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White Walls

What happens when you finally learn the truth? Would you pay with your life or your sanity?

By Karina ThyraPublished 6 months ago Updated 6 months ago 24 min read
Witches preparing for a sacrifice. (Painting done by Christina CM. Commissioned by Karina Thyra)

Beneath the full moon's gentle glow,

We offer our trust, our intimacy shared,

With each passing sip, our burden is bared.

By the power of this full moon's glow,

Protection from evil, our spirits shall bestow.

Let our bond be strong, our spirits intertwined,

In sisterhood, our protection we find.

So mote it be, this magic we seal,

Under the full moon's light, our fate we appeal.

The spell, if it had worked, was her last thought before darkness claimed her consciousness.


The grand Gothic castle tour in Southern Europe had inspired Mercy's friends to search for similar architecture in their region. The quartet, accompanied by their trusty dog, sped along the highway in a mint-green convertible. It was as if they were a group of undercover teens investigating a mystery. The car, owned by tall and long-haired Meredith, featured Marygail, her twin with a pixie-like charm, in the driver's seat. Meredith occupied the front seat. In the back sat their cousin, Martha, and her Labrador companion, aptly named 'Mutt' since she'd received him at age 9.

The four friends, along with their dog Mutt, formed a close-knit group that often challenged teachers. Mercy, though not blood-related, felt like part of their family after transferring from a public Science High School on a scholarship. In their junior year, they focused on history, arts, and culture, with future European field trips on the horizon. Unfortunately, Mercy's scholarship couldn't cover these adventures. Their shared interest in old, possibly haunted houses began during a class trip to literature-immortalized castles, under the guidance of Ms. Vicky, who emphasized castles as characters in Gothic literature. They explored well-preserved castles in Europe, and with the twins' financial support, the M quartet journeyed to remote, GPS-deprived locations, discovering breathtaking yet decaying mansions — true Gothic castles, shrouded in mystery.

Still, Mercy thought, who would want to live in a grand old house, graying in decay, and all alone? After some deliberation, Mercy realized it was probably why these haughty aristocrats often manipulated young maidens into living with them—to have some semblance of life and sunshine in a place their ego would never let them leave - probably the only property left in their names. If they were so rich, their castles would probably not be as depicted in the novels, just a few seasons away from ruins. Rather, they would be grand and extravagant. In her mind, what kind of sick, sadistic individual would lure a young girl into living in a castle which, if it could talk, would scream for renovation?

By Mehluli Hikwa on Unsplash

They stopped at a gas station for a break. Martha, the historian, asked about the Rosales mansion. The gas station attendant shared its dark history. The Rosales clan, descended from maharlika, served the Spanish and were known for their power. Legend has it that their matriarch, Divinagracia, a babaylan, turned to darkness when the Spanish mistakenly killed her daughter as a revolutionary spy. To avoid higher authorities, the Guardia Civil was relocated. Viuda de Rosales, along with her two remaining daughters, renounced Christianity and practiced dark sorcery for revenge. Those complicit in her daughter's death began succumbing to illnesses and accidents. Despite their crop losses, the Rosaleses remained complacent as hunger and sickness spread. Then, a righteous priest tried to confront the Rosales family and discovered the maidens preparing for a Witch's Sabbath. He rallied the townsfolk, eager to hold someone accountable for their misfortunes. He described how they prevented the women from leaving and set the place ablaze. The house still stood, resembling a soot-covered castle, said to be fortified with blood. The witches stayed young by draining children's life essence, causing illnesses. The thought sent shivers, even Mutt huddled closer. They thanked the man, ready to leave before sundown, and he wished them Godspeed as they departed.

He waved his cap to them as they sped off the road. As he turned back though, he fell down to the ground clutching his chest. Later, the coroner would say that he died from a stroke.


As the clock showed 3:15 in the afternoon, their car approached the deteriorating path to the mansion. Mercy and Martha awoke from the rough ride, hoping for a smoother escape route in case they needed it. Mercy considered whether this land could be private property, given its isolation and lack of descendants. She questioned why the government hadn't reclaimed it.

Perhaps they were trespassing, or maybe the place was genuinely cursed, where three powerful witches met their end.

