Iced IoT Icy gusts assaulted Snoqualmie, whipping the town with fury on this dark and merciless night. Between the lashes of sleet and hail, a frigid electricity poised in the atmosphere like a wide-eyed serpent hungry to bring calamity to the tranquil town. A swirling shimmer dove from the storm onto a roof and slithered down a gutter as if searching, hunting. It left a curious green glow as it wound around the downspout, along the siding, behind the pink rhododendrons swaying in the wind. It froze momentarily at the sight of a long skinny black snake with no head and no tail which appeared to be entering the house. The sharp pang of fear unmasked its camouflage to reveal the frosted anger on its dragon-like face, tongue slithering to ward off the perceived threat. But like our frigorific friend, this black beast was as cold as ice, and, in fact, no snake at all. But it was alive. It was alive in exactly the right way. He could feel its vibrant pulses and hums. Wriggling around the black beast in a carnal embrace, he transformed into a nebulous mist as he effused into the walls of the home. Within the musty darkness of this slim space, the pulses and hums reverberated, quivering at the place where his soul should have been. Blinding ecstasy pulled him to the source of this magnetic climax. Here, the black beast had been wounded, his skin gnawed with his sparking entrails exposed. The misty marauder engulfed the wound as he transformed into a current of electrified mischief. Here, within the skin of his dark friend, he perched at the crossroads of her destiny and her fate. What Shall Be Anne slumbered under her comforter. The sensors and pressure points within the mattress had adjusted to her body’s needs perfectly. Her sleep quality had improved drastically since they integrated the AI enabled mattress and pillows. She hadn’t rested this well in years. The pillow was especially helpful since she and Dillon no longer needed jolting alarms to wake up in the morning. Now, a gently growing vibration from the pillow along with gradually increasing light levels woke her smoothly without instigating the morning panic attacks she had learned to accept since she was 15... 15, awoken by the sound of two fatal gunshots separated by the cries of her father. The low hum of the smart air filtration system lulled her to sleep. The atmosphere in the room consisted of a comfy 77 degrees Fahrenheit with a humidity level of 53%. Anne knew doctors suggested a sleeping temperature of 65 degrees Fahrenheit for optimal health, but Skuld had learned from Anne and Dillon over the first month of its operation in the house that 77 was much more comfortable for them. Skuld managed operations for all smart devices in the home. She even connected Anne and Dillon to various services that made their hectic lives easier. To Anne, Skuld was a godsend. Without Skuld, Anne would still be in that dark place shackled by anxiety, tortured by mordant triggers, anesthetized by depression. She was thankful for the life-saving features Skuld provided in her newly reclaimed life. Friends and family had warned her about the potential risks of so much personal data being collected. But to Anne, the risk was trivial compared to the hell she had endured over her life, until now, until Skuld. And so, this is what shall be. IoT for Two BONG! Out of the stillness of the tranquil night, the thunderous vibration of a huge gong resounded from the speakers in the corners of the room. Anne jumped out of bed, face arrested with terror, every muscled cocked like a loaded gun. It was 3am. BONG! The throng was nearly deafening. She covered her ears as she screamed for Skuld to turn off the speakers. BONG! Why wouldn’t Skuld respond? In a half-woken panic, she riffled through the bedside table to find her phone. Finally, there it was, sitting on top of its wireless charging station. It was dead. “LISTEN TO THE SOUNDS OF THE RAINFOREST AS YOU PEACEFULLY DRIFT OFF TO A DREAMY SLEEP. BREATH DEEP ABDOMINAL BREATHS AS YOU FOCUS ON THE SOUNDS OF TRANQUIL WATERFALLS.” The booming of the narrator’s voice and the sharp crashing of raging waterfalls rumbled the very air. Skull-crushing vibrations shook her brain. She ran out of the room only to have sonic tremors chase her through the halls via the intelligent sound system and the smart cameras. “GENTLY HOLD YOUR BREATH FOR A FEW SECONDS AS YOU NOTICE THE HAPPY CHIRPINGS OF THE RAINFOREST BIRD CHORUS.” In a fevered pitch, she ran to the control room. As she reached for the door handle, she heard “Click”. The door had locked. What was going on? Anger and confusion battled in her mind as she sprinted to the laundry room. As she opened the door to the breakers, high-pitched songbirds screeched along with the narrator’s instructions: “RELEASE THE BREATH GENTLY, SLOWLY, AS YOU FEEL EVERY MUSCLE OF YOUR BODY MELT INTO THE MATTRESS. FEEL YOUR BODY AS IT UNITES WITH THE UNIVERSE SURROUNDING YOU. SURRENDER INTO PEACEFUL SLEEP.” She flipped the switch for Skuld. No response. The once serene birdsongs assailed her eardrums with their piercing peeps. “MEDITATE ON THE SOUNDS OF THE RAINFOREST UNTIL YOU HEAR THE FINAL GONG.” “What in God’s name.... Why isn’t this working?!?” She glared at the panel for a stunned moment. Then, she remembered the kill switch. They had never had to use it. Where was it?!? Wasn’t it in some weird place? Right... in that creepy closet next to the water heater. She darted out of the laundry room and toward the water heater closet as she broke into a cold sweat. BONG! The kill switch was nestled behind large bottles of bleach, vinegar and huge bags of baking soda used for cleaning. Grimy dust crusted the normally clear polycarbonate case surrounding it. Luckily, the bottom latch was a simple metal clasp. She flung it open and hit the kill switch as the crescendo of songbirds, waterfalls and gongs came to a faded halt. “SLEEP WELL. NAMASTE.” Breathless, Anne fell to the ground as a dizzy spell hit her. After a moment of dissociation, she got up and found the emergency satellite phone. She grabbed a duster out of the coat closet and went to the backyard to call Dillon. Corrupdates “Were we hacked?” “No. The security for the system is pretty robust.” “What about updates?” “There might have been an OTA firmware update on Thursday night, but...” “But it’s Saturday morning. Wouldn’t the problems have started sooner?” “Not necessarily. I need to check this out with the team. If it were the result of a firmware update, they would have also had weird shit happen. But it’s 4am, so I can’t do it right now. More importantly, how are you now?” Anne released a heavy sigh. She closed her eyes briefly, then looked up at the stars. “I’m ok. It was just such a shock because things have been going so well. I wasn’t expecting it.” “I just want to make sure you are feeling ok. Do you want me to come home?” “No. I don’t want to ruin another of your guy trips. I’ll be fine.” “I can always go fishing next weekend.” “Next weekend isn’t a 3-day weekend. Have fun. I’ll be fine. The girls are coming over for a tea party.” “Ok, now, you girls don’t get too crazy. I don’t want to come home to murdered crumpets all over the kitchen counters. That raspberry syrup stains everything.” He loved to tease her about her tea parties. They sounded so matronly but, often ended in roaring laughter and red faces for those who were still standing at the end of the night. “Oh, can it! We’ll be fine. It will be therapeutic to see them. We haven’t had one of these parties since the smart system was installed. I need this.” He guided her through the process to manually unlock the control room door through a locksmith device he had developed. Then, he stepped her through the process of resetting the system and assuring all components were operating correctly. “Ok, sweetheart, I want to try to get a few hours of sleep before I get ready for the party. Thank you for listening to me. You’re always there for me like no one else. I love you.” “I love you, too, Anne. Now, go get some sleep.” Manual Crumpets Making her famous Sweetheart Crumpets had become a meditative ritual for Anne. To her, it represented how thankful she was for her close-knit circle of friends. She loved to make them by hand with as little smart device involvement as possible. It was more personal that way. It was her way of practicing gratitude for those she loved so dearly. In her PJs, she walked to the kitchen instructing Skuld along the way. “Skuld, play something from my New Age music, preferably something without birds or waterfalls... or gongs.” “Certainly, Anne.” A moment later, soothing harps played softly in the background as she headed to the kitchen. While she gathered the ingredients for the crumpets, she continued her conversation with Skuld. “Skuld, run a diagnostic on the events listed in your logs last night, specifically between 2am and 4am.” After a brief pause, Skuld replied, “The logs indicate I was disconnected at 2:57am. There are no logs from 2:57am to 4:19am when I was reset.” Anne stopped stirring the batter in shock. “That’s impossible. Skuld, analyze the logs for the speaker system, the internal cameras, and the lock on the control room door for that time period.” Another brief silence. “There are no logs for these devices for that time period.” Anne covered the dough in the bowl and set it aside to rise as she jerked around scowling up at the speakers in response to Skuld’s reply. “So, there are no records at all for these devices during that time period?” “That is correct.” Perplexed, Anne poured a cup of perfect coffee. It had been customized for her preferences and started as soon as her head left the pillow at her normal waking time. After a few pondering sips, she wrinkled her nose and looked up at the speaker again. “Skuld, analyze for all unusual internet and device behavior at or before 2:57am this morning going back to... the last updates: firmware, software, operating system, etc. Look for any outliers in the internet traffic for that time period. Also, examine all incoming and outgoing emails and service requests. Aggregate all this information and send a report to the app as soon as possible.” “Certainly. This will take....” The low hum of the interconnected devices exhaled a dying breath as the system shut down. The speaker from which Skuld had been speaking crackled as the wires behind it sparked. Various beeps sounded from around the house and lights flickered as everything defaulted back to manual mode. Anne was livid as she called Dillon. “What the hell is going on with this thing?! I thought you said it had worked perfectly in the lab!” Dillon was a bit flabbergasted. “It was running perfectly. We had worked out all the bugs, and...” “Oh, did you?!” “Hey, I’m not sure what’s happening, but it’s not anything that happened in the lab. Chuck got back with me and said his system is working fine. He didn’t have any sort of glitch last night, and he lives just a few streets away.” Dillion was silent as he mulled over all the possibilities. With a heavy sigh, he said, “Ok, just leave it disabled for the moment. I’ll head home. I should be there by 6pm.” “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just don’t know what else to do.” “Eh, the fishing sucks this weekend. See you around 6.” Subversive Error: 734 Dainty chamomile flowers danced with lemon slices at the top of an amber concoction consisting of freshly brewed chamomile tea, honey, and a warming dose of bourbon. It was Anne’s favorite Saturday night brew since it had such a mellowing effect. She placed the delicately designed punch bowl in the center of the living room table right next to her Sweetheart Crumpets. The table was filled with delectable snacks, but none quite as striking as the heart-shaped crumpets slather in butter and drizzled with homemade raspberry syrup. The girls had settled into comfy chairs with their tea, snacks and two perfectly crispy-chewy crumpets each. “These crumpets are outstanding, Anne. I don’t know how you make them so consistently fantastic. Mmmm-mmm!” Makayla closed her eyes as she savored the next bite. “Thank you! I just think of how thankful I am to have you all as friends when I make them. It’s not easy to find true friends these days.” Anne blushed a little as she flushed with emotion. “Isn’t that the truth!” Rebecca said vehemently. Asha agreed as she sipped her chamomile brew. “I always make them by hand as a meditative gratitude exercise. It’s very calming. This morning was a little different, though,” Anne said rolling her eyes. Makayla tilted her head as she prepared to eat another scrumptious bite, “Well, I don’t know what happened this morning, but they certainly don’t taste like you had any trouble.” Makayla winked at Anne as she took another bite. Anne retold of the events of the previous night eliciting gasps and frowns from her friends. As she came to the point where she had asked Skuld to do some deeper analysis, the lights flickered, a low hum surged, and bleeps sounded throughout the house. Anne’s eyes grew 3 sizes as she nearly dropped her plate. She stood and looked toward the control room. Her shoulders tensed and her mouth gaped as her thoughts ran rampant. The girls expressed concern as she raced over to the control room, but Anne didn’t hear them. