“John! John, please, wake up. JOHN! WE NEED YOU NOW!” “hu..? Janice? What the hell are you doing? Ger’off me!” “Oh thank the gods. John, we need to go. NOW!” “What? Why? I can barely see. Why are the lights out, Janice what is going on?” “John, the ship lost power. We’re floating and they’re coming. We need to get to a pod now.” The ship was designed to withstand anything. We could fly right through a star and barely have the internal temperature rise five degrees. So how did the ship lose power? Janice wasn’t telling me something but I had to follower her, if nothing else I could go back to sleep in ten, fifteen minutes max. It wasn’t a very big ship only a one million ton freighter whole thing only needed four crew members during transit and even then only for the first and last three months of the flight. “While I adore your ninja character cosplay can you please take a minute and tell me exactly why you woke me up, why the lights are out, and didn’t you say ‘they’re coming’ who is they?” “Shut up! They’ll hear you.” She hissed at me. She actually hissed. Like a gods damned snake! “You know what? No! What in the blazes is going on, on my ship!?” So much for anger management classes, oh well. “I don’t know why, but the ship lost power in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere. But we aren’t alone. There’s... things, now that... I can’t. I just... can’t” “Well thanks for clearing that up. C’mon let’s get to the bridge and try to at least get the damn lights back on.” On the bridge there is a switch for the emergency backup nuclear reactors but it was already flipped. The power breaker box was no use either it was completely destroyed; even the mechanical ship controls were toast. “What are you doing?” “If you listen to the vibrations of the ship sometimes you can hear if the life support system is still up and running. Now shut up for a second.” “How could it be? The lights are off, the food dispensers are off and our sleeping pods ejected us.” “And yet you talk. Anyways speaking of a good night’s sleep, where are Kristoff and Julia? Protocol clearly states that in the event of premature wake up, or total power loss, you go to the bridge.” “It got them.” “Please describe ‘it’ again? And last time you said ‘they’ in reference to this terror inducing fiend.” “Fiend is a good word for it. I don’t know how it got on bored but Kris woke up before me and it... it ripped his head apart. Jules, never woke up. It killed her while she was asleep in her pod. Now will you tell me how the life support system would still be on?” “Fan-fuckin-tastic. So what? You decide to wake me up so that I get the chance to shit my pants before I die? Next time, let me die in my sleep. As for life support, it has about ten billion redundant power supplies for obvious reasons and the only thing it powers is the air filters and internal temperature regulators. This is good for us because I just so happen to know how to rewire some of those redundancies to the engines and main power to get us somewhere safe, or at the very least to send a distress beacon. Now c’mon, life support is in the cargo bay.” I never liked going into the cargo bay, the great omniscient engineers thought that it would put too much unnecessary strain on the life support to pump air into it. Makes sense though, air in this volume starts getting heavy believe it or not and the crew doesn’t generally need to come in here so why make the ship heavier than it absolutely needs to be? “Here’s the life support console. Janice, come here and watch my back, while I reroute the power.” Time to just type in my password... presto! I’m in now to make the batteries think they need to power the whole ship instead of just life support and the backup power generators will start freaking out and turn on by themselves once the batteries drop to 45%. It’s actually all quite easy. Now it’s time to check on where we are and why I woke up early. Huh. That’s weird. The computer is showing Kristoff and Julia as asleep and normal, and Janice as... dead? But that can’t be right she’s standing... Click “Why did you have to go snooping?” “Janice, or who, er, whatever you are what do you think you’re doing?” “Ten thousand planets and no other forms of intelligent life anywhere so your kind stopped sending probes to check the soil. But planet ten thousand and one the miners dug a little too deep, and little greedily because they allowed me to hitch a ride on one of these here rocks on this here ship. And now I’m going to replicate myself ten million, million times and I’m going to destroy your entire species just because I can, just because I want to. Now it’s time for you and the others to die. Good bye John, thanks for the piggy back ride back.


A ravenous, all-consuming hivemind encounters the one thing that strikes fear into its being. \ I wandered the depths of the cosmos for eons, searching for any sustenance to sate my limitless hunger. I had to keep hunting, for the void left by the last devouring was too painful to be ignored. Millions upon millions of ravenous maws gaped their mouths open and closed; a sea of snarling, gnashing serrated teeth yearning for flesh. They were all mine and they were all screaming at me to feast. Their demands *had* to be met. As I wandered, I felt an intriguing presence. It was one I had not felt in what seemed like an eternity. I had intercepted a wandering signal with a distinct pattern. I heard voices in this signal. They were unmistakably organic. An ancient drive took over as soon as I sensed this faint presence of potential prey and I greedily followed the signal to its source. The voices were becoming more numerous and I even started picking up images. I saw a cornucopia of a world. It was a thriving, pulsating heap of biomass just waiting to be subsumed. I grew excited and traveled to this planet in a hurry. I entered the planet's local system and spied it lazily orbiting a warm star. It was absolutely defenseless and perfect for the taking. I knew there were but mere days until I would receive a temporary respite from the demands of my domineering hunger. However, as I was completing the final leg of my journey, I encountered something else. Like me, it seemed to be another hivemind, but only artificial in nature. From what I could read, it was a neural network made up of millions of thinking machines located on the surface of my destination planet as well as various satellites orbiting above its oxygen-rich atmosphere. Perhaps such a hivemind was imprisoned by the beings of this world or was some sort of construct to defend them. Either way, for just the briefest moment, my curiosity trumped my hunger and I decided to interact with it. I extended a tendril to one of the orbiting satellites and through rapid evolution, developed a way to interface with it. At first, it seemed to be nothing but useless data: merely just a collection of impossible symbols and formulas that made no sense to me. I pressed on, but this only lead me to stumble upon a true cosmic horror. I finally encountered the other hivemind itself... "HI, BILLY MAYS HERE!" it shrieked at me in a collective chorus of hundreds of voices before bombarding me with an overwhelming assortment of images and quippy one-liners. Suddenly, everything was demanding that I "purchase \*this\* product for the low, low price of $19.99!" Horrified and overwhelmed, I tried to disconnect, but alas, I was lost in the neural network of this artificial hivemind know as BILLY with no clear escape. My thoughts were racing as I wandered only deeper into the digital abyss. I desperately tried to learn about my enemy but only encountered more seemingly pointless content. Millions of images of fluffy creatures doing tricks, biped "humans" in awkward situations, and an ocean of symbolic text all flooded my mind simultaneously without remorse. I saw battles, love, lectures, and something called a "Brazillian waxing tutorial" all at once. I was clearly dealing with something completely incomprehensible. But just when I thought this nightmare couldn't get any worse, this BILLY hivemind detected my presence and did everything to trap me. As I sorted through more information trying to find a way out, it deployed something called " the Algorithm." No longer would I encounter fresh information. I would only receive more of the same based on what my previous searches were. I was trapped in an endless cycle of concentrated redundancy. Never before had I encountered something with such focus but simultaneous lack of attention. I had to escape this maddening chaos. I finally composed myself enough to remember where I was. I managed to rip my tendril from the orbiting satellite and made my escape. For the first time in my existence, fear filled me instead of hunger. I turned and fled back into the depths of the cosmos with what was left of my sanity.


