How to be a Good Friend, and an Even Better Nemesis

Notes on terrorizing the people you love.

It’s tricky. Some days, it feels insensitive to post newsletters — at least, the sort of newsletters I tend to write. I run the risk of seeming too frivolous if I don’t acknowledge the bad things happening in the world. But I don’t have my head in the sand; being cheerful and optimistic is an exercise of freedom. I won’t hand that over to a bunch of garden-variety boot-licking idiots. In short, perhaps to be cheerful in today’s world is, in itself, a sophisticated and revolutionary act of defiance. Just a thought. Though what would I know?

Anyway, one of my New Year’s Resolutions has been to slowly work through my mental list of enemies, possibly to determine which of them has procured the services of a witch. You know, the sort that is adept in curses. I suspect it’s Byron. He’s not on my enemies list, but it sometimes pays to be paranoid, don’t you think?

Byron himself has always been moderately paranoid. Also, he’s American, so his base-rate of paranoia is already higher than the global average. The first time I met him, he almost sniffed the air around me with frightened wariness. Eyes wide and alert, and looking ready to run. Might have been a sound idea, if I’m being honest. There’s something about people like Byron that can bring out the devil in me.

On the other hand, I can’t seem to picture him consulting with witches. He’s too disorganized. Though one time, Zoya and I took him on an adventure, and — long story short — he ended up being marooned, alone, in an allegedly haunted forest amid the Harz mountains in Germany. He slept that night in pitch darkness near some railway tracks, and right below something called the Hexentanzplatz — the witches’ dance floor. No really, if I ever urge you to come with me on a trip somewhere, say yes. That’s my advice.

Now, I’m probably Byron’s best friend, after his brother. Sure, I got him stranded in a haunted forest one time, but I also got him a job at Harvard. I let him stay with me for several months when he moved to Boston. He was best man at my wedding. But are we close friends? Well, the main issue is that I am, and always have been, an actual trickster, and this makes Byron apprehensive. He’s already paranoid, as I mentioned. He thinks everyone is plotting against him, which is probably not the best state of mind to have around somebody like myself.

I mean, clearly nobody is plotting against Byron — why would they? Nonetheless, I have always somehow felt that if I don’t, you know, plot against him even a little, then I’d be letting him down. I’d be negating his sense of reality, which is something I believe friends should not do. And so, out of the kindness of my heart, I do things to Byron to inflame his (already high) levels of unease.

One time, when he worked for me at Harvard, I found him wandering an upper floor of the library, looking lost and hapless as usual.

“Byron, you are doomed to be eternally fatalistic,” I told him.

“Am I?” he responded, with dread mingled with defeat. “Goddamn it. Damn this sucks.”

Now, as I mentioned, Byron was paranoid when I found him, and not for any reason known to man, so I don’t think I’m to blame here. If I supply him with reasons with which he can justify that paranoia, does that not make me a helper in his life? After all, to be paranoid for no reason whatsoever seems a little bit silly.

I’m compassionate, I suppose. I’m too good-natured; it makes me rather adept in the role of nemesis. Which I am, by the way — I’m Byron’s nemesis. Also, as I have very patiently explained to him a number of times, having me for a nemesis is a real blessing in his life. It’s always better to have a friend for a nemesis than an enemy. It means that when I’m plotting against him, I have his best interests at heart. I got him that job at Harvard, you’ll remember, because I’m a good friend. It also made being his nemesis a little more convenient.

There he’d be, eating lunch with colleagues in the cafeteria of Harvard’s School of Public Health, and then some random woman appears. She looms over him and declaims loudly: “You can’t keep dodging my calls forever, Byron! This baby will need a father!” And then, goes storming off into a crowd.

Byron would probably argue — actually, he has argued, a number of times — that he doesn’t want to live a weird life. My counter-argument, of course, was something to the effect of, ‘nobody asked you what sort of life you wanted, and by the way, you owe that woman $100 for making a scene in the cafeteria. I gave her your phone number so you can square up with her, later. And you’re welcome.’

But that was years ago. I haven’t seen Byron since before Covid. Still, I’ve been thinking about him lately. I don’t think his life is interesting in the least, sadly. And that’s not his fault, obviously; it’s mine. His inability to make his own life interesting borders on an actual disability. That’s why he needs me to be his nemesis. It’s also why he somehow imagines he doesn’t need a nemesis. He’s silly, in that respect.

One time, back when we were working at Harvard, I came up with a perfect plan for messing with Byron. It required hiring roughly thirty volunteers via Craigslist. I would have them sit, on various days, beside him on public transport, or in cafes, etc, and then, after a few minutes silence, they would turn to him and exclaim, “Byron ... Byron! ... You need to wake up! Your friends and family are waiting for you by your hospital bed, but you need ... to wake ... up!”