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and called Dillon. “Hey, did you restart Skuld?” “No. I’ve been driving the last couple of hours.” “It just came back on by itself. Why would it do that?” “I don’t know, honey. Are you sure you didn’t reset it somehow?” “No, I haven’t touched it, or any controls, since it shut down this morning.” “Weird. I’ll check with Chuck to see if anything happened with his system. Just... don’t touch it. If it starts acting up again, hit the kill switch.” Anne hung up, too distracted by the busy hums coming from the control closet to finish the call. She opened the door timidly. Recessed in the dark chilly closet, tiny blinking lights highlighted a mass of cables coming in and going out of Skuld. The peculiar illumination in the darkness made the cables and the box look like an old, knotted tree. There was an acrid odor as she stepped closer to the box. Her voice faultered as she spoke. “Skuld?” No response. Still struggling for breath, Anne addressed her again. “Skuld, how did you come back on?” A red light flashed from overhead revealing a dark oozing substance on the floor under Skuld. Anne thought maybe it was oil. There was something in the substance, but she couldn’t tell what it was with the light flashing and the object being halfway obscured by hanging cables. She reached for the flashlight on the shelving next to the door. On the floor under Skuld was a thick, dark red substance. She walked closer. A faint metallic aroma filled the air as she squatted to examine it. Cloaked within the sinister crimson pool lay two bullets and a revolver like the one her dad had used. Anne shrieked, dropped the flashlight, and ran back to where her friends were at the entrance to the control room. Anne’s lungs were frozen. She couldn’t breathe. A devilish voiced echoed through taunting laughter over the speaker in the control room, “She didn’t!” They ran toward the front door, sweaty with fear. As they ran, the all-weather blinds secured the windows and the locks bolted. They were trapped. The temperature in the house rapidly started getting icy cold. The floor buckled and cracked creating a huge gap across the living room. In the large mirror above the buffet, a glowing green face emerged. “Poor little Anne, so filled with fear. How will you ever survive any better than your parents?” Two blue figures and a dark hooded woman arose from the fracture. The two blue figures flanked Anne as the dark woman approached the mirror. The woman locked eyes with the green figure and pointed to the fissure in the ground. “Leave, Loki! You know as well as I her fate is none of theirs.” Skuld’s harrowing stare made Loki flinch a bit. Although she was not a goddess, she controlled future fates, including his own. “Fate... Destiny... it’s not set in stone. Doesn’t it depend on the soul’s choices? I was actually helping her to realize her destiny sooner. Is not adversity the seed of enlightenment? It was all in good fun. No one got hurt.” Skuld’s stare was like a cosmic ray searing his soulless eyes. “Leave.” Loki’s eyes drifted down away from Skuld and up to Anne. “Bye-bye, Anne. I hope we meet again someday.” Loki winked and disappeared. Skuld turned and waved to reveal Anne’s parents beside her. They spoke in one voice. “Anne, we are so sorry our curse has hurt you. We are sorry we left as we did. We did not mean to hurt you. We were confused beings, but we are at peace now. And we are here for you, even when you don’t see us. We believe in you, Anne. We love you to the ends of time and space.” With smiling souls, they vanished into the ether. Skuld smiled silently. As she disappeared, she whispered, “And so, this is what shall be.”


I respond hesitantly, "hello," after a few seconds pass with neither a response from myself nor the feline creature watching me. "My name is Kaitlyn." In the dim light given by the setting moon, which has just started to descend behind the treetops in front of us, her white fur gleams like silver. Her ears slightly pricked forward into a triangle form. Despite being so close to where I am frozen in place, she seems quite at ease. Her large, round, emerald eyes almost appear luminous against her pale face. She doesn't do anything more than turn slightly away from me before finally turning to gaze over her shoulder once more. Although it's unclear if she's signaling yes or no, her tail slowly flicks side to side. Just as I begin to believe our conversation is over, she abruptly hops down from the stump and calmly strolls past me while keeping her feet silent. I walk after her and wonder what exactly brought us together out here in the middle of nothing. "Snowball!" Since she looks to be the only other person in the area beside me, I shout in an attempt to catch her attention. The cat comes to a complete halt, turns, and looks at me with a curious expression. I'm left wondering if Snowball is really her name; perhaps her owner gave it to her based on her answer. With how fluffy and white she appears, it sounds like a fitting nickname! Snowball begins to meow quietly but soon starts to walk backward toward me while keeping her eyes firmly fixated on my face. She moves forward onto my palm when I extend my hand, then curls up into my arms and purrs happily. I feel the warmth emanating from her body and run my fingers through the silky fur covering her head. "Why are you here by yourself in these woods?" We're standing there talking so close to each other that I inquire gently in case any other animals happen to walk by and are startled. A gunshot somewhere nearby is followed by another and a few more rounds are fired considerably closer than the ones that came before, cutting off our chat. We both leap almost immediately apart as a result of the unexpected noise startling us both. Although it's unclear what might be wrong, Snowball nips at the hem of my jeans and tugs on it as if attempting to warn me. I scan the area for anything unusual or harmful, but I'm not sure what I would do if I did, especially if it were a wild animal or perhaps a dangerous predator lurking in this forest...or worse yet, a person trying to hurt either myself or Snowball! Voices can now be heard moving toward us; they are speaking softly, but due to the distance between them and us, as well as the fact that the speaker is too far away to fully understand what they are saying, their words are not quite making sense. Even though Snowball has just been shocked, she still maintains a fixed gaze on me with her green eyes wide open. Rather than showing fear, she looks curious. She meows at me once more before looking back in the direction of a narrow trail that appears to be leading deeper into the trees away from the sound. I trail behind her, wondering why she seems so determined to go down there when I have no idea where we are going or whether I should even go there since I don't know anyone else who lives in this area, let alone getting lost and having to rely on someone like Snowball who may very well be the guide I need to return home safely. As we continue through the underbrush and over tree trunks that have fallen and are laying scattered across the forest floor, the ground beneath my feet is uneven and rocky. Compared to the trees that are close to my house, these trees seem to be much older. They're gnarled and twisted, appearing to have lived a long life, whereas those that surround my property seem young enough that one day they might even reach up high above me, blocking out most of the sunlight that enters them during summer, casting long shadows that stretch from one side of the yard to the other, and giving me shade whenever I choose to sit outside reading a book or writing in my black journal while savoring a cool drink. I accidentally run into her back when Snowball abruptly stops. She turns around and gives me a look that is akin to the expression you would expect any cat to have after learning something new while exploring the outdoors. "Snowball, what is the matter? What have you seen?" Given the scant details she has given me about our current position so far, I ask curiously but don't expect an answer that would be helpful. "Do you know of any additional trails that may branch off and go in a different direction?" She doesn't answer but instead stares attentively into whatever she saw before halting abruptly once more. She gestures with her paw for me to halt as well, then she tilts her head slightly to the left, then to the right, and eventually she fixes her focus once again on me. When I see her tail moving quickly back and forth, I start to wonder if this feline creature is actually a dog in disguise. "Is anyone there?" I stutter, hoping that by making so little noise in these woods, where everything seems so quiet in comparison to where we currently reside, I won't scare anyone who is around. Snowball slowly nods a few times as if trying very hard to convey some kind of message without words, but no matter how much time passes, there is still no additional interaction between us. She makes it seem as though she knows exactly where she's going and wants me to follow her. Snowball navigates the path through the trees until ultimately the undergrowth becomes more sparse and more light can enter through the canopy above. The terrain here becomes less rocky, making walking easier, though it still feels quite muddy and wet from recent rain. This is evident from all the puddles that are lying scattered across the ground among fallen leaves, twigs, and other debris from nature that has been washed down from higher on the mountainside during heavy rainstorms like those experienced during the autumn months in Lynsid. After we arrive at a deserted street with buildings on either side and a little park with a huge fountain in the middle, the road opens up significantly. At one end of the road, there is a signpost with a map of Lynsid's city, complete with streets and landmarks, nailed to it. Snowball pauses at this point, turns around, and then briefly glances back over her shoulder before turning back to face me. I'm not sure why she would do this considering that we had only just met, but it almost seems as if she's asking if I'm ready to follow her again. She continues to stare deeply into my eyes for several long seconds, pointing in the direction of an incoming truck headed our way. Because I've lost track of where I'm supposed to go or what road we should take to get there in the first place, I tear my gaze away from her and wave at the driver to stop his vehicle in case he might be about to help us find our way home safely...or maybe even because Snowball is telling me something important but I don't know how else she could communicate her thoughts without using gestures. Snowball gestures her paw back and forth, as the truck driver slows and pulls onto the pavement. Then he exits his vehicle and moves over to where we are standing. He bows and says, "hello," holding out his hand as if to say something in the way of a greeting, but neither myself nor Snowball seems too keen on accepting a greeting at this point because we're not sure whether we can trust him despite being so close to one another that we might run into each other if we try anything stupid like trying to push past each other. "Jack is my name." I cautiously smile back at him after he says this and gives me a warm smile. He asks Snowball, this time directly, "are you still looking for your owner?" Snowball nods slowly once more before gently tilting her head to the left, then to the right, and then back to me. "You are the first person to stroke her fur since she went missing here a few days ago, and she already appears to like you," Jack says as he casts a curious glance my way. I turn to face Snowball with a smile on my face and ask Jack , "do you know the location of her owner? Maybe if she's nearby?" "No one knows where she is after her sudden disappearance, but it's thought that someone took her away from these parts by force, with her destination unknown." Jack shakes his head in response, his face etched with worry. Snowball responds by rubbing up against me and purring softly. I softly stroke her white coat, giggling as I do so. "Snowball, I have wonderful news for you; you've found a new home!" I say softly. "I'm going to take good care of you, my little Snowball, and you'll be staying with me for good."