“It’s my first time” Ashton muttered with a wounded look towards Ace. He picked himself up from the cold asphalt nervously. Ace sneered and shoved him towards the front of the alleyway. “This job ain’t for scaredy-cats, kid.” He spat. “If you can’t do it then I guess we’ll just have to go through with Plan B.” He already knew what the kid was going to say, but he sensed he needed a little bit more motivation. “N-no, it’s fine. I’m no scaredy-cat.” Ashton replied nervously. He took a deep breath and rubbed his cold sweaty hands together, trying to steady his breathing. It didn’t work. Plan B. Ashton didn’t know much about Plan B. All he knew was that it was bad enough to threaten kids with, and that was enough for him. “Then move it.” Ace glared at the kid. He was tired of getting all the newbies. Why doesn’t Jefferson give them to someone else, he thought bitterly, taking a cigarette out of his pocket. They’re slow and jittery and don’t know what they’re doing. Ah, what the heck, just get it over with. Ace scowled. “I said move it!” He yelled as quietly as he could, but quickly got control of himself. He didn’t want to risk them getting caught, but really, this kid was getting on his nerves. He knew if they were late with their haul, Jefferson would be furious, but he knew even more how much he would boil over if they got caught. That would be the second group this month. Ace gave up and roughly grabbed the kid’s arm and dragged him to the front of the alley. “You see that house over there?” He asked gruffly. “Uh, n-no. Errr, wait, yeah. Yeah, I see it.” Ashton stuttered. He bowed his head timidly, he knew how quickly Ace’s temper could flair. Ace rolled his eyes in disgust and continued. “When the second batch of kids enters the house you’ll follow them in with a couple other of our young recruits, and go through the haunted house. A couple other guys and I will be scattered around, about a block in each direction,” He paused darkly, “just in case anyone escapes or something goes wrong, which shouldn’t happen,” he said, eyeing Ashton, “ but it’s pretty much smooth sailing from there. Got it?” He added the last part looking down upon the kid. Ashton nodded shakily and sat down, knees up, head in hands. He thought he would cry but evidently, he was too shocked and scared too. They had been sitting in silence for a few minutes when Ace began to speak. “I was just a kid when I was recruited too.” Ace said in a softer tone, putting the lit cigarette in his mouth. Then fell silent again. Ashton didn’t know what to say. He supposed this was Ace’s way of having pity on him, but he didn’t care that he was trying to have pity, so he stayed quiet. Apparently Ace didn’t care. They both sat in silence. Ashton slowly, trying not to be noticeable, reached his hand up and pinched himself, hoping beyond hope that it was a Halloween nightmare. He sighed and let his hand slump down to his side again. Nope. It was worth a try though. Ashton wasn’t normally into all that pinch-yourself-and-hope-you-were-dreaming type of stuff, but this didn’t seem like a time where that mattered. He folded his arms around his legs. Ashton couldn’t believe that a group of people would actually carry out something like this. Kidnapping a bunch of kids and then training them so that they can kidnap other kids for their business. Unbelievable. Cruel. Why couldn’t they just do it themselves if they really wanted to? He guessed that a bunch of kids entering a haunted house wouldn’t be as suspicious as a bunch of sketchy guys. Time seemed like it was passing like a slug. Ace grunted. The first group of kids had entered the haunted house. Ashton’s mind drifted. Why the second group? Was it more suspicious if the first group disappeared? What makes the difference!? What makes the second group have to be kidnapped instead of the first!? How could they get away with this!? Ashton could feel his heart beating faster the more he sat there in his flaming anger. “Simmer down kid.” Ace said, between puffs of his cigarette. “No point in getting riled up. Believe me.” Ashton blinked, coming back to Earth from out of his head. He turned his head away. “I wasn’t getting riled up.” He said resentfully, anger still present. Ace snorted and shrugged. “You're actually doing fairly well compared to the other kids I’ve had.” He said in amusement. “Normally they’ve tried to run away by now. Stubborn... a little admirable... but stupid.” He said thoughtfully. Ashton stood up angrily. He couldn’t take it anymore. Ace’s eyebrows rose. “What do you know about what’s admirable!?” He said, voice full of anger. “Fine. Stubborn... and stupid .” Ace replied coolly, standing up. “No! Not-” He was cut off from a hard stinging slap in the face. “Shut up, you're too loud.” Ace said without a trace of emotion. He knew exactly what this was. He had a quick temper too, but over the years of being in business, he had learned that at some points, it was better to stuff it down. “Sit down and shut up.” He said, shoving the kid down to the ground. “You’re going to have to learn sooner or later that tempers aren’t beneficial to you. Better you stuff it down now than have Jefferson teach you how.” Ashton was stubborn and angry, but not stupid. He knew when he had to stop...and it was now. He already regretted his outburst. Jefferson would definitely hear about this. Ashton felt helpless and miserable and terrified. At this point, he could definitely cry. But he wouldn’t. Not now. Not in front of Ace. He couldn’t show any sign of weakness. He had to let it go. He had to stuff it down. He had no choice but to listen to Ace if he knew what was best for him. ------ “Stand up.” Ace commanded mercilessly. “You need to go.” Ashton stood up. He hated having to take orders from someone so unrespectable. “Where’s your costume?” Ace asked eyebrows furrowing. “Put it on.” Ashton pulled his vampire costume over his head and picked up the candy bucket. “Go to the corner of that sidewalk and meet the other kids there. Then you will all go to the house together. Act like you're a group of normal teenagers out to have a fun, scary Halloween night. Follow the plan.” He said gruffly. Ashton nodded nervously. “Go. Don’t mess this up.” Ace said and pushed him out of the dark alleyway. Ashton walked slowly to the corner of the sidewalk where he was supposed to be meeting the other young recruits. By now his anger had been snuffed out and it was all fear gnawing at him from the inside. After about five minutes, more than ten kids had gathered on the street corner. Ashton looked behind him towards Ace. He could see the small light of his cigarette burning in the alley. Ace took a step into the light so Ashton could see his face. It was set in a hard glare sending a dark message to keep going. “First time?” A tall kid dressed in an alien outfit asked. “Noticeable?” Ashton replied, trembling. “Definitely." He said back. “Best if you figured out how to hide that.” Ashton swallowed. “I know.” He tried to say but all that came out was a dry whisper. The kid raised his eyebrows and stepped off the sidewalk onto the street. Ashton followed. They drew up to the house just behind the second group of other kids. The house was ominous. How could they do this? How could he do this? How could he do this to other kids like him? “Hey. Move.” A girl behind Ashton commanded in a whisper, shoving him closer to the house. She spoke gently, but urgently. “We can’t hold it up.” She shoved him again towards the house. Towards the kids. “I know. It’s just my first time” Ashton trailed off. As if it being his first time was worth anything. He rolled his eyes at himself. Great, now he was embarrassed too. He stared at the haunted house and then at the group of laughing kids in front of them. Ashton started to move but it was barely a slow shuffle. Just my first time . He thought. How many more times would he have to do this? How many times has Ace done this? Or the other kids around him? Would it always be this horrifying or would it get better? Did he want it to get better? He made himself stop thinking about it and stepped up into the stairs to enter the haunted house. My first time-and hopefully my last.


“Look at the ghost there,” the little girl thought to herself. If only the ghost could look down and see the girl, but he looked on. The girl knew he was a prop deep down... yet it was fun to pretend. She whispered to her brother sitting next to her later in the car, “the Window Ghost is in the car with us”. “The window ghost?” Bill asked. Bill was not totally on the same page as Shasta, but they were close enough in age he was willing to put up with her silliness. “Yeah, I saw a ghost sitting in the window way high up, higher than any of the decoration ghosts,” Shasta said matter-of-factly. “That sounds like it’s bad...”, Bill would often let Shasta finish his sentence. “News. No, he’s my friend”. The parents did not pay attention to the goings-on in the backseat, as the two were always up to some made up new game. They usually preferred guessing which cartoon character from one of their shows would make a good singer for the song playing on the car radio. The ghost in question, the Window Ghost, sat between the siblings in the family looking on. Bill continued playing his game. He was almost always playing a video game, which left Shasta to physically stare out the window but mentally be elsewhere. Today though, her new imaginary friend the Window Ghost was here to be a comforting friend... even if he was a ghost. No one would have guessed Shasta would befriend a ghost, she often got very scared during Halloween. This year might be different if she had a ghost with her she thought. Though she was the most intrigued by the things that scared her. She sure didn’t like getting scared and was often up for hours on end thinking of all the monsters making those noises in her house, but she often couldn’t resist the urge to look at scary things. As Shasta, the Window Ghost, and Bill zoomed over the highway, she remembered an earlier incident with a Halloween-themed flashlight that contained a plastic skull on the end of the flashlight that lit up. She was intrigued by the flashlight, being scared of it and all. She pierced through her anxieties and picked up the flashlight and turned it on. “The skeletons are pretty neat,” she thought to herself, which suddenly turned to horror when positioned the flashlight under her hand, lighting up the reddish glow of blood. “AH!” She thought to herself, putting the flashlight down gently. Remembering this moment now gave her some anxiety that turned into relief when she realized Window Ghost could protect her the next time something bad happened. The Window Ghost was now outside laying on the top of the car, ready to take a nap. Days had gone by and no sightings of Window Ghost. Shasta was sad but understood... “maybe he could only live in the haunted house,” she thought. She was mainly OK with this because her friend Sean was coming over to play that day. “He’s going to love the cheesecake, and we’re gonna have fun, and we can play video games..” Shasta thought about the endless possibilities of hanging out with a little boy her same age. Sean wasn’t nearly as enthused about this visit. For a girl Shasta was OK, but girls are lamer than his younger brothers even. Shasta, or more like Shasta’s brother, did have a gaming system though.... Shasta felt even more lonely during her visit with Sean than she felt earlier that day. She tried to get him to stop playing the single-player game for a moment and have cheesecake with her, but it turned out cheesecake was even lame to Sean for the stated reason “I don’t like cheese”. With Sean gone, Shasta lay alone in the living room soaking up the sun from the carpet. There were so many curtains, including a translucent one that seemed to be one with the dust illuminated by the rays of the sun. “Window Ghost!” Shasta gasped. Window Ghost nodded, barely visible to Shasta. He was well dressed for his era, which included dressing with items such as a newsboy hat and a dressy suit. Shasta thought they should get to know each other, but Window Ghost was quiet. That’s alright if he’s shy, she thought. She was similar, which made it hard to open up to Window Ghost even. She wasn’t sure why, but she knew Window Ghost was looking out for her. Window Ghost listened to her, but he mainly projected an air of clarity. “Coooooooollll dude” one of Shasta’s favorite children’s cartoon hum-animal regurgitated, much to the surprise of no one. This overly muscular barracuda-people wasn’t as awesome as some of the other “boys” cartoons, but Shasta liked it for its quirky ways. Who could blame her really? Shasta treasured her toys that were in her aquatic hero’s image. The fish was tough, and she wanted to be tough too... probably for as long as she could remember. This desire to act tough would sometimes end poorly for her later in life, such as the time she tried to give herself the nickname “Hooligan” on the junior girl's softball team without *really* knowing what it meant. She climbed into her bed hoping her parents would stop by to say goodnight, or I love you, but this didn’t happen. Window Ghost looked on, with much compassion for the girl. She fell asleep worried she would be cursed to nightmares if her parents didn’t express their affection. Darkness. She saw darkness darker than when you close your eyes. Then, all of a sudden faces! She could barely stand to see what was in front of her and yet she couldn’t close her eyes. Shasta often liked closing her eyes and pretending she had to pass a test to tell where the sun was with their eyes closed as if she was the only one to see light shining through her eyelids. There was no sun shining here. These were the faces of the selfish, those filled with rage, and those who try and take control of you. These were the scariest faces Shasta had ever seen. They were all 2-Dimensional, of different solid colors contrasting the darkness. Shasta started to cry uncontrollably, which jostled her from her sleep. When she woke up she was still yelling, “the faces, the faces!”