Artist: Run The Jewels
Album: RTJ4
Date Released: June 3rd, 2020
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Artist Background
The duo consisting of Atlanta rapper Killer Mike, and legendary underground produceMC El-P, known together as Run The Jewels, originally came together as a result of Adult Swim executive Jason DeMarco who introduced the two in 2011. After his 2011 album PL3DGE peaked at #115 on the US charts, Killer Mike told Jason that he wanted to make his own AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted. Jason informed Mike, “If you want AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted modernized, the only producer I know who comes close to the Bomb Squad-level of production is El-P”. The duo’s chemistry was immediate, as El-P went on to produce all of Killer Mike’s 2012 last solo album R.A.P. Music, and Mike featured on El-P’s final solo album Cancer 4 Cure. Mike and El’s respective albums released within a week of each other in May 2012, and the two embarked on a twenty-city US tour in the following months. After returning from tour, the pair had found a friendship growing between themselves, and made the decision to put other projects on hold and focus on the chemistry that had been sparked. Recording at an upstate NY studio beginning in April 2013, the duo re-appropriated the phrase “Run The Jewels” from the LL Cool J track “Cheesy Rat Blues", and released their self-titled collaborative album, for free via digital download, only a mere 2 months later in June 2013.
36” Chain vs. Pistol & Fist
Run The Jewels discography currently exists in a distinct pairing. With Run The Jewels as their debut, this record set the group's tone as a light-hearted, braggadocious duo with as much confidence in their abilities as swag in their punchlines. Just over a year later, the sequel Run The Jewels 2 took the foundation set from their freshman effort and dialed the insanity up to 11. RTJ2 pushed the boundaries of their aggression and flows to new heights; with incredible energy in their verses, and absolutely impeccable beats, blending El-P’s signature industrial sound with sharp synth arpeggios, chopped Zach De La Rocha vocals, and absolutely bonkers Travis Barker drums.
It was then nearly 3 years before Jamie and Mike followed up their breakout RTJ2, with Run The Jewels 3 being released again ahead of its scheduled release date via free digital download, this time on Christmas Eve 2016. Instead of these two attempting to outdo the pure insanity and in-your-face attitude found in their predecessor, Mike and El decide to evolve themselves as a group. The duo had noticeably pulled back on the swag and dick jokes which made such a splash on RTJ2, instead choosing a more subdued, electronic approach to their beats, as well as a clearly stronger political approach in their lyrics. This change in sound and style is demonstrated in the album cover’s artwork. The first two records featured the distinctive RTJ “Pistol and Fist”, with the fist tightly gripping a chain. The chain, in my opinion, represents the swag and braggadocio that drove the aggressive nature of their first two albums. In RTJ3 the chain is removed, leaving only hands that have transformed from bleeding and bandaged, to a pristine gold.
This brings us to early 2020. It’s been nearly 4 years of living in a post-Trump America, and El-P announces that Run The Jewels fourth record has been completed. Mike and El live-stream the first single “yankee and the brave” on Instagram on March 22nd, 2020. Lyrically and sonically, RTJ4 exists as the successor to Run The Jewels 3, with Mike and El again taking the good from their previous effort and launching it into the creative stratosphere. El-P’s beats are again leaning towards the synthetic, electronic side, this time with the intensity dialed all the way up to 11. From a lyrical perspective, RTJ takes the politically-charged lyrics from their predecessor, and again, up the ante, laying down some of the hardest hitting and politically poignant bars either of these two have ever spit.
Album Review
2020 was a year that none of us will soon forget. An unprecedented global health crisis kept the majority of us inside for months at a time. RTJ4 was announced on May 12th, 2020, with a release date slated for June 5th, 2020. However, with 2020 as the gift that won’t stop giving, the end of May was highlighted by the unjust killing of George Floyd. The phrase heard around the world, “I can’t breathe” instantly became a rally-cry for the oppressed to finally take to the streets to demand systemic police reform, as Floyd’s death was not the first time this phrase was uttered in an unjust police killing. In fact, a 2020 study by the New York Times showed that at least 70 people have died in police custody after using the same phrase over the past decade. As millions of American’s began organizing protests and demonstrations in the wake of Floyd’s death, Run The Jewels made the decision to release their latest chapter two days ahead of the scheduled release. El-P tweeted, just minutes ahead of the drop, “Fuck it, why wait. The world is infested with bullshit, so here’s something raw to listen to while you deal with it all. We hope it brings you some joy. Stay safe and hopeful out there and thank you for giving 2 friends the chance to be heard and do what they love”. In line with all past Run The Jewels releases, the album was made available for free digital download, two days ahead of its scheduled release date, on June 3rd, 2020.
THE RETURN (we don’t mean no harm but we truly mean all the disrespect)
RTJ4 opens with the first single, “yankee and the brave (ep. 4)”. Using the team names from their respective hometown baseball teams, Mike and El use the opening track to prove that they’re not just a hip-hop duo, they’re brothers, for better or worse. El-P kicks this installment off with rapid-fire, machine-gun esque snares, matching Killer Mike’s aggressive flow and tightly packed rhymes, before El jumps in to trade some dense rhymes as well. Mike and El depict themselves as outlaws, with Mike surrounded by cops with only one bullet remaining. He contemplates suicide instead of allowing the police to take him alive, until El-P jumps back in, offering Mike a way out, with a getaway car waiting outside. This tense situation is depicted lightheartedly in this song’s music video, which was released via Adult Swim and features the duo animated.
The trade-off between Mike and El’s short verses are reminiscent of late-80’s EPMD flows, while the production sounds like boom-bap that’s been sent to us from the future. This distinctive blend of old-school rap roots and forward thinking production is what continues to separate Run The Jewels from absolutely all of their contemporaries. While so many artists are continually playing catch-up with the latest trends, RTJ are side-stepping the trendy and moving forward with the mind-bending.
FLEXIN’ (ayo one for mayhem, two for mischief)
The second single “ooh la la” samples a Gang Star track "DWYCK (feat. Nice & Smooth)" as the basis for the chorus. I say “samples” as that’s how it is credited in the album’s liner notes, however it’s truly an interpolation of Greg Nice’s bar, slowed down slightly, and sung by El-P and Greg Nice himself. El-P is a true old-head at heart, and it’s abundantly obvious in his work, even going as far as to recruit legendary producer DJ Premiere to handle the scratching on the back end of this banger.
Out of key piano chords are looped to quickly create an unsettling aura surrounding the track, before El-P’s voice cuts through the infectious piano like a whip. Pounding, up-tempo drums are introduced after the chorus’ first iteration, creating what is possibly El-P’s first danceable beat. Lyrically, Mike and El-P initially seem scattered on this track, however the music video quickly makes their point very obvious.

”we imagined the world on the day that the age old struggle of class was finally over. a day that humanity, empathy and community were victorious over the forces that would separate us based on arbitrary systems created by man.
this video is a fantasy of waking up on a day that there is no monetary system, no dividing line, no false construct to tell our fellow man that they are less or more than anyone else. not that people are without but that the whole meaning of money has vanished. that we have somehow solved our self created caste system and can now start fresh with love, hope and celebration. its a dream of humanity’s V-DAY… and the party we know would pop off.”

The video envisions a society celebrating the fact that the class system we currently exist within has finally imploded. Money is worthless, and we have rejected the desire to bind ourselves to the constraints of capitalism. All creeds and colors unite to burn the system that has so effectively controlled us for over a century. It’s a party, and if there was a song to celebrate the end of the world as it is currently known, “ooh la la” is that song.
Mike’s last verse features a few metaphors and comparisons celebrating the destruction of capitalism, saving the most poignant for last:

I used to love Bruce, but livin' my vida loca
Helped me understand I'm probably more of a Joker
When we usher in chaos, just know that we did it smiling
Cannibals on this island, inmates run the asylum

Premo’s expertly cut scratches lead us into the equally hard hitting sample flip of “Misdemeanor”, by Foster Stevens as the basis for the beat to “out of sight”. Lending yet another nod to the old-school greats that laid the foundation for RTJ, “out of sight” samples the same track as The D.O.C.’s “It’s Funky Enough”, only adding a bouncy, electronic synth atop the inverted chord hits, and uptempo, industrial drums, to create an absolutely infectious groove for Mike and El’s dynamic chemistry to shine, rapidly jumping between each other’s two line flows in the first verse.
“out of sight” shows each MC providing insight into how each of them earned a living and achieved their current status. Mike and El’s opening verse each details themselves robbing people in order to eat. El alludes to the fact that he crossed his accomplices in crime for the whole bag, while Mike details the fact his assailant tells him it’s an “honor” to be robbed by his mother’s only son.
While El-P’s production is the obvious stand out on first listen, Killer Mike comes through with one of the most sonically pleasing and technically proficient verses of 2020.

We the motivating, devastating, captivating
Ghost and Rae relating product of the fuckin' '80s
Coke dealin' babies, never regulating, bag accumulating
It would not be overstating to say they are underrating
The pride of Brooklyn and the Grady, baby
We don't need no compliments or confidence
Our attitude and latitude is "fuck you, pay me"

The dense, intricate rhyme schemes smack you in the face, almost distracting you from Mike’s delivery and blistering flow on the verse; flexing his legendary status while paying homage to his drug-dealing past. This absolutely stunning display of technical skill, story telling, and complex rhyming illustrates how RTJ seamlessly integrates the best of both old school and new school hip-hop.
“out of sight” also features a guest verse from 2 Chainz, and he continues to lay the braggadocio on thick. Considering Tity Boi’s dedication to trap stylings, his verse feels right at home on the flex track, despite it’s late 80’s tribute sample, a considerable departure from his usual sound palette.
Up until this point, I haven’t mentioned any of the El-P’s lyrics specifically. El-P is a great rapper, but Killer Mike… Well, Killer Mike is an incredible rapper. He’s the guy who draws you in. El-P is the one who lays the foundation for greatness and Mike is the show stopper, and that’s generally the case for most RTJ tracks. But on “holy calamafuck”, El-P seems determined to make people stop and ask, “Who the fuck is this?!”.
A sharp, yet nearly minimalistic drum kit backing a heavily distorted synthesizer melody lays beneath rhymically knocking cow-bells. This aggressively set stage allows Mike and El to flex as the dynamic duo they are, until the beat suddenly takes a turn for the chaotic. A gnarled, ultra-menacing synth overtakes everything while Mike screams into the abyss, until a distorted snare, enormous 808s, and skeletal hi-hats cut through and launch the beat switch into another dimension. The minimal, yet incredibly dark soundscape allows El-P to snap in a way I have never heard from him previously. His rhymes schemes are reminiscent of an old MF DOOM lyric notebook, while his topics flawlessly combine flexing, psychedelic use, and his well-cemented legacy in the hip-hop community. Cutting and pasting a few of his bars into this review could not convey a fraction of how stunning El-P’s performance on “holy calamafuck” is.
Slightly later in the track list, making liberal use of the Ether song “Gang of Four”, “the ground below” samples and loops the sharp guitar riff and adds aggressive, pounding drums as the basis for the beat; this is finally reminiscent of the forward-thinking, stridulous production El-P has built his reputation on. Capitalising on the classic RTJ moment, Mike and El both flex in their own unique ways. Mike compares himself to Godzilla taking on Tokyo, and El-P demands respect for his name as the legend he is, threatening to smack dying children for mispronouncing his name with his middle finger to the world; his complete disregard for human life and confidence in his abilities are summed up at the end of his verse.