Meredith excitedly declared their arrival, urging her friends to prepare the cameras. The scorching heat gave way to a shiver as their car pulled into the mansion's driveway. In contrast to classmates exploring distant historical sites, the Rosales mansion in their province lured them. The sole affluent family owning a mansion in this secluded area added to its intrigue.

They split into pairs, agreeing to reunite in the backyard before six, awaiting the caretaker's 6:30 inspection. The mansion's exterior, resembling the skeletal remains of its grand past, had missing Capiz window panels and peeling varnish. About thirty years ago, the municipal government had restored the house, turning it into a museum with rights obtained from the remaining Rosales relatives eager to rid themselves of a family legacy blemish.

As the girls walked towards the main entrance that the caretaker purposely left opened, they even saw an old fading information stand that says:

The Rosales mansion, a four-story marvel, sits on a 10,000 sqm plot. Originally farmland, it was gifted to the Rosales family by a courtesan they had helped install in power. Despite their local nobility, the house seemed modest. Built in three years, it includes a reception hall, a function room, a library, five main bedrooms with en-suite plumbing, and two guest rooms with similar amenities. The vast backyard features a garden and a fountain. The farmland, once thriving, has remained barren due to the lingering effects of powerful magic by the Rosales matriarch and her daughters, involving witchcraft and devil worship.

After reading, Martha scoffed at the writer's portrayal of women, asking Mercy to note that an insecure man probably wrote it. Then, Mercy noticed the absence of greenery, except for an old, charred Narra tree. The place felt uncared for, with dying plants. Mercy wondered if there was something wrong with the land. She suggested filming interesting findings to Martha, who had plenty of rolls for the camera. As they explored, Mercy felt the twins knew the place well and asked Martha if they had visited before. Martha confirmed their discovery after a road trip to Sagada.

Martha explained their history with the mansion, and Mercy felt a pang of being an outsider, despite the girls' fondness for her. Martha's stern demeanor sometimes stung with her words, and the twins, in contrast, appeared carefree. The conversation between Mercy and Martha revealed their dynamic within the group. But Martha reassured Mercy and explained their intention to surprise her with this project, understanding that Mercy often overcompensated due to her financial situation.

“Don’t stress yourself too much, Mercy. We’re grateful to have been your friend”, Martha said with a smile. She grabbed Mercy’s hand and led her to the library where a well-preserved oil painting of the family hung before rows upon rows of bookcases begun. The books that survived the fire were encased in a wooden bookcase with glass covers. Mercy pointed her camera at the encased portrait, adjusting now and again to make sure that she’d get the details of each person exactly as she sees them.

Mercy first aimed her camera at Don Mariano Rosales, a distinguished mestizo in his mid-40s. His portrait displayed timeless, stately features, akin to a contemporary photograph. She then focused on Maria Editha Rosales, the eldest daughter, who bore a striking resemblance to her father. Maria Editha's attire and sapphire brooch showcased the fashion of her era.

Next was Maria Genoveva, the twin of Maria Editha, with her distinctive straight nose. They were joined by a radiant, charming girl, Martha Matilda Rosales, who exuded an angelic aura, illuminating the portrait. Her untimely passing shed light on Divinagracia Rosales' enduring grudge.

Mercy's camera finally captured the central figure, Divinagracia Rosales. The portrait, though unsmiling, reflected contentment and joy in her eyes. Despite the passage of years, she transformed from this portrait's happy woman into one consumed by anger and sorrow. The memory of someone else flickered in Mercy's mind, but she couldn't quite place it.

“I honestly don’t believe those urban legends that she eats children’s souls to remain young. How could a grieving mother be demonized like that?” Mercy said aloud.

“I’m glad you think that way, Mercy”, came the reply from Martha. “We thought justice wouldn’t elude the rich and the powerful, but we were all the same. We were just pawns in their elaborate chess games. Even if your family had descended from the maharlika, you would still be treated as nothing short of a valuable employee.”

“I suppose so”, Mercy said, not knowing where the conversation was going. Nonetheless, she listened to what Martha had to say. The latter was the smartest among them.

Martha joined her in admiring the portrait. They both looked up at the faces of the family picture. Nobody spoke for a moment.

“Doña Rosales would have given everything up just to give her daughter the justice she deserved. She betrayed even those who have become close to her”, said Martha.

“You know a lot about this family. I wasn’t able to do research as thorough as you have. Are you somehow related?”