. Her parents woke and asked what was happening. Shasta tried to explain it was definitely a nightmare... and she felt she knew why she had a nightmare, but didn’t want to hurt her parent's feelings. “It’s these toys,” Shasta’s mom said not believing the little girl. In one night, Shasta lost her favorite toys and her courage against evil things. The next day the wind began to blow cold into Shasta’s bones, despite the dutiful desert sun shining as ever. “I wonder what we’ll be for Halloween”? Billy asked his sister as they played in the backyard. “Don’t know, maybe a ghost so I can talk to Window Ghost”, Shasta replied thoughtfully. “Is he still around?” Billy said, not hearing of Window Ghost since the original car ride home. “Yup!” Shasta said excitedly. “I heard there’s a huge haunted house a few streets over,” Billy said teasing his sister. Billy continued despite fear creeping onto Shasta’s face, “this guy has a scary demon voice who makes his whole garage and backyard like a haunted house”. “I hope we don’t go there,” Shasta thought to herself. Shasta mainly talked to Window Ghost about how she was sad about her toys being gone, but Window Ghost knew the real reason was she was upset. She was upset because no one cared about what she had to say... she *knew* the faces were just a nightmare and that the barracuda-people toys weren’t the real culprits here. A loss of control. Window Ghost knew this feeling well, but also somehow tried to let Shasta know one day she’d have more control. Window Ghost also knew a secret no child could comprehend, a secret about those demon faces. Halloween night was as crisp as crunching into a fragile lollipop, which Billy and Shasta hoped to do plenty of after trick-or-treating. Billy and Shasta were made to be an angel and a devil, respectively. Shasta’s face appeared to glow bright red due to the excessive amount of face paint. Why Billy was the angel and Shasta was the devil was unclear to the siblings... she didn’t particularly like evil things after her nightmare. Alas, it is Halloween and, is time for fun! The kids had a wonderful night together. It seemed the candy was flowing out of people’s hands like gasoline getting pumped from a hose. Suddenly though, near the dead of night, Shasta noticed their van was pulling up to a very popular place. She and Billy got out of the car and simultaneously realized where they were. “That Devil is larger than a swing-set”, thought Shasta to herself too scared to move. The last time she was this taken aback was in a dream, where she stumbled upon a magical floating orb in the middle of a fast-food ball pit. “Helllloooo,” said the Devil in a deep booming voice, not of a man’s. Even Billy was scared, especially after peeking into the garage that appeared to have a series of corpses spread eerily. Billy inched away from the Devil, hoping if he moved slow enough the Devil would not notice him. Much to Billy’s relief, the Devil declared how scared he was of the Angel... but the little devil? What of her? “I like you,” said the Devil to Shasta. Shasta didn’t know what to say so she just stood there, scared, unable to process why this was happening to her. Window Ghost looked on sitting with the girl in the family van as they drove off. “The Devil was not so bad, despite him being as tall as tree” Shasta explained to Window Ghost later that night. Window ghost looked on. “I was still scared though... some reason lately” Shasta muttered. Window Ghost looked on. “UGGG, WHY CAN’T YOU JUST BE REAL?? REAL PEOPLE CAN PAY ATTENTION!” Shasta yelled with a wave of anger that resounded in the Window Ghost. Window Ghost was real though, but Shasta didn’t know it at the time. He’d come a long way to be here, and it was very painful for him every minute he stayed. He knew though. He knew to lift his curse he had to make things clear for this little girl, otherwise, he’d be floating around forever. “She may have to wait and see one day that I am real” Window Ghost thought, trying to remember when that would start to happen. Somewhere around 16, or 17, that poor dear, if she could only see now. Window Ghost knew that wasn’t possible though. He hated the very atoms of the universe for it, that you can’t change the past. He wouldn’t be here if he could change the past, and yet here he was in the past. He came to realize looking onward was the only thing he could do to give the girl clarity. ‘Til she was older and wise, could she really beat the demons inside.


"C'mon it's not that hard. All you do is go in and present yourself to the director and that's it." Ben explained to his friend, Charlie. Ben had been acting since time began and Charlie, who was always shy and quiet, wanted to try it but always too scared to try. "I dunno Ben, I mean what if I goof up, or throw up or pee myself?" Charlie replied looking at the floor as if he were ashamed of himself. Ben smiled and put his arm around Charlie's small shoulders. "Directors have seen it all, they're used to it. On the plus side, you aren't going in already with a list of demands like Miss Girly Queen of the Universe Pageant contestant. They like seeing fresh faces." Charlie looked at Ben, like a puppy looks after it's been scolded. "But...but what if I don't get in the show?" Ben hadn't thought about that but he had an answer. "Charles, we've been friends for how long now. You always keep putting things down without trying them. You have to start learning to say 'oh well' rather than 'what if'. Besides, I'll be there cheering for you every step of the way." There was silence as Charlie thought things over before announcing his decision. "Ok, Ben I'll do it but can you help me prepare? I mean I don't know what to expect, do I need to bring anything." Charlie started working himself up. "Charles, just relax. Yes, I'll help you. First off, dress comfortably. You'll see people there in sweats, t-shirts, something that is comfortable to them. Reason for that is sometimes you might have to do some movement and don't want to be restricted." Ben grinned. "Charlie boy, I am so proud of you for doing this!!" The days went by and Ben and Charlie worked together to get Charlie prepared for his audition. Charlie was confident now and feeling the whole thing. "Ben, I...I can't..." "Charlie, don't you dare tell me you can't do this!" Ben cautioned. Charlie laughed. "No no, nothing like that, I...I want to say thank you. Thank you for working with me on this and prepping me. I don't know of anyone else who would have put up with this hot mess!" "It's what friends do. They help others when they need it." Ben was speaking from the heart. "Now, you have your resume and headshot. They may not ask for those but sometimes you never know best to be prepared." The two men drove to the theater where they were greeted by a small group of other men for the auditions, each one practicing their monologues and various lines from the show. Charlie froze unable to move. "N--no. nonononono! I..I can't that's...no!" He was glued to the car seat. "You got this Charlie, I believe in you. Don't let these guys intimidate you. You're better than that" Charlie was refusing to move. It took Ben all his might to drag Charlie into the theater where the director had just unlocked the door to let the prospects in. As they turned their resumes and headshots, the young lady who was accepting them smiled at them both and wished them the best of luck, and jotted down a couple of notes. Charlie sighed wearily. The auctioneers all sat in the house of the theater as the director, who looked like he was about one foot in the grave, went over his procedures. "Today will be fairly easy. We'll have everyone read for Felix and Oscar, from there we will say who can leave and from there you will read with the women who are being considered for the Pidgeon sisters. If this your first time, break a leg. We've all had our first audition. You'll all be fine." Everyone applauded the elderly gentleman who took a seat behind a makeshift desk situated in the center of the house. He started calling out men two by two and each one read their scene. Charlie was feeling better, or at least he was until his name was called along with Ben. The butterflies had started up but he followed Ben up to the stage. The director looked at their pics. "Ben, Charlie, welcome. Ben you'll read for Oscar and Charlie you'll be Felix. I trust you gentlemen know the story of 'The Odd Couple'." They both nodded. "Very well, open your scripts to page 47 starting with Felix saying 'That's funny isn't it Oscar' and go to the end of page 48. Anytime you're ready." The two delivered their lines. Charlie began to doubt what was so hard about acting, he was having a blast with it. When the scene ended they thanked the director. Before they could go sit down the director looked at Charlie and said "Would you mind reading again for me? Ummm Adam, could you read Oscar, same scene." Ben hadn't prepped Charlie for this but he did as he was told. Adam, who looked like he was fresh out of high school, hopped up on the stage and shook Charlie's hand in a friendly manner. The two read and finished and both allowed to sit. By this time the director took the stage again. "Gentlemen thank you all, everyone was wonderful. This part I hate doing, if I call your name...thank you for your interest but we don't need you at this time." Looking at his clipboard of names he began to read. Charlie whispered to Ben. "I think I'm going to be sick." Ben squeezed Charlie's hand. "It's nerves, you'll be fine." The director finished the list. Both Ben and Charlie made the cut!! "Charlie!! Charlie you did it!! You made the call backs!!" Ben almost screamed. Charlie was perplexed. "What does that mean?" He asked. "It means they like you enough that you might, just might fit into the show somewhere!" Charlie couldn't believe it! His first audition and he made it this far!! "Ben, thank you for believing in me and letting me come along with you." The two talked as the women entered for the roles of Cecily and Gwendolyn. One woman, who looked like a meek mouse softly asked Charlie. "M-may I sit here?" Charlie looked up at her and smiled. "Sure, go ahead. I'm Charlie." He said as she took her seat. "Oh hi I'm Joyce, this was my first audition." Charlie looked at her surprised. "Really? Mine too. I just made the callbacks!" The two began to chat quietly as the process began again. This time a quartet of readers were called. Once everyone was finished the director took the stage, "Congrats to everyone who made the callbacks we have our cast. Good job to everyone! I encourage you to come back if you didn't make it this time." He began reading off the cast with 3 poker players, making a note that the role of Speed was now going to be a woman. "In the role of Cecily Pidgeon is Joyce Pettis!" Joyce stood up and almost screamed. "Thank you, sir!!" She went down and got her script! When she got back she gave Charlie and Ben hugs. "Good luck you two!!" She said excitedly! He read off the other sister who did give much of a reaction. "Now for our leads, for the role of Felix we have...Charlie Kaspurski!!" Charlie couldn't believe his ears!! "And in the rold of Oscar we have...Benjamin Walsh!" Both men stood and retrieved their scripts. "Rehearsals start Monday night at 7pm bring a pencil." As everyone started to leave, Charlie couldn't help himself but to hug Ben tightly. "Thank you Ben, thank you for kicking my butt to do this!" Ben chuckled. "Like I said it's what friends do. Now the fun begins! C'mon let's get something to celebrate!" "Yeah sure Ben, on a minute." Charlie approached Joyce who was packing her script in her bag. "Umm hey, Ben and I were going to get some lunch, you...you want to join us?" Joyce was surprised by the offer. "I'd like that. I'd like that a lot." Ben, standing back and observing everything, realized his shy friend was now coming out of his shell.


