Would you like to hear something odd? Something crazy? I knew you would. It wasn't exactly the best time in my life. I mean, when you live in your car and have to travel from place to place, you're not exactly in the greatest of situations. This all happened around last year. I was on one of those creepy abandoned forest roads. The kinds that are just left to be reclaimed by nature. It was so dark. The only light for a hundred miles was the ones from my car. An old, beat up Ford Probe that my folks gave me a long time ago. You know that feeling when your surroundings are so dark that you think something's going to jump out and do god-knows-what? It's amplified by a million when you're on those roads at night. I was on my way a local town so I could stay there for awhile. God, I was so tired. There wasn't a rest stop for about 50 miles. What was I gonna do, just pull over and sleep on the side of the road? Hell no. I knew I had to drive no matter what. "Just keep your chin up, Heather." I kept telling myself. Eventually I did get out of the car for a cigarette. A lot of people attribute a big change in their lives to one small event. This was mine. I lit my cigarette and started smoking. It was so cold outside. The car wasn't that much better since the heater was broken. I put it up to my mouth to take another inhale, and that's when I saw it. Lights They were coming from deeper in the woods. There was just something about those damn white lights. They danced around like fairies, and there were about five of them. I felt a pull in my body, and I tossed my cigarette aside to walk into the forest. I can't explain how I was so entranced by them, and to this day it still puzzles me. Once I got close enough, I still couldn't make out exactly what the lights were. Before I could get even an inch closer, my vision faded, and I fell unconscious. When I woke up, my body was in a rough position. Like I was dragged, or carried, or something. I felt a certain coolness in the air. It wasn't deeply cold anymore. I picked myself off the ground to see where I was. I definitely wasn't in the forest anymore. The sky was filled with grey clouds, and the land was more open. It was dotted with twisted, leafless trees, and there was fog everywhere. There was no time for shock, but I wanted to scream. Was I kidnapped? Drugged? Something worse? I tossed those thoughts aside to find civilization. There was something in the distance I began running to. A large black silhouette that looked like some sort of town. So many questions were running through my head, but I was in a foreign place, so the best thing to do wasn't just stay there and maybe get killed. I needed to find people. I only caught brief glimpses of the things in this strange valley. Skulls on the ground, rocks in the formation of crosses, and scarecrows that I hoped weren't real. I stopped to catch my breath outside of what looked like a large, walled off city. Finally, I made it. Once I approached the gates, hoping to get answers, a barrage of small bats flew at my face. My hands waved around like a crazy person in a moment of straight up freaking out. "Don't mind them. They're just not used to others." My head was pointed at the ground, and I wanted to keep it there. That voice was smooth, but also frightening at the same time. "You need not be afraid, dear. Look up." I decided not to fight myself and just look up. There was a man. He was about six feet tall and very slender. His face was pale white, and he wore a black vest and a cartoonishly tall top hat. "There. Now what's your name?" he said. "He-Heather sir." I shakily replied. "Heheathersir? What a strange name!" he joked. "I am Edgar." I let out a light chuckle. His appearance and voice freaked me out, but I was starting to feel more calm. "You must be a new arrival, yes? Come with me through the gates!" I wanted to say no, since I had no clue what he was talking about, but my nervousness kept me quiet. Damn social anxiety. He pushed his hand on the gates to make them open, and the sight I was greeted to was just... woah. The first thing I saw were the moonlit streets, and then the buildings. This place was like a gothic 19th century London! And in the center... a huge cathedral. Holy hell, this thing was BIG. All of this on a cool, windy, moonlit night. There were people walking around. They all had pale white skin and black clothing. They were all... goth. "Welcome, to the Midnight Kingdom!" Edgar exclaimed. It was so surreal. I had to keep my jaw from dropping at the sight of all this. "Ed-Edgar?" I said, still shaky. "What exactly is the Midnight whatnow?" "The Midnight Kingdom, my dear." he replied. "It's alright. New arrivals usually have many questions. This is a haven for all of those who have embraced the dark style of life. When they are cast out for their different minds, they can come here. A new life, and a place where they can truly be with their own kind." I couldn't