Look for unusual tracks or sounds in the area. Mona suggests keeping a journal of sightings to track patterns.

Yes, with practice and patience. Mona recommends meditation and connecting with experienced psychics for mentorship.

Poltergeists often manifest through unexplained noises and moving objects. Mona notes that they thrive on attention, so staying calm is key.

Carry protective charms or crystals, and regularly cleanse your space with sage or salt, as Mona suggests.

Yes, through respectful and cautious use of spirit boards or pendulums, always closing the session properly, as Mona advises.

Dear Mona,

My sister evacuated to Portland two weeks ago with her husband and three kids. I’m staying in Daybridge—I have a job I can’t leave, elderly parents who refuse to evacuate, and honestly, I believe the vessels will succeed.

But now my sister isn’t speaking to me. She sent me one text: “I can’t believe you’re risking your life and Mom and Dad’s lives for a job and blind faith. If you die on December 21st, I’ll never forgive myself or you.”

I don’t know how to bridge this gap. We’ve always been close, and now there’s this enormous divide between us. She thinks I’m being reckless. I think she’s being paranoid. Neither of us can understand the other’s choice.

How do I maintain a relationship with someone when our decisions about December 21st are destroying our ability to communicate?

• Staying Behind in Daybridge

Dear Staying Behind,

Your sister’s text reveals something important: her anger is fear. “I’ll never forgive myself or you,” means “I’m terrified you’re going to die and I won’t be there.”

Fear often masquerades as judgment. When we’re scared for people we love, we sometimes express that fear as criticism of their choices because criticism feels more controllable than terror.

Here’s what I suggest: Write her a letter (not a text—a real letter) that acknowledges her fear without defending your choice. Something like:

“I know you’re scared for me. I know my decision to stay feels reckless to you. I’m not asking you to agree with my choice—I’m asking you to trust that I’m making the choice that feels right for my life, just like you made the choice that feels right for yours. I love you. I need you to know that whether December 21st goes well or badly, I don’t want our last communication to be anger. Can we find a way to love each other despite this disagreement?”

Don’t argue about who’s right. Don’t try to convince her that your choice is valid, or hers is excessive. Just acknowledge that you’re both scared and you both love each other.

Fear makes people rigid. Love requires flexibility. Give her space to be afraid while maintaining your boundary that you’ve made your choice.

And if she can’t accept that right now? That’s her process to work through. You can’t control her response—you can only control whether you reach out with honesty and compassion.

Send the letter. Then wait. Fear eventually softens if love is underneath it.

• Mona

Dear Mona,

I’m experiencing grief for my neighbor, who’s a vessel, and I feel ridiculous about it because he’s still alive. He’s literally alive, living next door, walking his dog every morning. But I’m grieving him like he’s already gone.

Every time I see him, I think, “twenty days left” or “fifteen days left,” and I feel this crushing sadness. I’ve started avoiding him because I don’t know how to talk to someone I’m already mourning.

Is this normal? Am I being morbid? How do I interact with someone who’s still alive but might not be in three weeks?

• Grieving the Living

Dear Grieving the Living,

What you’re experiencing is called anticipatory grief, and it’s completely normal. It’s the grief we feel when we know loss is coming—when we’re watching someone die slowly from illness, when we’re preparing for inevitable separation, when we’re facing the probable death of someone we care about.

Anticipatory grief is complicated because the person is still here, still present, still alive—but your mind is already beginning the work of letting them go. It’s like standing at the edge of loss, experiencing the beginning stages of grief before the actual death occurs.

Here’s the hard truth: anticipatory grief is a form of protection. Your psyche is trying to cushion the blow by beginning the grieving process early. But it comes with a cost—it can make you emotionally absent from the person you’re grieving, even while they’re still alive.

Your neighbor is walking his dog. He’s living his final weeks. And you’re avoiding him because you’re already treating him as gone.

I understand the impulse. But consider this: what if he survives? What if December 21st goes well, and he comes back? How will you feel knowing you spent his final weeks avoiding him because you’d already written him off as dead?

And if he doesn’t survive? How will you feel knowing his last weeks included a neighbor who couldn’t look at him because you were too consumed by anticipatory grief?

Here’s my suggestion: Acknowledge your grief privately, but show up for him publicly. When you see him walking his dog, say hello. Ask how he’s doing. Have normal human interactions that treat him as alive, because he is alive.

You don’t have to pretend December 21st isn’t happening. But you also don’t have to let it consume every interaction. He’s still here. He still exists in the present tense. Honor that.

Your grief is valid. Your fear is understandable. But don’t let anticipatory grief steal the time you still have with him.

Show up. Say hello. Let him be alive while he still is.

• Mona

Dear Mona,

My wife is a vessel. We’ve been married for twelve years. And I’m furious with her.

Everyone keeps telling me I should be supportive, that I should honor her choice, that I should spend these final weeks being loving and present. But I’m just angry. I’m angry that she volunteered without really discussing it with me first. I’m angry that she’s choosing this over our marriage, over our future, over me.

And I feel like a terrible person for being angry at someone who’s trying to save the city. Everyone sees her as a hero. I see her as my wife who’s abandoning me.

How do I process this anger when I’m supposed to be supportive? How do I grieve someone I’m furious with?

• Angry and Ashamed

Dear Angry and Ashamed,

Your anger is valid. Full stop.

Let me say that again because I suspect you need to hear it: Your anger is completely, entirely, legitimately valid.

Your wife made a unilateral decision that will fundamentally alter or end your life together. You have every right to be furious about that.

The myth of the “supportive spouse” erases the reality that vessel families are experiencing profound betrayal alongside profound loss. Your wife chose something bigger than your marriage. She prioritized collective needs over individual commitments. And you’re allowed to be angry about that.

Here’s what nobody talks about: You can be angry and grieving simultaneously. You can be furious with her choice and terrified of losing her. You can resent her decision and love her desperately. These emotions don’t cancel each other out—they coexist in the messy, complicated reality of loving someone who’s chosen to die.

Stop trying to resolve your anger into something more palatable. Stop trying to transform it into acceptance or support or noble grief. Your anger exists. It deserves space.

What you do with that anger matters, though. You can be angry without being cruel. You can acknowledge your fury without making her final weeks about your pain. You can process your rage privately while still showing up for her publicly.

Here’s my practical suggestion: Find a therapist who specializes in complicated grief. Find a space where you can express your anger fully—where you can scream and rage and say all the things you can’t say to your wife. Process your fury somewhere safe.