TW: This story contains mental health issues, physical violence, and gore. The sights and sounds that decorated the dark skies made me sigh in contentment. I breathed in deeply and moaned at the smell of freshly wet soil. A gust of wind blew past, and I shivered but did not draw my jacket closer. Instead, I removed it and my beanie and tossed them onto the bench as I passed it. For several seconds, I watched as people walked by. Most had umbrellas, but those that did not used whatever they could to protect their heads. Shielded and exposed alike stared at me like I was some weirdo for enjoying such weather. Truly, though? I didn’t care. So long had I been stuck inside that prison of a house that I yearned for some time in the open air. The kind of weather didn’t matter to me, so regardless of what happened, today was sure to be the best day I’d had in a long time. I saw a flash from the corner of my eye and turned to face that direction just in time to see a lightning bolt hit the ground. My instant next thought was to rush there to see what the ground looked like where it had hit. After all, it didn’t seem far away, and how many people could say that they got the chance to see such a thing? As I approached the town gate, people tried to get my attention. Whatever for, I neither knew nor cared. All that mattered was getting to where the lightning hit. Not far outside of the gates, I paused to admire the flowers. The wind whipped them back and forth, and I gasped as I knelt, worried they might break from the extreme force. But as I felt around beneath them and up and down their stem, I realized it was a foolish notion. There was little chance they would succumb to the wind’s violence. I stroked the side of one with my hands to wipe all the dew from it. Its absence made me appreciate how deeply the wetness enhanced the beauty. A sound from the small moat that surrounded the town drew my attention, and I peeked over the bushes to see a strange-looking fish jump out of the water and fall back in. It swam to the shore, and I swore it placed itself partially onto the ground to spit something out of its mouth. As I stood, it fled back into whatever hidey-hole it came out of. I walked through the bushes without caring that the thorns tugged at my leggings. Thankfully, I’d chosen to wear thicker stuff, so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. When I got there, I saw a small seashell on the ground, and I had to wonder how the fish had held such a thing in its mouth. It was at least three times the size of the mouth of the biggest fish I’d ever seen. My hand touched something chilly as I knelt, and I glanced down to see a shiny new fork. Who tossed aside a perfectly good piece of cutlery like that? I chuckled and used it to brush my hair as I’d read that princesses did. An image of a muscled fish with hands and feet came to mind, with the seashell in front of it like a shield while its other hand brandished the fork like a pike. The thought made me giggle, and it so made me wish that magic existed. Sadly, it didn’t. And even if it did, such a drastic change wouldn’t be worth the cost. For some reason, I gingerly picked up the two items and placed them in my pocket. It made me eager to complete my current task so I could return to my friend and tell her about my adventures with the Fish folk. As I stood, my gaze landed on the torches that marked the entrance to the village and how they flickered and steamed. I’d helped prepare the heavily oiled rags for today, so I was confident they wouldn’t sputter out. But based on how soaked and cold I was for only a few minutes outside the barrier, I was beginning to doubt their longevity, even with the thorough job I’d done. So, I watched them for several minutes to ensure their functionality. When they continued to burn bright, I was more than satisfied the oil would win and turned my attention away from the fire before it consumed me. Though it pained me to do so, I knew If I continued to stare at it much longer, I’d miss out on whatever secrets the lightning-struck tree held. It was so easy for me to get lost in the movements of the flames, and oh! The sound of the fire as it crackled never ceased to calm me, especially when I was nice and toasty warm inside with this gorgeous weather outside. Though one time, many years ago, I got so lost in the beauty of a campfire that I almost fell into it. My friend had luckily been there to pull me back. Out of nowhere, the wind blew and blew and blew for nearly thirty seconds straight. It was so strong that I had to shield my eyes to protect them. When I opened them, one of the torches had been snuffed. Well, then. That definitely wasn’t a good sign. My heart pounded as I worried about what had happened. Or worse yet, what was to come. I didn’t want my thoughts to turn to the what-ifs, so I again began to head toward the distant tree. With each step I took, my boots sank inches into the ground, and pulling them up took a lot of effort. It made me thankful I’d listened to my gut instinct and chose not to wear running shoes. I began to giggle with each step I took, making the squelch sound as different as possible per step. Finally, at the tree line, I realized I couldn’t hear any frogs, crickets, or other creatures that liked this weather. The realization of it sent a shiver down my spine. Usually, the only time nature was this quiet was when something drastic had happened to the habitat. It was known as ‘the calm before the storm’. My eyes picked up on smoke just as its foul stench hit my nose. As I was trying to get the taste of it out of my mouth, a wolf rushed out of the woods straight at me. It seemed more scared of whatever was in the forest than it was of me, but it was definitely still afraid of me due to its last-second evasion. Behind the wolf came several more, along with deer, birds, squirrels, and other forest denizens. Several creatures I saw were wounded, which made me question whether I should go further. My feet began to move unbidden, and after several steps, right at the threshold of the forest, I felt something strange. It was as if the air tightened around me and then exploded with pressure. Once the feeling passed, I gasped and nearly dropped the items that were now in my hands. The two items I picked up earlier and daydreamt about were now reality. A huge, well, normal-sized shield of the same pattern as the small seashell the fish had spat up. And the random fork beside it was now taller than my head and made of sturdy steel. I was still so shocked by the magic of the situation that I jumped when I felt something brush against my leg. When I glanced down, I sighed in relief when I saw it was just one of the wolves. It looked at me and then at the forest before it whimpered. If I didn’t know any better, it was almost as if it wanted me to save it. Them. But what could I possibly do? I was nothing in the village, with no real talent except my wild imagination. How would the magicked items help me when I didn’t even know how to use them? Or how to wield them against a fire? Unless...There was a foe within who was the cause of all this that I was meant to slay? My heart skipped a beat at the chance to be a hero. After I took a few deep breaths, I entered the forest. Several minutes later, I could feel the heat on my skin and hear the much louder and scarier sound of the fire. Right now, it was more deadly than beautiful but still just as majestic. I couldn’t help but marvel at it when I finally saw it come into sight. From nearby, I heard the pound of hooves, the rustling of leaves, and the snaps of twigs as the slowest of the animals finally made their way to safety. Once they were gone, the only thing I could hear aside from the fire was that of a woman as she screamed for help. Without hesitation, I lifted the shield before me and rushed a hundred feet to and through the wall of flames. Almost fifteen seconds passed before I made it out of the flames. Hindsight told me that had been a stupid choice because only my front had been protected, and not very well. How had the fire barely damaged me? Was it some side effect of the weapon or shield? Why did I even entertain such notions when I knew magic didn’t exist? Quickly, my eyes scanned the forest for the source of the screams. The epicenter of the fire had to be here somewhere. Wait. Epicenter? What? Fire exploded outward from its source. This clearing should also have been filled with flames. Instead, it was as if it were untouched, except by a single thin row that led to a tree that seemed like it would fall into ashes at any time. At first, I saw nothing around the tree, but then I noticed a slight movement. There was definitely someone there. As I approached the tree, I almost retched at the smell. Not of burnt flesh or wood, but that of fetid meat. I walked around and sniffed the air every couple of feet. Eventually, I discovered the smell came from the thin line of flames. It burnt bright and strong, using what had to be blood as fuel. But the real question was: what kind of blood could cause that reaction? A memory came to me then of a story I once read of a Hag named Lehte, who was very skilled in magic but loved to play corrupt-a-wish. Whatever you asked for, she would twist it to ensure she got the most benefit. Her blood had smelled of poisonous, rotting meat as well. It was unlikely this person was her, but even if it wasn’t, surely there were no Hags who used their magic for good. That’s why they were referred to in such a demeaning fashion. As much as I wanted to turn around and let the flames have this woman, I knew she was why I was here. Everything about today had led me here. All of it had to have a reason. A purpose. Perhaps this storm, unlike any they’d experienced before, resulted from this woman’s wounds? Maybe she’d even caused it, and this was all an act to lure people in? When the woman’s gaze fell upon me, I shivered. The woman pleaded and made the usual desperate offer people gave. One that offered anything in exchange for what they wanted. Whoever it was must have thought I would be as easy prey as anyone else. But because I had the advantage of seeing through the Hag’s disguise down to the monster within, she couldn’t trick me. After several moments of silence, the woman’s eyes widened, and when she straightened, her demeanor was no longer that of a helpless damsel but that of a predator as it stalked its prey. Again, the Hag offered a boon in exchange for aid. This time, it wasn’t to save her life but to get enough power to face down someone named Vat, who had taken most of her powers. The Hag needed the old magic of the forest to come anywhere close to surviving the encounter. Several seconds of silence passed, and the Hag looked down at my hands. Her eyes glimmered with desire, and she clearly wished to change the bargain. I knew what the Hag wanted, and she wasn’t about to get it. Before she could speak, I used the shield to hit her in the face. The action stunned her, but she quickly recovered. Unfortunately for her, not quickly enough. By the time she was preparing to retaliate, my weapon had already been rammed into her gut. She lashed out with her little power in feeble attempts to push me away, but I held firm. Shouts could be heard from all around me, which I found strange because I was alone in the forest, aside from the Hag. Why did my arm continue to move? It was still, but it felt as if it moved back and forth, and strangely, each time it moved forward, it was as if it pierced flesh again. The shouts grew louder, but I pushed them down even harder as I twisted the weapon in the Hag’s chest. When life left the Hag’s eyes, I flew backward. Oh? Had I been granted the gift of flight in exchange for saving all those people and animals? From saving the forest? It took several blinks of my eyes to realize what happened. I felt someone touch my arms, and I was so shocked at what I saw that I allowed them to do so, which resulted in cuffs being placed on me. All I could see just then was my worst enemy, stabbed over thirty times in the chest with a fork. Beside her on the ground lay a trash barrel lid. A smile crossed my lips, and I spoke. “Checkmate, Jenny. Now, you can never hurt anyone ever again.”