Attention: Flight 3212 for Levit's Place will depart in a half-hour. Please be at the gate with your luggage. Dorothy looks at her old suitcase and at the people in the gate. All of them are dressed in clothes that went out of style several centuries ago. They are all reading books or watching television. She looks over at the glass wall separating them from the rest of the terminal. Passengers arrive at the exact moment the flight leaves. They do not have luggage, and the flight will probably have amenities to keep them busy. The AI has taken over life for maximum efficiency. She looks over at a wall and sees an old brochure case. She takes out one for Levit's Place. It markets itself as a way to escape to the hustle and bustle of modern life. The only place in the galaxy where community maintains its meaning is in the floating spaceship. It offers genuine privacy and a chance to bring back a level of unpredictability. The last page of the brochure shows a meet-cute which rarely happens these days. A hologram of a flight attendant appears at the front of the gate. The passengers scan their paper boarding-passes and walk to the plane. The interior mirrors a Pan-Am airplane. The two flight attendants have a blue patch that indicates that they are human. Human flight attendants. Perhaps Dorothy could get that job on Levit's Place. They run through the old instruction videos on space travel and fly. Dorothy reads an old book along the way. When they reach Levit's Place, it is a sprawling suburban oasis. Cars have been designed to imitate the old designs. The houses are all made of a plastic-fiber in a wood or brick pattern. All of the attire is period based. Dorothy smiles. She is home. She walks to the job placement center to await her next destination. The woman sitting behind the screen stands out in a shocking display of modernity. Her enhancements are visible, and her clothes are clearly designed to shift for her mood. The computer in front of her is small with a holographic display. Dorothy is disappointed by this, but she understands that not all of the town can be in the past. "Alright, according to this you have a bronze pass, correct?" she asks. "Yes, I was looking through the brochure. I found the accountant occupation to be quite interesting," Dorothy replies. "Alright, you will have to work ten years for that job," the woman replies. "What? I thought all jobs are available," Dorothy says. "They are. The passes allow you to skip lines. Be glad this is not a copper pass. They would have to work twenty years," the woman says. "What jobs are immediately available to me?" Dorothy asks. "Let's see. You have no typing skills, your human-oriented social skills are low, your creativity marks are average," the woman keeps looking, "Did you take any time before this to work on your skills?" "No," Dorothy says, "I thought this town would take care of it for me. Besides how much do I really have to know." "Oh dear, a romantic," the woman rolls her eyes, "Listen a lot of the skills needed to survive in this timeframe went out of fashion several centuries ago. The only people who develop them are hobbyists. We are going to have to place you in a program to survive here." "A program?? Will that cost me extra?" Dorothy asks. "Don't worry. Bronze accounts for this. I have already summoned a taxi who will take you to your next destination, goodbye," the woman says. Before Dorothy can reply, she is forced out of the room by the nanites. A small yellow taxi is waiting for her. She carefully walks up to the cab and opens the handle. "What about your suitcase?" the cab driver asks. Dorothy looks down and realizes that it is sitting next to her. "Do I have to take care of that?" she asks. "Oh god, a romantic," the cab driver sighs and gets out of the vehicle. He puts the suitcase in the trunk before sitting back down. Dorothy sits in the car. "Buckle your seatbelt," the cab driver says. Dorothy looks around, "Oh god." The cab driver moves to the back and instructs Dorothy on how to buckle her seatbelt. "Listen. You are probably like I was a few years ago. A romantic idealist who thought the past was amazing and that modern life is horrible. Let me tell you. Modern life is great. It took me years to learn the basics. As soon as you can, leave," he says. "I am going to a program to help," she says. "That is how they get you. You have a Bronze pass so you won't get as badly trapped as I was, but you will be forced to sign a contract. You will have to pledge more years to take electives that should've been core content. You will be spending the next few years of your life here wishing you could go back," he says as he starts driving to the program. "What is the point of this place then?" Dorothy says. "Honestly, a big conspiracy is that nostalgic places were developed as a way to get rid of the Neo-Luddites like us. They just change the time period to suit the person," he says. "I am not a Neo-Luddite," Dorothy says. "You are here. You are a Neo-Luddite. Enjoy your stay. I heard that it is purposefully made to be discomforting to force you to accept technology when you are released," he stops in front of a large building. Dorothy struggles to unbuckle the seatbelt. By the time she gets out. She stares at the large building. It is drab and windowless. Why would anyone want to live here especially in contrast to the beautiful surrounding houses? Dorothy takes a breath. If her ancestors could survive, she could too. She walks to the door and waits for it to open. A guard rolls his eyes and opens it for her. Well maybe she can't survive as well as she thought. r/AstroRideWrites.