You see a future where Run the Jewels ain’t the shit
Cancel my Hitler-killing trip
Turn the time machine back around a century

SO¢IAL JU$T-ICE (until my voice go from a shriek to whisper...)
While the first few tracks aren’t without their social and political themes, the back-end of RTJ4 is where Mike and El start to bust out the heavy topics. “goonies vs. E.T.”. starts off light, with El-P pointing to the irony of how once he finally started to make it “big” in the industry, the world began to descend into chaos due to climate changes, increasingly obvious social injustice, and political madness. He culminates his frustration with our disregard for the Earth with a fantastic quotable.

Fuck y’all got, another planet on stash?
Far from the fact of the flames and our trash
That is not snow, it is ash, and you gotta know
The past got a wrath, it’s a lover gone mad

Mike’s verse takes the light-hearted frustration expressed by El-P, and turns the aggression to the next level. Aiming his sights against the ruling class and their society that’s been designed to oppress people for profit, who have very meticulously painted themselves as celebrities and idols to the American public. Mike accepts that he will be villainized by these people for speaking against them, but he welcomes the nefarious role, knowing that the working class will eventually eat the rich, no matter how much they are stomped into the dirt.
And this is just the warmup.
If it’s possible for a song to represent a moment in time that captures the absolute shit storm that has been 2020, “walking in the snow” is that song. It’s release coincided perfectly with the protests for George Floyd which were sweeping the nation. Killer Mike’s verse directly references the phrase “I can’t breathe”, the last words of Eric Garner, which also happened to be the last words of Floyd as well. The fact that this verse was reportedly written in November 2019 perpetually underscores the importance of the content and perfectly represents how persistent this problem is. “walking in the snow” is a true encapsulation of both a defining moment in time and an ever-persisting issue.
But he doesn’t just stop at the racial injustice. Mike goes on an absolute rant about the American education system; how it’s not designed to teach people, but to discriminate against poor populations, limiting their legitimate opportunities, and therefore disproportionately leading them into a criminal lifestyle. He calls out the media as fear-mongers, and the apathy of the American public in the face of indecency. Fortunately for Mike, by the time we finally had the chance to hear this masterpiece, we were already on our feet, using this album as a war cry to mobilize against a tyrannical government that militarized against its own citizens simply for asking that we recognize systemic racism and demanding change. Killer Mike has the best verse of the year, no doubt in my mind.
The only drawback is that Mike’s verse is so fucking good that it completely overshadows El-P’s, which is also amazing. A menacing guitar riff and haunting synths kick the track off into a bouncy groove, where El-P unleashes a flurry of internal rhymes that does not relent for about half his verse. Even adding layers of social commentary within the densely packed bars, El refuses to quit and continues on his political tirade; criticizing ICE’s detainment center practices and the “pseudo-Christians” who support them, with a bar that now lives in my head:

Pseudo-Christians, y’all indifferent, kids in prison ain’t a sin? Shit
if even one scrap of what Jesus taught connected you’d feel different
what a disingenuous way to piss away existence, I don’t get it
I’d say you lost your goddamn minds if y’all possessed one to begin with

The combination of two of the best verses spit by any rapper(s) this year and production help from El-P and long time RTJ collaborator Little Shalimar, create a bouncy, aggressive, deeply truthful banger. “walking in the snow” not only encapsulates the crux of 2020 with lyrics that will become more powerful as they age, but will also forever be associated with the Black Lives Matter movement and the determination to expose continuing racial and societal injustices.
The sonic palette of RTJ4 holds an extremely unique place in El-P’s discography. Jamie is the definition of a self-made 90’s hip-hop legend. This is the dude who put New York underground hip-hop on the map with Company Flow, and he did it with his unique flavor of dark, noisy, dense, boom-bap. Whether he was doing it with the help of Rawkus, or completely independently during his Definitive Jux run, El-P has never made music with the intention of becoming famous. Funcrusher Plus, Fantastic Damage,I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead, and Cancer 4 Cure are all highly revered as industrial, technical, abrasive, and completely unsuitable for the radio or a party. The fact that three songs on RTJ4 could easily be heard on the radio, at a party, or in a TV series credits scene is frankly, astounding. In a 2002 interview/documentary on El-P’s budding record label Def Jux, he stated that his friend bet him $500 that he could not make a beat that was “happy”. At the time of the interview, El-P said that he had not won that bet yet. While I might not qualify the beats on RTJ4 as “happy”, if you showed El-P the beat for “JU$T” in 2002, I believe he might have won that bet.
Pharell opens “JU$T” with the pre-chorus, spitting varied examples of how we’re all slaves to our current system throughout the track, over echoing snares and bouncy 808s before bright synth chords and up-tempo hi-hats burst in while Killer Mike delivers the chorus, pointing to the fact that the majority of the people featured on American currency owned slaves at one point in their lives. Mike’s verse touches on the fact that he has committed crimes to get where they are today. Mike is publicly open about his past as a drug dealer. So why is he a criminal, but Benjamin Franklin isn’t? These are the people who built our country, and they built it on the backs of slaves. He illustrates this theme with a more recent examples:

You believe corporations runnin marijuana? Ooh (how that happen?)
and your country gettin ran by a casino owner (ooh)
pedophiles sponsor all these fuckin’ racist bastards (they do)

When corporations are able to sell cannabis legally, but the government continually incarcerates people who trap, our president is a notoriously fraudulent businessman, and the people who helped put him in power run a pedophile ring, yet none of them face consequences and are allowed to continue to profit and remain in power while people suffer; well, we might be closer to slaves than previously imagined.
Rage Against The Machine frontman Zach de la Rocha also makes his mandatory feature appearance at the end of “JU$T”. As the only artist to feature on three Run The Jewels albums, Zach is essentially an unofficial member of the group at this point. His fiery verse is spit with the same “Rage” energy that set him apart in the mid-90’s, ending the track questioning his place in a capitalist society as a recipe for his inevitable demise, since his “breath”, or art, as his weapon to express himself is still being exploited for other’s profit.
Continuing with RTJ4’s heavily synthetic sonic palette, “never look back” features wavering synth leads resting above the slow-jams snappy snares and thumping bass, while a haunting voice echoes in the background. This unsettling aura provides additional gravity for Jamie and Mike to continue self-reflecting on defining moments in their childhood, and as well as how far they’ve come from those moments. Mike and El are both self-made men, and while they have a certain fondness for those gritty moments that defined them, moving forward in life is undoubtedly more important.
Skeletal drums reminiscent of a slowly pounding heart opens “pulling the pin”, before rhythmic hi-hats and textured, watery synths fluttering in the upper register resting above a bouncy synth lead, and punchy 808s, burst in. The track digs itself into a slower, marching groove and shows the duo figuratively doing exactly what the title implies. Painting a portrait of a society that has turned on itself, Mike and El are ready to pull the pin and start over.
The duo both detail their despise for the ruling class, pointing out multiple examples of how the elite have designed our society to keep poor people in their class. Simultaneously recognizing their own hypocrisy for profiting in a system that inherently discriminates; Mike reflects on his own success, knowing that living the lifestyle he enjoys is one built on oppression, and expresses the guilt that has caused him. El-P opens with a brutal metaphor for police, implying that they’re the root cause of the “wretched state of danger” our society exists within, and that the only effective corrective action is to numb yourself with drugs. Despite his advice, Jamie knows this is not a permanent solution, but one that causes more self-inflicted wounds.
The final piece of the puzzle that is RTJ4, “a few words for the firing squad” begins to close the album with ever crescending strings, and loud, thunderous drums which never seem to resolve, continuing throughout their verses. While the drums that lead to nowhere can be sonically unpleasant, the unresolved melodies are intentionally representative of their current mindsets. Their verses are reflective and grim, but simultaneously optimistic and envisions a world where tragedy is a less common occurrence.
El is grateful for what he has now but recognizes his entire life has been skewed by traumas, so out of place feels normal for him. He reflects on his current success, noting that the worst people tend to end up with the most, which makes becoming “rich” something not as desirable as it once was.
Mike opens up about the death of his mother who died while he was on an airplane, admitting his struggles to not cope with his trauma with opioids. However, his wife provides him the most important reason to stay clean “but my queen/say she need a king/not another junkie rapper fiend” while a heartbreaking saxophone solo highlights the gravity of his lyrics.
The track ends with what sounds the like wrap-up voiceover to a TV show, a conceptually satisfying ending, as the opening track “yankee and brave (ep.4)” began with El-P stating:

”This week, on Yankee and The Brave”

This voiceover paints the duo as brothers on the run from the law and crooked cops, and while this does close this “episode” out as intended, the critic in me is bothered by the slightly kitschy outro to such a spectacular album. The voices singing over and over, “Brave, brave, braaaaaave, Yankee and the Brave” would be, simply put, better left on the cutting room floor. The ending of this track alone is what knocks my score of this album down a few points. Despite its stellar lyrical content, with drums that never seem to reach that “holy shit!” moment, and the easily skippable outro, it’s upsetting to me that an album this great ends on such a low note.
Overview
RTJ4 is by far my favorite album of the year. El-P’s cutting edge approach to their sound, blended with lyrical content that continues to be more relevant by the day, the duo have come together with what is objectively their most accessible album to date. RTJ4 is the natural evolution of sound and subject matter for the duo; taking the foundation set by Run The Jewels 3 and evolving it into a more concise, more accessible, and more conceptual album. While I still personally prefer the “fuck the world” intensity and experimental nature of Run The Jewels 2, RTJ4 opens themselves up to a whole new world of exposure, and when you’re as talented as these two, you know they’re going to capitalize on it. RTJ is currently at their apex, and they’ve created an album that will make many new life-long fans going forward.
9.2/10
Discussion Points

• How does this compare to other RTJ releases? How about in comparison to the member’s solo works?
  