And then, when you’re with your wife, you can make a choice: Do you want her final weeks to be consumed by your anger, or do you want to give her (and yourself) something else?

You’re not choosing between anger and support. You’re choosing between expressing anger in every moment or finding designated spaces for it.

Your anger is real. Your grief is real. Your love is real. All of it can be true at once.

Be angry. Get help processing that anger. And then decide what you want these final weeks to look like.

You’re not a terrible person. You’re a person facing something impossible. Give yourself permission to feel everything you’re feeling.

• Mona

Dear Mona,

I evacuated Daybridge three weeks ago. I’m staying with family in Seattle. And I feel like a coward every single day.

My friends stayed. My coworkers stayed. People I respect made the decision to remain in Daybridge and trust the vessels. And I left.

I know intellectually that evacuation is a valid choice. But emotionally, I feel like I abandoned my community in its moment of greatest need. I feel like I’m the person who runs while others stay to fight.

Everyone in Seattle keeps telling me I made the smart choice, the safe choice. But I don’t feel smart. I feel ashamed.

How do I reconcile the choice I made with the person I thought I was?

• Coward in Seattle

Dear Coward in Seattle,

You’re not a coward. You made a survival decision in an impossible situation. But I understand why you feel like one.

Here’s what’s happening: You’re experiencing survivor’s guilt before anyone has actually died. You’re pre-loading yourself with shame for surviving something that hasn’t happened yet.

Let me reframe this for you: You didn’t abandon your community. You made a different risk assessment than your friends and coworkers made. That’s not cowardice—that’s individual decision-making in the face of uncertainty.

Your friends who stayed aren’t braver than you. They’re not more loyal or more committed. They just calculated the risks differently. They made a choice. You made a different choice. Neither choice is morally superior.

The myth of the hero who stays versus the coward who flees is exactly that—a myth. Real courage isn’t about physical location. Real courage is making the choice that’s right for you and living with the consequences.

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: On December 22nd, someone’s choice will look vindicated and someone’s choice will look foolish. If the vessels succeed, everyone who stayed will feel validated, and everyone who evacuated will feel like they overreacted. If the vessels fail, everyone who evacuated will feel validated, and everyone who stayed will be dead or traumatized.

But you don’t know which outcome will occur. Nobody does. So you made the choice that felt survivable to you, and that’s valid.

Stop comparing your choice to other people’s choices. Stop measuring your courage against their courage. You’re not in competition for who made the “right” decision because there is no objectively right decision.

Here’s what I want you to do: Write down why you evacuated. Write the actual reasons—maybe you have family who need you, maybe you have anxiety that makes staying untenable, maybe you just couldn’t face the possibility of dimensional collapse. Whatever your reasons, write them down.

Then read them and ask yourself: Were these valid reasons for the person I was on the day I made this choice?

If the answer is yes, then you made the right choice for you. And that’s enough.

Your friends staying doesn’t invalidate your leaving. Their choice doesn’t negate yours. You can respect their decision to stay while honoring your own decision to go.

And if December 21st goes badly and your friends are hurt or killed? You’ll grieve. But you won’t have been a coward for surviving. You’ll just be someone who made a different choice.

Let go of the comparison. Trust that you made the best decision you could with the information you had. And forgive yourself for being human enough to choose survival.

• Mona

Dear Mona,

My teenage daughter is obsessed with the vessels. She’s following every news update, reading every article, watching every interview. She’s made a shrine in her bedroom with photos of all seven vessels. She talks about them constantly.

I’m worried that this obsession is unhealthy. She’s not processing the reality of what might happen—she’s romanticizing sacrifice and heroism. She keeps saying things like “they’re so brave” and “I wish I could do something that meaningful.”

How do I help her process December 21st without destroying her idealism? How do I protect her from the trauma of watching people she’s idolizing possibly die?

• Worried Parent

Dear Worried Parent,

Your daughter is doing something developmentally normal: she’s trying to make sense of an incomprehensible situation by creating a narrative she can understand. Vessels as heroes. Sacrifice as meaningful. Death as noble.

It’s easier than the alternative: randomness, waste, institutional failure, preventable tragedy.

But you’re right to be concerned. She’s not just processing—she’s romanticizing. And if December 21st goes badly, she’ll experience traumatic disillusionment when her heroes die meaningless, brutal deaths.

Here’s what I suggest: don’t try to destroy her narrative. Instead, complicate it.

Have a conversation with her that goes something like this:

“I notice you’re really moved by what the vessels are doing. I understand why—there’s something powerful about people making choices that might save others. But I want to make sure you’re thinking about the whole picture. The vessels are brave, yes. But they’re also probably scared. They’re experiencing physical pain and psychological trauma. Their families are suffering. And there’s a chance they won’t survive.

When we call someone a hero, sometimes we forget they’re also a person. Can we talk about what it might actually feel like to be Detective Chen or Dr. Kim? Not just the heroic parts—the hard, scary, painful parts?”

Give her space to think about the vessels as complex people, not just symbols. Ask her questions that force nuance:

• Do you think the vessels are scared?
• What do you think their families are feeling?
• Do you think they wish they didn’t have to do this?
• What would it actually feel like to prepare to die?

Help her sit with the discomfort of complexity. Heroes can also be victims. Sacrifice can be both meaningful and tragic. Bravery can coexist with fear and doubt.

As for protecting her from trauma: You can’t. If the vessels die, she will be hurt. But you can help her build a framework for processing that hurt that’s more nuanced than “my heroes died.”

The goal isn’t to destroy her idealism. It’s to deepen it. To help her understand that real courage is messy and complicated and painful, not clean and noble and simple.

Let her keep her shrine. Let her admire the vessels. But help her see them as people, not just symbols.

And on December 22nd—whatever happens—be there to help her process the reality, not just the myth.

• Mona

Dear Mona,

I’m one of the volunteers supporting a vessel’s family. The vessel’s partner is falling apart—not eating, not sleeping, not functioning. I’m trying to help, but I don’t know what to say to someone whose loved one is preparing to die.

Every time I show up with groceries or try to help with household tasks, he just stares at me like I’m part of the machinery that’s killing his partner. I feel useless and intrusive.

How do I support someone when my support feels inadequate to the enormity of what they’re facing?

• Overwhelmed Volunteer

Dear Overwhelmed Volunteer,

You’re experiencing the fundamental limitation of support work: you cannot fix what’s broken. You cannot solve his grief. You cannot make this situation bearable.

And that’s not your failure. That’s just reality.