believe it, and yet it was all so real. I was definitely no 'new arrival'. In fact, I must've stuck out like a sore thumb with my blonde hair and red blouse. We continued walking through the streets. Edgar stayed slightly in front of me with his tall cane. I could barely say anything since my brain was still processing all this new information. "Where-where exactly is this place?" I asked. "The Midnight Kingdom exists in a hidden place, far from modern civilization." Edgar replied. "It is so hidden, in fact, that no one can ever find it by accident!" Isn't irony great? He led me to some town hall-like building. I gotta say, all this gothic architecture was so stunning. Though, there may have been a bit too many gargoyle statues and bats flying around, in my opinion. Once we were inside, we walked over to a young woman who was organizing books. "This is Solanine. The mistress of planning, and the one who takes care of all events in the kingdom." Edgar said. He introduced her to me, and I couldn't take my eyes off of her. That long, belted black dress with the sequined black roses cascading down her legs. And those black bangs above her bright blue eyes... she was really something. "It's a pleasure." she said, shaking my hand. It was almost as if she knew I was entranced. Her smile was tight-lipped, but so beautiful. "Well, there's no use in delaying things. Sola! Are we ready for the community meeting?" Edgar exclaimed. "Ready as a black cat, Edgar." she replied. Edgar rang an ancient-looking bell, and within minutes the residents marched into the building. I took my seat next to Solanine, and Edgar began to speak to the room. "It was many moons ago that our home was established. You all who have embrace a life of dark nature have come here seeking refuge, and have never looked back from the place where the sun never rises. For it is in the Midnight Kingdom that we never age." "You guys are immortal?!" I whispered to Solanine. A place where only goths lived was believable to me, but immortality? Absolutely nuts. She didn't answer. I suppose it was because she was focusing on the speech, so I dropped it for the time being. Once the speech was over, everyone stood up and walked out. I decided to come up to the stage to ask Edgar about the 'never aging' thing. "Heather my dear, why are you still in those clothes?" he asked, before I could even speak. "The Midnight Kingdom is home only to those who embrace the dark aesthetic. If you do not adhere to that rule, then you must leave." He walked out before I could muster a reply. I nearly panicked. I didn't want to go back to living in my car. Sure, I wasn't goth, but I still needed a place to stay. I left the building after pacing around for god knows how long. The streets were empty. I guess it was night time. Really confusing since the sun never rises in this place. I started my search for black clothes. It sounded easy enough. Just find some clothes someone hanged up to dry, or maybe a Hot Topic or something. I was really kidding myself with this. I searched the streets, the alleyways, the trash cans, and came up with nothing. After lots of searching, I sat down by a sidewalk to think. "Having some trouble, darling?" a voice said. It was Solanine, thank goodness. "This may seem kinda weird, but I need a change of clothes." I said. "Not at all weird, my dear. That word has no meaning here." she replied, chuckling. I laughed a bit too. There was just something so calming about her that put me at ease. "I've got the perfect outfit for you at my home. Let's go there, shall we?" She led me to her house. It was a quaint little dark brick cottage near the giant cathedral. Her living room was decorated to the brim with candles, and her fireplace mantle was lined with skulls. "It's exciting when newcomers arrive. This place has been so dull lately." she said in an almost sing-songy voice. She walked into the kitchen to get something while I sat on the couch. "What do you mean by dull? I'd think it'd be more exciting to live here." I replied. "Lately most of the residents haven't been too receptive. It's like half of them are happy, and the other half doesn't care." she said. "So it's a joy division?" I jokingly asked. She giggled a bit while walking back with a bottle and two glasses in hand. She began to pour two glasses and handed one to me. "Wait, I thought you were going to give me clothes." I said. "They're drying outside, dear. Patience." she said with a tight-lipped smile while sitting on the couch with me. I took a sip of the wine to be polite. Not gonna lie, it was some pretty damn good wine. After getting through two glasses of the stuff, I gained the courage to tell the truth. "Sola, I came here by accident, and I only need the clothes so I can stay." I blurted out. "I figured as such, darling. No need to worry. Your secret is safe with me!" she said gleefully. "You're so... nice... and nice.. and so, so pretty..." I slurred, obviously