• Does the overwhelmingly positive critical reception of this album surprise you?
  
• How will this be looked back on in 5 years?
  
• What are your favorite lyrics?
  

…The raging river, pulled them down.
Now they’ll always, be together,
In that Happy Hunting Ground…
- Running Bear by Sonny James
“Snakeyes! New roller, please, next up.” The game runner raked in the dice and chips and ignored the despair in the countenance of the most recent “high roller”. Ted shook his head and other people crowded him away from the dice pit. He was almost out of funds and it was still early. He’d budgeted his, “loss level” carefully to maximize his time at the reservation casino. It was an older one, filled with stereotypical paintings and statues intended to honor the local First Nations Tribes while fulfilling the expectations of rude tourists. He looked around forlornly for a new game to play. He didn’t care for the slots or the drawn-out and ever-shifting card games… ah, Blackjack! There was an opening at the table.
He rushed over before anyone else could snag it and bustled onto the chair. “Okay to deal me in on the next hand?” He interrupted the dealer, who ignored him until he was done dealing out the rest of the players and raking in the chips. He still did not speak but once Ted placed the minimum bet, he flipped a card down in front of him and the game began. Ted immediately started winning the straightforward game. He picked up most of his losses from his unfortunate run at craps and was finally enjoying himself. The couple at the far end of the table had apparently had enough and didn’t care for the new player. Ted liked to talk to new people and thought he was good at it. Before long, the other players had left and it was down to him, the dealer, and an older man, who wore a black cowboy style hat and chain-smoked thin cigarillos.
Ted, grinning heartily at his latest win, glanced over at the man, who had just fired up his next cancer-stick, “You know casinos, and a few bars are the last public places where anyone smokes. I remember when there were smoking sections at most places and my parents told me that there used to be no restrictions. I’ll bet you get plenty of pressure to stop from your family and friends. It’s a pretty bad habit for your long-term health…” Ted usually rambled on past any non-verbal cues that people might give him to stop talking, yet his diatribe came to a screeching halt at the look with which the stern-faced elder favored him.
The older man drew in a long pull on the firestick and then exhaled the stinking cloud into Ted’s face. He coughed a little and gagged at the odor of the raw blend of tobacco and chemicals. The old one removed the cigarillo from his mouth and tapped ashes onto the edge of the table and down onto the floor at his toes, “Sonny, nobody cares. Nobody wants your opinion, and you are not special, no matter what your mommy told you. I’ll do as I please and if you don’t like it, go bother people at another table.”
Ted gaped in shock. In his mind, the man’s words verged on an “assault”. He looked helplessly at the dealer, who just ducked his head and tried not to laugh. Indignant, he rose, took his pile of chips and fled into the depths of the gaming house in search of a friendlier table. He didn’t find one that he liked, so he finally gave up and sat at the bar. The bartender seemed to ignore him in favor of tidying up her workspace. He cleared his throat and received only a glance. He mumbled as much to himself as to her, “I just want a drink while I wait for a table to open.” He wondered at her stony silence, maybe she resents me for being…
His vocal ruminations were interrupted by a feminine voice, “What do you want?”
Ted looked up to see the bartender, mocking smile in place below shining, mesmerizing eyes. Ted simply gaped and eventually worked his jaw uselessly. The bartender shrugged and walked back to the other end of the bar. She spoke with a large man who was clearly part of the security team. He glared at Ted while she spoke. Ted wanted to avoid a confrontation. He’d been conditioned that he should seek authorities if such a situation loomed. Yet casino security was the only available authority here locally. There were Tribal Police on the Reservation, but he wasn’t sure they would want to listen to him. He finally shrugged and decided to go back over to the hotel for the rest of the night. This trip had been very unsatisfying… like all those he’d taken since he moved away from his parents’ home a few years previously.
There was an indoor walkway to the hotel, but Ted decided to go by the outdoor route to get some fresh air and enjoy the natural beauty that the builders had incorporated into the facility. As he walked dejectedly down the sidewalk, local flora pressing in from each side, he heard, from the nearby forest, a screeching wail. It startled him and he had to stop a moment to catch his breath and wait for his heart rate to slow to something more manageable. He realized that it must have been an owl or some other night bird. His father had told him that there were always weird noises “out in the sticks”.
As he plunged his hands into his pockets and determined to go to his room for rest, he caught the faint smell of burning tobacco on the breeze. It wafted over his shoulder from behind and caused him to emit a feeble cough. He looked back in annoyance. In the shadows behind him, he saw a figure. It was dark and stood still in a way that made him uncomfortable. An orange glowing circle of embers hovered around the face and rendered just enough light to illuminate the blue-grey curls of smoke as they exited the tiny conflagration and rose above the brim of a black hat. The ember flared for a moment and then flashed to the ground and was snuffed by a shadowed… foot? It wasn’t exactly clear to Ted; the figure’s lower extremities were... blurred. An even brighter flare, from a lighter or match stabbed into Ted’s eyes as the Smoker lit his next cigarillo.
Ted glared irritation but felt uncomfortable at the unnatural stillness to which the figure returned once the new fire was lit. He coughed once more, this time deliberately in a passive-aggressive attempt to communicate his displeasure and resumed his walk. He strained to listen behind him to determine whether the figure followed. He truly wished to get away from the stink and the threat of cancer or other respiratory illnesses. He slowed to listen, then gave up and looked over his shoulder again. There was no figure in the dark back near the exit to the casino. He turned to resume his walk, but a smoky black form now loomed before him! Its eyes glowed and smoked like large twin cigars as it gaped a maw that emitted pure black smoke and glowed with blue flames within the deep tunnel of the throat. Ted’s consciousness fled his body and found itself in a burning nightmare landscape that extended for as far as he could perceive in all directions.
**** * ****
Darnell, known to his public as “Murder Bush” a deliberate mistranslation of “merde bouche” a.k.a. “Deadly Rapper” for having been a suspect in a shooting back in his youth, stepped up to the dice pit as the geeky dude left. He had plenty of chips and cash to back them. His entourage was there to support him and kiss his backside as often as he wished. He rolled through six passes before he crapped out. He hadn’t over-bet, so he’d won a small amount. He picked up his latest winning chips and handed them to the hostess who had kept him well plied with drinks and snacks. He was sure that for the right price, she would take care of his other needs. He played a few card tables and finished with Roulette.
Each time he won a few chips, he passed them on to the young woman or to one of his flunkies. In the end, they had all received at least some reward for the praises they’d heaped upon him; not for any real accomplishments, but rather to curry favor with the man whom they considered to be wealthy and important: a celebrity. The girl stayed at his side and except for when he asked her questions, she said nothing. He liked that: bitch know her place, he reveled in internal satisfaction. He liked her looks too. She was medium height and a little, “thick”. She was clearly interested but hadn’t gotten in his way when he flirted with other women. He truly liked this one. The more he considered her, the more he wanted to get down to business.
Eventually, he posed the question to her, “How much for the next few hours?” His brazen suggestion that she would take money for sexual favors was the final test. If she grew angry, then she didn’t appreciate his genius…
“Whatever you think is fair. How about we see if I can satisfy you? If I can, then you may want to be generous… as you have been so far.” She hefted the chips so that the pieces clinked in her palm. “If not, I don’t deserve a reward.”
She had passed with flying colors. Might even take this one back to civilization with me, he purred in his mind. He’d always thought of himself as a Big Cat… maybe a leopard or jaguar, definitely something dangerous and sleek. His need grew more intense by the moment. He desperately wanted this woman. “Come on, let’s go to my room.” He husked in a voice grown thick with desire.
They reached his suite, his groupies having been dismissed to their own nefarious pursuits, even his bodyguard. The big man had shrugged, “Your call boss-man.” and then stumped across the hallway to his own room. Now he was finally alone with… her. He stripped off his shirt and flipped his shoes into a corner. She stood by the window and watched. The drinks he’d consumed finally caught up with him before he’d shucked his pants and drawers, “Hold on, I’ll be right back.” He was excited, which made urinating a challenge, but it had to be done, so that he could maximize his pleasure. When he stepped from the restroom, au natural, he saw that his latest conquest had done the same and now stood, bare to the world and staring out the window, all the curtains on it pushed to one side, so that the night loomed and the light of a single small desk lamp lit the room. He stalked over to her, ready to take her right there at the window in full view of anyone who looked up from the outside. He secretly hoped for an audience. He enjoyed having others watch him take what he wanted.
She turned to face him, her head lowered… no, it had sunken into her body, only her hair remained above her shoulders! A… mouth, gaping and slavering opened on her stomach, a mouth too large for her body and rimmed with rows of teeth like sharpened spikes. She stepped forward to embrace him and the screaming began… sounds that he was accustomed to eliciting from others rather than emitting from his own person.
**** * ****
“Rhino” was unhappy. He didn’t like to leave Darnell unattended. Perhaps now that his boss was in the room, he could go stand guard outside the door. He took care of some personal ablutions as he wolfed down a couple of energy bars and then walked out into the hallway. He started to settle in front of Darnell’s door, when he heard a muffled scream and faint… slobbering-gobbling noises come from the other side. He quickly tried the door, initially too panicked to think of the extra key card with which Darnell had entrusted him. He fumbled for it and soon had the door open. The interior was completely dark. The light from the hallway spilled inward but didn’t seem to reach as far into the room as it should.
He drew his pistol from the holster on his waistband and began to stalk forward, “Boss, you okay? You hurt?” The room was as silent as a tomb, he shivered a little as that thought crossed his mind. Over by the closed drapes, he smelled something awful: fresh blood and spilled entrails… recent death. His feet squelched on wet carpet. He turned around quickly. There had been no noise, but he’d felt a… presence. There she stood, arms spread wide, mouth on her gut spread wider. Rhino wasn’t one to scream or yell, even in extremis, so no others would come to this room to investigate.