“Tell me, Mercy”, she said, without prying her eyes away from the portrait. “Would you betray your friends – almost sister or brother to you – if you knew it’s the only way to get the justice that you seek?”

Mercy hesitated to answer. She did not like having to answer such moral rhetoric. “Why are you asking me this?” She was taken aback by Martha’s question, but the other girl pressed on.

“On one hand, ransom and negotiating compensation is a good place to start. That’s what other people do in the olden days to lessen the blow of a loved one’s death caused by another”, Mercy said. Martha nodded a little in agreement. “On the other hand, the ‘friend’ in question could be completely faultless. It wouldn’t be fair to betray someone who trusts you with their life.”

“You do have a point. But in order to have one life back, we must take another. That is the way of this kind of justice, Mercy.”

Mercy scrunched up her nose and would have cracked a joke, but she heard the twins just outside the door and it distracted her. They were saying something that sounded like:

“Look! Our old library’s still here. It’s so well-preserved! Nice job, Tio Diego!”

“I wonder if the portrait is still up there. I wonder if mother knocked Mercy out yet?”

She was about to turn to Martha to ask for clarification, but before she could grasp what was about to happen, she suddenly dropped headfirst onto the wooden floor. The last thing her blurry senses could comprehend was someone apologizing to her, and Martha's eyes displaying a hint of pity, but also burning with intense determination. Mercy would have been frightened if she hadn't blacked out.


Dark clouds covered the moon when Mercy awoke, feeling disoriented. She couldn't quite register what had happened yet, but she knew she couldn't move. Her body ached, but the throbbing in her temples was even more unbearable. When her vision finally cleared a few moments later, she realized she had been bound to the dead Narra tree they had seen earlier.

“YOU!” Mercy shouted as realization dawned on her. Three-fourths of the M Quartet must be members of a cult and would sacrifice her or are truly insane occultists. “Why?”

There were many questions racing through her head, but that word was all she managed to croak out.

“Oh! You’re awake! Mother! She’s awake!” Marygail said in a shrill voice Mercy was once fond of. Now, if she had the chance, she would knock the bint out just as they had done to her.

When the newcomers came into view, only then did Mercy realize that the stone table had been set up with a makeshift altar, and she would be a part of some sick ritual. However, something was pressing on her mind, alluding to what it might be, but she just couldn't put a finger on it. Martha, who had been silently preparing the whole time, beat her to it.

“I am Doña Divinagracia Rosales y de la Rosa. It’s a pleasure to finally tell you who I really am.”

If they could only see how wide Mercy ’s pupils have become, they would have laughed their wicked hearts out at how comical it seemed. Mercy finally placed two and two together. She was no stranger to witchcraft. After all, it was only last year when that Hollywood film The Craft was released, and many years before that, she had been watching movies with almost the same setup. They needed a fourth member for a ritual.

“Am I going to die so that you can have more powers, you wicked old witch?” she spat. All traces of fondness and affection for her old friends are gone in a matter of moments.

The scent of burning flesh filled the air as Doña Rosales placed some items on the altar. Mercy realized it came from Mutt's carcass. The twins extracted shiny stones from the dog's belly. The sight of the dear dog used in such a ritual was more painful than the needles in Mercy's head.

“He was reanimated anyway. Girls, ground the bones when it’s all done!” Martha said, seemingly reading Mercy’s mind. “-And no, dear old friend. We are not to sacrifice you to any god”, she said calmly. “We are going to bring the real Martha back. You see, someone dies, somebody else should take their place. That is the way of the world.”

“Why? What am I of importance that it had to be me?”

“It has to be you, silly girl”, the girl she once affectionately called Didith, told her.

“You are that bastard’s descendant.”

“What now?” Mercy asked, genuinely confused.

“The man who killed our sister. You are his great-great-great grand-niece. The magic helped. We knew it was you. Do you know that you’re also the first girl to be born in your clan? So it had to be you.”

Mercy was shocked; she had no close female cousins her age. The twins ground Mutt's charred bones, and Mercy stifled a cry. She cherished the dog, feeling he understood her better than her so-called friends. It was clear their kindness and friendship had been fake.

“Did you only befriend me to get close enough to kill me?” Mercy snarled. The first coil of her rope, cut. The rope that bound her somehow loosened.