The vessel’s partner is staring at you like you’re part of the machinery because, in a way, you are. Not because you’re doing anything wrong, but because your presence represents the system that’s continuing forward. You’re bringing groceries so he can survive to experience more days of anticipatory grief. You’re maintaining household function so the machinery of vessel preparation can continue.

Your help is both necessary and inadequate. Both needed and resented. That’s the impossible position of support workers.

Here’s what I want you to understand: Your job is not to make him feel better. Your job is not to solve his grief or fix his situation or make this bearable.

Your job is to show up and bear witness. To maintain basic survival functions when he can’t. To be present without expecting gratitude or connection.

Stop trying to say the right thing. There are no right things to say to someone whose partner is preparing to die. Instead, say simple, honest things:

“I’m here. I brought groceries. I’m going to put them away and then I’ll leave unless you need something else.”

That’s it. No forced empathy. No attempts at comfort. Just presence and practical help.

He doesn’t need you to understand his grief. He needs you to make sure there’s food in his refrigerator and his utilities stay on so he can focus all his energy on surviving the next twenty days.

Your support is inadequate for the enormity of his situation. That’s true. But inadequate support is still support. Showing up when nothing you do will be enough is still showing up.

Let go of needing to help in a way that feels meaningful. Accept that your help will feel insufficient. Do it anyway.

And please—take care of yourself. Supporting people through impossible situations will drain you. Make sure you have support too. You can’t pour from an empty cup, and this situation is emptying everyone.

• Mona

Do you have questions about navigating the pre-ritual period? Email askmona@daybridgenexus.com. Mona responds to selected letters each week.

Mona Davidson is a licensed therapist specializing in crisis counseling and community trauma.  

Dear Mona,

My brother is one of the seven vessels. He’s preparing in intensive seclusion, and I’m not allowed to visit. I feel helpless watching from outside while he faces terrible danger. How do I support him when I can’t even see him?

—Feeling Useless

Dear Feeling Useless,

Your brother knows you love him. That knowledge matters more than physical presence during this preparation phase.

Ways to support from distance:

Write letters. Even if he can’t read them until after (or if he never reads them at all), writing processes your emotions and creates tangible record of your love. The vessels receive collected letters before the solstice—your words will reach him.

Support his support team. The people caring for your brother need help too. Volunteer for logistics, donate to vessel resources, participate in vigil preparation. Supporting his caregivers indirectly supports him.

Honor his choice by living well. The vessels sacrifice for everyone else’s survival. Honor that sacrifice by evacuating if that’s your choice, by living fully these final days, by taking care of yourself and your family. Your safety and wellbeing give his sacrifice meaning.

Prepare for multiple outcomes. Your brother may survive. He may not. He may survive but be fundamentally changed. Preparing yourself emotionally for all possibilities isn’t pessimism—it’s realism that helps you support him regardless of what happens.

Trust his strength. He volunteered for this knowing the risks. He continues despite the terror. That’s extraordinary courage. Trust that he has resources (internal and external) you might not see. Trust that he’s as prepared as possible. Trust that he’s made his peace with his choice.

You’re not useless. You’re experiencing the hardest role: loving someone facing danger while unable to protect them.

That’s not weakness. That’s love in its purest, most painful form.

He carries your love with him into whatever comes. That matters more than you know.

—Mona

Dear Mona,

I’m grieving for people who are still alive. The seven vessels are preparing to probably die, and I’m already mourning them. Is this normal? Should I be more hopeful?

—Mourning the Living

Dear Mourning the Living,

Anticipatory grief is real, valid, and common when facing probable loss.

You’re not giving up hope by acknowledging likely outcomes. You’re preparing yourself emotionally for trauma you can see coming.

Some people need hope to function. Some people need realistic preparation. Both are valid responses to impossible situation.

For anticipatory grievers, I suggest:

Name it. “I’m experiencing anticipatory grief” removes mystery and shame. It’s psychological preparation, not pessimism.

Honor life while possible. The vessels are alive now. If you’re moved to express gratitude, support, or appreciation—do it now. Don’t wait until after.

Create meaning before loss. Participate in community support efforts, attend vigils, write letters. Give your grief productive outlet.

Balance preparation with presence. Yes, prepare emotionally for loss. But also show up fully for the days remaining. Both matter.

Reject guilt. Grieving early doesn’t cause death. Your emotions don’t manifest reality. You’re protecting yourself from future trauma—that’s self-care, not betrayal.

Find community. You’re not alone in this. Support groups for people experiencing anticipatory grief meet daily through December 21st. Connection with others processing similarly helps immensely.

The vessels might survive. Some might. All might. Grief preparation doesn’t prevent hope—it just acknowledges that hope and grief can coexist.

Feel what you feel. Prepare how you must. Support where you can.

And if the best outcome happens and they survive, you’ll cry tears of joy instead of sorrow. The emotional preparation won’t be wasted—it’ll transform into relief.

—Mona

Send your supernatural dilemmas to askmona@paranormalnexus.com. Mona Davidson responds to selected inquiries each issue.

Dear Mona,

My twelve-year-old son asked me last night: “If the ritual fails and everyone dies, will it hurt?” I didn’t know how to answer. He’s old enough that he understands the crisis is real, too young to fully grasp the stakes. How do I answer questions like that honestly without traumatizing him?

— Parent in Crisis (Old Town)

Dear Parent in Crisis,

Your son asked the question every thinking person in Daybridge is wrestling with. The fact that he verbalized it is actually healthy—it means he trusts you enough to ask the hardest questions.

AGE-APPROPRIATE HONESTY

Twelve is old enough for more truth than seven, but still young enough that certain details are unnecessarily traumatic. Balance honesty with protection:

WHAT TO SAY:

“Scientists and magical experts believe that if the ritual doesn’t work, the dimensional collapse would happen very quickly—so fast that people wouldn’t feel pain for long, if at all. Our bodies and consciousness would simply… stop existing, kind of like dreamless sleep.

“But here’s what’s really important: very smart, very capable people are working incredibly hard to make sure that doesn’t happen. The seven vessels, their support teams, everyone at the Council—they’re all focused on making sure we succeed.

“And you and I are leaving the city during that time, so we’re taking extra precautions to be safe. Even in worst-case scenarios, being far away gives us much better protection.”