**** * ****
Shelly was glad when the rowdy group left the roulette wheel that sat behind her favorite row of slots. The former “one-armed bandits”, that were now, “multiple button digital bandits” lined every available wall space, and in some spaces stood in rows that drew regulars like a dung-heap draws flies. She’d grabbed her favorite machine early in the evening and sat sliding in dollar bills and working up her points. It was called “Buffalo Dance” and featured images of American Bison and feather-bedecked hunters. The theme on the screen matched and she hoped to one day see the “White Buffalo” image adorn the entire set of images… the grand prize view. Despite the fun graphics, it was her favorite because it was near a restroom and a free soda and snack bar. She found herself ahead and on a roll. She absently lipped her dangling cigarette back into her mouth for a long draw. The smoke obscured the screen for a moment, and then she noted a shadow that lengthened across the reflective surface. Someone stood close behind her. Someone who exuded a chilly air. She paused and looked around, “Can I help you?”
There was no answer, though the shadow shifted slightly as if its caster had heard her.
Now she grew annoyed, this is just the sort of thing to break my winning streak! she raged internally. She braced her hands against the machine and worked her buttocks to make the stool on which she perched spin, so she could confront her harasser. She gaped, and nearly lost her cigarette, there was no one standing near enough to cast the shadow. No one even faced her. She chalked it up to excitement, maybe someone stepped too close when passing to go to the restroom, she thought, still a little annoyed and... chilled.
She turned back to her game and continued working the buttons, pumping in bills, and winning, a little at a time, the points now built well above her investment. This weekend is gonna pay for the last two months of losing and breaking even, she thought triumphantly. The shadow loomed across the screen once more, this time even larger, as though the figure that cast it stood closer. The shape was amorphous but hinted at anthropomorphic. She shivered as an icy breeze flowed around her, as though the air conditioning had sent out a short, cold burst, a minor malfunction…
She turned around with more alacrity and determination than the last time, mouth agape, cigarette once more dangling… precipitously and endangering the cleavage she displayed, already baked and wrinkled from years of sunbathing. The frigid air passed, and no one stood anywhere near her, though a customer approached, headed for either snacks or relief. “Excuse me sir, did you just see someone, maybe a large man, standing behind me?”
The man paused and looked at her in confusion. He had clearly been absorbed in his own thoughts, “Er, what? Uh, No. I wasn’t really paying attention, but… no.” He bustled on toward the free fountain drinks machine.
Shelly shrugged, can’t give up now, the pot is even bigger. She checked her points; she was nearing her all-time high. The winnings would pay her space rental fee at the RV park for the entire month. She pressed and played the buttons more fervently than ever, determined to break the bank on straight points or to reach that magical spin that would offer an instant reward of $10,000.00. She set her new points record and reveled for a moment. She reached for the now small stack of dollar bills the rest having been devoured by the machine. She fed in the entire remaining amount, then once more gazed at the screen. It was entirely blackened by a looming shadow.
The temperature of the air around her plummeted and she shuddered with the sudden biting cold. The cigarette was long extinguished, and she’d let the cold fag fall into the ash tray built onto the side of the machine opposite the drink holder. She was so cold, and she wanted to cry out for help, but the darkness closed in around her as the shadow enveloped her and cut off her breathing. Her fingers, paused above the “spin” button, struck and as her consciousness faded, she saw the flashing blue light and heard the blare of the winner’s siren. White Buffalo images filled all nine spaces. I won! The grand prize!
**** * ****
Terry filled his large cup and stood sipping and daydreaming. He’d lost everything he’d budgeted to lose. Yet he knew that one more try would put him back in black for this trip. He mused about what he would do with the prize money. He’d set his limit at $300.00 and had quickly lost it all on slots. Maybe he could risk just a few more dollars… skip a lunch or two until his next paycheck if it didn’t work. He was startled by the jackpot winner’s flashing light and siren that went off just behind him. That bitch! He yelled internally. Figures some old used up skank would win the big prize. He looked over at the nearby machine with anger and envy vying for control of his senses. She was gone!
He stepped over to the machine and looked around in confusion. Maybe she’d gone to the restroom? No, she’d have passed right by me. He shook his head and stepped up to look at the screen. He could still feel the recent presence of a player, the trace of warmth from a human body that might linger in a space for just a moment after the human had vacated the space. He looked around the casino floor, she was nowhere in sight. She’d been wearing a low-cut silver-spangled top that was cut way too low for her sagging, sun-ravaged bosom. She should be easy to spy, she looked like a deflated disco ball that had fallen from the ceiling to play slots. The only thing that came his way was a train of employees, led by a waitress in a skimpy outfit with purple sparkles and carrying a tray with a glass and a dark bottle. She was followed by other employees, who’d formed a sort of conga line: they sang a congratulatory chorus as they approached.
Terry gaped for a moment when he realized that they thought he was the big winner. He’d have to deny it of course. Surely the woman would be back at any moment to claim her prize. The floor cameras would have recorded who had sat at the machine, but it was too late. The group of enthused employees encircled him, and the attractive young waitress poured him a glass of champagne and snuggled up to him. The manager approached and seized his hand for a vigorous shake, “Well done sir! I see that not only have you hit the jackpot, but you’ve raised an additional $3,000.00 in points. A fabulous prize and well played I’m sure.”
Terry was flabbergasted. He’d never won anything like this… I still haven’t, not really, he reminded himself. He rarely broke even on his gambling forays, whether to the casino, or the corner store for lottery tickets and video slots. He allowed himself to be swept into the reverie and led from the machine to the bar. The employees peeled away as they approached, and he soon found himself with only the bottle and a receipt that he could cash out before he left the premises. A sullen-looking woman stood behind the bar, wiping glasses and a large, mean-looking security staffer menaced the far end. He already had his bottle, so he wasn’t sure why the staff members had deposited him with these two killjoys. He shrugged, picked up the champagne and started to walk away from the bar.
“You can’t take that with you. Either drink it here or give it to me and I’ll put it in the trash.” The bartender stated in monotone.
The security officer stood up straight from where he’d been leaning against the far wall, apparently propping up the building. He folded his massive arms in a threatening manner. Silly, thought Terry, folded arms should be a hindrance, but I get the feeling he’s dangerous regardless. He figured that he’d had enough anyway and set the nearly empty bottle on the bar, “You can keep it ma’am. I can afford another at the hotel.” Terry started to walk away from the bar, but a huge ham-like hand seized his shoulder.
Sausage-sized fingers applied painful pressure, “You apologize to the lady.” The wet heat from a mouth placed uncomfortably close to his ear and beath smelling of river bottom, sent a shiver of disgust through his body. The voice was low and deep as the river that ran past the back side of the property.
Terry decided on the better part of valor and head facing forward to avoid the obscene orifice, “Sorry ma’am, I meant no offense.”
The fingers let go and a harsh laugh sounded from behind the bar. “He don’t even know why he’s apologizing, fool. He ain’t worth the trouble, let him go.”
Terry felt a slight shove and he was sent on his way to the cash-out window. There he met with the lead cashier, an older woman in drab clothing, “I’m sorry sir, we give out only these pre-paid cards, we cannot provide cash over $1,000.00. However, you can treat them like a debit or credit card.” the cashier informed him. It seemed he had no choice, so he accepted. Thirteen grand is thirteen grand, he assured himself. He was elated, though he continued to glance around nervously, waiting for the woman in the sparkly fish-scale top to accost him and name him thief. Yet she was nowhere to be seen. The floor was full of players, some laughing, some intense, some dejected or mesmerized by the games of chance in which they’d lost themselves.
He thought about what to do with the rest of his evening. He didn’t have a hotel room; he’d planned to sleep in his station wagon as he always did before the long haul home. Perhaps he should get a room? Maybe they would take him without a reservation… he giggled a little at the unintended pun: a reservation at the Reservation… he shook his head to clear his overreaction to the silly internal joke. He decided that maybe someone on staff could help him. He approached the major domo at the front entrance that led to the interior walkway and the hotel beyond, “Excuse me sir, do you know whether the hotel will accept a resident without a prior reservation?”
The man, single dark braid wrapped in a leather holder and draped over one shoulder, looked at him gravely, “Yes, I know.” He said nothing more and did not smile as though he’d intended to be humorous.
Terry tried again, “Will you tell me please?”
The man flicked his chin in the direction of the hotel, “See the clerk at the desk.”
“Jerk, you’d think I hadn’t pissed away enough cash in this place over the past few years,” Terry muttered as he stumped toward the hotel, ensuring that he was well beyond earshot before he spoke. His head had begun to buzz a little from the champagne. Took a while for it to affect me, he mused. The hallway appeared to narrow, and his peripheral vision grew grey. He felt dizzy and as he entered the main lobby, the large room began to spin. His last view was of the sky-blue ceiling decorated with a few puffy clouds as it faded into darkness like the sun had set.
He awakened to the sounds of voices chattering happily. He looked around, his vision blurred slightly and his head feeling heavy and sore. He soon found that he could not move his arms or legs… they were bound… he was strapped to a table. He saw numerous bodies moving about in the mostly dark space in which he found himself. “Please.” He croaked, throat dry and feeling scraped. “Please, help me, let me loose. Loose me…” his perceptions cleared slowly, and he saw that the bodies that moved around him, now chanting rhythmically rather than babble-chattering, were emaciated. The owners showed as much bone through their skin as would a dead thing, long decayed. He noted spikes above a few heads… no, antlers… The rest wore… masks? Of various beasts… no, the skulls of those creatures, still filled with glistening fangs. Their dance grew ever more frantic, more energetic than they should be capable of performing. Then one of them reached out with a stick, on the end of which was a small claw, taken and preserved from some dead animal. It used the claw to gouge out a scoop of flesh from Terry’s side. He screamed in torment and horror. His screams soon matched the rhythm of the chanting and they went on for a long time before they at last faded when he’d lost too much blood to remain conscious.
**** * **** END PAGE 1 of 2