“Mercy, we liked you as a friend, and as a person. But we love our sister more”, Marygail said sympathetically. “Don’t worry, though. You’ll die quick, and you won’t go to hell”, she continued with a smile.

This smile, on any other day, would have brightened Mercy's own. It was the kind of smile that inspired optimism and reassured you that everything would be okay. However, this wasn't one of those days, and the smile failed to bring Mercy the comfort it once did.

“Besides, we’re running out of time. Our Martha couldn’t cross over because she was waiting for us”, Meredith said. She was helping prepare more ingredients. Mercy’s attention wasn’t on what they were doing, it was on the cutting the third loop. “We’ll be sent to hell for some reason –“

“Because you’re evil witches!” Mercy interjected.

Her snark earned a dark look from Martha or the girl she knew as Martha, her friend. Mercy keeps forgetting that these people were never her friends.

“We were not evil, you know. But we do not forget. Alas, you are a descendant of the bastard who murdered my daughter”, Doña Rosales said, stalking towards her while admiring the dagger she held as though it was a lover. “ A debt needed to be repaid is what your existence is for, m’dear.” Doña Rosales caressed Mercy’s cheek with long elegant fingers. The girl recoiled. “We only need a cup of your blood, Mercy. Then your body, of course, so that my daughter can be raised from the purgatory.”

“Before you kill me”, Mercy spat, “I want to know if you ever really considered me as a friend. If any of what you have all shown me was real or a cruel pretense.”

“Yes, yes I did, child. But my own flesh and blood and my immortality are far more important than you will ever be.”

The witch aimed to stab Mercy, but she managed to free herself and toss the ropes to Doña Rosales, who tumbled to the ground. Under the moonlight, the horrifying truth about Doña Rosales was revealed: a badly burnt and decaying corpse. Mercy screamed, but the twins, surprisingly strong, swiftly seized her. Despite her struggles, their grip was relentless. Divinagracia slapped Mercy to silence her, leaving a red mark on her face.

“You are a monster!”

“WHO made us this way? Wasn't it your scum of a great-great-great grand whatever?”

“Do not blame people long dead and forgotten for what you have become, bruja! What you did in your lifetime guarantee you a place in hell, and you deserved it!”

“My daughter!” Doña Rosales exclaimed indignantly, “My daughter did not deserve to die and not be at peace. But you,” she said pointing at Mercy, “you will pay the debt of your ancestor, and I will make sure of it.” Doña Rosales attempted to stab Mercy again, but Mercy forcefully raised her leg, hitting the witch's crotch. The witch dropped the dagger, and the twins loosened their grip on Mercy.

Mercy lost her balance, and Meredith seized the dagger, wounding Mercy's right arm. Mercy screamed in agony as the razor-sharp blade sliced into her flesh. The pain surpassed any she had ever experienced, even the time she accidentally cut her forearm while camping with the M quartet, resulting in twenty-two stitches, she now realized it wasn't an accident.

Martha greedily held out a golden goblet where the blood flowed freely. Mercy's flowing blood filled her cup completely. Marygail tied a bandana as a makeshift tourniquet to Mercy's wound to stop it from bleeding and then left her on the ground near the old Narra tree.

They gathered around the stone table. Old languages were spoken, old spells were evoked, some of which were so ancient that Mercy knew none of the neo-pagans and animists of today had heard of or understood.

A light emanated from the golden bowl, and Doña Rosales raised it to the moon, which had fully revealed itself. The trio never stopped chanting until the light from the moon shone its light on the contents of the golden bowl. The light from the bowl and the moon radiated as one, and it glowed ominously. It reminded Mercy of a light from the parola - where the lighthouse stood to guide sea vessels. She shuddered at the thought of what the witches were guiding toward their beacon.

Finally, Doña Rosales poured the contents onto a maze-like structure beneath the dust and soil on the ground. Mercy's blood mingled with other elements inside the cup, and it looked black. As the blood flowed, a stone crypt slowly raised itself from the ground, causing the earth on top of it to crumble and shake.

The ladies were in awe, their smiles widening as they chanted archaic phrases. A faint white light appeared, as if tearing at the Narra tree, but it wasn't splitting the tree. Instead, it gave the impression that the tree and its surroundings were like fabric, and the very fabric of this place had a visible tear. With their chants growing louder and more exuberant, the tear expanded.