WHAT TO AVOID:

• Detailed descriptions of dimensional mechanics (creates abstract horror his mind can’t process)
• Uncertainty about whether he’d die (creates unmanageable anxiety)
• Graphic explanations of what “cease to exist” means (nightmare fuel)
• Reassurances that can’t be guaranteed (“Everything will definitely be fine”)

MANAGING HIS FEAR:

Children manage fear better when they have some sense of control. Give him age-appropriate ways to participate:

1. Preparation tasks: Let him help pack evacuation supplies, choose comfort items to bring, organize family documents. Active participation reduces helplessness.
2. Creative expression: Encourage him to draw, write, or talk about his fears. External expression helps process internal chaos.
3. Support the vessels: Some children find comfort in contributing to the Vessel Fund or making thank-you cards for the seven people taking action. Acknowledging helpers reduces the sense of abandonment.
4. Maintain routines: As much as possible, keep normal family rhythms—meals together, bedtime routines, favorite activities. Normalcy provides psychological anchors.

IF HE ASKS FOLLOW-UP QUESTIONS:

Be prepared for:

“Would you die too?” → “Yes, if the ritual failed completely, everyone would be affected. But that’s why we’re evacuating—to be as safe as possible. And why so many people are working to prevent that outcome.”

“Are you scared?” → Honest answer: “Yes, I’m worried about this situation. But being worried doesn’t mean giving up—it means being careful and making smart choices. We’re doing both.”

“What if the vessels die?” → “The seven vessels are incredibly brave people doing dangerous work. Some of them might be hurt or might not survive even if they succeed. That’s a hard reality. But their sacrifice—if it comes to that—would mean everyone else gets to live. That’s what heroism looks like.”

BALANCING TRUTH AND PROTECTION:

You’re navigating impossible terrain: how to prepare him for potential catastrophe without destroying his sense of safety.

Key principle: Give him truth he can hold, not truth that crushes him.

He can hold: “Bad things might happen, but people are working to prevent them, and we’re taking precautions.”

He can’t hold: “We might all die, and there’s nothing anyone can do.”

The difference isn’t lying—it’s framing truth in ways that empower rather than paralyze.

WATCH FOR WARNING SIGNS:

If your son shows:

• Complete emotional shutdown (stops talking about fear entirely)
• Regression behaviors (bedwetting, excessive clinginess)
• Refusal to evacuate (wants to “stay and fight” or “die with friends”)
• Fatalistic statements (“doesn’t matter what we do,”)
• Self-harm ideation

Contact Dr. Rebecca Santos’s child psychology division immediately: childsupport@supernaturalhealth.db

THE QUESTION BEHIND THE QUESTION:

When your son asked, “will it hurt?” he was really asking:

“Are you telling me the truth?”
“Can I trust you?”
“Will you protect me?”
“Am I safe with you?”

Answer those questions with your honesty, your presence, your consistency, and your love.

The crisis details matter less than his certainty that you’ll face whatever comes together.

You’re doing better than you think. The fact that you’re asking how to answer his questions rather than shutting them down means you’re already giving him what he needs most: a parent who doesn’t run from hard truths.

— Mona

Dear Mona,

I’m a supernatural being (werewolf, not one of the vessels) with abilities that could help during the solstice, but I have three young kids (ages 4, 7, and 9). If I volunteer for emergency response and die, my children lose their parent. If I don’t volunteer and the ritual fails, we all die anyway. How do I make this choice? Both options feel like betraying my kids.

— Torn Parent (Riverside)

Dear Torn Parent,

This is the cruelest calculus: choosing between protecting your children and protecting everyone, including your children.

There’s no objectively correct answer. But there are frameworks for making the decision that feel true to your values.

QUESTIONS TO ASK YOURSELF:

What do my children need most?

Not abstractly—specifically. Do they need:

• A living parent above all else? (If so, evacuate with them and let others fill emergency response roles)
• A parent who models courage? (If so, volunteering might be consistent with the family values you want to teach)
• Stability and presence during a crisis? (If so, being physically available might matter more than contributing to response efforts)

What are my actual capabilities?

Be brutally honest:

• Do I have skills genuinely necessary for emergency response?
• Could someone else fill my role just as effectively?
• Am I the best-qualified person available, or am I volunteering out of guilt?

If you’re not uniquely qualified, volunteering might mean creating orphans unnecessarily when others could do the work.

What’s my risk tolerance?

Emergency response during the solstice isn’t certain death, but it’s an elevated risk. Calculate:

• Probability you’d be killed or seriously injured
• Whether emergency response significantly improves the overall success probability
• Whether your participation is critical or supplementary

What would I tell my children?

Imagine explaining your choice to your nine-year-old:

If you volunteer: “I chose to help because protecting everyone—including you—mattered more than protecting just myself.”

If you don’t volunteer: “I chose to stay with you because being your parent is my most important job, and others were available to fill response roles.”

Which explanation feels true to who you are? Which would you want them to remember?

PRACTICAL CONSIDERATIONS:

If you volunteer:

• Arrange a comprehensive childcare plan for the solstice period
• Document custody arrangements in the event of your death
• Write letters to your children explaining your choice
• Ensure financial stability for your family if you don’t survive
• Designate trusted adults as backup parents

If you don’t volunteer:

• Evacuate with your children to a safe zone
• Support the effort in other ways (donations, remote logistics, etc.)
• Model different forms of courage (protecting family is also brave)
• Accepting that choosing not to risk death doesn’t make you a coward

THE GUILT TRAP:

Both choices create guilt:

Volunteer → Guilt about potentially abandoning children
Don’t volunteer → Guilt about not helping when capable

Accept this truth: You will feel guilty either way.

The question isn’t “how do I avoid guilt?” It’s “which guilt can I live with?”

TALK TO YOUR CHILDREN (AGE-APPROPRIATELY):

Don’t surprise them with your choice. Involve them in the decision-making.

To your 9-year-old (old enough for more complexity):
“Mom/Dad has abilities that could help during the solstice. I’m trying to decide whether to volunteer to help or stay with you. Both choices are hard. What do you think?”

Children often have a clarity adults lack. Your 9-year-old might say:

• “Please stay with us,” (clear guidance)
• “You should help if people need you,” (permission to volunteer)
• “I’m scared either way” (honest reflection of the impossible situation)

Their input doesn’t make the decision for you, but it provides data about their needs.

To your 7-year-old (moderate detail):
“Some grown-ups are going to help keep everyone safe during the special time. Mom/Dad is trying to decide if I should be one of those helpers or if I should stay with you. What do you think?”

To your 4-year-old (minimal detail):
“We’re making plans to keep everyone safe. Mom/Dad will make sure you’re taken care of no matter what.”

THERE’S NO WRONG ANSWER:

Volunteering to help during an existential crisis: Brave
Choosing to protect your children above all else: Also brave

Different forms of courage. Both are valid.