(WP) The Blind Date From Hell The bar is crowded, packed wall-to-wall with people, laughing and talking over drinks, some in the middle of the dance floor, arms up in the air, lips and hips moving to the music. The smell of perfume, beer, and something fried hang in the air like a thick, heavy curtain, and the man flashing his ID to the bouncer runs a hand through his hair, cheeks and neck flushed, fingers twitching even as he shoves them in his pockets. Perhaps he should have had a drink after all, before he’d left his apartment. He’d spent the evening getting ready, changing his clothes three different times before he’d settled on an outfit: a suit, an Armani number that was gifted to him from his late father. Maybe he is overdressed for the small, private bar at the corner, but he wants to make a good, lasting first impression, and if he does say so himself, he cuts a clean figure in it; he flashes a grin at himself, checking his reflection in the mirror that faces opposite the bar. He doesn’t know exactly why he’s so anxious; it’s not as if this is his first blind date. He looks around, eyes narrowing, looking for his blind date. He spots a tall, dark-haired woman standing at the bar, a half-drank martini in front of her. She’s wearing a tight, emerald green sheath with flowers stitched into the bodice, and her legs go on for miles. He’s a goner; he’s always been such a sucker for a woman with long legs. Was he late? Had he wasted time, in checking his appearance so diligently? His stomach winds into tight knots, and mentally, he shakes himself. *Get it together, Henry. You’re acting like an eighth-grader at a dance. She’s not going to* bite. Walking up to the woman, he reaches over and taps her on the shoulder, lightly, so as not to startle her. “Excuse me? Are you Karen?” His voice is surprisingly steady, and his heart is beating a fierce tattoo inside of his chest. “I’m so sorry if I’m late, I hope you weren’t waiting too long for me.” “Oh, not at all,” Karen replies, and she turns around, her hair brushing his face just slightly; she smells of orange blossoms and rose, sharp and floral. “Are you Henry?” “Yes, it’s great to meet you,” He says, and takes her hand in his, pecking it gently. When Henry looks back up at her, he could swear that her eyes flash crimson. But just as quickly as he sees it, it disappears, her eyes reverting back to amber. This creature was bewitching, he has to admit, at least to himself. Maybe putting himself back out there wouldn’t be so bad after all... \*\* “May I refresh your drink?” Henry asks, a little bit later when the bar begins to empty, people leaving in pairs or small groups. But that is fine with him; he is more than happy to have the place to himself. He and Karen have been talking quietly to one another; she insisted upon buying him another drink, this one a whiskey sour. “Please, that would be fantastic, Henry,” She replies, smiling at him, tilting her head to the side slightly. She squeezes his arm, and he grins at the electricity that flares from the touch. This is going so well, he thinks as he stands up with her glass, helping himself to the olive that she hadn’t eaten. Perhaps he’s been making a mistake, keeping to himself so much... He buys her another martini, asking for it dirty this time. He should ask her if she wants anything to eat; maybe they could go to dinner at a real restaurant, after they’ve sobered up, of course. As he waits, he leans on the bar, turning toward his date. Karen is on the phone now, a smile on her face, lips forming words that he couldn’t hear, even in the quiet. But she laughs, and the sound is high and bright, like the trill of harp strings. At least it doesn’t seem urgent. Realizing he has to use the little boys’ room, he asks the bartender to take the drink to his date, and the woman happily obliges. He runs to the bathroom, trying to make sure that Karen isn’t waiting too long. \*\* Henry finishes up in the restroom and starts heading back to their table, tucked in the corner, right next to a window. Karen is still on the phone, brushing her hair back from her face impatiently. Curious but not quite sure why, he gets close enough to hear her talking, then stops. Her voice is deep, guttural, and so distinctly *other* that it brings him up short. “Oh, don’t you worry, Boss. I’ve got this adorable human eating out of the palm of my hand. I’ll feed this vessel, and then, once we get back to his place, I’ll eat his heart and deliver his soul straight to you. But remember, we had a deal. You renege, I keep the poor sucker’s soul for myself. A human soul is a source of great power.” There was a short pause, and Karen’s lips tighten, as if she does not like the response she receives. “Just hold up your end of the bargain, and I’ll do my part. Don’t doubt me.” Karen looks up, and sees Henry standing there. She beckons him closer, smiling seductively, but he can see this time that her eyes are red, the color of old, congealing blood. Her teeth are sharp and pointed, more like fangs than human teeth. “Come, Henry.


Connor was having an average day. Not too exciting, not to dull, just your normal, run of the mill day. He had just found a book on vampires at the library that looked interesting, and was in a hurry to get home and fall into it. Having a great love for books was his anti-drug. He was six months sober, and books are what kept him from falling into old habits. Reading got him through the day, and sometimes through long nights when he couldn’t sleep and the cravings for heroin hit him the hardest. He was waiting to cross the street when a gorgeous girl stepped beside him. She was about 5’8, with black hair down to her shoulders. She was wearing a Red Hot Chili Peppers top that revealed a little too much, but he wasn’t complaining. “You’re Connor Waters, aren’t you?” She asked him. When he turned to look he saw she had the bluest eyes he had ever seen, like twin sapphires. “Do I know you,” he asked. “I was in treatment with you not so long ago,” she said vaguely. “I’m Cynthia.” Now that she said so, Connor remembered her. She had left treatment before graduating. In fact, they had been close. It was weird that he hadn’t recognized her right away. Maybe it was her clothes, he seemed to remember her be slightly goth before. “How have you been?” He asked as the light turned and they started walking. “Oh you know, trying to figure life out. Sober 63 days, and it sucks. How about you?” “I’m doing good. I’ve been off the needle for six months, and it’s a struggle but I’m maintaing.” “It’s really good to see you. Do you want to go do something? For old times sake?” “What did you have in mind?” “We could go to the Hanging Gardens. I hang out there a lot. It’s really serene.” “Sure, why not. I haven’t been there in years.” They chatted as they walked, catching up on each other’s lives. Apparently when Cynthia had left treatment she had relapsed hard and ended up running away to New York. She hadn’t lasted long and came back after a month. She bummed around homeless for a while until she decided to clean up. Now she was doing theater, playing minor roles in stage productions. Life was going good for her right now, and she was in a good place, just rocking it. They got to the Hanging Gardens and it was even more beautiful than Connor remembered. The philodendrons hung from the top of towering alabaster columns. Silk spider plants ringed the central marble structure, which had stunning blue wisteria blooming atop it. It wasn’t the biggest garden, but it was dazzling in its intensity. Cynthia led Connor to a bench up on a high terrace that was surrounded by tiger lilies. From here there was a great view of the whole Hanging Gardens. He glanced at Cynthia and was amazed by what he saw. She seemed to be glowing, almost translucent. He blinked and the vision, or whatever it was, passed. They talked some more, Cynthia going into details about her dreams and aspirations. They weren’t what Connor thought they would be, what with her current dive into acting. In fact, they seemed to eerily mirror his. She wanted to write a book, the next great American novel, which was something he had wanted to do since he got sober. The strangest part was that she wanted to write on the same subject that he did, which was a vampire novel. They kicked around ideas for a bit and Connor found himself getting more excited about the idea of writing. Maybe this was what he needed to get himself started. “I know,” Cynthia said out of nowhere. Connor hadn’t said anything so he didn’t know what she was referring to. “I’ll tell him.” She was looking to the right, at the empty spot at the bench next to her. “So Gregory says vampires are real,” Cynthia said. Connor was perplexed. “Who’s Gregory?” “Gregory is my best friend, he’s sitting right here,” she said, gesturing towards the seat next to her. Connor decided not to press the matter, obviously Cynthia was experiencing something because there was no Gregory sitting on the bench. She started talking more to this invisible Gregory, like Connor wasn’t there at all. He was starting to get a weird vibe. “I don’t think he’ll go for that,” she was saying. “Maybe, I don’t know. Let’s not. Really, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Stop pushing me. Fine.” She turned back to Connor as if just realizing again he was there. “Gregory wants me to take you to meet somebody.” Connor didn’t have a good feeling about this at all. Seeing Cynthia had been nice, but he needed to get away before this situation got worse. He just had to think of way to leave without hurting her feelings. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I think I should be getting home.” “Come on,” Cynthia said. “It’s not far, and it will help you with your novel.” Maybe he could just play along, and find a chance to ditch her later on. As long as she wasn’t taking him to a dealer he didn’t see anything terrible happening. “Alright, let’s go.” They left the Hanging Gardens and walked down some back streets. Eventually she led him down some alleys. This is turning shady fast, he thought. They came up on a house with paint peeling and a window boarded shut. Connor hadn’t noticed before, but it was getting dark, so now this whole environment had an ominous feeling. Cynthia knocked on the door in a pattern. One knock, pause, two knocks, pause, one knock. A woman answered the door. Connor thought Cynthia was beautiful, but this woman was ethereal. She could have been a goddess come to Earth to tantalize men. Long red hair, and bright green eyes that seemed to gaze right into your soul. She looked him over, and seemed to approve, gesturing them inside. “Welcome young ones,” the woman said, with a voice as smooth as silk. “Its good to see you Cynthia. Who is this?” “This is Connor Waters. He wants to write a vampire novel.” “How fitting,” the woman said, offering her hand to Connor. “I’m Alexa Lightborne, and I happen to be a vampire.” Connor was speechless, this was a fantasy beyond his wildest dreams. He wanted to bow down and worship this dark creature of beauty. She turned from him and walked to the next room, motioning for them to follow. The inside of the house was a lot nicer then the exterior. The living room had plush couches and a crystal chandelier. “Please, have a seat,” Alexa said. Connor sat nervously on the edge of one couch, Cynthia relaxed into another and Alexa reclined right next to Connor. She leaned closer to Connor like she was trying to get his scent. She sat back as if intoxicated. “I’ll be honest Connor, it’s been a long time since I’ve fed, and you smell amazing.” Alexa said, pulling him into her eyes. “Would you mind terribly if I bit you?” Connor never wanted anything more in his life, and he told her so. She smiled, and her fangs gleamed in the light of the chandelier. She leaned in towards him, Connor’s anticipation growing. He closed his eyes and waited for the moment for the fangs to pierce his skin. When it didn’t happen, he opened his eyes. He wasn’t sitting on a plush couch, and there was no chandelier. He was alone on a broken futon, no vampire, no Cynthia. And worse of all, on a coffee table in front of him was an unused needle full of heroin. He had the strap around his arm already. He ripped it off, and threw the needle across the room. His schizophrenia had taken ahold of him. He had hallucinated Cynthia like he had in treatment, but this time his mind had taken it a step farther. It had splintered.