Pale from blood loss, Mercy's fear of blood left her drowsy, yet she couldn't avert her eyes from the light.

The tear continued to grow until, finally, they could discern the features of a young girl. Mercy believed her mind was playing tricks on her, for she unmistakably saw Martha Matilda Rosales. The girl smiled at her mother and sisters with a rather sad expression. Mercy felt a deep sense of sorrow at the sight of the angelic girl looking so despondent. As the last drops of the cup's contents trickled into the engraving that connected to the tree, the features of the real Martha began to recede. She nodded at them once and then took the hand of another radiant figure. It seemed to Mercy that she had only desired to see her mother and sisters one last time and was somewhat disappointed by what she saw.

Soon, the white light vanished, replaced by something dark and terrifying. The wind seemed to howl, but Mercy couldn't tell whether it was truly the wind or something from behind the veil. The flames on the candles extinguished, and the three witches abruptly ceased their chanting. Only the faint light from the moon illuminated the field.

“No!” Doña Rosales screamed in shock and fear. She started destroying the altar in a vain attempt to close the portal. Despite the shake in her voice, Marygail began to chant again.

Meredith rushed to Mercy and violently shook the girl, gripping particularly hard at the wounded flesh.

“What did you do, you little bitch? “ She slapped Mercy’s face so hard that the girl’s mouth drew blood.

Mercy spat the blood to the ground. “I didn’t do anything”, she said with a sharp glare and a smirk. Shock flashed on the witch’s face.

Doña Rosales lit the candles again. She joined her daughter with the chanting, her voice trembling slightly. Meredith rushed to their side and chanted as well. But even as they did so, it was too late.

Menacing figures that looked like dreadful shadows and looked as pitch black as a starless night came out of the portal. They couldn’t tell if it was just one, or a legion. Mercy froze on her spot and seemed paralyzed with fear. Goosebumps formed on her skin, and her hair stood on end. But her reaction was no match for the three who seemed to have turned white with fear.

“We have come to collect you, Divinagracia Rosales and daughters”, said the low booming voice that sounded like many people. It sounded like a nightmare. “You have committed many great and grave sins in your human life. Now you are out of spells.”

“But, the girl... We have the girl! She's a virgin!" Doña Rosales pleaded, her voice shaking. While the shadow monster remained silent, ominous sounds emanated from it. Frustration, fear, and absolute horror contorted Martha's face, leaving Mercy astonished. Even at school, Martha had been composed and affable. Now, the fact that the strongest among her friends was so unnerved indicated that the entity from the portal was nothing short of hellish.

The expressions on Doña Rosales' daughters mirrored this sudden realization. Mercy had shared everything with them, willingly or through the hex bag they had placed on her. As the witches began to grasp the danger, Doña Rosales raised her hand to cast a spell. However, the shadowy figure advanced, causing everything in its path to vanish. It ruthlessly tore the women apart using their own shadows.

Blood-curdling screams mixed with Mercy's own cries as she watched her former friends get mercilessly shredded. Although she could only see their silhouettes, she knew they were suspended in mid-air and slashed all over their bodies. The shadow took pleasure in their suffering, cutting them in non-vital areas, making them writhe in pain and choke on their own blood. It only ended their agony once their bodies resembled mangled, bloody rag dolls.

The shadows retreated back to the portal just as the dark clouds that covered the moon have fully dissipated. It seemed to glow ominously now. The moon illuminated the ghastly picture on the ground. If anyone on a higher ground would look down, this is what they would see:

Three mangled corpses which barely resembled human bodies were on top of the other, seemingly swimming on a puddle of blood which the ground slowly absorbs. A lone survivor of what seemed like a brutal massacre dragged herself across the vast lawn towards the gate. Her breath was getting ragged, and she did not know when exactly did she stop moving. The night was still young, but only because she felt that time had stopped. With everything that had happened, she could not even manage to crawl on all fours. She had to manage to grope the ground with her already weak limbs. Her knees have become too weak, not just from exhaustion but also from the scene that she had just witnessed. When she discovered the mangled remains of her former friends, she could not even cry nor scream. She was just too tired. Finally, exhaustion claimed Mercy, and the girl blacked out. She hadn’t even gotten far.