MY FRAMEWORK (IF IT HELPS):

If you’re uniquely qualified (skills/abilities very few others possess) → Strong case for volunteering

If you’re equivalently qualified (others could do the the same work) → Strong case for staying with children

If you’re marginally qualified (could help but not critically) → Stay with children

But this is just a framework. Your values might lead to different conclusions.

FINAL THOUGHT:

Your children need you. The community might need you. Both needs are real.

You’re not betraying anyone by choosing one need over the other—you’re making an impossible choice in impossible circumstances.

Whatever you decide, decide consciously. Don’t drift into either option through guilt or fear. Choose actively, own the choice completely, and trust yourself to make the decision that fits your values.

Then forgive yourself for the guilt that comes with either path.

You’re not failing your children or your community. You’re navigating tragedy while trying to honor multiple loves simultaneously.

That’s not a betrayal. That’s being human (or werewolf) in circumstances that shouldn’t exist.

— Mona

Dear Mona,

I’m experiencing severe survivor’s guilt even though nobody has died yet. I’m young, healthy, financially stable, and have no dependents—I SHOULD be volunteering as a vessel backup, but I’m too afraid. I watch the seven vessels and their backups preparing possibly to die, and I hate myself for not being brave enough to join them. How do I live with being a coward?

— Ashamed in Old Town

Dear Ashamed,

First: You’re not a coward. Courage is not the absence of fear, but choosing to act despite fear when you have no other options. Courage is choosing a difficult action when easier options exist.

You have an easier option (don’t volunteer) and you’re choosing it. That’s not cowardice—that’s self-preservation, which is a legitimate human drive.

DECONSTRUCTING THE GUILT:

Your guilt has two components:

1. Should-guilt: “I should volunteer because I meet the criteria (young, healthy, no dependents)”
2. Comparison-guilt: “I’m less brave than the vessels and backups who did volunteer,”

Let’s address both:

THE “SHOULD” PROBLEM:

You’re applying logic that says: If I CAN help, I SHOULD help.

But this creates an impossible standard. Extended logically:

• Should you donate a kidney to a stranger because you can survive with one?
• Should you give all your money to charity because you could live on less?
• Should you adopt orphans because you have space?

All of these are possible. None are required.

Ability doesn’t create obligation.

You CAN volunteer. That doesn’t mean you SHOULD.

THE COMPARISON TRAP:

Comparing yourself to the vessels and finding yourself wanting is natural but unproductive.

The vessels aren’t better people than you—they’re people who made a different choice when facing the same impossible question.

Some made that choice out of courage. Some from guilt. Some from rage at the universe. Some from complex personal motivations we’ll never fully understand.

Their choice doesn’t invalidate your choice. Different people have different thresholds for acceptable risk.

REFRAMING THE QUESTION:

Instead of, “am I a coward?” ask:

“Is volunteering as a vessel backup consistent with my values, risk tolerance, and life goals?”

Honest answers might include:

• “No, I value my life more than an abstract duty to strangers,”
• “No, I have personal goals that require surviving,”
• “No, my risk tolerance doesn’t extend to probable death,”
• “No, I don’t believe I’d be effective in that role,”
• “No, I’m choosing different forms of contribution,”

All these are valid answers.

WAYS TO CONTRIBUTE THAT AREN’T MARTYRDOM:

If your guilt stems from wanting to help but not wanting to die:

• Donate to the Vessel Fund
• Volunteer for evacuation assistance
• Help at Mona’s Sanctuary
• Support vessel families practically (meals, childcare, errands)
• Participate in ward maintenance of residential areas
• Foster pets for evacuating families
• Donate blood
• Help digitize the Historical Society archives
• Provide remote support (logistics, communication, coordination)

These contributions matter enormously and don’t require risking death.

ACCEPTING YOUR LIMITATIONS:

You’re afraid to die. That’s not a character flaw—that’s biology. Evolution hardwired humans to avoid death. People who override that hardwiring through conscious choice are outliers, not the standard.

You’re the standard. That’s okay.

THE SEVEN VESSELS’ PERSPECTIVE:

I know several vessels personally. None of them judge people for not volunteering.

Brother Malcolm’s words: “I don’t want everyone to be vessels. I want most people to survive so that if we die, our deaths mean something. Your living is what makes our sacrifice worthwhile.”

The vessels aren’t dying, so everyone joins them in martyrdom. They’re dying so everyone else can live normal lives, including the normal human drive for self-preservation.

IF THE GUILT REMAINS:

Some guilt might be appropriate. Not because you should volunteer, but because honest self-reflection reveals:

“I’m choosing my life over contributing to collective survival in the highest-risk way.”

That’s a choice with moral weight. Feeling that weight doesn’t make you a coward—it makes you someone with a functioning conscience.

Carry the guilt if you must. But don’t let it consume you.

MANAGING THE GUILT:

1. Acknowledge it: “I feel guilty about not volunteering. That feeling is real and valid.”
2. Examine it: “Does this guilt serve a purpose? Is it motivating helpful action or just self-punishment?”
3. Channel it: “If I can’t volunteer as vessel backup, how else can I contribute meaningfully?”
4. Accept it: “I feel guilty, and I’m making the choice that fits my values. Both things are true.”

THE HARD TRUTH:

Not everyone can be a hero. Not everyone should be a hero.

Society requires:

• People willing to sacrifice (the vessels)
• People willing to support (vessel families, volunteers, donors)
• People willing to survive (continuing life after a crisis, rebuilding, remembering)

All three roles matter.

You’re in the third category. That’s not cowardice—that’s differentiation of labor in crisis response.

FINAL THOUGHT:

If you genuinely believe you should volunteer despite your fear, then volunteer. Face the fear and act, anyway.

But if you’re questioning that belief—if you think maybe choosing to live is okay—then choose to live and forgive yourself for the guilt.

The vessels don’t need more people joining them in probable death.

They need people to survive to make their sacrifice worthwhile.

Be one of those people. Live well. Contribute differently. And if guilty feelings remain, carry them as a reminder that you understand the stakes and made a conscious choice, anyway.

That’s not cowardice. That’s honest self-knowledge.

— Mona

Send your supernatural dilemmas to askmona@paranormalnexus.com. Mona Davidson responds to selected inquiries each issue.

 Dear Mona,

How do I explain to my seven-year-old daughter what’s happening? She’s heard kids at school talking about “monsters” and “the end of the world.” She’s having nightmares and asks constantly if she’s safe. I don’t want to lie, but I also don’t want to traumatize her with information she’s too young to process. What do I tell her?