drunk. My body began to fall off the couch, but Sola swooped in the hold me back up. We said nothing. She held me by the hips, and we looked into each others eyes. It felt so fast, but also so slow. Before I knew it, our lips were locked together. I woke up the next morning hung over. Morning? Night? I have no idea. Whatever happened after that kiss, I really have no memory of it. "Need a change of clothes?" Sola joked while walking into the room. "Like you wouldn't believe." I replied. We both laughed, and I put on my new outfit. It was a black tunic with white stripes and a belt in the middle, a short black skirt, and white satin gloves. I was strangely starting to feel more at home at this point. Maybe the Midnight Kingdom really was where I belonged. After all, in just one night more stuff happened than the last five years of my life, which was mostly just driving from place to place. "Solanine..." "Yes darling?" "I think I want to stay here in the Midnight Kingdom." "Oh that's splendid, dear!" she exclaimed while running over to hug me. I really felt like everything was going to be alright. "Oops, I almost forgot something. You had a question at the community meeting last night, didn't you?" she said. "Yeah, it was about your im-" "Yes darling, the immortality..." she said with an open-mouthed smile. Her smile was so dazzling. The bright red lipstick only highlighted how amazing it was. It even drew my eyes to her... fangs. "Do you like them?" she said, without giving me a chance to say anything. I couldn't. It started to all make sense now... After what felt like minutes of staring, she finally spoke again.


I saw this girl. She was having a hard time getting a garbage bag in the dumpster so I gave her a hand. She seemed scared at first; it *was* pretty dark but I just asked if she wanted some help. She said, Sure." "Man that bag smelled sooo fucking bad. I couldn't put my finger on it but it definitely smelled like something rotting." "What happened after you helped her?" "She said thanks, and told me her name was Chelsea. I said my name was Mike and started to walk off." "Thats when she asked you to help her with something else?" "Yeah man, she was pretty hot so I kinda just said fuck it and went to help her." "Did she take you into the house or did you go around back?" "We went around back at first. She had this weird hole she had dug, said she had removed a dead tree earlier that day. Asked if I would help her fill it in. She had some blisters from all the digging she had done earlier and didn't want them to pop so I said I would help." "Did she show you the blisters?" "Yeah man, they were pretty gnarly. She had two big ones on her palm right under her fingers and another one in between her thumb and index finger. Shit was pretty nasty." "Alright well what happened after you finished filling in the hole." "She told me she wanted to thank me for all my help by making me dinner. I was pretty hungry by then so I said okay and went in the house." "You just walked into a strangers house that you just met?" "Yeah, like I said, I was pretty hungry." "Okay, well what happened when you went inside?" "Well, she asked if I was okay with steak and I said hell yeah I'm okay with steak. She laughed a bit and got some steaks out of the fridge. She asked if I would light the grill on the patio for her and she would do the rest." "This grill was on the back patio, the one you had just used to get into the house?" "Yeah, that's the one. Anyway, I turned that sucker on and she came out with the steaks. She opened the grill and let out a scream. I was like, what the fuck is going on? and she said, "Uh, nothing, there's just a dead squirrel in the grill. I'm gonna turn it off and do the steaks inside. You can just leave it in there and I'll take care of it tomorrow." "I was definitely okay with leaving that squirrel in there. I hate touching dead animals, they give me the creeps. I always think they're gonna come back to life right before I touch em." "So you never looked inside the grill?" "Nah, I didn't want to see that poor squirrel." "Okay well did you go back inside at this point or stay outside?" "I was gettin bit by bugs pretty bad so I went in. I asked if she had any itch cream for the bug bites cuz they were startin to itch real bad and I hate that feeling. She said she had some but it was in the upstairs bathroom. She told me to go up the stairs and it was the second door on the left." "So what happened when you went upstairs?" "Well, I got to the top and went towards the second door on the left, but got distracted by this rad painting she had along the back wall. It was this badass dragon lighting a town on fire." "Is that when you first smelled it?" "Yeah dude, it was horrible. The same shit that we had taken to the trash for sure. My nose never forgets." "Did you follow the smell?" "Yeah, I was gonna take out the trash bag for her since she had been so nice and all but when I