“It moved,” Anna said. “What moved?” Her boyfriend Henry asked looking behind them into the forest. It was only seven o’clock in the evening, but it was also November, only a month from 23 hours of darkness in their part of Alaska, and already dark. “I’ve only seen a shadow. It’s been following us for an hour.” “I see nothing,” he said, “directing his 2,500 lumen flashlight over the area behind them. The light didn’t penetrate far into the spruce trees, but he didn’t see any glowing eyes reflecting from the spotlight. The pair remained motionless to listen. Nothing. Only the wind in leaves. “We’re a million miles from anywhere. There’s nobody around to follow us. We’ve been here two weeks and haven’t seen one person.” “A bear?” Anna’s voice was now in the high pitch of concern. “Perhaps, but it wouldn’t follow us for an hour. You should have mentioned this sooner. Let’s go.” The season’s first snow fell weeks ago, but was not so high that they needed snow shoes. With only a half mile to go, they were almost home. She nodded, and they took more steps in the black tunnel formed by the forest over the trail. “Besides, bears don’t stalk and the other predators prefer preying on small animals, not humans. Relax.” Anna took a step, stopped, and whispered, “Did you hear that? It sounded like a tree limb breaking.” “No, I didn’t hear it. Besides, tree limbs break all the time. We’re in a forest, what do you expect?” “It wasn’t that type of sound. This was a branch on the ground that broke because something--someone--stepped on it. You did you bring the gun, right?” “Of course. Relax. We’ll be home soon.” ■■■■■ “It looks to me,” the first DPS trooper on scene said to his sergeant, “that they stepped onto a steel cable snare trap that pulled them up into an inverted position. Hanging by their feet from the tree. And they couldn’t get out of it when a bear attacked. Forensics will be here in an hour. They’re in Fairbanks now, loading their stuff into a bush plane to fly to Fort Yukon. We have a 4-wheel SUV ready to pick them up.” Sergeant Robert Ataqan nodded and looked at the shredded bodies. “Were either of them armed?” “Yes, the male. His handgun is still in the holster. You can see it from here.” “Hmmm. I wonder why, even though inverted, he didn’t shoot?” ■■■■■ “My God,” the lieutenant said to Ataqan, “I’ve never seen such gory site. There hasn’t been a bear attack in a long time. Do you think a bear did it?” “I’m sure a bear tore them apart, but the autopsy report says the cause of death was their throats were cut and they bled to death. No signs of a struggle. No broken zip ties. No signs of any kind of bindings. No mutilation other than what the bear did. No tape on their mouths or residue of an adhesive. No marks on their mouths of a gag. In short, no clues of any kind.” “Very strange,” the lieutenant said. Ataqan nodded in agreement. “The claw marks from the bear don’t show any blood that should have been there. Apparently there was no blood left when it shredded the flesh of the victims, it had all drained out of their bodies before the bear arrived. The photos show pooled blood on the frozen ground below them. This was murder. It almost looks like a Kosher killing.” “A religious murder? You can’t be serious.” “Maybe not religious, but the style is the same. For an animal to be slaughtered in a kosher manner, the knife must be perfect. Any blemish on the blade renders the knife unacceptable. It must be so sharp that if the killer were to slice of his finger, he would feel no pain. That is consistent with the autopsy report.” “There has to be more than one sharp knife in Alaska. All farmers and hunters carry them.” “Bowie knives don’t come close and would not be suitable for the kill. The person must kill in one quick stroke across throat to cut the esophagus, trachea, carotid arteries, and both jugular veins. The animal dies within 2 seconds and all its blood drains out. Again, that’s consistent with the autopsy report and forensics finding blood soaked in the ground below them as if it pooled there.” The lieutenant’s face winced as he listened. “That’s religious? It’s gruesome. Don’t they even stun the animal?” “No. Stunning is against the laws of Kashrut.” “Okay, what the hell is Kashrut?” Ataqan smiled, “Jewish dietary law.” “Doesn’t that somehow bring us back to a religious killing?” “Not if you want to frame somebody else or you are a shochet who has gone bonkers.” “A what? A shochet? What in hell is that?” “A Kosher slaughterer.” “I know there’s a history of Jews in Alaska starting before the Alaska Purchase in 1867 when they came from Russia as fur traders. Even today they’re not a large segment of the population.” “True. Not large enough to support a shochet. But it looks to me that the murderer does know the technique.” “The victims, were they locals?” “I don’t think so,” Ataqan said. “They were a young married couple, Anna and Henry Cooper. I hear they were renting a cabin for two months from a man known as Scotty in Fort Yukon. Sort of a personal survival vacation, sort of an upgraded Naked and Afraid, but on their own in the wilderness. So far I don’t know where they’re from. I’m still checking.” ■■■■■ Ataqan headed to the coffee pot as if it were a magnet. “I need to know about the victims. Everything about them.” The sergeant tapped his fingertips on the desk. “Contact the Wildlife Troopers and see what they know of bears in the area about that time and if they encountered any people on the trails. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” “Yes, sir. We searched the cabin. It looks like that’s where they were staying. Sergeant, I found nothing unusual,” the officer reported. “Very neat housekeepers, the bed was made, dresser drawers had neatly folded clothes. The cupboards had the usual food, and the refrigerator did, too. Zero sign of a struggle. And,” the officer smiled, “I found their ID and their cell phones.” Ataqan nodded, “I can tell you have more.” “Indeed I do. According to the driver licenses, they’re from New York City. The phones were locked, so I couldn’t call their recents or see their contacts. I figure the cell phones were in the cabin because cells don’t work in this area.” The officer flipped a page in his notebook, “I checked with the gun shops in Fairbanks, since that’s where they probably landed, and found that’s where the man bought the gun. A Glock 21. I guess the city slicker thought the old west ruled and wanted a .45. Big gun for a novice. The salesman remembers the male because he was all macho, but it was obvious the man had never touched a firearm. When the salesman suggested the guy take some training from one of the firearms instructors, the buyer was indignant and told him anyone can shoot a gun.” Ataqan grinned as he shook his head. “That’s a New Yorker for sure. I had one tell me his favorite gun was a Browning .357 revolver. There is no such gun, so I just chalk it up as another example of city people’s ignorance, like calling a de Havilland Twin Otter a twin engine Piper Cub.” The trooper continued. “I located the cabin owner, one Mosheh Jacobovits. He’s from Scotland and goes by “Scotty.” However, he hasn’t returned our phone calls.” ■■■■■ “Ya hear ‘bout murders like this big cities, but in the bush? Hi Trooper, I’m Inga, hope ya don’t mind my interrupting your lunch,” Sergeant Ataqan looked up at her. “Hello, Inga. Nice to meet you.” “Well,” she said, “It just frightens me to death to think we might have a killer on the loose.” She eyed Ataqan, searching for any kind of reaction. He looked at her and sipped his coffee. “Of course, it would have to be somebody crazy. “Did you know the victims?” “Gracious, no. But I hear they’re from out of town. I’ll bet you can talk to Joe at the general store. Everybody has to go there to get supplies.” “Thanks. I’ll do that.” ■■■■■ “I remember them,” Joe said. “They had ‘most everything they needed in their SUV, and just wanted a few things. Some fresh vegetables is what they usually bought.” “By usually,” Ataqan asked, “do you mean you saw them more than once?” “Yes, sir. Every two or three days they’s come in for fresh vegetables. Said they were vegetarians and liked fresh veggies. Struck me as two innocent kids, but extraordinarily naive about the bush. I had to warn them about bears and moose and they just gave me silly smug smiles.” “Have there been any other strangers in town in the last couple of weeks?” “A few. One, though, now that you mention it, was a bit unusual. Heavy beard. Said he was from New York. But his accent wasn’t New York, maybe Spanish, I don’t know. I ain’t so good with accents. So, to be nice, I asked him where he was born. He lost his smile as if I had insulted him or one question too many.” “Maybe an illegal?” “This far north? Naw. They like the lower forty-eight.” “Any idea where the guy was staying?” “Nope. I got the idea he was just passing through. Only saw him that once.” ■■■■■ “Sergeant Ataqan here,” he said after picking up the phone. “This is Sergeant Milhouse, NYPD. I’m calling because it seems two people from New York got their throats slashed in an unusual way. We have three cases of the same.” “Where your cases done in sort of a shochetish fashion?” “That’s why I’m calling. I think the demographics of our three victims are close to that of your two victims.” “Go on.” “I work in the organized crime division. Let me give you some background. Only the elite are attracted by totalitarianism. The masses they claim to cherish have to be won by propaganda. Lies. Beyond that, the masses must be isolated from all other sources of information.” Ataqan said, “I thought propaganda and terror were two sides of the same coin.” “Yes, partly true. When totalitarianism has absolute control, it replaces propaganda with indoctrination. Especially in the schools. But violence is more to eliminate the opposition than to frighten people.” “And you think the victims were the opposition of powerful people.” “I doubt it. Our victims, and I’ll bet yours, are too young to be a threat. Their problem is being too inquisitive.” “How,” Ataqan asked, “is being too inquisitive a problem?” “That’s New York for ya. There are certain groups, or people that you just don’t mess around with and live. The politicians, police, prosecutors, and the judges know that to stay alive, stay quiet and go along with the flow. The cartels call it plata o plomo. My victims were all employed by an organization doing undercover investigation of corruption for a newspaper, and they got caught taking videos of the, shall we say, unscrupulousness of some important political people. Dead people, like cash, tell no tales and neither do their friends.” “How are my victims involved?” “They were employed by the same organization, and then, for reasons unknown, disappeared three weeks ago and we had no idea of their location until you found the bodies.” ■■■■■ Sergeant Ataqan sat in his superior’s office and explained his conversation with the NYPD. The lieutenant tapped his fingertips on the desk. “Betrayal is a powerful motive for violence. We see it in domestic cases.” “This, sir, was no betrayal. It was exposure. More specifically, the danger of exposure. I learned how dangerous these people can be from our New York colleague. For example, when the rule of terror is brought to perfection, propaganda disappears. You hear nothing because those in power and control don’t allow contrary information and limit what people can hear.” “So?” “Let me lay the groundwork for what I want to tell you because you aren’t going to like it. Going back to Nazi Germany. They did not kill leaders as they had previously in Germany. They found that by killing the unknown people likely to cause trouble, they infused the fear of simply being a member or supporter of the big guy can be lethal. This technique increased steadily because neither the police nor the courts seriously prosecuted those in power or the henchmen who did their dirty work. “I trust I don’t need to state the obvious similarities between that kind of terror gangsters, cartels and politicians use.” “I don’t mean to cut you short, and interesting as all that may be, but how in the hell is this relevant to this murder case in Alaska?” Ataqan shifted in his seat and leaned forward. “Because, sir, this was no ordinary murder. It was a hit job. The killer, by his style, is known to the NYPD, the FBI, and others. Known. His name is Badr al-Ben Kazemi. “Badr al-Ben Kazemi is a pro and well-trained. Our New York colleague also told me the Jewish method of slaughter is paralleled in the Muslim method of slaughter. The Muslims call it “halal.” Which explains the execution training. “Our killer is a ‘have knife, will travel’ guy. An assassin for hire. The man gets a contract, travels by some untraceable way, makes his kill, and leaves. If there are any clues, they are rabbit holes and go no place. It is the killing style that gives him away. The method of execution. It is distinctive. He came here, killed this couple, and left to parts unknown and by untraceable means. He’s no longer in Alaska, or not even the western hemisphere. We will never find him, let alone arrest him. He’s gone.” The lieutenant shook his head and said, “Kill, leave no clue, and disappear. The perfect crime.”