…The raging river, pulled them down.
Now they’ll always, be together,
In that Happy Hunting Ground…
- Running Bear by Sonny James
“Snakeyes! New roller, please, next up.” The game runner raked in the dice and chips and ignored the despair in the countenance of the most recent “high roller”. Ted shook his head and other people crowded him away from the dice pit. He was almost out of funds and it was still early. He’d budgeted his, “loss level” carefully to maximize his time at the reservation casino. It was an older one, filled with stereotypical paintings and statues intended to honor the local First Nations Tribes while fulfilling the expectations of rude tourists. He looked around forlornly for a new game to play. He didn’t care for the slots or the drawn-out and ever-shifting card games… ah, Blackjack! There was an opening at the table.
He rushed over before anyone else could snag it and bustled onto the chair. “Okay to deal me in on the next hand?” He interrupted the dealer, who ignored him until he was done dealing out the rest of the players and raking in the chips. He still did not speak but once Ted placed the minimum bet, he flipped a card down in front of him and the game began. Ted immediately started winning the straightforward game. He picked up most of his losses from his unfortunate run at craps and was finally enjoying himself. The couple at the far end of the table had apparently had enough and didn’t care for the new player. Ted liked to talk to new people and thought he was good at it. Before long, the other players had left and it was down to him, the dealer, and an older man, who wore a black cowboy style hat and chain-smoked thin cigarillos.
Ted, grinning heartily at his latest win, glanced over at the man, who had just fired up his next cancer-stick, “You know casinos, and a few bars are the last public places where anyone smokes. I remember when there were smoking sections at most places and my parents told me that there used to be no restrictions. I’ll bet you get plenty of pressure to stop from your family and friends. It’s a pretty bad habit for your long-term health…” Ted usually rambled on past any non-verbal cues that people might give him to stop talking, yet his diatribe came to a screeching halt at the look with which the stern-faced elder favored him.
The older man drew in a long pull on the firestick and then exhaled the stinking cloud into Ted’s face. He coughed a little and gagged at the odor of the raw blend of tobacco and chemicals. The old one removed the cigarillo from his mouth and tapped ashes onto the edge of the table and down onto the floor at his toes, “Sonny, nobody cares. Nobody wants your opinion, and you are not special, no matter what your mommy told you. I’ll do as I please and if you don’t like it, go bother people at another table.”
Ted gaped in shock. In his mind, the man’s words verged on an “assault”. He looked helplessly at the dealer, who just ducked his head and tried not to laugh. Indignant, he rose, took his pile of chips and fled into the depths of the gaming house in search of a friendlier table. He didn’t find one that he liked, so he finally gave up and sat at the bar. The bartender seemed to ignore him in favor of tidying up her workspace. He cleared his throat and received only a glance. He mumbled as much to himself as to her, “I just want a drink while I wait for a table to open.” He wondered at her stony silence, maybe she resents me for being…
His vocal ruminations were interrupted by a feminine voice, “What do you want?”
Ted looked up to see the bartender, mocking smile in place below shining, mesmerizing eyes. Ted simply gaped and eventually worked his jaw uselessly. The bartender shrugged and walked back to the other end of the bar. She spoke with a large man who was clearly part of the security team. He glared at Ted while she spoke. Ted wanted to avoid a confrontation. He’d been conditioned that he should seek authorities if such a situation loomed. Yet casino security was the only available authority here locally. There were Tribal Police on the Reservation, but he wasn’t sure they would want to listen to him. He finally shrugged and decided to go back over to the hotel for the rest of the night. This trip had been very unsatisfying… like all those he’d taken since he moved away from his parents’ home a few years previously.
There was an indoor walkway to the hotel, but Ted decided to go by the outdoor route to get some fresh air and enjoy the natural beauty that the builders had incorporated into the facility. As he walked dejectedly down the sidewalk, local flora pressing in from each side, he heard, from the nearby forest, a screeching wail. It startled him and he had to stop a moment to catch his breath and wait for his heart rate to slow to something more manageable. He realized that it must have been an owl or some other night bird. His father had told him that there were always weird noises “out in the sticks”.
As he plunged his hands into his pockets and determined to go to his room for rest, he caught the faint smell of burning tobacco on the breeze. It wafted over his shoulder from behind and caused him to emit a feeble cough. He looked back in annoyance. In the shadows behind him, he saw a figure. It was dark and stood still in a way that made him uncomfortable. An orange glowing circle of embers hovered around the face and rendered just enough light to illuminate the blue-grey curls of smoke as they exited the tiny conflagration and rose above the brim of a black hat. The ember flared for a moment and then flashed to the ground and was snuffed by a shadowed… foot? It wasn’t exactly clear to Ted; the figure’s lower extremities were... blurred. An even brighter flare, from a lighter or match stabbed into Ted’s eyes as the Smoker lit his next cigarillo.
Ted glared irritation but felt uncomfortable at the unnatural stillness to which the figure returned once the new fire was lit. He coughed once more, this time deliberately in a passive-aggressive attempt to communicate his displeasure and resumed his walk. He strained to listen behind him to determine whether the figure followed. He truly wished to get away from the stink and the threat of cancer or other respiratory illnesses. He slowed to listen, then gave up and looked over his shoulder again. There was no figure in the dark back near the exit to the casino. He turned to resume his walk, but a smoky black form now loomed before him! Its eyes glowed and smoked like large twin cigars as it gaped a maw that emitted pure black smoke and glowed with blue flames within the deep tunnel of the throat. Ted’s consciousness fled his body and found itself in a burning nightmare landscape that extended for as far as he could perceive in all directions.
**** * ****
Darnell, known to his public as “Murder Bush” a deliberate mistranslation of “merde bouche” a.k.a. “Deadly Rapper” for having been a suspect in a shooting back in his youth, stepped up to the dice pit as the geeky dude left. He had plenty of chips and cash to back them. His entourage was there to support him and kiss his backside as often as he wished. He rolled through six passes before he crapped out. He hadn’t over-bet, so he’d won a small amount. He picked up his latest winning chips and handed them to the hostess who had kept him well plied with drinks and snacks. He was sure that for the right price, she would take care of his other needs. He played a few card tables and finished with Roulette.
Each time he won a few chips, he passed them on to the young woman or to one of his flunkies. In the end, they had all received at least some reward for the praises they’d heaped upon him; not for any real accomplishments, but rather to curry favor with the man whom they considered to be wealthy and important: a celebrity. The girl stayed at his side and except for when he asked her questions, she said nothing. He liked that: bitch know her place, he reveled in internal satisfaction. He liked her looks too. She was medium height and a little, “thick”. She was clearly interested but hadn’t gotten in his way when he flirted with other women. He truly liked this one. The more he considered her, the more he wanted to get down to business.
Eventually, he posed the question to her, “How much for the next few hours?” His brazen suggestion that she would take money for sexual favors was the final test. If she grew angry, then she didn’t appreciate his genius…
“Whatever you think is fair. How about we see if I can satisfy you? If I can, then you may want to be generous… as you have been so far.” She hefted the chips so that the pieces clinked in her palm. “If not, I don’t deserve a reward.”
She had passed with flying colors. Might even take this one back to civilization with me, he purred in his mind. He’d always thought of himself as a Big Cat… maybe a leopard or jaguar, definitely something dangerous and sleek. His need grew more intense by the moment. He desperately wanted this woman. “Come on, let’s go to my room.” He husked in a voice grown thick with desire.
They reached his suite, his groupies having been dismissed to their own nefarious pursuits, even his bodyguard. The big man had shrugged, “Your call boss-man.” and then stumped across the hallway to his own room. Now he was finally alone with… her. He stripped off his shirt and flipped his shoes into a corner. She stood by the window and watched. The drinks he’d consumed finally caught up with him before he’d shucked his pants and drawers, “Hold on, I’ll be right back.” He was excited, which made urinating a challenge, but it had to be done, so that he could maximize his pleasure. When he stepped from the restroom, au natural, he saw that his latest conquest had done the same and now stood, bare to the world and staring out the window, all the curtains on it pushed to one side, so that the night loomed and the light of a single small desk lamp lit the room. He stalked over to her, ready to take her right there at the window in full view of anyone who looked up from the outside. He secretly hoped for an audience. He enjoyed having others watch him take what he wanted.
She turned to face him, her head lowered… no, it had sunken into her body, only her hair remained above her shoulders! A… mouth, gaping and slavering opened on her stomach, a mouth too large for her body and rimmed with rows of teeth like sharpened spikes. She stepped forward to embrace him and the screaming began… sounds that he was accustomed to eliciting from others rather than emitting from his own person.
**** * ****
“Rhino” was unhappy. He didn’t like to leave Darnell unattended. Perhaps now that his boss was in the room, he could go stand guard outside the door. He took care of some personal ablutions as he wolfed down a couple of energy bars and then walked out into the hallway. He started to settle in front of Darnell’s door, when he heard a muffled scream and faint… slobbering-gobbling noises come from the other side. He quickly tried the door, initially too panicked to think of the extra key card with which Darnell had entrusted him. He fumbled for it and soon had the door open. The interior was completely dark. The light from the hallway spilled inward but didn’t seem to reach as far into the room as it should.
He drew his pistol from the holster on his waistband and began to stalk forward, “Boss, you okay? You hurt?” The room was as silent as a tomb, he shivered a little as that thought crossed his mind. Over by the closed drapes, he smelled something awful: fresh blood and spilled entrails… recent death. His feet squelched on wet carpet. He turned around quickly. There had been no noise, but he’d felt a… presence. There she stood, arms spread wide, mouth on her gut spread wider. Rhino wasn’t one to scream or yell, even in extremis, so no others would come to this room to investigate.
**** * ****
Shelly was glad when the rowdy group left the roulette wheel that sat behind her favorite row of slots. The former “one-armed bandits”, that were now, “multiple button digital bandits” lined every available wall space, and in some spaces stood in rows that drew regulars like a dung-heap draws flies. She’d grabbed her favorite machine early in the evening and sat sliding in dollar bills and working up her points. It was called “Buffalo Dance” and featured images of American Bison and feather-bedecked hunters. The theme on the screen matched and she hoped to one day see the “White Buffalo” image adorn the entire set of images… the grand prize view. Despite the fun graphics, it was her favorite because it was near a restroom and a free soda and snack bar. She found herself ahead and on a roll. She absently lipped her dangling cigarette back into her mouth for a long draw. The smoke obscured the screen for a moment, and then she noted a shadow that lengthened across the reflective surface. Someone stood close behind her. Someone who exuded a chilly air. She paused and looked around, “Can I help you?”
There was no answer, though the shadow shifted slightly as if its caster had heard her.
Now she grew annoyed, this is just the sort of thing to break my winning streak! she raged internally. She braced her hands against the machine and worked her buttocks to make the stool on which she perched spin, so she could confront her harasser. She gaped, and nearly lost her cigarette, there was no one standing near enough to cast the shadow. No one even faced her. She chalked it up to excitement, maybe someone stepped too close when passing to go to the restroom, she thought, still a little annoyed and... chilled.
She turned back to her game and continued working the buttons, pumping in bills, and winning, a little at a time, the points now built well above her investment. This weekend is gonna pay for the last two months of losing and breaking even, she thought triumphantly. The shadow loomed across the screen once more, this time even larger, as though the figure that cast it stood closer. The shape was amorphous but hinted at anthropomorphic. She shivered as an icy breeze flowed around her, as though the air conditioning had sent out a short, cold burst, a minor malfunction…
She turned around with more alacrity and determination than the last time, mouth agape, cigarette once more dangling… precipitously and endangering the cleavage she displayed, already baked and wrinkled from years of sunbathing. The frigid air passed, and no one stood anywhere near her, though a customer approached, headed for either snacks or relief. “Excuse me sir, did you just see someone, maybe a large man, standing behind me?”
The man paused and looked at her in confusion. He had clearly been absorbed in his own thoughts, “Er, what? Uh, No. I wasn’t really paying attention, but… no.” He bustled on toward the free fountain drinks machine.
Shelly shrugged, can’t give up now, the pot is even bigger. She checked her points; she was nearing her all-time high. The winnings would pay her space rental fee at the RV park for the entire month. She pressed and played the buttons more fervently than ever, determined to break the bank on straight points or to reach that magical spin that would offer an instant reward of $10,000.00. She set her new points record and reveled for a moment. She reached for the now small stack of dollar bills the rest having been devoured by the machine. She fed in the entire remaining amount, then once more gazed at the screen. It was entirely blackened by a looming shadow.
The temperature of the air around her plummeted and she shuddered with the sudden biting cold. The cigarette was long extinguished, and she’d let the cold fag fall into the ash tray built onto the side of the machine opposite the drink holder. She was so cold, and she wanted to cry out for help, but the darkness closed in around her as the shadow enveloped her and cut off her breathing. Her fingers, paused above the “spin” button, struck and as her consciousness faded, she saw the flashing blue light and heard the blare of the winner’s siren. White Buffalo images filled all nine spaces. I won! The grand prize!
**** * ****
Terry filled his large cup and stood sipping and daydreaming. He’d lost everything he’d budgeted to lose. Yet he knew that one more try would put him back in black for this trip. He mused about what he would do with the prize money. He’d set his limit at $300.00 and had quickly lost it all on slots. Maybe he could risk just a few more dollars… skip a lunch or two until his next paycheck if it didn’t work. He was startled by the jackpot winner’s flashing light and siren that went off just behind him. That bitch! He yelled internally. Figures some old used up skank would win the big prize. He looked over at the nearby machine with anger and envy vying for control of his senses. She was gone!
He stepped over to the machine and looked around in confusion. Maybe she’d gone to the restroom? No, she’d have passed right by me. He shook his head and stepped up to look at the screen. He could still feel the recent presence of a player, the trace of warmth from a human body that might linger in a space for just a moment after the human had vacated the space. He looked around the casino floor, she was nowhere in sight. She’d been wearing a low-cut silver-spangled top that was cut way too low for her sagging, sun-ravaged bosom. She should be easy to spy, she looked like a deflated disco ball that had fallen from the ceiling to play slots. The only thing that came his way was a train of employees, led by a waitress in a skimpy outfit with purple sparkles and carrying a tray with a glass and a dark bottle. She was followed by other employees, who’d formed a sort of conga line: they sang a congratulatory chorus as they approached.
Terry gaped for a moment when he realized that they thought he was the big winner. He’d have to deny it of course. Surely the woman would be back at any moment to claim her prize. The floor cameras would have recorded who had sat at the machine, but it was too late. The group of enthused employees encircled him, and the attractive young waitress poured him a glass of champagne and snuggled up to him. The manager approached and seized his hand for a vigorous shake, “Well done sir! I see that not only have you hit the jackpot, but you’ve raised an additional $3,000.00 in points. A fabulous prize and well played I’m sure.”
Terry was flabbergasted. He’d never won anything like this… I still haven’t, not really, he reminded himself. He rarely broke even on his gambling forays, whether to the casino, or the corner store for lottery tickets and video slots. He allowed himself to be swept into the reverie and led from the machine to the bar. The employees peeled away as they approached, and he soon found himself with only the bottle and a receipt that he could cash out before he left the premises. A sullen-looking woman stood behind the bar, wiping glasses and a large, mean-looking security staffer menaced the far end. He already had his bottle, so he wasn’t sure why the staff members had deposited him with these two killjoys. He shrugged, picked up the champagne and started to walk away from the bar.
“You can’t take that with you. Either drink it here or give it to me and I’ll put it in the trash.” The bartender stated in monotone.
The security officer stood up straight from where he’d been leaning against the far wall, apparently propping up the building. He folded his massive arms in a threatening manner. Silly, thought Terry, folded arms should be a hindrance, but I get the feeling he’s dangerous regardless. He figured that he’d had enough anyway and set the nearly empty bottle on the bar, “You can keep it ma’am. I can afford another at the hotel.” Terry started to walk away from the bar, but a huge ham-like hand seized his shoulder.
Sausage-sized fingers applied painful pressure, “You apologize to the lady.” The wet heat from a mouth placed uncomfortably close to his ear and beath smelling of river bottom, sent a shiver of disgust through his body. The voice was low and deep as the river that ran past the back side of the property.
Terry decided on the better part of valor and head facing forward to avoid the obscene orifice, “Sorry ma’am, I meant no offense.”
The fingers let go and a harsh laugh sounded from behind the bar. “He don’t even know why he’s apologizing, fool. He ain’t worth the trouble, let him go.”
Terry felt a slight shove and he was sent on his way to the cash-out window. There he met with the lead cashier, an older woman in drab clothing, “I’m sorry sir, we give out only these pre-paid cards, we cannot provide cash over $1,000.00. However, you can treat them like a debit or credit card.” the cashier informed him. It seemed he had no choice, so he accepted. Thirteen grand is thirteen grand, he assured himself. He was elated, though he continued to glance around nervously, waiting for the woman in the sparkly fish-scale top to accost him and name him thief. Yet she was nowhere to be seen. The floor was full of players, some laughing, some intense, some dejected or mesmerized by the games of chance in which they’d lost themselves.
He thought about what to do with the rest of his evening. He didn’t have a hotel room; he’d planned to sleep in his station wagon as he always did before the long haul home. Perhaps he should get a room? Maybe they would take him without a reservation… he giggled a little at the unintended pun: a reservation at the Reservation… he shook his head to clear his overreaction to the silly internal joke. He decided that maybe someone on staff could help him. He approached the major domo at the front entrance that led to the interior walkway and the hotel beyond, “Excuse me sir, do you know whether the hotel will accept a resident without a prior reservation?”
The man, single dark braid wrapped in a leather holder and draped over one shoulder, looked at him gravely, “Yes, I know.” He said nothing more and did not smile as though he’d intended to be humorous.
Terry tried again, “Will you tell me please?”
The man flicked his chin in the direction of the hotel, “See the clerk at the desk.”
“Jerk, you’d think I hadn’t pissed away enough cash in this place over the past few years,” Terry muttered as he stumped toward the hotel, ensuring that he was well beyond earshot before he spoke. His head had begun to buzz a little from the champagne. Took a while for it to affect me, he mused. The hallway appeared to narrow, and his peripheral vision grew grey. He felt dizzy and as he entered the main lobby, the large room began to spin. His last view was of the sky-blue ceiling decorated with a few puffy clouds as it faded into darkness like the sun had set.
He awakened to the sounds of voices chattering happily. He looked around, his vision blurred slightly and his head feeling heavy and sore. He soon found that he could not move his arms or legs… they were bound… he was strapped to a table. He saw numerous bodies moving about in the mostly dark space in which he found himself. “Please.” He croaked, throat dry and feeling scraped. “Please, help me, let me loose. Loose me…” his perceptions cleared slowly, and he saw that the bodies that moved around him, now chanting rhythmically rather than babble-chattering, were emaciated. The owners showed as much bone through their skin as would a dead thing, long decayed. He noted spikes above a few heads… no, antlers… The rest wore… masks? Of various beasts… no, the skulls of those creatures, still filled with glistening fangs. Their dance grew ever more frantic, more energetic than they should be capable of performing. Then one of them reached out with a stick, on the end of which was a small claw, taken and preserved from some dead animal. It used the claw to gouge out a scoop of flesh from Terry’s side. He screamed in torment and horror. His screams soon matched the rhythm of the chanting and they went on for a long time before they at last faded when he’d lost too much blood to remain conscious.
**** * ****