went into the room there was nothing there but the smell." "There was nothing in the room?" "I mean, there was a bed and some old books and shit, but other than that I couldn't see anything. It was dark as hell in there and the light switch wasn't working. I tried feelin my way around the other side of the bed and that's when I tripped over something and fell on my face. I thought I was lucky cuz my face hit something kinda soft but when I felt what I landed on I was like what the fuck man, *not* cool. There was a fucking dude just layin on the ground sleepin, or at least, I thought he was sleepin." "You tried to wake him up?" "Yeah man, I just nearly made out with the guy, I figured the least I could do was invite him down for steak. I was being real nice about it but my man wasn't moving. I tried shakin him and kickin him a little but he was out." "You didn't notice the smell coming off of him?" "Not at first, I hit my nose pretty hard and it was bleeding a little so I just smelled that. After a few second though, that shit hit me hard." "Is that when she came up?" "Yeah dude, this chick wasn't right. She asked me what I was doing in this room and I told her I was just looking for the trash bag to take out." She said, "Oh don't worry about it, it's probably just a rat that died under the floorboards." "I started thinkin that makes sense but then I asked if her friend was okay. Should we see if he wants a steak too?" "Is that when she pulled out the knife." "Yeah bro, she went full psycho. She started running around the bed towards me with the knife in her hands. I was like what the fuck are you doing? She just kept running." "How did you get out?" "My mom was a crazy bitch too, she used to go off on meth binges and think I was a CIA agent trying to take her to the aliens so they could fuck with her. Anyway, she usually had a knife too so I just did what I used to do with her." "Which is?" "I drop kicked that bitch right in the chest. She dropped pretty fast and I got the fuck outta there." "Well son, I don't know whether to thank you or send you somewhere to get some help. This woman was the one that was responsible for all those college kids going missing. Apparently she had been luring em in, same as you, then killing em and cuttin em into pieces. We found 6 bodies so far on the property and I think we may find more." "Jeez man, I can't believe she was gonna cook me a steak. What if it was part of one of those dudes who went missing. Fucking sick man." "Yeah, well, I guess that's all we need from you for now. You might need to testify before a judge about what happened but other than that, I don't think we should be contacting you too much." "Alright man, well I guess I'll see you around." "Alright then, have a good night. And try to stay out of trouble." "Sure thing officer. I've had enough weird shit happen tonight already.


The terrors that inhabit the night maybe even more awful in deceitful broad daylight. According to Helen, it all started with a dead cat and a green monster in the garbage chute. And that, according to her, was all due to the neighborhood in which she lived. The neighborhood wasn't exactly known as the best part of town. An unsavory neighborhood to be honest. But apartments were hard to get. She would have loved to live in a beautiful complex, but that wasn't an option right now. When she came home after work in the evening, she always walked very fast, without looking to the left or right, while her heart was beating like a subway train. Especially when one of those dirty men whistled after her. The sidewalks were overrun with soldiers and sailors, gamblers and peroxide blondes, haunting dark backrooms. She was always relieved when she arrived in the lobby of her apartment building. Then she relaxed. She rarely saw anyone in the lobby, and the hallways were as quiet as the hallways of a fancy apartment complex. She only knew two of her neighbors. The short stocky man who lived in 240 and Mrs. Goldleaf who lived in 204. The latter was the essence of lavender and old lace. The man looked OK, one couldn't really say he looked particularly shady, still, there was something about his personality that didn ́t feel right to Helen, she avoided him. One Saturday morning, when Helen went to pick up the paper, the man from 240 was hanging around in the hallway. She wore a robe over her nightgown and a scarf around her head to cover the curlers. Helen thought she looked as striking as a nun, but the look with which that man looked at her made her feel as if she were naked. Helen stepped back inside and quickly shut her door. She listened carefully with her ear to the door for footsteps in the hallway before she opened the door again and went to get her newspaper. That paperboy always threw her paper in front of Mrs. Goldleaf's door at 204. When Mrs. Goldleaf heard Helen's footsteps in the hallway, she always came out. The older woman was always very interested in