The site was serene. A field of bright green fescue, corralled by stately white and red oak trees, waved in ripples, like spectators at a large live music event. The late summer evening sun jabbed daggers through the forest canopy, slicing away the minutes as the gentle breeze pushed sparrows from their perches, seeking their nightly roost. One sparrow looked down at the newly dug hole, just past the edge of the pasture, concealed in the wood line. What a fine addition our new resident will make. To call it an addition was a bit of a stretch. It was more like a subtraction. The edge of the hole was broken, like its creator. Crumbles of tan soil and ochre clumps rolled gleefully to its depths as the sharp metal edge of the shovel struck forcefully, again, and again, and again. The sound became a melancholy chant, an ode to what had been accomplished. Then the digging tool was laid down, a stained brown leather glove wrapped around its weathered and polished wooden handle. It was used to this treatment, its master donated some splashed beads of sweat to its open pores. Such is the lot of useful things, needed then not. Thrown recklessly into truck beds, never bathed or oiled, serving silently. Oh, the silence! It was being overtaken by the hordes of hungry insects. Grinding and gnashing mandibles were aching for a bite. Yet, they must wait. Oh, the barriers we create! Sometimes they need to be hacked down, chopped to bits, like walls hiding something, concealing the truth. Some truths should never be uncovered, lest they rupture the fabric of the lives of all involved. Down in the bottom of the pit, man-made barriers wound in circles, wrapped like a gift. Slightly opaque, one could still discern its contents. It is now we go back in time, back to when this infested wound of vitriol gave birth to revenge. The faded black Chevrolet sat at an odd angle, its engine now cold from rest. There were short skid marks in the gravel behind each tire. Middle-aged sedans like it never drew much attention. Just over the hill, down the gravel road that ended in a sturdy steel gate with a no trespassing sign, it wasn't visible from the hard road. The large trunk lid was open like a grotesque mouth, yawning in boredom, waiting to be fed again. Smears of fluid streaked the bumper. The blacktop two-lane stretched back through the foothills, weaving like a swimming pit viper. On it stretched, near the lake, ignoring the brilliant blue waves reflecting the setting sun in flashes like sparkles from gemstones. Occasional dips and rivets in the scales of the serpentine ribbon of concrete betrayed a blighted area of the rural sleepy portion of the Midwestern United States. The road snaked, winding around clapboard shotgun bungalows that had not seen a paintbrush in years. Their weathered roof lines were married nicely with rusted-out pickup trucks, sporting peeling flag stickers, sitting with almost empty gas tanks in the driveways. The town was awake that day, not lulled to sleep by the chugging of giant diesel motors pounding the interstate with commerce. Loaded train cars boomed and creaked, pulling 30,000 tons of sulphur-heavy coal, the steel wheels of the locomotive spun out, spitting sparks onto the dangerously desiccated grass that summer's heat had dried like tinder. Cars waited at the gates of the tracks, their occupants idly spinning the dial on their radios, fidgety remnants of a bygone era, now gradually becoming obsolete. SHUUUUMP! SHUMP! The engine belched two giant plumes of black smoke into the afternoon air. A tired, empty house sat off by itself. Lonely and sad at the dead end of a street, its door was an odd blue color, its exterior modest yet well maintained. The aluminum siding was a dingy khaki color, dotted with spider webs, of which a few had captured the first dried brown and yellow leaves of fall. A Siamese cat gently curled up on the stone entryway steps, wanting to snooze in the gentle breeze. The backyard was surrounded by a tall wooden privacy fence, its boards weathered and battered like its owner. The yard was empty save a rusted charcoal grill, a lawn chair, and a tool shed, locked tight. Whoever lived there did not want their neighbors to see them sear raw flesh with flames, or anything else. The grass was neatly cropped and unblemished save a smattering of rusty splatters, crusted on innocent blades of grass. The two stared eye to eye. Quivering faces were locked in a deadly stalemate, and the time for debate was over. One was lured. One was cunning. Vacant stares betrayed the ocean of bad blood between them. Was it the derisive laugh? Was it the neverending insults? Neither one was sure of anything. Injured animals are the most dangerous. One, the wounded child, had carried the heavy weight of incestual sexual abuse all the way into their adult life. Like an albatross rotting off their neck, its fetid smell was a constant reminder of the evil they endured. It was the implement again, pounding viciously, a staccato thudding of metal cutting meat. A foot-long survival knife is no toy. The damage is immediate and permanent. The other's look was frozen. Eyes were peeled open, mouth hanging wide. It was not the look of surprise, no, something much more satisfying. The arms were angled up as if trying to block the view of some hideous monster. Toes were pointed up, feet rocking back on heels. Their torso was erect, and the shirt pulled up from the violent recoil. Yes! The look! They savored the mental picture with both hands wrapped around the handle of the knife. A memory would suffice. Blazing like a torch, the image would be burned into their mind's eye. *** They tapped an ash off a cigarette. It shattered on the plastic at the bottom of the hole. Blowing smoke out of their nostrils like a dragon, they pulled another drag off the smoke and smiled. Wiping sweat off with a shirt sleeve, they dropped stuff into the hole and stopped. They had covered it. The plastic was lightly wrapped, so they could still see it. Reaching for the handle, they were tempted to move it. There was just enough trailing sunlight for one last glance. Oh the memory, oh the silence, oh the look, oh the revenge!


Rain pours down on the freeway. Even with the wipers on high, seeing is problematic. Kyle and Amy just got off work. They’re heading to their neighborhood bar and grill for happy hour and then dinner before heading home. Traffic has slowed, not to a standstill, but to the point that everyone is being cautious. They pull off at their exit when their phones sound a loud warning tone. Amy checks her phone to see what the warning concerns, hoping there isn’t a tornado in the area. Emergency Alert Oak Grove police department has activated an amber alert. The victim is 11-year-old Shannon Brewster. The suspects are unknown. The vehicle is a light-blue 2022 Honda Pilot license plate 6Y897E. Last seen heading east on JFK Drive. If observed, please call 911. Amy reads the alert out loud to Kyle. She looks over in the left turn lane and spots a vehicle fitting the description. The license plate is a match. She calls 911. “911 state your emergency.” “Yes, we have spotted the vehicle identified in the amber alert. It’s on the I-40 offramp at Tucker Street getting ready to head west.” “Thank you, ma’am. We’ll alert officers in that area.” “Wait, what should we do?” “Just go about your day, ma’am. The police will handle it.” Amy hangs up the phone and taps it on her leg. “Switch lanes, Kyle. I don’t want to let them out of our sight. I’m going to keep updating my Facebook status so people can keep the police informed while we tail them.” “That sounds like a plan if I ever heard one,” Kyle says as he throws on his blinker and forces his way over. Status update Friends and family, Kyle and I are following the kidnappers of Shannon Brewster. I will be updating my Facebook frequently with news regarding her whereabouts. Please keep the police informed as this matter progresses. · Rebecca Sikes - Be careful you guys. We love you! · Abby Palmer - You’re so brave. Let’s get that girl home safely! · Andy Biggs - Standing by. Be careful. · Anita Young - This is your mother. Let the police handle it! Mom, the police might never find her. We might be her only hope. Just stand by and keep the police informed. Status update The suspects jumped on I-180 heading north. They have picked up speed now that the rain has stopped but they are careful not to exceed the speed limit. More details to follow. · Andy Biggs - Calling 911now. · Abby Palmer - Stay with them guys. You got this! Status update We are now heading east on Martin Luther King Jr. Drive. They just turned north on Lynch. Status update They just pulled into an abandoned factory. We are keeping our distance. Posting photo now. · Anita Young - You guys are on the wrong side of town. People are found dead there all the time. You’ve done your part. Please, get out of there and come home. · Andy Biggs - I agree with your mom. Great job guys. I called 911. Cops are on their way. Kyle and Amy sit and stare at the derelict factory. “I just can’t leave her here,” Kyle says. “What if he does something to her before the cops get here? That poor girl has been through enough already.” “What do you want to do?” “There are some windows over on the side. If we climb up on those barrels, we should be able to see inside. We can keep an eye on her and make sure he doesn’t hurt her before the cops arrive.” Status update Kyle and I cannot leave that girl here by herself to suffer more trauma. We are going to keep an eye on her through the windows. If this man tries to hurt her before the police arrive, Kyle and I are going to do everything we can to stop him. · Anita Young - For Christ’s sake just leave!!! · Rebecca Sikes - You guys are such heroes. Please, don’t get caught. Kyle and Amy Scurry across the wide-open parking lot in front of the factory over to the side with the windows. Kyle helps Amy up onto a barrel and she peeks in. She gasps and dunks down, her face ghostly white with disbelief. “What is it,” Kyle asks, concerned, ready to run in there. “Child pornography. They’re taking pictures of little kids naked. There are a ton of them in there, all locked in cages. One was being photographed as a man yells at her, telling her what to do. Another is having make-up applied like she’s an adult. It’s creepy. God, I feel so bad for them, they look so scared. I have to get a picture of this for evidence.” Amy slowly stands up and looks in. She takes a few pictures and dunks back down. Status update Pictures posted. · Abby Palmer - OMG! Is that what I think it is? · Oscar Mills - Sorry I’m late to the party, but I have to advise you guys to get the hell out of there! · Andy Biggs - I’m going to update the police. They might want backup. Seriously guys, time to go! · Bert Young - Your mother is in hysterics, young lady. Get your butt home! “I Think it’s time for us to get out of here babe. We are way out of our league if these guys catch us.” Amy’s foot catches on the rim of the barrel as she gets down. The barrel is knocked over with a resounding crash as it bangs into other barrels. Kyle and Amy can hear the commotion inside and run for their car. They are halfway across the parking lot when gunfire erupts, and chunks of pavement are thrown into the air. They make it to the car, whip it around, and take off, a bullet shattering their back window. On their way out, police cars are on their way in. Status update Kyle and I are heading home. Our back windshield was shot out, but we are okay. Police were on their way in as we were leaving. Thank you all for your help! Amy’s photo of the porn-ring in action was a crucial piece of evidence to having everyone involved locked up. Kyle and Amy were recognized by the city for their bravery in assisting the police with shutting it down. During a dinner in their honor, each kid that was saved that night presented them with a flower, a hug, and a heartfelt thank you.