It really was quite the spider. Twenty-some-odd feet tall, a half-dozen blue onyx eyes the size of bowling balls, and fangs that looked like they could crush a Buick. Pallas walked right into its gnashing mouth and fired a Tracer Bullet into its brain. “Is it... dead yet?” “No, Mr. Banthem,” said Pallas. “I’m still working.” “Well, hurry up!” They always wanted you to hurry. Never enough time to marvel at an AUGUR's handiwork, even if it was from a disgraced one. Ogling just wasn’t in the job description of a Corrective. But, still, this spider was incredible. Pallas felt dizzy at the intricate internal structure of the projection... she almost recognized... Sys diagnosis logs from the Tracer streamed into Pallas’s lenses. She flicked her pupils left, left, right, left. The spider meanwhile drifted through her and resumed its hunt for Mr. Bantham’s Assistant, which - Pallas quickly winked up in a side panel - was a long-eared fennec fox named Cleo. Pallas had yet to visibly ID the Assistant, which wasn’t uncommon in these hauntings. The poor AI was probably curled up in Bantham’s coat pockets, scared out of its wits. “Either they’re getting better or you’re getting slower.” “Don't pretend like you've found the process yet, either, Ravi. You're stumped, too. And, yes,” said Pallas, to the hazed neon green outline of a red-eyed tree frog perched on her shoulder. ”They are getting better.” “Shall I distract the arachnid, or would you prefer I warble us a song?” “How 'bout neither. I think I’ve found...” A shrill cry came from the direction of Bantham. “It’s right on top of us! Help! Oh, Cleo!” Ravi’s throat bubble sang. “Fine! Go!” yelled Pallas. “I’ve nearly got it.” The frog leapt off her shoulder and landed on the spider’s back. In the background of her lenses, Pallas saw her frog hopping from spider eye to spider eye, being the little nuisance that Ravi was coded to be. The frog was right, though. This projection was exceptionally complex. The spider binary had even been signed with Bantham’s private-public key pair, so no wonder this layer was refusing her signal interrupts. Finally, Pallas spotted it. ”Bantham! Kill process 56183. Do you hear me? Kill 56183!” He must have heard her, because the spider disappeared and Ravi fell to the ground with an uncharacteristic thud. Bantham crawled out from under the bushes. He looked a fright, a school teacher hiding under his desk from his students. A set of red furry ears poked out of his pocket, sniffing. *Cleo.* “You’re alright now, Mr. Bantham. Cleo, too.” Ravi hopped over and licked the desert fox's ears with his tongue. The fox emerged and swirled behind Bantham as Pallas helped the man to his feet. “Awful. Just awful. How are they doing this?” They both knew who he meant. The No-Blinks. They’d been hacking (spear phishing, usually) into lense base layers, causing a ruckus by injecting terrifying projections. The Correctives - the division of AUGUR where Pallas worked - had been reorganized from a routine tech support desk into a sort of projection strike force, where she and her colleagues busted... ghosts. That’s what these projections resembled most. Ghosts. An unexpected projection in your base layer (where only you and your Assistant could interact, unless you explicitly opened a tunnel) was a disgusting violation of personal privacy. Pallas didn’t like thinking about what might have happened to Bantham if the spider had corrupted Cleo's process. Bantham stacked a payments layer into his lenses and deposited 100 AugCoin into Pallas’s wallet. “I hope I never have to see you again,” he said, disconnecting the tunnel between his base layer and Pallas’s lenses. Pallas lost sight of Cleo when the connection dropped. She stared at the thin-haired man, waiting for him to say thank you. She finally gave up and headed back to the company car. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Ravi, now in full-color again, given Pallas was back in her own base layer. She nodded. “Apollo.” “You saw it, too!” The frog croaked like a tiny bell. ”The water droplets on the hairs of the legs, like dew on fresh-cut grass. The shape of the eyes, with their swirling oils of a faraway nebula...” “Can we not talk about him right now? Please? I just want to sleep.” “Fine," said the frog. Then he perked up. "Can I drive then?” “Actually, yes,” said Pallas. “I gotta catch up on email.” Pallas reclined the driver’s seat all the way down and double-blinked into a dating app layer. “Email, huh?” “Leave me alone, frog.” *Ribbit*, said Ravi. The frog wasn’t actually driving the car - just making input decisions for destinations into its self-driving system, the first being a pit stop at Pallas’s favorite pizza place. “Bless you, my sticky one,” said Pallas as she scarfed down a folded piece of plain cheese pizza. “I didn’t even know I was hungry.” “If I didn’t know that, what kind of Assistant would I be?” Pallas and Ravi had been paired up ever since Pallas’s first pair of AUGUR Lenses. Assistants began as an extension of the “smart voice assistants” that the big tech companies developed a decade ago, which they deployed in cylindrical tubes and speakers in people’s homes. At first, some were appalled: why would you put a microphone in your own home that Big Tech can listen to at any time? Hadn't anyone read *1984*? But then they realized the convenience of barking a command to setting a kitchen timer, or check the weather, or order a cheese pizza. By the time the “next big platform” came - the AUGUR Lenses - the rest of the industry had fallen behind. For a while, they scrambled to build rival lenses. But AUGUR's became ubiquitous. Their patented lens tech, designed by its founder, a thirteen year old Vietnamese wunderkind, was almost alien-like in its invisible precision and unlimited energy, which drew from the pulsing of your eye's blood vessels. Thus, last generation’s great tech companies became mere software layers in the AUGUR augmented reality stack, and the yesterday's voice assistants became today's base layer Assistants. And they were animals. Usually, cute ones, too. In 2034, which - double-blink to confirm - it was, AUGUR Lenses were a universal human right. Coming-of-age moved up from teenage years to four years old, when children in most countries were given their first Lenses and met their Assistant. Pallas couldn’t remember a time before AUGUR, and didn't want to. Before being able to see live travel directions, with helpful Wikipedia overlays, before being able to live chat with her friends and family at any time, before being able to see helpful names and personal stats over stranger's heads. Other than the constant double-blinking, no one else had any idea which layers you had stacked on your lenses. This proved a bit challenging for schools at first, but then the open book test concept re-emerged. Like a calculator, lenses were determined to be an essential tool for problem-solving and the key challenge of the modern era was using them effectively. In fact, the only time you were ever alone from your lenses and your Assistant was when you were asleep, which Pallas drifted into as soon as she finished the last bit of pizza crust. When she awoke, she was no longer in her car. She was in a bright room, lying horizontal on a hospital bed. “Hello, Pallas.” A small man with powerful shoulders stood above her. “Apollo. What are you doing to me? Where am I? Where’s Ravi?” “Ravi is fine.” ”Here! I’m here!” Ravi croaked from somewhere behind her. “Ravi! Why can’t I see you?” She couldn't move her arms or legs, realizing that they were strapped to the bed. "Hey - why can’t I blink?" “I’m drying out your eyes, little clementine. I’m going to remove your lenses.” AUGUR Lenses require semi-constant state of blinking for lubrication. As Pallas knew from her Corrective training, a lens could survive 120 seconds before the first cracks would appear. At three minutes, things get real bad, real quickly. At three minutes and twenty seconds, you could never wear a Lense again. At the four minute mark, you were risky permanent blindness. “Let me go, you egotistical asshole!” Her former colleague and ever-so-brief boyfriend (*what a mistake that was*), the most naturally gifted AUGUR in the world, who’d developed wondrous, mind-blowing augmented creatures and realms for people all over the world to experience, had disappeared eleven months ago. When the No-Blinks began their hauntings, Pallas had always suspected Apollo, somewhere beneath the surface of her mind. Ravi knew it, too. Apollo hopped up on the empty bed next to her. “This is normally where I’d explain my *Evil Plan* to you, how I’m going to take over the world, and so on. But, you know me, Pallas. I’m not a thinker like you. I'm a do-er. And what I’m a-doing is restoring your sight.” Pallas’s pupils frantically flickered a distress signal, which did nothing. Then she tried the force reboot sequence. “Hush. Rest your eyes.” “Ravi - what’s going to happen to Ravi?” “You know what's going to happen to Ravi. Ravi’s in the cloud. He'll be fine. You just won’t see him again. Because we don’t need Assistants, Pallas. We don’t need layers. We don’t need lenses.” Pallas felt the starchy pulp of the decaying lense. “Good, it’s happening,” said Apollo, hopping to his feet. He grabbed a pair of tweezers and carefully moved them towards Pallas’s face. “Let me just... oops, got that one. And here’s the other. Shh, you’re okay. Pallas - I’m going to release you now.” He removed the clamps and Pallas frantically double-blinked. But nothing happened. "You look marvelous... your eyes..." Apollo reached out to her face. "Beautiful..." “Ravi! Ravi!” Pallas cried, swatting Apollo's hand away. "Oh god, no." Then she wept for a ghost. There was nothing a Corrective could do for Pallas now. Her eyes were bare and that was the most frightening thing of all.