— Struggling Parent in Riverside

Dear Struggling Parent,

Children know when adults are lying or hiding things, and that uncertainty often frightens them more than truth. But age-appropriate honesty differs from overwhelming them with details they can’t process.

WHAT TO TELL HER:

Use simple, concrete language:

“Something unusual is happening in Daybridge right now. Some very smart, very brave people are working to keep everyone safe. There might be some strange things happening over the next few weeks, but grown-ups are taking care of it. Our job is to stay calm and help where we can.”

AVOID:

• Words like “monsters” (too abstract and scary)
• Phrases like “end of the world” (too apocalyptic)
• Detailed descriptions of dimensional entities (nightmare fuel)
• Uncertainty about whether she’ll be safe (creates unmanageable anxiety)

INSTEAD, FOCUS ON:

• Concrete safety measures: “We’re staying with Grandma outside the city during the special time, so we’ll be extra safe”
• Naming helpers: “Detective Chen and other protectors are working to solve the problem”
• What she CAN control: “We can help by being brave, following safety rules, and being kind to others who are scared too”

MANAGING NIGHTMARES:

1. Night routine reinforcement: Predictable bedtime rituals create security
2. Physical comfort: Let her sleep in your room if needed—proximity reassures
3. Nightmare processing: If she wakes scared, acknowledge the feeling but redirect: “That dream felt scary, but you’re safe now. Let’s think of three safe things you can see in this room right now.”
4. Empowerment through action: Let her help with family preparation (packing evacuation supplies, drawing pictures for the seven vessels, etc.) so she feels less helpless

AGE-APPROPRIATE PROTECTION TEACHING:

Seven is old enough to learn basic supernatural safety without traumatizing details:

• “If something feels wrong, trust that feeling and find an adult”
• “Some places have special energy—if a place makes you uncomfortable, leave”
• “Cold iron and salt are protective—here’s a small iron charm to keep in your pocket”

YOUR FEAR MANAGEMENT:

Children mirror adult emotional states. If you’re terrified, she’ll sense it regardless of your words. This doesn’t mean fake calm—it means modeling healthy fear management:

• “Mom is a little worried about the unusual things happening, so we’re taking precautions. Being careful is smart, not scary.”

IF SHE ASKS DIRECT QUESTIONS:

Seven-year-olds sometimes ask devastatingly direct questions like “Are people going to die?”

Answer honestly but age-appropriately:

“Some people are doing very dangerous work to keep everyone safe. That work is risky, and yes, someone might get hurt. But many people are working together to make sure as few people as possible are hurt. The world has faced big problems before, and people solved them by working together. We’re doing that again now.”

WHEN TO SEEK PROFESSIONAL HELP:

If your daughter shows:

• Regressive behaviors (bedwetting, baby talk, excessive clinginess)
• Persistent sleep disruption despite comfort measures
• Refusal to eat or extreme appetite changes
• Complete withdrawal from activities she normally enjoys
• Statements about self-harm or not wanting to exist

Contact Dr. Rebecca Santos’s child psychology division immediately: childsupport@supernaturalhealth.db

FINAL THOUGHT:

Children are resilient. Your daughter will navigate this crisis by watching how you navigate it. Model courage alongside honesty. Model precaution alongside hope. Model community support alongside self-care.

She’ll remember less about the crisis details and more about whether adults helped her feel safe during uncertainty.

You’re doing better than you think.

— Mona

Dear Mona,

My husband is one of the seven vessels. I can’t say which one publicly, but I’m watching him go through preparation protocols and it’s destroying me. He comes home exhausted, in pain, sometimes barely verbal from the strain. I want to support him, but I’m terrified. What if he dies? What if he survives but comes back fundamentally changed? How do I help him while managing my own fear?

— Vessel Spouse (Anonymous)

Dear Vessel Spouse,

What you’re experiencing is a specific type of trauma: anticipatory grief combined with helplessness. You’re losing your husband incrementally every day while simultaneously hoping he’ll return unchanged. That’s an impossible emotional space to inhabit.

IMMEDIATE SUPPORT FOR YOU:

Before we discuss supporting him, acknowledge: you need support too.

Resources available:

• Family therapy through the Council: Weekly sessions specifically for vessel families
• 1887 descendant support group: Meets Thursdays; these families understand your specific pain
• Crisis hotline: 555-VESSEL operates 24/7 for emergency emotional support
• Your own therapist: Someone focused entirely on YOUR wellbeing, not family dynamics

You cannot pour from an empty cup. Supporting him requires first supporting yourself.

SUPPORTING YOUR HUSBAND:

People facing existential crisis need different things at different times. Some universal principles:

1. WITNESS WITHOUT FIXING

Don’t try to make the situation better—you can’t. Instead, bear witness:

• “I see how hard this is”
• “You’re incredibly brave”
• “I’m here with you”

Avoid:

• “Everything will be fine” (you don’t know that)
• “Maybe you should stop” (undermines his choice)
• “At least…” statements (minimizes his experience)

1. FOLLOW HIS LEAD ON PHYSICAL AFFECTION

Some vessels crave touch as grounding. Others feel too raw for physical contact. Ask:

• “Do you want to be held, or do you need space?”
• “What feels comforting right now?”

1. NORMAL LIFE ANCHORS

Create pockets of normalcy:

• His favorite meal (even if he barely eats)
• Watching shows you both enjoy
• Talking about non-ritual topics when he has energy
• Maintaining small routines (morning coffee together, evening walks, etc.)

These anchors remind him there’s life beyond preparation—life worth fighting to return to.

1. HONOR HIS AGENCY

He chose this. Respect that choice even when it terrifies you:

“I’m scared for you, and I support your decision completely. Both things are true.”

1. TALK ABOUT DEATH

The elephant in the room suffocates relationships. Name it directly:

“Are you scared you’ll die? Because I am.”

He may be relieved you opened that door. Process fear together rather than separately.

1. MAKE MEMORIES

You don’t know if these are your last weeks together. Act accordingly:

• Take photos together
• Record him talking about memories you share
• Write letters to each other (to read in case of death)
• Say the things you might regret not saying

This isn’t morbid—it’s practical love.

1. ACCEPT YOUR LIMITATIONS

You cannot protect him from what’s coming. You can only love him through it. Accept that this is beyond your control.

MANAGING YOUR FEAR:

Your terror is valid and overwhelming. Strategies that help:

Compartmentalization: Designate “fear time”—15 minutes daily where you let yourself feel everything. Outside that time, redirect to present tasks.

Worst-case scenario processing: Write down your worst fears. Sometimes externalizing them reduces their power.