her neighbors and their lives. No wonder, she had very little to do, and she was a widow. This Saturday morning, she peered into the hallway again, her thin white hair pinned up in tight curlers. Mrs. Goldleaf was always so curious. -"Good morning." Helen said kindly. -"Good morning to you too dear." the old lady replied, "Today is Saturday, why are you up so early?" -"I want to clean my house today. Did you hear that noise in the hallway last night, Mrs. Goldleaf ?" The old lady looked at Helen with a disappointed look: "No, I didn't hear anything. I went to bed very late, though." -"That's strange." Helen said, "It looked like someone was dragging a rake across the floor. Thumping and scratching. I couldn't sleep." Gold Leaf clicked her tongue: "It must have been someone who came home drunk. I wonder who it could have been." There was a strange smell coming from Mrs. Goldleaf's apartment. A musty smell of antiques. Helen had been in there once when Mrs. Goldleaf had invited her for a cup of coffee. Her two rooms were filled like a museum, full of trinkets and souvenirs from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. -"And how is your bird?" Helen asked. Mrs. Goldleaf collected all kinds of things, but she was also an animal lover. She had two cats. a pair of goldfish and two turtledoves. The day before she had told Helen that one of the birds was sick. The old woman began to glow: -"Much better today! The doctor said to give him some brandy with a dripper. It's worked miracles." -"I'm so glad to hear that." Helen smiled, picked up her newspaper, and walked back to her apartment. Helen took the hairpins out of her hair while the coffee trickled into the pot. She looked at herself in the mirror and felt an inexplicable depression set in. "What's the matter with me?" she asked her mirror image, "Why does nothing ever happen in my life?" She combed her hair and put on a little lipstick. Outside, the sun began to shine through the mist. On the fire escape below her kitchen window, Helen saw a dead cat. It was a gray cat. His eyes seemed to be watching her. His head was turned all the way back. Helen felt sick and quickly pulled the curtain down. -"It's just a dead cat." she said to herself as she lit a cigarette, "Maybe he fell off the roof. He probably ran out of nine lives." -"What am I to do now?" Helen thought, "I can hardly sit here drinking coffee with a dead cat under my window." She shuddered at the thought of getting the animal out of there herself. She decided to call the manager. She got up and went to the telephone in the hall. Her hand trembled as the dialed the number. -"Hello, this is Helen from 214. There is a dead cat on the fire escape in front of my window. You must do something about this." The concierge sounded half asleep. "A dead cat? What do you mean? Are you sure he's not sleeping?" "Of course, I'm sure he's dead. Can't you come up and take him away? It's terrible to have a dead cat under my window." Helen replied. -"I have to clean the lobby first. I'll be there as soon as I'm done." Helen hung up, feeling stupid: "Who can blame me for this?" she muttered to herself. She walked back to her apartment and sat in the kitchen. She tried extremely hard not to look through the window. She lit another cigarette and poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. To pass the time, she started leafing through the newspaper absently. In the back of the newspaper, her eyes were drawn to an article with a strange headline: Customer turns green. The article said a bartender fired several shots at a customer who had become aggressive after he had refused to serve him. The customer's hand was a claw and he had eaten a living mouse. -"Nothing but drunks these days." Helen thought to herself. She thought back to the restlessness of the previous night. She heard a noise on the fire escape. Helen reached over and opened the shade. The janitor stood there with a large brown paper bag in his hand. Helen opened the window: "How do you think the animal got there?" she asked. -"I don't know. Probably fought and fell from the roof." The janitor replied. -"What makes you say that?" Helen insisted. -"The neck is torn. Maybe it was a dog." the man continued dryly. -"Up here?" Helen asked in surprise. The janitor scratched his head, "Don't worry, I'm taking it away now." Helen closed the window and poured herself another cup of coffee. She grabbed another cigarette from the pack on the table. It was almost ten o'clock. She stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray and emptied it, then walked out with the garbage bag. The garbage chute was in the back of the hall, next to the service staircase. The door was open, and Helen hesitated to enter. She was afraid the man from 240 might be there. The door moved a little, but no one came out. She waited a moment longer, thinking that the last person who had been there might have forgotten to close the door. She