Ever since a Let’s Play got me into Stardew Valley, I’ve fallen in love with the world. It’s something special, a place to relax and get away from the world’s problems. Here, you can pay bills with the sweat of your own brow, make friends, fall in love, and can escape the drudgery of modern life. It’s magical in its own way.
I’ve played hundreds of hours over multiple save files. I’ve been wondering one thing just recently, however. I remember when I first asked Robin for house upgrades and the sheer bowel-emptying amount she asked for. Seriously? That much for a kitchen? Now that I haven’t left my house for the past several weeks, fear human contact, and have deep dived into the paranormal, I’m overthinking something constantly: with regards to modern housework, does Robin the carpenter over or under charge you for her work?
To figure this out, it’s going to require a fair bit of math and a lot of guesswork. I’m going to have to establish a lot of ground rules but I’m going to try and be as accurate to real world costs as I can. We need to learn four things:

• What year does the game take place so we can calculate accurate inflation?
• What is the square footage of the house and its upgrades?
• What is the exchange value of gold, the game’s currency?
• What is the cost of Robin’s labor?

Let’s tackle the first. To do this, I scoured around to look for modern conveniences. Primarily, I found these five:

• Leah mentions she has a laptop
• The carpentry shop sells Plasma screen TVs.
• There is what appears to be an old Apple computer monitor in Harvey’s clinic and Maru’s room.
• Sam has an electric guitar and what looks like a plasma screen computer monitor in his room.
• In Mr. Qi’s casino, the slot machines do not have a lever. This is important because that gives us a firm earliest date of 1963.