Best-case scenario visualization: Also imagine him surviving, returning, slowly healing. Both outcomes are possible. Hold space for hope alongside fear.

Community connection: Other vessel families understand. You’re not alone in this specific nightmare.

PREPARING FOR OUTCOMES:

If he survives: He’ll return traumatized. The husband you knew may not fully return. PTSD, personality changes, physical alterations—all possible. Can you love the person he becomes? Start preparing mentally now for that possibility.

If he dies: How will you survive? Practical preparations (finances, support network, grief plans) aren’t pessimistic—they’re responsible. Make contingency plans because hoping for the best doesn’t prevent the worst.

If something in-between occurs: He might survive in an altered state—not quite alive, not quite dead, fundamentally changed. This might be harder than clean death or full recovery. Can you handle that ambiguity? Consider this possibility now so you’re not blindsided.

WHAT HE NEEDS TO HEAR:

Tell him these things (if true):

• “I love you”
• “I’m proud of you”
• “Your choice matters”
• “If you survive, I’ll help you heal”
• “If you don’t survive, I’ll remember you as the person who stood between the world and darkness”
• “You’re not doing this alone—I’m with you every step until the moment you stand at the nexus point”

FINAL TRUTH:

Nothing I say makes this easier. Your husband is preparing to face something that might kill him, and you’re watching helplessly. That’s agony.

But love in the face of probable loss is the most courageous thing humans do. You’re showing up every day despite terror. You’re supporting his choice despite wanting desperately to beg him to refuse. You’re managing your fear while holding space for his.

That’s heroism. Different than his, but equally valid.

Whatever happens on the solstice, you will have loved him completely through the hardest experience either of you will ever face. That matters. That endures beyond any outcome.

Be gentle with yourself. You’re doing the impossible.

— Mona

Dear Mona,

I’m a supernatural being (witch, third generation) and I have abilities that could theoretically help during the solstice ritual. I’m not one of the seven vessels—wasn’t considered suitable for various reasons—but I keep thinking I should volunteer for something. Support team? Emergency response? Something. But I’m also terrified. If I volunteer to help and fail, people could die because of my failure. If I don’t volunteer and the ritual fails, people could die because I didn’t try. How do I decide whether to help when both choices involve potentially catastrophic consequences?

— Conflicted Witch in Old Town

Dear Conflicted Witch,

You’re experiencing moral weight that many in Daybridge’s supernatural community are carrying: the burden of potential help combined with the fear of inadequacy.

IMPORTANT DISTINCTIONS:

1. Ability doesn’t equal obligation

Having power to potentially help doesn’t automatically create duty to act. You’re allowed to protect yourself first.

1. “Catastrophic failure” risk exists regardless

The ritual might fail with or without your help. You’re not responsible for outcomes beyond your control.

1. Volunteering for wrong reasons causes harm

Helping from guilt or obligation rather than genuine capacity often creates more problems than it solves.

QUESTIONS TO ASK YOURSELF:

Do I have skills genuinely relevant to the crisis?

Be honest. Generic magical ability isn’t necessarily helpful. Specific skills matter:

• Ward-crafting expertise
• Medical knowledge of supernatural physiology
• Experience with dimensional magic
• Trauma counseling training
• Emergency response experience

If your skills don’t directly address crisis needs, volunteering might mean you’re just another person requiring coordination and resources.

Can I help without requiring more support than I provide?

If your participation requires extensive supervision, training, or emotional support, you might drain resources rather than contribute.

Am I capable of functioning under extreme stress?

The solstice will be chaos. If you freeze, panic, or dissociate under pressure, you become a liability rather than an asset.

What’s my actual capacity?

Be honest about:

• Physical stamina (can you work extended hours?)
• Emotional resilience (can you function while terrified?)
• Skill level (are you experienced or just competent?)
• Availability (can you commit to full preparation timeline?)

WAYS TO HELP THAT DON’T REQUIRE RITUAL PARTICIPATION:

Support Vessel Families: Offer practical help—meals, childcare, errands—to families of the seven vessels

Ward Maintenance: Help Lila’s team reinforce protective wards across residential areas

Evacuation Assistance: Help families preparing to leave Daybridge temporarily

Sanctuary Volunteering: Mona’s sanctuary needs help with newly turned beings

Community Education: Teach basic supernatural safety to ordinary citizens

Documentation: Help preserve records in case knowledge needs to survive crisis

Medical Support: Staff supernatural emergency clinics preparing for potential casualties

These roles matter enormously without requiring you to face dimensional entities directly.

IF YOU DECIDE TO VOLUNTEER FOR DIRECT RITUAL SUPPORT:

Contact Detective Alice Chen: achen@daybridgepd.gov

She coordinates the emergency response team. Be specific about:

• Your exact skills
• Your limitations
• Your availability
• Your experience level

Don’t exaggerate capabilities. Lives depend on accurate assessment.

MANAGING GUILT:

Survivor’s guilt operates even before anyone has died. You feel guilty for potentially not helping enough. That guilt is:

1. Normal – Most capable people in Daybridge feel it
2. Not necessarily rational – Feeling guilty doesn’t mean you’re actually obligated
3. Sometimes helpful – It motivates genuine assistance
4. Sometimes destructive – It drives people to make poor choices from self-punishment

Guilt is data, not commands. Notice it. Examine it. Then decide rationally rather than reactively.

THE ACTUAL MORAL QUESTION:

You asked how to decide. Here’s the framework:

Volunteer if:

• You have genuinely useful skills
• You can contribute more than you consume in resources
• You’re capable of functioning under extreme stress
• Your participation is from authentic desire to help, not guilt
• You’ve honestly assessed capacity and limitations

Don’t volunteer if:

• Your skills aren’t directly relevant
• You’d require more support than you provide
• You’d panic or freeze under pressure
• You’re acting from guilt or obligation rather than capacity
• Your mental/physical health would deteriorate dangerously

FINAL TRUTH:

The solstice crisis doesn’t require everyone to be a hero. It requires people to contribute according to their actual capacity—which means some people’s best contribution is getting themselves and their families to safety so they’re not additional casualties.

That’s not cowardice. That’s accurate self-assessment.

If you genuinely have skills that help, and capacity to deploy those skills effectively, then volunteer. If not, support in other ways. Both choices are morally valid.

The real failure isn’t in choosing not to help directly—it’s in pretending capability you don’t have and creating additional problems during crisis.

Be honest with yourself. Then act from that honesty.