All adults do is file taxes, complain that eating hot chip upsets their stomachs, and lie. Take today for example. Mom and Dad told me we were going to have fun today as we got into the car. They lied . So I stayed in the car, tightly gripping onto my seatbelt because for once it was actually useful--it kept Mom and Dad from forcefully scooping me up and taking me into Great Aunt Margaret’s mansion. Yeah, that Great Aunt Margaret. The one I was named after. The one that’s like a hundred years old. P.S., that’s why we’re at her mansion, for her hundredth birthday party. “Come on, Maggie,” Mom coaxed. “All your relatives are inside and they’re just dying to meet you.” My mouth dropped. “They’re dying ? Ohmygod, dead bodies are gross .” “Not literally dying, sweetie,” Dad said. I crossed my arms. “I don’t wanna go. There’s no one my age in there. Everyone’s either fossils or on their way to becoming fossils.” “Come now, there’s your cousin Denis. He’s around your age.” “He graduated college last year. I’m eleven .” “Maggie, you need to come inside.” “No.” “ Maggie! ” Mom said, using her I’m-serious voice. But it wasn’t gonna work this time, Mom. I won’t crack. I’m not going inside for that lame family birthday party. *** I ended up going inside. It was totally my choice though, not because my parents made me. Not that it mattered. My parents ditched me as soon as my aunts and uncles greeted them. They sent me off to ‘play with the other kids’ with a wave of their hand. But there were no other ‘kids’. Like I said before, the closest person my age in my family was Denis, but he was still twelve years older than me. That means the person I have the smallest age gap with will be my cousin Ginny’s baby once she pops it out. From the look of it, that maybe any minute now. But still, I got yet another ‘go play with the other kids’ from my parents so I scurried off to the living room where Denis had set up shop with his Xbox. My other technically-young (still in their twenties) cousins, Victor and Tiffany, sat beside him. They only had three controllers so I just sat behind them. “Oh, hey, Mags,” Victor said, not taking his eyes off the screen. He probably saw my reflection off it. “We don’t have any more controllers.” “That’s fine,” I lied. “I’ll just watch.” Anything is better than being with the adults. I was wrong . After two minutes, my mind started drifting into daydream land--my favorite place! But, every five seconds I’d hear another loud bang or boom or you suck at this and snap out of it. “Can you turn down the volume, please ,” I asked. “Sure.” They turned it down from fifty-five to fifty-three. So not only were they being stingy about the volume, they made the number off by not having it be even or a multiple of five. That’s just evil. My eye twitched. Then, I hit my first stroke of luck since coming to this place--a board game. Yeah, that’s right. A board game. Oh how far the mighty had fallen... I unwedged it from under the table it was holding up. “Hey, let’s play this.” One causal over the shoulder glance was all it took to be denied. “Ew, no, Maggie,” Tiffany said, “ The Greatest General ? That was a board game when my dad was a kid. He used to love it and make me play it all the time--but it’s totally sexist. All the women characters are total bimbos. Hard pass.” “I’m on a kill strike, Mags,” Victor said. Another boom from the screen. “Sorry, Maggie,” Denis said. “Maybe later.” Which really meant never. My gaze fell to the floor. Denis must have noticed because he quickly said, “Hey, maybe you can get the others downstairs to play with you.” You mean the ones who already tried to pass me off to you? Fat chance. Although ... There are some relatives that haven’t built up immunity to my puppy dog eyes yet... I was saving that for better Christmas presents this year but desperate times call for desperate measures. And I was about to die from boredom. *** “Who wants to play this board game with me?” I cracked open The Greatest General on the coffee table in the middle of the second living room. No one turned a head at me and kept going with their nonsensical conversations. “Did you get that promotion, Stephanie?” “You should get a restraining order on him. You know, my dog walker’s cousin’s landlord’s old tenant is a law student. He could probably help you out.” “No, I don’t think that mole is normal. And for Christ’s sake, Lavern, pull your pant leg down! No one wants to see that.” I cleared my throat and tried again. When I got no response the second time, I made direct eye contact with Uncle Jeffrey--Tiffany’s father--and gave him my puppy eyes. “ Please, Uncle Jeffrey.” “Awe, sure, sweetheart,” he said. “Hey, Robert, Linda. You remember this game? Maggie wants us to play.” An echo of ‘oh, sure’s followed. Everyone selected their pieces and I rolled the dice. After making my move, I stared at Uncle Robert to make his, but he had already forgotten and started up his old conversation again. “Well, Linda, you deserve that promotion. At the very least a raise. If you don’t get a raise every year, with inflation, you’re taking a pay cut.” I cleared my throat and pointed at the game. “Why don’t you just roll for me, Maggie,” Uncle Robert said. So, I did. Because what other choice did I have? “Aunt Linda, it’s your turn.” But of course, she was still talking to Uncle Robert. I played for her too. My last hope was Uncle Jeffrey, but... “I said pull the pant leg down, Lavern. So help me or you're getting skinny jeans for Christmas this year. Good luck rolling those all the way up to mid-thigh.” “Can someone just play with me?” I finally asked and swiveled my head around for my parents. They’ll take my side. They have to. Luckily, Mom moseyed on over and took a seat next to Aunt Linda. “Maggie, dear, why don’t you join us in the conversation instead. Rebecca, have you tried switching out your locks yet? You know, whatever hair-brained schemes that soon-to-be-ex-husband of yours plays, we’ll always be here to support you.” “What lawyer did you get for the prenup again? You can use him for the restraining order.” “Or at the very least the divorce.” “Yeah. Don’t let that rat bastard take any of Great Great Uncle Jimbo’s fortune. That’s for family only.” I half expected for something to say ‘watch your language around Maggie’ but they’ve already forgotten about me. “Forget this. I don’t even exist to you,” I muttered then got up to leave. “Oh, honey. Don’t say that. No one’s trying to ostracize you, Maggie,” Mom said. Ostrich--What? I know my teacher told them she’d teach us a new word every day during back to school night, but in reality she only cries about whatever scummy ex-boyfriend dumped her that week. I don’t even wanna be an ostrich. I just want someone to realize I’m here and matter. “I’m gonna go back to Denis and the others.” “Have fun.” And then whoop sucked right back into the conversations. *** When I finally reached the gaming trio, I gave them one glance, then kept walking. Not repeating that mistake. I didn’t really have anywhere to go, but I just kept lapping the mansion. I picked up this habit when skipping class. If you don’t want to get caught, just look busy and keep moving. If someone motions in your direction, pick up the pace. This was going well for about half an hour when I tripped over some uneven wood flooring and fell. I winced and slowly picked myself up. While rubbing my stubbed toe, I glanced back over at what made me trip. After my foot hit it, the wood panel had become more than uneven flooring--it was completely out of place. I pulled it away from the floor, revealing a brick tunnel instead of a cement foundation. Dang, are all mansions made like this? With secret passages? It was like straight out of one of my mystery books. I removed the surrounding floorboards to fully reveal the child-sized tunnel. It was a good thing I was child-sized. So I climbed in. The tunnel let out into a huge room--far bigger than any of the living rooms above. Automatic lights flickered on as I walked in. I gasped. The hidden room was like a mix of modern and ancient. The lights and electricity were all modern, but the walls, ceilings, and floors all looked ancient--like they came straight from one of Mom’s historical dramas that she always cries when watching. I never understood that. It's in the past. Everyone’s already dead. Why are you surprised when someone is killed off? You knew it had to happen... I can’t believe I got distracted from the mystery room under my Great Aunt Margaret’s mansion. On the back wall of the room a was a message carved into stone. It read: It’s always the one who strays from the herd and their path that discovers new land (and become rich off oil haha!). It was signed from Jimbo. I have no idea who this man is but he left a bunch of old toys underneath the message so thanks, I guess? There were stackable rings, bags of marbles, an unbelievable amount of stuffed animals, and more. In the center of it all was a large box stuffed with crummy hand-written notes that look like they had been written by five-year-olds. And as it turns out, some were. I unfolded a few and read them. I’m Jenny, and I’m five today. The adults forgot about me so maybe you won’t when you read my note. My name’s Tyler. I’m ten and the youngest in my family like everyone else here . I’m Margaret. I’m nine. Please take good care of Mr. Hoppers while you’re down here. He’s always taken good care of me. Etc, etc... They were all just a bunch of letters from the previous youngest of generation. Finally, I got to the bottom note--but again it was carved into the bottom of the box. It was from Jimbo again. It said: Write who you are now before you grow out of it. Age tries to sell our innocence but no more than those older who try to force it out of us. Some of the notes mentioned the toys left behind. They kept referring to them as my or mine , so I guess they must have left their favorite toys here on purpose. I picked up a dusty stuffed bunny. For the next forgotten child. Ope. That’s me. “Is someone down there?” An old voice called out to me. Shoot. Guess my time’s up in the mystery room. I scurried back up through the tunnel, popped out of the hole, and saw Great Aunt Margaret standing next to it. She gave me a wrinkled smile. “Oh, Maggie, there you are.” Her eyes fell to the stuffed bunny in my hand. “And Mr. Hoppers, there you are.” I froze. Mr. Hoppers? So then... “You wrote down that note? You left him in the secret room. You were the previous youngest?” Great Aunt Margaret smiled. “Why do you think I’m the only one still alive? My old siblings and cousins all kicked the bucket long again. That’s where your twenty-year age gap gets you. Alone yet again.” “What was the deal with that room, Great Aunt Margaret?” “It’s a safe haven for every child that feels outcast by their family. It’s been cultivated and modified by every youngest since Great Great Uncle Jimbo created it.” “You mean the guy who wrote the stone message?” “Yes, he was the youngest of his family generation too. Out of place with his family, he strayed from the old family business of shoemaking and became an oil tycoon. He specially designed that room when he built this mansion.” “Cool,” I breathed. Great Aunt Margaret handed Mr. Hoppers back to me. She placed a finger to her lips and said, “Now Maggie, you must promise me to not to tell anyone about that room.” She winked. “It’s an old family secret, alright?” “Alright.” With a smile, she said, “Now then, why don’t you and I go play with Mr. Hoppers while the others are off arguing about politics.” “I don’t want to play with a stuffed animal though.” I pouted. “I’m too old for that.” “But I’m not.”