walked in, luckily there was no one there. She opened the top of the chute and threw the trash bag down, but there was something in the chute blocking the passage. She could see what it was: it looked like a chicken leg but was the size of a human foot - and green! Helen reached into the tube and pulled to free it. Her stomach turned at the cold feeling of the thing. She pulled at it with all her strength until it was free. She gaped in horror at the thing she was holding. She felt dizzy and began to gag. She let go of that thing immediately and could hear it rattling in the chute. After a few seconds, the horror really set in, and she started running down the hall back to her flat. She was dimly aware of the face of Mrs. Goldleaf who came to look at the door. -"Is something wrong, dear?" she asked. Helen gasped, "No, all is well." and ran on. She burst into her apartment and slammed the door shut. She went to the bathroom and dropped to her knees. She was unable to think. She stood up, washed her face, and walked to her bedroom. She lay trembling on her bed. -"What was that ghastly thing?" She thought back to the story in the newspaper. Maybe that was what that bartender had seen? What a horrible neighborhood this is, Helen thought, first a dead cat under my window and then a monster in the garbage chute. Maybe that cat had something to do with it? Her stomach started churning again. She had never heard of monsters living in the apartment building. And then she remembered something else in that newspaper article: the bartender had said the customer had looked normal at first, then turned green. That meant those monsters could look like ordinary people. Panic set in. What if someone finds out she saw it? What would they do with her then? White with fear she jumped off her bed. She grabbed her purse and put on a coat. When she got to the door, she hesitated for a moment: she was anxious to go out but far too afraid to stay inside. Helen started running up the hall, into the lobby, and onto the street. There were very few people in the street. The people in this neighborhood always slept late. She entered the restaurant, next to her apartment building, and sat down at the counter. She was the only customer. A sleepy-eyed waitress waited with a pad in her hand. -"Coffee." Helen muttered. Everything looked so normal here. I must be stupid to sit here and believe in monsters, Helen thought. Maybe it's just neurosis and I'm delusional. Yes, that made a lot more sense. That story she'd been reading had probably entered her subconscious. I'll go back to my apartment and call the doctor, Helen thought. After all, a doctor can cure anything. Even green monsters that are in your head. She finished her coffee and fished out some change from her wallet. The sloppy waitress came over to take the money. Helen looked through the glass front to the street and got a cold fright. The man from 240 stood there. His gaze met hers. He was smoking a cigarette. He turned abruptly and started walking toward the apartment. Helen felt that fear again she’d felt earlier. She took out her key ring and walked quickly to the apartment next to the restaurant. The man from 240 was in the lobby just ahead of her. He held the door open for her. Helen kept her head down and did not look at him. In the hallway, she felt a sense of panic. She was here alone with "him" and cut off from help should the need arise. Her heart began to throb wildly. For a moment she thought that the man was going to say something. He moved with his hand as if to grab her arm. Helen backed away, but he stepped aside and let her pass. Helen started running down the hall. Panting, she arrived at her door and stiffened--she heard a scratching sound in her apartment. She backed away, ready to start running again. She looked at the man from 240 who was now standing at his own door. The way he looked at her did not sit well with her. It is him, she thought to herself. He is one of those green monsters. She was sure his skin could turn green, and that there were very long claws on his feet. What now? She was trapped in the hallway. Caught, next to that "thing". She sprinted the short distance to Mrs. Goldleaf's apartment. Like a madwoman, she threw herself against the door. -"Mrs. Goldleaf, please, open the door." Hellen screamed. The door opened immediately. Mrs. Goldleaf's round, wrinkled face beamed at Helen: -"Come in honey, come in!" Helen nearly fell over the landing. She heard the door close behind her and dropped herself onto the couch, panting. A cat came purring next to Helen's legs. A cat? -"Where is the other cat?" she heard herself ask. She understood! The old woman's face trembled. It changed. It seemed to melt... into something green. Outside in the hallway, the man from 240 stepped into his apartment. "I'll never have the guts to ask her out." he thought to himself, "What would a girl like her want to do with a lousy cop like me?"