Then they’d turn away and pretend they hadn’t said anything at all. Consider how unnerving it would be for him, having that happen thirty times in a month?

Now, I liked this plan quite a lot, but ultimately Zoya talked me out of it, and made me promise never to do this to Byron, or indeed to anybody on Earth. I defer to her judgment in matters like these, for, as it’s often been said, my own judgment can be a little bit ‘off’.

Anyway, Covid happened and I moved away from Boston. And Byron moved back to rural Pennsylvania, which has obviously made being his nemesis a lot more complicated and inconvenient. Still, I refused to be deterred.

Back in 2024, I called him up a number of times — and late at night, in his timezone — to talk to him about alien abductions. I sent him articles about the matter, and links to credible accounts by abductees at Reddit. I pointed out that even thinking about aliens made them somehow, psychically, more aware of one. It put you on their radar, so to speak. Thus I cautioned him constantly to not think about aliens too much, especially not when going to sleep. Most abductions happen between 2am and 4am.

Goodness, I gave myself such chills! You can imagine the effect it had on poor Byron? But my point is, my efforts in 2024 were perfectly respectable.

But then, on December 31st of that year, his aunt died. I called up Zoya immediately.

“What if I sent in an anonymous tip to the police in his town, suggesting they investigate Byron as a possible suspect?”

“Nope,” said Zoya, flatly.

“Alright then,” I said, and hung up. I wasn’t annoyed. I was grateful. It’s incredibly helpful to have someone in your life who can point out where the line is. Zoya is the reason that Wrongcards doesn’t have a category of cards about Islam. I was pretty sure that would be a good idea at the time. And she, on the other hand, was pretty determined to hit me over the head with a rock if I went through with it. Years later, I can finally see her point. And this is why I trust her, and tend to run all my ideas by her first.

But the problem is that, in 2025, I had nothing for Byron. I could have dragged out the alien thing for a bit longer, but the more I talked about it, the more convinced I became that aliens were real and buzzing the Earth. It has never helped that I saw a UAP when I was a child, either.

So, now it’s 2026, and I’m planning my nemesis duties, but I’m somewhat drawing a blank. Part of me wants to do aliens again, but I feel like repeating ideas is a defect in style. I’m losing actual sleep over this. If I can’t, somehow, manage to terrorize Byron for two years in a row, then ... I won’t even know who I am, anymore.

The other thought I had is that if aliens make contact this year, that will send Byron’s paranoia through the roof. Not only will it make my warnings about aliens utterly on point, but that will force him to take future warnings about, say, an impending invasion of moon bears, a great deal more seriously.

But obviously the whole plan falls to pieces if aliens don’t make first contact this year, so I really do need to put together an actual plan that doesn’t involve aliens at all. This, by the way, is my New Year’s resolution.

I’m also walking around in considerable pain, due to that weird shoulder injury I mentioned before Christmas. It is still somewhat painful to use a keyboard, though I do seem to believe the pain is slowly lessening. But the pain itself, arriving out of nowhere, explains my initial suspicion that Byron has entered consultations with a coven of witches, vis-a-vis getting this nemesis off his back. I won’t blame him if that turns out to be the case. It’s what I’d do, if I were in his shoes.

Wouldn’t that be creepy, though? You’re living in some isolated farmhouse in rural Pennsylvania, and one day these beautiful, mysterious women walk out of the woods. They fix you with a hard, icy stare and chant at you for a little while. Then they walk back into the woods and disappear.

Seriously, I should do this nemesis stuff professionally. Perhaps I should create a business plan? Then again, my main project for the year, apart from writing these newsletters as frequently as possible, is finish this novel I’m writing about a talking bobcat. I was actually thinking about publishing it here, at Substack, a chapter at a time.

So, as you can see, I’ve had all these serious matters weighing on my mind lately. The book about the talking bobcat. The throbbing pain in my shoulder. The possibility of witches. And also, I need to invent a credible conspiracy theory that concerns some sort of invasion by moon bears, just in case aliens don’t make contact before July.

Now, you might think all this sounds like a lot of work for one man, but I tend to think that anything worth doing is worth doing properly. I know I come off, here, as an overly-serious person, but I do make time for a bit of silliness and frivolity, I assure you. And I feel like you all should too. That might be the theme of this newsletter, my first of the year. Set aside a bit of time each day for silliness, because you never know when witches might come walking out of the forest. Also, moon bears.

With chaste affection,

Kris St.Gabriel

PS. Byron drew this card. You can truly sense my impact on his life, can’t you?