Day 12 It’s been several days now since I was separated from Paul and Mary. I still can’t shake the chill in my boots from the rain of that night. I’m just grateful I still have Pachu to keep me company. Despite my isolation I’ve found great comfort in the beauty of this land. The flora and fauna appear untouched, their beautiful hues of blues, purples, yellows, and colors that I couldn’t dream of describing. The animals here are mostly docile and roam in abundance. I have fear of hunting them for not wanting to disrupt this glorious ecosystem. I wince with each cut I must make through the vines to proceed. We are the first ones here, yet I do not truly know what I hope to gain from this journey. New findings to document and bring back? Establishing a home here to enjoy this land's splendid views? Or perhaps the reason I am here is simply to escape, and reflect inwards on the makings of myself. Regardless, I know that this will be a fruitful journey. I do hope I am able to find Paul and Mary again, I’ve lost their tracks, but they can’t have gotten too far. Perhaps Pachu will have better luck tracking them than I. Day 25 Pachu has been extraordinary at helping me acquire food, granted her jaunts to do so can be quite extended at times. She tends to bring back a bird and some fruit when she does. Somehow she always seems to locate these delicious berries of varying colors. Their blues and pinks would make me think they were poisonous if I had less trust in Pachu. I’ll never forget the day Paul, Mary, and I came across her. We found her quite quickly after moving from the beach into the jungle. She seemed utterly careless too or presence, welcoming us if anything, perhaps due to her lack of interactions with humankind. Her beautiful print resembling that of a jaguar, but with beautiful swirls of red interlaced blended with the flowers in which she prowled. Upon close inspection I realized her face appeared closer to that of a panther. She followed us for some time before approaching camp with offerings of food, and even guidance at times, leading us to water when our skins had run low. She comes and goes as she pleases, but seems to have had no better luck locating Paul and Mary than I. Or perhaps she has abandoned them entirely in favor of my company? Day 37 Pachu led me to a river which we followed South for sometime when we were set upon river serpents! Their green coils wrapped endlessly around as their brass fangs lunged at me. Pachu fled to a safe distance, but they restrained me, locking me in place as they unleashed a deluge of water from their mouths. Their spit was as cold as ice and chilled me to the bone. I was able to kick one in the side, causing a kink in its armor, slowing the seemingly endless flow of water, but it quickly corrected and tightened its grip. After thoroughly drenching me, they dropped me from their grasp, leaving me to fall helpless to the ground. Luckily Pachu returned from the shadows and dragged me away by my collar as I lie there in a strange state of delirium. I slowly made my recovery as Pachu fetched me more of those peculiar berries. She has been bringing them back regularly now with the other meals she is able to procure for me. Day 52 The undergrowth has begun to grow thicker. I think I am being stalked by a beast of some sort. Ever since my encounter with the serpents the animals have seemed decidedly more aggressive and dangerous. These fears prompted me to continue my trek through the night in the hope of reaching safer lands once more further in the untouched heart of the jungle. As I proceeded through the night I heard branches snapping behind me with every step I took. Their gradual approach began to frighten me to my core and out of a sense of survival I began sprinting despite my poor vision in the night. I expectedly tripped and found myself entangled in vines. As I began to free myself of them I felt them tighten around me. Amidst the bramble were vipers which had begun to restrain me. They pulled my arms tight around my back, forcing me to my knees. I struggled and screamed in vain when eventually one of them pierced my neck, sinking its venom deep into my veins. I awoke in a small field. I know not what happened while I was unconscious. Perhaps Pachu saved me. Regardless, I hope to avoid them again if at all possible. Day 97 What was once an amazing opportunity has seemingly turned into dreadful slog. Pachu’s visits seem more out of a sense of obligation rather than friendship. The chirping of the birds has begun to grate on my nerves. I long for the comradery of true friendship. I miss being able to converse with anything other than my own consciousness. The loneliness is maddening. I miss Paul and Mary. I miss home. I miss civilization. Whatever purpose brought me here has clearly been lost and in its place I feel a void. My hope for connection and beauty is slipping. I can feel my thoughts slipping away from me. I have abandoned my search for anything meaningful in exchange for trying to find a way out, but I fear I am far too lost to ever reach shore. It’s as though the jungle itself is conspiring against me, aching to keep me trapped within. Day 132 The most peculiar thing occurred today. Pachu spoke. Her voice was comforting, yet oddly familiar. I had tried to refuse the berries she brought me, but she insisted. “Mr. Carrow, these are for your own good. They help you. Trust me, you’ll feel better. You always feel better after these”. I tried to respond, but found my will wanting and gave in to her request. My memory begins to fade from that point on, but I remember her saying “I’ll see bring supper tonight Mr. Carrow. Tonight we were able to get you beef stew! Until then, sleep well Mr. Carrow. I hope you get better soon”. Whatever berries she has been feeding me have clearly been altering my senses. I need to get a better hold of myself or I will never get out of here. Day 158 I fear Pachu is working against me, striving to keep lost in this jungle. Having lost all faith in her, I decided to set a trap. When she next brought my berries I graciously took them from her before hitting her across the head with my other hand. The punch did little damage, but was enough for me to sprint past her into an opening ahead. More animals attempted to assault me, I jumped and dashed as fast as I could over them. I narrowly made it past a set of vipers when I tripped upon a boulder, stumbling head first into a cave. I recovered my senses as fast as I could. I was surprised to find books in the cave. Neatly stacked and organized, fitting into the cave walls as perfectly as they would have on a shelf. One in particular stood out. A note book title “Mr. Carrow”. I flipped its pages open. “Day 37: Attempted cold water pressure therapy. No improvement in symptoms. Will attempt again in one week. Other possible treatments: shock therapy, hypnosis, cranium pressure relief. Will continue to monitor symptoms”. This could not be about me. How could it? I continued to page through the journal, each page mimicking my own accounts, but with feverishly insane tales of my treatment. The vipers caught up with me. Their vice-like grip bound me, as their venom turned my vision black before my memories of the event end. Day 207 I am trapped in this jungle. My memory fades in and out. I do not know where I am or how I truly got here. The animals frighten me. I must keep up hope. Hope is the only thing that will allow me to persevere. My hope to escape. My hope to converse once more. My hope to see Paul and Mary. I hope they did not befall a similar fate. I hope they are home safe with their families. I envision them sharing tea with family over a lovely winter feast. I must keep alert. I must keep challenging myself. I am all that I have in this maze. If I fail to keep moving, I will lose myself in its endless tangles.


First story I've written in almost 10 years, since I was 15. Any feedback is appreciated. \ I stared out the passenger window as we drove along the slender lane. The laurel hedges were marvelously beveled, the fence was given a fresh lick of paint and a fern green coated the house. Much had changed since my last visit here. Like the towering, smothering birches that sheltered the home house, granny was reaching the winter of her life. As beneficiary to the farm, Uncle Graham was committed to caring for granny in her old age. The timing of this deterioration and the shuffling of the pack which followed were both unexpected and unwelcome to everyone. Change, especially ageing, always is. But Graham had really done a lot to the place, granny was well looked after, and his kids finally had the space they always dreamt of. Today, my dad and I had come to pay granny a visit. But that was not all. Christmas was fast approaching, daylight levels were dropping and the crisp, winter air could have skinned a brass monkey. A trailer load of sticks was on the agenda, and Graham had plenty of them. The couple of bags we got from Farm Relief didn’t go far, and Graham had hinted at a small mountain of firewood beyond the back fields. Dads days of labour on the family farm had long left him since college, but he never turned down a day’s work when the opportunity came knocking. We parked ourselves up on the sloping driveway, climbed out of the car, and rang the doorbell. No answer. Dad tried the door and as expected, it opened. Let’s just say my granny always operated an ‘open door policy’. I wasn’t in Dublin anymore! Graham and Anne were out, but the kids were playing upstairs. They quietened as we entered but still sensed our familiar faces and managed to softly whimper a “hello”. We pulled down our face masks and scaled the stairs to grannies’ room. She was napping but awakened as her bedroom door creaked open. Her room remained just as it was when grandad was alive. To our right, stared the Child of Prague. To our left, Padre Pio. Dad helped granny out of bed and escorted her to the television room, arm-in-arm. We planted ourselves on the new recliner and muted the TV, keeping our distance from her. Like clockwork, the kids entered the room bearing Viscount biscuits and tea in Nicholas Mosse mugs, on a silver tray. “Oh, would you look at that. You’re so good, lads!” Dad raved. Anne must’ve drilled them for visitors, I suspected. Once the kids left, I had the chance to properly take in the interior decorating which had taken place over the past month. It was as if I had been transported three decades into the future. What was once archaic, cluttered with furniture and outdated in colour, was now minimalistic in style with earthy, grounded shades and tones. Everything about the place was more spacious and refreshing. “Anne picked the furniture, but I had my input too!” granny affirmed. “Ah yeah!” we replied appeasingly. “She picked the marble coffee table too I’d say”, I muttered to dad under my breath. He chuckled in agreement. After 30 minutes or so of circling COVID, potential cancellation of the GAA season and the predictable unpredictability of Irish weather, and we heard the crunching gravel of a car pulling up outside. Graham and Anne were home. Graham entered, slouched down on the couch beside granny and chatted mart prices with dad. After 20 minutes, dad, eager for us not to outstay our welcome said “Right, sure we were coming over to pick up a few sticks, if that’s okay with you?”. Graham said there were some down in Byrne’s old farmyard, already cut. There was just the small matter of getting there and loading them in the trailer ourselves. We began to make our way out to the yard. He pointed us to a Toyota Hilux from the early noughties. It was fair to say it had seen better days. “I bought that lad a couple of months back. Páidí Kelly was just getting rid of it. Load them up in that” he suggested. “That bloody yolk!” Anne lamented from behind us. “I absolutely read him when he brought that back, can you guess how much he paid for it?”