The first thing I remember of the valley is the grey. Grey dust from the marching feet of men and horses. Grey soot from their long-dead fires. Grey ash from the trees left standing after those heedlessly abandoned fires, their tortured grey skeletons reaching towards heaven. Even the mighty Sun, bearing down with childbed vigor, only added heat to the grey haze. The dust devils that stirred at our passage did not bring coolness nor did they break the miasma. The air about the River was slightly cooler, though the water was near black. Here, Mother paused. “Look, my daughter.” She pointed to a few patches of struggling moss on the rocks. “There is life. We will stay.” Our tent was small and our belongings few. She had dropped the heavy sacks she had carried so far and so long, not even bothering to open them. She had never told me what was in them. “Mother are those your jewels?” I asked, remembering the beautiful ornaments she had always worn. “My most precious jewels, aside from you,” she said, hugging me close. “Rest now.” She pulled my head to her lap and stroked my hair, softly whisper-chanting the ancient sound of the growing Earth, as unbroken lines of women have done and shall do until all growth ends. I slept in our world of grey and black, as jewels of brown and green danced just out of reach of my grasping hands. Mother was gone when I awoke. The smoke of our cookfire was lost in the stench of smoke through the entire grey land. The food tasted of smoke. The water tasted of smoke. If I licked my fingers, I was sure they would taste of smoke. Mother left me to mind the fire while she went into our tent. She emerged with a small shovel and a sack. She showed me how to bank the fire and took me out into our new domain. She showed me where she would dig and how deeply. She sent me to fetch water from the river to give the thirsty soil a drink. She showed me how to wet my shirt and wrap it about my head for coolness and how to fold my skirt to make a pad for my knees. And finally, she showed me what was in the sacks: what I saw to be pebbles and fine sand. “Why, Mother?” I asked, holding up a heavily ridged stone. “Why did you carry this so many days?” She smiled as she took it from me and pushed it deep into the hole she had dug. “This stone, this seed, is my breast, giving nourishment and rest. I plant this seed, my daughter, so you may eat the fruit. So your daughters may trade the fruit and taste new fruits. I plant it so as an old woman, I may lie in its shade. Such little weight for so much.” “And these?” I ran my hands through a sack of silkily smooth stones, each small as a dot. “These jewels, these seeds, is my hair, giving softness and comfort. These I will spread over the ground, so that the ground will be cool and soft to your feet. I will spread these seeds so that the bees will come and we will taste their honey. I spread this seed so that your daughters may wonder at the rabbits playing in the twilight. I spread this seed so that I may rest in their sweetness.” “And these?” This sack was mixed - smooth river rocks and round husks like the nuts we sometimes ate. “My shoulders, my daughter. These will be frail for a long time, but will grow stronger and stronger, as I did. I plant these so that they may take the bite from the wind and the glare from the sun. I plant these so that one day, you and your daughters will live in a house of wood, rather than cloth. I plant these so that I may keep warm in my old age from the fire contained in their old branches.” She showed me how to give life back into the Earth - from the stones we buried, she assured me the Earth would return to us. Each stone was not a stone, but a life asleep, as I had been asleep inside my mother. Each day, we gave the Earth a new life. We gave the Earth water when the Sun labored upon her. We watched the skies for the Raincloud, which would clean the Earth and the River. Mother showed me how to scrape the moss from some rocks and carry it to others, so that the water in the River would run sweeter. For many days, we were grey where we were not brown - the ash and the mud became one upon both of us, as we wandered together, farther and farther, giving the Earth our offering of life. I awoke one morning and screamed for joy. The Earth had taken our offerings and had given birth. The valley was coated in a mist of green. Even the Sun relaxed in her sky - the grey beginning to tinge blue. “Come,” my mother said, after she too wept for joy at the birth. “These children are ours as well, and we must do what Earth cannot for them.” She showed me how to gently sweep the ashes away from the new green faces and how to tell when a plant-child needed water. She showed me how to pull some so that others could grow stronger. She built a burial site for these plant-children, where they would break down and become soil. “These plants, through their passing, will help all others grow. Some plants, through their living, will help everything else grow. For those whose time it is to die, they rest well knowing that they have helped others to live. One day, my daughter, I will lay down and become the soil. I will sleep in pride, knowing I have helped so many to live.” So she said. So she toiled long and hard. So I joined her in her laboring. So our new lives covered the Earth. The River came alive and ran sweet. The Sun no longer pained us. The trees grew strong as my mother’s shoulders, so the clover grew thick and sweet as my mother’s hair, so the fruit trees brought forth the abundance of my mother’s breast. The Earth no longer hid under her grey shroud, but showed her colors of green and brown and yellow and red. She brought forth flowers and the flowers brought the bees. The birds returned. The animals returned. This valley of life, my daughters and the daughters of my daughters, came from our Mothers. Our Mother the Sun, our Mother the Earth, our Mother the River, and the hands of our Mother and our Mother’s Mother, who returned life for her daughters. Every act of creation, every new life you bring forth, every death that returns to her that she may exchange it for life: they belong to her and they belong to you. Love them as her, love them as yourselves, and love them as themselves. Life is the jewel we carry, my daughters. It only shines when it is spread in love.