— Mona

Send your supernatural dilemmas to askmona@paranormalnexus.com

Mona Davidson responds to selected inquiries each issue.

Dear Mona,

Our new neighbors seem lovely, but strange things happen around their property. Plants grow to unusual sizes overnight, small animals gather on their doorstep as if summoned, and sometimes I hear singing in a language I don’t recognize. Yesterday, I found a circle of mushrooms in my backyard that definitely wasn’t there the day before. Should I be concerned about Fae neighbors?

— Unsettled in Oak Hollow

Dear Unsettled,

You’re absolutely right to suspect Fae presence. The mushroom circle (a “fairy ring”) appearing in your yard is significant—it marks a threshold between your property and theirs. DO NOT step inside the circle, and DO NOT accept any gifts of food or drink from your neighbors without knowing exactly what you’re agreeing to.

That said, Fae neighbors can be wonderful if proper protocols are observed. Leave a small offering of cream or honey at your property line once a week (establishes goodwill), never thank them directly (creates obligation), and always be scrupulously honest (they can detect lies and take offense). If they offer to help with your garden, politely decline unless you’re prepared for vegetables growing to prize-winning but slightly unsettling proportions.

The singing is likely their evening gratitude ritual to the land. As long as it doesn’t include your name specifically, it’s harmless. If you do hear your name in their songs, contact me immediately.

— Mona

Dear Mona,

My teenage son has been behaving strangely for three weeks—speaking in archaic language patterns, demonstrating knowledge of events he couldn’t possibly know about, and showing no recognition of inside family jokes or memories. His eyes occasionally flash a different color. I’m terrified that he might be possessed. How can I tell the difference between possession and normal teenage moodiness?

— Desperate Mom in Riverside

Dear Desperate,

Trust your maternal instincts—this goes beyond typical teenage behavior. The combination of archaic speech patterns, anachronistic knowledge, and memory gaps strongly suggests possession or spiritual “overlaying” (where another consciousness shares space with the original).

IMMEDIATE STEPS:

1. Do not confront him directly about possession (the entity may react defensively)

2. Contact my sanctuary’s emergency line (555-HAVEN) for a discreet assessment

3. Document specific incidents with dates and details

4. Check for: sudden aversion to religious symbols, inability to cross running water, unexplained knowledge of dead languages, or references to historical events as if personally witnessed

The eye color changes are particularly concerning—this suggests the possessing entity is strong enough to physically manifest characteristics. Time is crucial. I’ve arranged for my colleague Father Winston (experienced in both spiritual and supernatural possession cases) to contact you directly.

Your son is still in there, and we can help bring him back.

— Mona

Dear Mona,

I’ve been dating a wonderful man for six months. Last night, he finally told me he’s a dhampir—half-vampire, half-human. He says he doesn’t need to feed on blood but has some vampire abilities like enhanced strength and night vision. I care about him deeply, but I don’t know what questions to ask or what this means for our future. Where do I even start?

— Confused in Love

Dear Confused,

First, the fact that he told you demonstrates trust and respect. Dhampirs occupy a unique position in supernatural society—belonging fully to neither the human nor the vampire worlds. This comes with both advantages and challenges.

ESSENTIAL QUESTIONS TO ASK:

• Does he have contact with his vampire parent, and what’s that relationship like?

• How does the vampire community regard him? (Some vampire houses accept dhampirs; others reject them as “diluted bloodlines”)

• What are his aging patterns? (Dhampirs age slower than humans but aren’t immortal like full vampires)

• Does he experience blood cravings, even if he doesn’t need to feed? (Many dhampirs describe it as similar to craving specific foods)

• How does he handle sunlight? (Most dhampirs tolerate it better than full vampires but may need extra sun protection)

RELATIONSHIP CONSIDERATIONS:
If you’re thinking long-term, discuss: his extended lifespan compared to yours, whether children are possible (yes, but genetic counseling is essential), and how involved he is with supernatural community politics (dhampirs often serve as mediators between human and vampire societies).

The Daybridge Dhampir Alliance offers couple’s counseling specifically for human-dhampir relationships. I can provide contact information.

Love across species lines requires extra communication, but it can absolutely work. You’ve already taken the hardest step—staying open to understanding rather than running from fear.

— Mona

Send your supernatural dilemmas to askmona@paranormalnexus.com
Mona Davidson responds to selected inquiries each issue.

Dear Mona,
My new neighbors only come out at night and have blackout curtains on all their windows. Their recycling bin is filled with empty plasma bags from the blood bank. Should I be concerned they’re vampires, and if so, how do I politely establish neighborhood boundaries?
— Worried on Wisteria Lane

Dear Worried,
Trust your instincts—these are classic signs of vampire neighbors. However, consuming bagged plasma indicates they’re following ethical feeding practices. For peaceful coexistence, leave a welcome note (on cardstock, not garlic-infused stationery) with your contact information and boundaries regarding home invitations. Most modern vampires appreciate clear communication and respect human concerns. Consider inviting them to a night barbecue—just be sure to serve both rare steaks and a chilled A-negative option.
— Mona

Dear Mona,
My teenage daughter insists she’s dating a werewolf. He seems like a nice boy, but cancels plans three nights each month and comes to school exhausted afterward. His parents are evasive when I try to discuss his “condition.” How do I approach this delicate situation?
— Perplexed Parent

Dear Perplexed,
You’re right to seek information rather than making assumptions. Daybridge High has a strict non-disclosure policy regarding supernatural students, but as a parent, you deserve some reassurance. Request a meeting with the school counselor (Ms. Thornwood is excellent with cross-species dating concerns) and the boy’s family. If lycanthropy is confirmed, the Moonrise Youth Support Group offers excellent resources for human parents. Remember—responsible young werewolves pose no threat during full moons if properly secured and supervised.
— Mona

Dear Mona,
I discovered an ancient artifact while renovating my basement. It’s a small obsidian box with strange symbols that seems to whisper when I’m alone. The contractors refuse to return, claiming the house is “marked.” Should I be concerned?
— Renovator’s Remorse

Dear Renovator,
STOP IMMEDIATELY. Seal the box in salt, do not attempt to open it, and contact the Daybridge Historical Society’s Containment Division at their emergency line (555-0113). Whispering artifacts discovered below ground level in Daybridge’s Old Town district are typically remnants of the 1887 Boundary Breach. Under no circumstances should you continue renovations until a proper cleansing ritual has been performed. I’ve notified our rapid response team—please leave your address with my assistant.
— Mona

Send your supernatural dilemmas to askmona@paranormalnexus.com

Mona Davidson responds to selected inquiries each issue.