality is to you, and you're not going to be able to 'reorient' them to your version of reality, because they don't have the short term memory or ability to retain information that would enable that. Put simply: if my grandma asks when my uncle is going to come home, I gain nothing from (correctly) informing her that he's dead. This just upsets her, because every time she hears it, she's receiving the news of his death for the first time. That sends her into a spiral of grief and anxiety that remains even after the memory of his death has vanished again. Instead, I just tell her that he'll be home after lunch. She nods, accepts it, and we're both happy. My uncle is still dead, but in her world, he's going to come home soon. It's a way of having empathy for the person with dementia, and acknowledging that your reality, or objective 'truth', is not more important than their wellbeing.

If they leave the room, or you leave the room, and come back, greet them with their name/title as if nothing is amiss. "Hey, Grandma, how are you feeling?" It reminds them that you know them, that you have some kind of relationship to them, and that you're not just some stranger.

Also, if you ask how they're feeling, and they bring up their confusion, you can calmly tell them that "Yeah, that's to be expected. Why don't I fill you in?" and explain what's happening to them. I usually say that "You've lived for so long that your brain can't handle all of the memories, so it just started forgetting things. Didn't ask permission, either. Rude."

Every day, they wake up in a different body to what they went to sleep in, because they're growing. So if they're a bit clumsy or awkward... yeah, of course they are.

If you've done your job right, that "minor" inconvenience or scratch might just be the worst thing that's happened to them in months, or potentially in their lives. The tears aren't overreacting, they're just reacting like anyone would to such horror.

like, the combination of cheap, non-breathable materials flush against genitals seems like a lovely way to create a whole host of health problems. yeast infections, UTIs, the lot...

like, i wore panties for a huge part of my life. then switched to boxers and briefs, at first for gender reasons, but now whenever i'm running out of nice clothes from really needing to do laundry, i end up going back to panties for a while and fuck. they're personally uncomfortable (physically, not in a gender way) and i do know there are types that would be fine, but a lot are terrible

Underwear is meant to support what needs supporting, and to wick sweat/oil away from your skin for comfort while protecting your outer clothing from said sweat/oil. This polyester lacy nightmare that we have now does none of that.

one time i got a huge pile of stuff and he STILL said it and i said "dude, you would not be satisfied with all the riches of heaven!!" and he said "i don't even get a commission. i just love doing this."