My friends, Bob Schlagel and Lillian Hyde, had finally started to plan their wedding. As community and church leaders, they always help others, so when they began receiving invitations to celebrate their upcoming wedding, neither felt comfortable with the idea of others planning a special event just for them. Therefore, I offered to help organize the events for them. As Society and Lifestyle page editor/reporter for The Linoak County Gazette, I had all the tools necessary to create a planner. This job wouldn’t be easy but no job with doing is easy. Most people were excited for Bob and Lillian, this engagement had been a long time in coming. Bob had cared deeply for, even been in love with, Lillian since high school. Lillian however, had fallen in love with Finn McCarthy. Finn and Lillian were engaged following high school. Soon afterwards his life was cut short in a head-on, hit and run collision with a motor vehicle. His untimely death coupled with the fact that no one discovered or disclosed who was driving the car that killed Finn left Lillian with a gaping hole in her heart. That is until October when the most unlikely thing happened. Bob finally professed his feelings to Lillian and she slowly opened her heart to his affection. The whole town was a bit shocked at the announcement of their engagement on Christmas Day. This was the biggest Christmas miracle since the Advance Twentieth Century Limited drove through the Great Blizzard of 1935 to arrive in Bushwick, with passengers and Christmas mail still intact, pulling into the station at 12:01 in the morning on Christmas Eve. There was just one sticking point but it was a big sticking point. After the news of Bob and Lillian’s engagement hit the paper I received an anonymous tip from a source telling me that I would find information leading to the identity of the person who struck and killed Finn McCarthy at the Belden Summer home outside of Bushwick. We found it very odd indeed. Yet the tipster was as good as they said, and although the information was not specific, it left a breadcrumb trail to follow. The first of those crumbs led me and the police to a hospital in Erie City. Following that came threatening messages in the form of bouquets of flowers, attempting to scare Lillian and me off the investigation. We ended up beating the “messenger” at his or her own game. While we still have no idea who the messenger is, the last time they gave me a floral gift, they announced resignation but attached a card which read "For Now". Whoever it was hadn’t finished. I will continue to help the police investigate even as Lilli and Bob begin to solidify the plans for their big day. To say I have a lot of work ahead of me was a bit of an understatement. As well as continuing to explore Finn’s death and writing the special features for the Spring wedding season, I still have my regular Sunday column to write. Lillian and Bob both have thriving businesses that help this community. It's going to be a real pleasure to help them as their wedding and party planner. I arrived home that evening to a very happy Pomeranian barking at the top of his lungs. Mr. Gillespie the most opinionated fur covered companion I’d ever owned. I found him to be a great listener, but only after he’d been fed. After feeding the dog, I made myself a pasta salad with fresh herbs and grated parmesan. It felt so good to sit in my own kitchen to eat. I settled in to study the calendars that Bob and Lillian had given me together with the invitations to engagement parties. There were invitations from both friends and organizations in the community. It was Bob and Lilli’s intention to hold their wedding ceremony on June 1; this was the birthday of Lilli’s Aunt Ginny from whom she inherited Ginny’s Cookie Jar . There were a lot of invitations, and only so many openings in the calendars (Including my own). I began to highlight dates on a master calendar. I sat for a moment looking at the impossibility of coordinating all these parties, events, dinners and intimate gatherings with close friends. I looked at a contented Mr. Gillespie. “Gillespie we have got to start thinking out of the box!” I said aloud The first order of business however, was the Linoak County Bridal Show to be held this Saturday and Sunday. I would be there to get facts for my story. Both Lillian and Bob would be displaying their various wedding cakes and sweet confections made by their bakeries. Ginny’s Cookie Jar Gluten Free Bakery, was noted for the traditionally decorated cakes. Bob’s Best Bakery was noted for being a little more daring in their cake recipes and decorating style. Besides her own display, Lillian said she was planning to shop for a gown and a suit for Bob that would match her vision for the wedding. She asked me to help her find the right shop, of course I was thrilled. I know most of the bridal and fashion shop owners in the county from past articles I’ve done for the paper. I penciled the bridal show in on the master calendar and then went to the living room to watch some TV. I’m not a morning person so when the alarm went off Friday morning I nearly turned it off. However, I remembered I was to head over to the Convention Center in Applefield to look over the preparations for the bridal show. I hauled myself out of bed, fed the dog, dressed, then I drove to Applefield . I drove into the parking lot and I saw that the antique front doors had been transformed to a bridal bower. It truly was stunning. I walked through the old wooden doors to see decorators doing their best to make the whole room inviting. Ray got pictures while I spoke to the decorators about the theme for this year’s show “Give Me Your Answer True”. A take on the old song “Daisy Bell”. I took a moment to speak to a few of the bridal boutiques about helping Lilli pick out a wedding dress. They were all too happy to help. Friday evening was spent firming up facts for my Sunday Supplement story on the bridal show. I never went into a story of this size without marshaling my facts first. By 9:00 pm I was ready for bed. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. The alarm went off early Saturday morning. It was a very chilly day for the last week in February. I followed my usual morning routine, stepping out of the door promptly at 7:30 to meet Ray at the Convention Center. I pulled my Mini Cooper out of the garage then called Mrs. West to let her know I was leaving. She’s my dog sitter and all around wonderful neighbor. When I arrived at the center Lilli was already there waiting for me at the door. She looked very upset. She was shaking. Pauline looked angry, the girls just looked terrified. “Lilli what the heck.” I exclaimed. She handed me a box with my name on it, the sort of plain white boxes in which flowers come. From the look on her face I knew it wasn’t a good thing. I opened the box and inside was a black rose. While it’s called a black rose it’s really a very dark purple rose that looks almost black. A threat in the form of a flower. “My gosh! Where did this come from!? I asked, louder than I had intended to. “It was waiting on the table with mine.” She said. She was flushed and looked as though she was holding back tears. No doubt she was tachycardic. “Does Bob know?” I asked. “No he doesn’t, he had to go back to the shop. He should be here any moment.” She said. “I would break down in tears but I’m not giving this low-life any more satisfaction today.” Just then Bob came through the door. Lilli grabbed his arm tightly and ushered him back out into the parking lot to tell him what had happened. He grabbed her around the waist just in case the tachycardia got the best of her. Then he told Lilli, “Well that’s it! That does it! No matter what, we won’t give up on our wedding plans, we won’t stop searching for Finn’s killer, but it won’t be business as usual either.” He motioned for me to join them. “I think you should place that wonderful rose in a vase, don’t you? I believe you should inform that fool that scare tactics won’t work. Moreover, this whole idea of going to every party under the sun won't work. It is unclear how much, if any, information he or she has about our movements. Tracy we’ve got to come up with a plan to nail this person once and for all!” He said vehemently “Lillian don’t worry, I’m calling Axel Persson right now. He’s not on duty today. He’ll come if I ask, and of course I’ll pay his daily rate.” Said Bob as he took his cell out of his pocket. Lilli and I found a vase and put our “gifts” on the table. We felt safer with the presence of Deputy Axel Persson (not that I felt unsafe. The coward wouldn't even face me but Lillian was a different story.) I began to circulate within the building taking notes for my articles on the show while Ray took photos. One designer, new to the area, designed a bridesmaid gown that reminded me of Glynis Johns's dress from The Court Jester, one of Lillian and Bob's favorite movies. A costume party was the answer! It would take some doing to keep it secret but it’s the only way to ferret out the person threatening my friends. I raced back to the table to talk to Lilli. “Lilli, can you step away for a second. It's important.” I asked breathlessly. Her table was busy but this could not wait. Her Aunt Pauline nodded. The gluten free bakeries were set up in a small room off the main showroom floor. I sent a text to Bob and Axel asking them to meet us in the annex on the back of the building. It was empty and we could have a conversation in private. I discussed my idea for the engagement party with Axel, Bob and Lilli. It would be a great way to protect Lillian while also being a lot of fun to plan. “In short this is the idea. I have looked at all the invitations that Lilli and Bob have received. Essentially all the invitations are from close friends or organizations to which they belong. I’m not so concerned about the party at the Elks Lodge or the Northern Lights Bakers Assn. I think we could short circuit all of the scheduling by holding one big party with a twist. I think we should plan a themed costume party. Only the theme will be absolutely close hold information. Only certain individuals will be invited. Individuals that the Sheriff has already vetted. The invitations will go out by encrypted emails from my office address and through a secret group on social media.” I said excitedly. One designer created a costume that looks exactly like the one worn by Glynis Johns in “The Court Jester''. That theme would be perfect. There are plenty of costumes available in that genre. I added, “We let it be known that the party is a costume party but not the theme. Bob and Lillian’s circle of close friends will cooperate. Since I know the Editor, I am confident that the newspaper will cover the cost of the costumes in exchange for exclusive rights to the story. What do you think of the idea?” I continued. “I just happen to know a costumer in our city who can help us.” Axel said “All that from seeing one dress in a sea of dresses? That’s amazing! Speaking from a security standpoint, any members of security staff would be able to blend in with the party goers. Maybe you should send out some fake invitation postcards. You know how many people read those without permission. Word will get around that way for sure!” I suggest everyone be given some kind of identification.” Bob chimed in “The purple pimpernel.” Lillian burst out laughing (it was good to hear her laugh) “That’s perfect! Everyone will be sent a purple pimpernel on a small chain. One simply shows the flower at the door” We can create those ourselves! I love it!” “A party that will be like a grown-up version of Hyde and Seek.” I said Everyone groaned As the day wound to a close I could see the relief on Lillian’s face. She was happy and smiling. She and I spent the last hour of the show looking at dresses and tuxedos. Her favorite dress was a Regency Style wedding dress. Her colors would be dark purple, light people and a subtle yellow to match the viola flowers she’d be carrying. The perfect dress for her personality and figure. She will look gorgeous. She confided in me that she was looking forward to her engagement party even though it had been years since she attended a party just for fun. She said with a laugh, “I am sure that Bob will get a huge kick out of dressing in a Tudor costume. He’s really a big ham.” she continued “I know that there’s no guarantee that this party thing will work to catch our “floral friend” but I think this is a great trap! You are just brilliant.” In the showroom, I ran into Axel, who offered to see me safely home. “It seems that Bob and Lilli are both looking forward to their party. This is a very slick idea from a devious mind. You’ve got a devious mind Torchy.” He said as we walked out to our cars. (a nickname I inherited from an old movie series about a female newspaper reporter) “Yes, since the party isn't really about them, they are not as hesitant to share the joy with others.” I said “What do you mean devious? Me? You ain’t seen nothin’ yet Deputy Persson” I smiled broadly. After following me home, Axel checked the house to make sure Mr. Gillespie and I were safe. As a thank you I invited him to stay for coffee and a fresh bagel from Bob’s Best Bakery. Just then my cell phone rang. It was Lilli. “Hi Lilli what’s up?” I said. “Hi Tracy. I arrived home safe and sound. No creepy messages or flowers left around my house or the bakery. Say thank you to Axel for his help today.” She said laughing. “How the devil did you know...” I asked my voice trailing off “Let’s just say I recognize the signs.” Lilli responded “Just don’t play Hyde and Seek for too long Tracy. Take it from someone who knows.”