Another interesting factoid is the number of Cathode-ray TVs you see in Stardew Valley. These are the precursors to plasma screens, which were in turn succeeded by LCD screen TVs. Additionally, a large number of your starter houses comes preequipped with Cathode-ray TVs. Granted, this may be because the farmhouse was abandoned for many years before you came along, but there exists another such TV in 1 River Road where we often see George watching his shows. I will concede that George and Evelyn are quite old and may not have the tech savvy nature of Sebastian to get something more modern, so that can’t be an accurate measurement. Plus, Alex’s mental acumen is a little... questionable.
As for crafting recipes, there really isn’t anything worth talking about. Magic items I won’t talk about because it has no real world comparison; that also throws out the wizard shop’s items. The furniture catalog has nothing of note to pinepoint a date, and nor does Pierre’s General Store, Joja Mart, Joja Warehouse, the Blacksmith, Stardrop Saloon, or Marnie’s ranch. Leah doesn’t mention anything about her laptop, so that is of little help.
So the casino gives us a low bound. Although manufacturing of the plasma screen TV stopped in the US in 2014, plasma screen TVs were losing their market shares around 2007 and factories were shutting down. As you can buy them like hotcakes and fill a shed with them, 2007 is our upper bound.
The price for plasma screens was quite pricey for residential homes. 1995 was the year 42 inch plasma screens became commercial, and some had home installation priced somewhere around US$15,000. Still not quite the size of the queen or king sized bed you and your spouse have (the size of the plasma screen in the game), but sixty inch plasma screen TVs were sold around the year 2000, and that is plenty big. Given the size of the screen in the game is roughly three tiles just like your bed, I think it’s safe to say this is around the size of our estimate. Our rough year range is now 1995 to 2007. Let’s split the difference and say the game takes place in 2001.
We have our year.
To calculate the size of our farmhouse, we need some baseline measurement. Luckily, the game is pixelated so we can be quite accurate in our measurements. Unluckily, we have no confirmed height of anything, so we have to intuit some things. Reddit user asparagus made this excellent size chart, so while I can just use that and save myself a lot of work, let us do some measurements of our own and then measure the farmhouse with both this method and asparagus’ method.
First, there is the height of plants, but those can vary widely. For instance, you can pot prickly pear cactuses in your farmhouse, but their height can vary anywhere between one and seven feet. Plant height is a no go. The average height of a minifridge is forty three inches (109 cm) tall, so unless you are a dwarf, that’s not right either. The fences are also a good starting point, as most agricultural fencing stands at four feet (1.2 m).
Here we don’t have to do much; all fences are forty eight pixels in height. Four feet equals out to forty eight inches (121.92 cm). It doesn’t get more perfect than that!
Trigger warning: incoming math.
Now comes the really tricky part: getting the dimensions of each iteration of your farmhouse, and squinting at my computer screen like a mole in order to count pixels; we must include walls as well as that is included in square footage. Our first iteration has pixel measurements of 704x496. Add in the doorway (136x64pixels), and then we’ll still convert for square feet. 704 * 496 + (136 * 64) = 318,452 pixels/sq, which (dividing by 12^2) converts to 2,211.47 ft/sq. Damn, we’re well on our way for most modern mansions.
I have to have messed something up (205.45 m/sq, btw). The average firebox (the inside of a fireplace where you burn wood) tends to be around 32x20 inches (81.28x50.8 cm). Ours is... 72x40. Twice as large. I also haven’t even begun to calculate the farmhouse’s height because Robin is beginning to scare me.
Alright, new plan, we’re going with asparagus. I married Haley and took her measurements. She is 104 pixels tall, and since she is 65 inches (165.1 cm) according to asparagus, that gives us a measurement of .625 inches/pixel (1.5875 cm/pixel).
Side note, I really want some Twizlers right now.
So instead of having pixels as at a 1:1 ratio, we have something a little more lenient, but things are looking a little... grim. We’ll have to convert each individual amount, so we have (704 * .625) * (496 * .625) + ((136 * 64) * .625^2) for 124,395.31 inches/sq, 863.86 ft/sq., 80.25 m/sq. But still, we haven’t even begun to calculate the actual volume of our farmhouse yet, so these numbers are going to explode.
I’m beginning to think Robin is Hestia. Yoba is not the only deity in this town.
Alright, calculating the rest of the floor spaces is a little boring so let’s speedrun this.
Wall height for the farmhouse is 140 pixels, so (140 * .625) * 124,395.31 inches/sq / 12^3 = 6,298.95 ft^3 (178.36 m^3) for the farmhouse, and 25,800.51 ft^3 (730.58 m^3) using my method.
Just... let’s move on.
Second iteration has me doing a fair bit more work.
Wall height is 135 pixels, and rightmost—wait, the walls are shorter? Weird. Anyway, the rightmost room has dimensions of 486 for width by 375 for depth (and the same cubby dimensions), giving us cuboid dimensions of 24,603,750 pixels^3, which converts to 14,238.28 ft^3 (403.18 m^3), and 3,476.14 ft^3 (82.83 m^3) using asparagus' method
Middle corridor has a dimensional width of 42 pixels by 87 depth, giving us a total of 285.47 ft^3 (8.08 m^3), and 69.69 ft^3 (1.97 m^3) using asparagus' method.
Leftmost room (the kitchen) has a width of 870 and depth of 375, with a doorway of 136x64. That gives us a cuboid area of 314,019.38 ft^3 (29,173.11 m^3), and 6,388.74 ft^3 (180.91 m^3) using asparagus' method.
That gives us a grand total for a tier two home of...
... 328,543.13 ft^3 (29,584.37 m^3) using my method and
... 9,934.58 ft^3 (281.31 m^3) using asparagus' method.
So Robin added at a minimum 3,635.63 cubic feet to your house in three days by herself. Even if you extend the days and months to roughly align with our own calendar, that would be a mere nine days. How much powdered starfruit did she snort in order to do that by herself? I 100% believe Emily is the town’s dealer. I didn’t even calculate the length of the farmhouse loft. It’s doable, and even though you can’t enter it in the game, a bigger farmhouse means a bigger loft judging by the look of it.
Anyway, I’m not going to calculate the loft area right now. I’m not going to calculate the other tiers of your farmhouse either, even though that was my intent when I started this analysis. The math is easy enough, but it gets boring to type, and no doubt to read. Plus, I’m a little stunned by Robin's carpentry acumen. C’mon Robin, stop upgrading my house. Exercise with the girls, dance with your husband, smoke some weed, I dunno, RELAX.
But in a strange way, it makes a weird sort of sense. Pretty much no one plays the game with auto-run turned off, but do so for a moment. See how fast you move. That is your normal pace, and auto-run is you, an Olympian god, sprinting around town every second of every day, helping the shit out of everyone whether they want it or not, snorting the same starfruit mixture you got from Robin to keep going, who may have gotten it from Linus (my money is still on Emily). We’ve become so accustomed to seeing the run animation as our default I almost didn’t realize it doesn’t translate to modern life. The boards in your house, I almost took those as your normal 2x4 planks of wood (which actually measure 1.5x3.5, the world lies to me). They are not. They are almost the width of your entire body, and your walking pace (sorry I can’t get an exact pixel measurement) covers roughly one and a half boards, a similar length to a normal human gait. The art style fooled even me until now, but your house is massive.
Let’s just answer our other two questions. What is the exchange rate? Calculating the exchange rate of a fictional world is always tricky as they have different concepts of rarities, but I’ll give it the ol’ college try. Once again, I can’t do anything with magic. Let’s first list some things of note:

• Iridium is fairly easy to get around Stardew Valley once you are able, and that is a rare and valuable metal, with a current price of US$1,510 per troy ounce.
• You can purchase a golden column to place on your farm, and gold has a current price of US$1,643 per troy ounce
• Conversely, while the first two are rare and valuable metals, crops such as corn are valued at prices like 150g, a very unusually high amount if exchanged 1:1 to USA dollars.
• Going back to plasma screen TVs, we can use its price history and then convert currencies to Stardew Valley gold.

Now you may be tempted to say we can’t translate iridium and gold’s prices to real world market values, and normally you may be right, but there are some extenuating circumstances in the game: the town is right next to two very large mines. It is even a plot point once you clear the glittering boulder that the water carries ore from deep inside the mountain. Yes, gold and iridium are valuable, but your location to ore veins is important; gold and iridium may be uncommon resources but you have access to very specific places where they are more common, otherwise known as the scarcity heuristic). This also explains two facts about iridium: discounting magic, iridium is quite rare in the game, just like real life. Secondly, Clint’s prices make a lot more sense not only because it’s endgame material, but because iridium is super dense and has a very high melting point, thus making it a very difficult material to work with.
But by far the biggest challenge of this question is figuring out whether or not items you produce factor in the cost of your labor or not. For instance, lace is made of simple materials that even in the days of Victorian England, it was easy to get. However because lace was so time consuming to make, it could command absurd prices. Thus, one of the first things we need to discover is whether or not the game takes into account cost of labor or not.
So I am going to take you all back to school and talk about someone who’s old and dead: Adam Smith. It was he who talked about the cost of labor in his book The Wealth of Nations, and because of that, I bring up this particular line:

“...From century to century, corn is a better measure than silver, because, from century to century, equal quantities of corn will command the same quantity of labour more nearly than equal quantities of silver.”

Why did I mention corn above? This is why. Prices may vary, but agriculture has been around for thousands of years and the cost of a farmer’s labor equals about the same.
According to Dylan Baumann, Stardew Valley corn plants have a profit value of 535 gold per plant. Our corn plant profits are about as high as they can get without adding something new into the mix, and we don’t want that yet.
Let’s set some ground rules:

• Cultivatable farm space on the standard farm equals out to 3,427 spaces, but we’ll round that down to 3,350 for iridium sprinklers, iridium watering can, and scarecrows, equaling maximum farming with no loss of crop.
• We’ll keep Dylan’s ground rules, so no fertilizer.
• No preserves, jams, wine, and juices.
• No farming efficiencies and crop selling bonuses.
• No use of the greenhouse to grow crops outside of the growing season.