Mercy awoke on the ground, disoriented, feeling as though she had just emerged from a terrible, exhausting dream. Glancing at her wristwatch, it read 6:30 PM. The caretaker, Alan, arrived fifteen minutes later. He helped Mercy to her feet, and she hadn't even noticed his arrival. She was grateful but bewildered. Less than two hours ago, her friends had tried to kill her, aiming to have a spirit possess her body. However, Mercy couldn't find them now. Alan looked puzzled as Mercy mentioned her friends and a mint green convertible. "Oh," she said. "Oh," she repeated, finally understanding what had transpired. "I think I'm still not fully awake. Never mind."

It dawned on her that the ritual hadn’t worked. Earlier, the old witch had practically begged the shadow that Mercy was a virgin descendant of her daughter’s murderer. Maybe it would have worked if Martha Matilda wasn’t a virgin too.

That summer, she had snuck out of their hostel and participated in an orgy with some neo-pagans in Rome . Mercy had finally met her penpal, a beautiful redheaded girl of Romanian and Italian descent, called Oriana. She had enticed Mercy to join in on the fun. A rite that would allegedly make her immune from a malicious form of sorcery coming her way.

...In sisterhood, our protection we find.

So mote it be, this magic we seal,

Under the full moon's light, our fate we appeal.

At the time, Mercy hadn't given it much thought. If she ever considered such a thing, she wanted it to be on her own terms, not because many of her friends (she was the sole exception in her clique) had already experienced it. She didn't expect what would actually happen.

Once she arrived at the meeting place in a white dress under her thick woolen coat, she felt committed. The event commenced with storytelling and spiced wine to stave off the cold. All participants were women and virgins. The ritual entailed offering a vial of their blood and, of course, their virginity. Following chants, songs, dances, and more wine, the true magic commenced.

On the full moon night, despite it being the start of summer in Mercy's home country, lingering winter winds still chilled the spring equinox. The young women huddled around the bonfire, and that's when the real dancing began. The rhythmic, pulsating slaps of warm, naked flesh against flesh synchronized with their heartbeats erased any remaining fears and doubts, including Mercy's. They all surrendered to sensations only someone deeply familiar with another's body could provide. They passed around a cup as they danced, a sip sufficed. Their willing virginal sacrifice ensured protection from malevolent magic and lessened the impact of future attacks. They found safety within their sisterhood.

Before the sun rose that morning, Oriana brought Mercy back to the hostel.

The truck halted at the bus stop, and Mercy expressed her gratitude to Alan. On her way home, she indulged in reminiscences. Upon her arrival, her mother greeted her and inquired about her day at the Rosales mansion. However, all she had on her tapes were silent footage. The short videos with the other three girls had disappeared, leaving her with only blank recording.

Later that night, heavy rain poured down, with lightning creating abstract shapes and shadows on Mercy's walls. Normally, she might have been spooked by these shadows, especially after her recent experiences. Yet, she wasn't. Mercy found comfort in the thunderstorm, seeing it as a sign of change and cleansing, as if it would wash away the mansion's lingering bloodstains. Thunder boomed loudly, and while in other instances, she might have sought refuge in her mother's room, tonight, Mercy found the storm oddly reassuring. She made it out alive, after all.

She stared at the four white corners of her room, where the memories of that magical night, filled with love and true sisterhood, flashed before her like scenes on a silver screen. In their glorious nakedness, they had wept, laughed, and shared stories around the bonfire, resembling forest nymphs after the sun had set.

Mercy fell peacefully asleep with a smile tugging at her lips.

By Mark Tegethoff on Unsplash

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About the Creator

Karina Thyra

Fangirl of sorts.

Twitter: @ArianaGsparks

Reader insights


Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

Top insights

  1. Compelling and original writing

    Creative use of language & vocab

  2. Excellent storytelling

    Original narrative & well developed characters

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Comments (5)

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  • Atif S.5 months ago

    Such a compelling piece of writing. Love it.

  • Novel Allen5 months ago

    Young folks and haunted, old places. They never learn. Poor doggie. This was really well written.

  • Mother Combs5 months ago

    Great story

  • Addison M5 months ago

    Excellent story. It grabbed attention early on and kept pace well. A couple of twists and some vivid descriptions. A truly enjoyable read, a wonderful bit of supernatural horror. Great work!

  • Vianney6 months ago

    This took me through a loop, I was both scared and confused and I loved every minute! Worth the read!

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