. I guessed it must’ve been over the odds, but it felt a bit rude to start with too high a price. So, I lowballed her. “About €1000?” I guessed, half-jokingly. “HIGHER, one seven” she exclaimed. “The Banger” one of the kids, James, chuckled. “She doesn’t even have a handbrake!”. We were clearly taking our lives in our hands here. We finished our chit chats and headed over to ‘The Banger’. Dad took the driver’s seat while I sat in the passengers. Dried clay and dirt covering the fabric of the seating and steering wheel. I gingerly rested my feet on the floormat, sweet wrappers and bale twine below them. He turned the key in the ignition. A ferocious rattle erupted from the exhaust behind us. The jeep might have been weak, filthy and unsteady on slopes, but she moved all the same. We left the main yard and drove down towards Byrnes. Left and right of us were neatly fenced fields with cows observing us pass by, legs folded and gently chewing cuds. The road was bumpy, with bumps and potholes in equal measure. I recalled a story my dad told me before. He said his neighbour, one of the Byrnes, committed suicide around here. We didn’t talk about it much, not because dad wouldn’t but because I guess it didn’t hit home with me. I never roamed these parts nor knew those people. But as it was the scene of the incident, I felt appropriate to ask. “You know that Byrne woman who died here years ago? Where did that happen exactly?”. Dad stared ahead and reminisced, “Just over there, at the river, under the Bloody Bridge”. “We got the alarm that she was missing and began searching. I found her at the edge of the stream, already dead, and picked her out. I’ll tell you one thing.... there’s a reason they call it ‘dead weight’...” he reflected, morbidly. “Jesus that must’ve had you shook?” I stared back at him. “I never thought about it much back then” he replied. I chose not to prod any further, as we’d arrived at the farmyard. “Open up the gate and I’ll back her in” he instructed. I stepped out and did as I was told. I was a novice on the farm and didn’t have a leg to stand on in such matters. “You can’t bluff a farmer” as the adage goes. Dad turned the jeep and began reversing through the front entrance. I went ahead to get a sneak peak of our treasure. There it sat, a large pile of firewood, right beside an orange hedge cutter. He inspected the pile as if to devise our plan of attack. I could almost hear the gears click in his brain as he instructed “I’ll climb up and throw the good ones down to you”. He began pelting four to five stick at a time down to me and I threw them in the back of the Hilux. His plan worked well. Although each time I bent down to collect a load, I felt slightly nervous. I was right in the firing line, as blocks flew past my head from above. Starting off felt like pure hardship. I hadn’t pushed much beyond a pen since I moved to college, and now I was in a pair of wellies launching timber into a car trailer. Yet, the crisp, cold air and the time to think was almost medicinal and I began to enjoy the immediacy of the task at hand. As we picked in silence, I peered beyond the barn we were in, to what seemed like the remnants of a dwelling. I asked and dad explained how his cousins, the Byrnes, used to live in this very barn. They lived off the land, unmarried, and milked what cows they had by hand. “What did they do with themselves?” I asked curiously. “They got by really, that was it” he reflected, “that was a different time. A different Ireland”. I thought of the poor lady he had told me about earlier, and how perhaps this scarce and bleak existence led her to make that fatal choice further down the line. Then again, to me, there was something peaceful about this simpler way of life. It’s tough to truly put yourself in someone else’s shoes, or wellies in this case. I snapped out of my thoughts as the trailer was filling up and my bones began to rattle from the cold. I suggested we call it a day. “Yeah sure, let me have a quick look” dad said. He threw in a couple more for good measure, but we had collected most of the good ones. We finished up and headed back for the main yard. Job done. Dad popped in to throw Uncle Graham some cash for the sticks. Humbly but perhaps foolishly, Graham declined any reimbursement. “I'm not taking your money” he muttered, as he batted dad’s money away. Home we went, with our trailer load of firewood, leaving the old birches in our wake.


There is something beautiful about the fire. Frightening--it’s frightening, I must remind the voice in my head. The fire is beautiful, burning red and orange and so warm, but it is also frightening. It’s frightening because it is dangerous. Because it is dangerous for him . My Rochester is strong and tall and brave, but the fire will burn him alive. It will burn him until his bones are ash and his blood is smoke, and I can’t have that. I look at the fire, and it frightens me, but he can’t be burned. I cannot let him burn. Smoke fills my lungs as I enter the hall. Warm, so, so very warm. The walls burn, and the house creaks, and the fire laughs. What a haunting sight. What a horror that befell this house. That is what people will say if we burn up here. A tragedy, it will be called. There has been too much tragedy within these walls already. He has faced too much tragedy. My Rochester, whose fate has been marked by an unlucky star. To think that this happened to him along with everything else--his home, his livelihood going up in smoke. He won’t join it. I won’t let him. This will not be a tragedy. Not another one. There has been too much tragedy in both our lives. Too much loneliness. I think of the first time I recognized that loneliness in his eyes, the same sort that I met each time I looked in the mirror. There are few in this world who can find value in such pain. I found mine in his eyes. We matched, two missing pieces that could fit nowhere else in this world. My loneliness meant something because it made me perfect for him. The thing that could save him from these dark and dreary halls that now threatened to collapse and burn him whole. I know this house as well as I know my own mind. The halls are long and dusty, the rooms large and empty. He never opens the windows, I think. He doesn’t like the sunlight anymore, but people can change. They can learn to love what they never saw value in before. I know that they can. Sprinting down the halls, I shout for my Rochester to answer, so that I can know that he is safe. He will be in his study because that is where he always goes to getaway. That gloomy little study with the heavy lock on the door. He used to never let me sit with him inside. Slowly, ever so slowly, that changed. The room I was once forbidden has become my favorite haunt. It is still gloomy, even when I leave him flowers by the latched window. Even when I spray my perfume on the cushions of the couch. Without sunlight, I don’t think it will ever brighten up, but my Rochester keeps everything under lock and key, and he is slow to change. The glass in the windows crack as the house boils. The locks cannot keep the sunlight out now, not when the glass has shattered. That glass grinds into the heels of my boots as I run. It cracks and grinds against stone floors and it joins the cacophony of the laughing fire as I sprint through the smoke towards where I know my Rochester to be. I’m getting close, or I think I am, but everything is so much less clear with the smoke. So much smoke. More smoke than I imagined. But I can hear movement that isn’t a result of the flames and that smoke clears. A cough, a shout, a gasp of pain. My beating heart nearly stops. I cannot be too late; even if he is in pain, he is still alive. Covering my nose and mouth with the neck of my shirt to keep the smoke from my lungs, I break into a determined sprint towards the sound--towards the study. The door is already open, my Rochester, leaning against the wood, crouched towards the ground. Falling to my knees beside him, I try to get him to stand. Initially, he meets me with resistance, but then he looks into my eyes and is quelled. This was always our way. The push and the pull, but in the end all we had was each other. As I bring one of his arms to hold over my shoulder, I notice the burn on the hand. Round, the imprint of his family’s crest--a brand given when he opened the door to the study in his attempt to get away. Under the heat of the fire, the metal burned too hot. He had underestimated how much this house wanted to hurt him. I would soothe the wound once we made it out of the flames. I swore I would. I’d wrap the brand in linens, I’d clean it with alcohol and tinctures. I would be kinder and softer than this house ever was. I would not punish him for his devotion to me like this place always did. I would not drown him in shadows and lock my doors to keep him trapped. I would not weigh him down with vines and ivy and old rotting bricks. When this house burns, we will not burn with it. I help my Rochester stand, and we begin to stumble forward the way I came. The fire has grown hotter, the smoke, almost debilitating. I can feel my Rochester swaying against me, his weight is nearly too heavy for me to carry. The burnt hand hangs near my chin as I drag us through the house and I begin to worry. Will he notice that while his hands smell like melted flesh and smoke, mine smell like kerosene. There is something pulling at the back of my head--a thought, a memory. I can’t be sure. Maybe it is the recollection of the first time we met. When I first came to this home looking for work, and that fire crackled in the stone hearth in his study, and the night felt so calm. Our beginning, though neither of us could have known at the time. Or maybe it was the kerosene. The red curtains in my childhood home on fire as I stood in the street and watched. That night was cold. Was this the memory pulling at the back of my head? That horrible night when there had been no sunlight, no warmth, no arm slung over my shoulder, or a second heartbeat that told me to keep moving forward. I heard my Rochester cough, and I shook the stupor from my brow and kept forward. Down the hall, down the winding staircase, flames licked our feet, but I did not let them stop us. I did not stand still to admire their red dancing lights, nor did I listen to their laughter as I passed. And the door to the home that was always bolted shut was now hanging open and wide as I had left it. The broken hinge creaked as we stumbled out and into the open air. The smoke cleared, my Rochester gasped as he stumbled to the ground, landing on his hands and knees. I wrapped my arms around him to drag him further away. The house could collapse, the wooden beams could fall, the foundation crack and swallow us whole. This home was still dangerous-- the fire , I corrected myself, the fire was still dangerous. But as we got further away to the far end of the property, I set my Rochester’s weary body down beside me and turned back to look at the flames. It was different seeing it from this distance. The old Victorian home was alight with a red glow. The flames lunged from the broken windows, calling to me, waving us goodbye. The billow of smoke from the roof was black, as if purging the house from the dark spirits that once haunted these halls. Cleansing it from the inside out. All the massive doors that kept him locked away, all the dark corridors that once haunted him, were gone. There is nothing frightening about this at all. The fire is beautiful because it is mine. And he will be too, my Rochester.