If you plant the entire farm with corn and stop harvesting on Fall day 28 when the growing season ends, that lets you harvest a total of 11 ears of corn per plant. Multiply that by 3,350, we get a total of 36,850 ears of corn for your entire farm. Corn is measured in bushels, and a bushel of corn can be anywhere between 40 and 60 ears of corn, but we’ll say you really pack it in for 60, meaning your growing season for corn produces 36,850 / 60 corn for a total of 614.17 bushels per year.
The USDA has a 2001 labor value of corn at US$2.92 per acre (and that matches the Iowa labor statistic), and using 156 bushels per acre, that brings our labor cost per bushel at... US$00.02. That’s a real pittance. Considering bushels of corn retailed around $2.11 per bushel in 2001, that is an incredible markup of 184.85 times.
We’re almost done with the dreaded math, I swear.
Corn retails at 100g apiece in Stardew Valley(You get 50 gold from Pierre, so he has a 100% markup), meaning the labor cost should be around 184.85 times less that amount, meaning it takes about 0.54 gold to make one ear of corn.
Your average US farmers salary $55,000 and $100,000, and we’ll take the middle of $77,500 for our measurements. Dividing the farmer’s salary by the total ears of corn our farmer grows in Stardew Valley, we get a labor cost per ear of corn in US dollars of $2.10 per ear of corn. Now we multiply this by our markup ratio to get the IRL retail cost of corn in Stardew, getting US$237.08! Damn that better be some good eating! We divide that number by the Stardew Valley retail cost of corn, netting us a real world conversion of gold of, drumroll please, $2.37 US dollars per gold in 2001.
Now just for funzies, let us calculate the actual salary of your famer in Stardew Valley. Multiplying your 36,850 ears of corn by 50 gold (your selling price of gold, not the retail price of 100g), that nets you 1,842,500 gold per growing season. Multiply that by the dollagold conversion we just calculated and your real life gross income comes out to be US$436,672,500.
Give me all of the golden clocks, wizard.
Three questions down, one more to go. Currency conversion was rather tricky because it involved quite a lot of math, but this last question, what is the cost of Robin’s labor, that requires the most assumptions. There’s an easy answer and a hard answer.
Robin’s upgrades, except for the last, require you the farmer to give her resources in addition to gold. The simple answer is you are providing materials in order to keep the raw gold cost down. This means that the first house upgrade, 10,000 gold, is strictly her labor cost as the 450 wood is all the raw materials she needs to build. 3 days * 3 months (to adjust Stardew month lengths to our month lengths) comes out to Robin working an IRL equivalent to 9 days. Taking 10,000 gold / 9 days equals a cost of 1,111.111 gold per day, and considering Robin has snorted enough powdered starfruit to have 20 hour work days, that comes out to 55.56 gold per hour.
Just to be sure, let’s see if the math holds up for the last upgrade. That one requires a cost of 100,000 gold and comes preequipped with 33 casks. You do not provide the resources for the casks, meaning that comes included with the cost. Casks cannot be sold, but the materials required to make them are 20 wood and 1 hardwood, which Robin will provide for the same 100% markup (meaning 4 gold and 30 gold respectively). 4 gold * 30 gold * 33 casks comes out to 3,960 gold. Using the same calculations for the first house iteration, we get (100,000 gold - 3,960) / (3 days * 3 months) / 20 hours for a total of 533.56 gold per hour.
Not even close to our first estimate. We could just average them together for (533.56 + 55.56) / 2 = 294.56 gold, and that would be the easy answer. It would be nice to settle for the easy answer.
Let’s find the hard answer. We are going to calculate labor cost per square footage, and luckily most of the work has been done over the course of several google spreadsheets. To find the cost of materials and money per upgrade volume we get the formula (Upgrade volume - Base Volume) / 10,000 gold. This gives us a grand total of cubic material built per gold of...
...2,573.26 in^3/gold, 30.27 ft^3/gold, 2.89 m^3/gold using my method and
...628.24 in^3/gold, 0.36 ft^3/gold, 0.01 m^3/gold using asparagus’ method.
Let’s see if the math holds up for the basement upgrade and dammit I just realized I got to do more pixel measurements now. Hold on, be back in an hour.
Alright, I’m back. We don’t need to do any subtraction for the previous volume of the house considering the cellar is its own little area, but we still need to subtract the value of the materials used for the casks. The cellar comes out to a grand total of cubic materials built per gold of...
...386.91 in^3/gold, 0.22 ft^3/gold, 0.01 m^3/gold using my method and
...94.46 in^3/gold, 0.05 ft^3/gold, 0.0015 m^3/gold using asparagus’ method.
Huge discrepancy.
Before I get into my reasoning why, let us outline what we know first.

• We’re pretty sure the game takes place in 2001.
• We have the exact sizes of each house upgrade calculated with two different methods.
• We have a certified exchange rate of US$2.37 at that point in time.
• We have two different methods of calculating the cost of Robin’s labor.
• The amount of work Robin does during her three(nine?) day job is absolutely obscene.

I come to one conclusion: Robin is a god that has settled down in the world of Stardew Valley.
Here me out. I have three pieces of evidence.
The first is when Robin is hired to take on a house upgrade job no one helps her, not even her husband Demetrius. Your house is right next to hers, so you’re not paying for travel. As we have shown by our calculations above and in the gDoc spreadsheet, that is a massive amount of work. It’s simply not possible for a human to accomplish such a monumental task. Robin claims she built her own home herself with this line from the game...

“Have I told you that I built our house from the ground up? It's definitely been the highlight of my career so far.”

...so we know her carpentry acumen is impressive enough for the job, but she has severely understated her skill. Homeadvisor pegs a house costing anywhere between US$150,000 to US$500,000 (US$102,005.53 to $340,018.44, adjusted for 2001 inflation), but even adjusted for inflation, Robin absolutely underbids the current housing market. Those inflation adjusted values, when converted to gold, come out to a range of 43,040.31g-143,467.70g. Granted, these prices are for a complete house, not adding onto a current house, but even if we half the value you are getting one hell of a discount.
The second piece is Robin’s language. The sheer passion for her work speaks wonders..

“Wood is a wonderful substance... it's versatile, cheap, strong, and each piece has its own unique character!”

...but perhaps she is just passionate about what she does. Many people are, but knowing what we do about how dirt cheap and blindingly fast she works let’s go into more detail about some things, specifically three lines. The first...

“Our little plan worked out well, don't you think? Pam and Penny seem really happy.”

...is said after Pam’s house undergoes an upgrade. “Our” plan? Sure, you are the one that buys the upgrade and Robin has to build it, but I can’t help but feel there is a double meaning behind this language. It is done out of the kindness of Robin’s heart and the materials have to come from somewhere, so she can’t do it for free, but it wasn’t about the money, as we have stated previously. It was about Penny.
Pam is a somewhat contentious person because of slobbish and slovenly nature. She is immediately and irrationally angered when Penny tries to pick the place up. She drinks heavily...

“\sigh*... My mother definitely has a problem with going to the saloon too much. But it's best not to dwell on bad things, right?”*

...doesn’t seem to understand not paying her tab has some consequences, and doesn’t realize what her habits have done to her daughter’s psyche.
Then you, the player come along. Pam is okay with the simple things in life, but you help Penny with her worries and insecurities, and then with you and Robin together, you give Penny everything she needs to help her shed those worries. She has a house that doesn have problems with rain, two friends who look out for her, her mom has a job, and most importantly she has peace of mind and in a world fraught with problems, that is truly priceless.
Then there is this line...

“Hey! I heard some weird noises last night, and woke up this morning to find the quarry bridge completely repaired! It's a miracle of woodworking!”

...and it occurs once you offer items to the community center junimos to get the quarry bridge repaired.
It is also a bald-faced lie.
The junimos are good, don’t get me wrong, but we’ve seen what Robin can do with our own two eyes. She is absolutely incredible at her job, and while I may give it to her she has no idea what junimos are or what they are capable of, we have proof that the act of restoring the bridge in one night is not out of the realm of possibility for her. A miracle, yes, but I’m certain she can beat the junimos’ time.
Lastly, there is one quote from her that is just... it opens up some very interesting questions. When she says...

“My parents were bewildered when I told them I wanted to be a carpenter. They were pretty old-fashioned.”

...how old are her parents when they consider carpentry too new-fashioned for them? Carpentry is one of the world’s oldest professions. If they were old-fashioned, why were they bewildered?
This line is just so fascinating to me. Robin is incredibly skilled, but I cannot rationalize carpentry being too newfangled for parents to wrap their head around. Who were they? Where are they from? I know your secrets, Robin, I know your parents are gods, too.
The third and final piece is the contrasting pieces of the world at large. Just like ours, it’s a little depressing. Joja Corp runs dozens of what even Cyberpunk would consider a dataslave farm. The world is flooded with consumerism run amok, Orwellian surveillance, and rampant urbanization. The Ferngill Republic is in the middle of a war with the Gotoro Empire and Kent still suffers PTSD from being in a prisoner of war camp.
Stardew Valley isn’t just a town to retire in, it is a place of respite and healing. There are three confirmed magic users deeply tied to the town’s mystical roots. The bears speak and encourage you to manage the world around you. You are rewarded for restoring balance to the valley by being able to recycle things you don’t need. Your main resource in the game, gold, also doesn’t matter that much; if it ever slips into the negative, nothing bad ever happens. You must just work to raise it back up. There is no lose condition in the game.
In many respects it is similar to the Gaiaism philosophy that all living beings are connected, each relying and depending on each other in order to maintain a peaceful coexistence. You help Shane with his nihilism and depression, Sebastian with his ability to express and accept affection, Sam with his dreams, Kent with his problems, Leah with her ambitions, Haley with her generosity and narcissism, or even simple goals like Penny’s idea of a quiet domestic life.
Whether it is the addicted, lost, or scorned, everyone is welcome and everyone can have a home in Stardew Valley. No one embodies this more than Robin who just wants a simple life. Whether it is her own house or her own boat during the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies, Robin builds it herself. The feel of wood grain, the smell of lacquer, the stickiness of stain, the thrum of the saw, and the bite of the axe. Robin doesn’t charge you nearly enough for your house upgrades because it is not about the money. Woodworking is what she loves and she lives in a place where barterism, kindness, family, and friendship substitute so many of life's modern problems and inconveniences.
Friendship increases in the game aren’t just a measurement of achievements, a means of getting more recipes, or more candles lit on a grave. You are making friends and getting to know these people for who they are and everyone’s life is bettered because of it. The amount of love I’ve seen for Linus is just staggering. Shane, in all of his melancholy and despite him not being a suitor in the original version of the game, is loved by so many. I know some despise Haley, but I love that I was able to show her what kindness can do for people.
You are in a gentle and loving place, and you are loved.
What a better place for a god to reside? A quiet town filled with peace and love, seeped in nature and the old magics of yore. A loving mate, a family to raise. Land to share with those that forage from its bounty. It’s all she needs.
Robin’s role in all of this? She desires neither worship nor admiration. She is just a friend. A god, certainly, but a friend first and foremost who is just settling down in a quiet town looking for a little peace.
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https://preview.redd.it/vxedrolha3w51.png?width=507&format=png&auto=webp&s=d109cc65b008db74dc4ef74d20083c6eeb2cfc60
Image by MagicallyClueless