I remember. God knows if I try I can still remember, believe it or not. I got a brain like a mine. Memories like tunnels all the way down. Branching and twisting deeper down inside me. But you know time. Beams rot and earth sweats and sometime...sometimes I’ll go looking for a name or a face and there’ll be nothing but rubble. Big black cave-in on my thirty-fifth birthday or my high-school graduation. Dropping out of college and my great aunts all buried together. I don’t even try to sift through it anymore. But if there’s one tunnel that’s as solid as a gun barrel it's the time I spent working repossessions in 1966. I worked for a P.I. I met after I got out of the army. He’d been fingered by the V.A. to sniff out deserters and he came looking my neck of the woods. He had been looking for a buddy of mine. At first I told him to shove it but two hundred bucks and a job offer later, I tell you. The look on a mans face when you walk in on him screwing his neighbours teenage daughter with a gun in one hand and an arrest warrant in the other, it’s not a first day story that a lot of people can match up to. Cortez had offered me the job as he was in need of someone able to walk streets he couldn't walk without being fingered for a bad actor. What he meant by that was he wanted a good white boy in brown pants to vault a few fences, look through a few windows through cupped hands without having the cops called on him every five minutes despite giving a very convincing story about a potential gas leak. I called bullshit on that early on, but didn’t press it as it was good money. But straighten my damn hams if a pair of wire-frame glasses I lifted off my dad and a few ‘aw jeez’s and a couple of ‘golly I’m real sorry’s didn’t make people annoyed or assuaged enough to let you get out of their faces without so much as a reprimand. The glasses thing was a trick I used a crazy amount of times throughout my career. People trust nerds. Or at least feel like they don’t have anything to fear from them or don’t think that they’re going to need to prove themselves to them in anyway. They came in handy in fights, too. People avoid the glasses almost subconsciously. But I went on to work with Juan Phillipe Gavrón Cortez for that entire year until I moved on to other P.I. work under my own license. And believe it or not, like I said before, that time was the most memorable I ever spent working that side of the law. But Jimmy, or ‘Señor Cortez’ as he’d have me call him in front of his wife and kids, I drove him from job to job and did some picking up and dropping off and developed a few rolls of film in my granny’s bathroom and then dropped ‘those’ off on some very fancy doorsteps. Besides catching folks dodging the draft or dodging taxes or pretending they can’t walk. I remember this one time, after congress passed this disabilities list ‘morbid obesity’ was one of the new bright and shiny ones. And over eight thousand new people started claiming dissability. And I tell you, you won’t believe how fast some of those fat motherfuckers can move. Not that some of them didn’t qualify. But there’s nothing like having a fat sobbing man being forcefully weighed by two court officers to check that he ‘is’ in fact over 100 pounds. Jimmy and me and his seemingly endless supply of cousins also worked litigations for this downtown law office. Mainly going over to clients places and not outright threaten anyone, but roll up our sleeves and lean against some doorways just so as to flash the leather of what could be a .38 in a holster. But most of the time, we went into bankrupt peoples houses and retrieved physical collateral to pay off their court debts. People who owed money to the bank. People who couldn’t cough up legal fees. I remember this one job. We drive up to this house. Big. Glass house. And we go in and we begin to retrieve the collateral. But there’s this one armchair. This sickly green leather thing with thin little mahogany feet. And there’s this blonde girl sitting in it. Legs tucked up under her. Trying not to cry. She wouldn’t get up. We were nice about it. We weren’t complete assholes. Generally we’d just stone-wall. No reaction. Insults, spit, fists. We just move along. And so when she won’t get up, I just pull the chair with her in it through the house and load it into the truck. She doesn’t say a word. And we’re about halfway down the hill when she starts banging on the side of the cab to be let out. We do, but she don’t say nothing, she just hugs herself with her bare arms and walks up the hill. Her daddy said it was about it being her mom’s chair. Mother topped herself after daddy lost millions. Not his fault. He tried to break into the casino business out in Vegas. And those boys don’t like competition. That is the most walled of all walled gardens. The guy submits all the permits and cost plans and puts up the money and pays off all the right people and hands out all the under the table cash they tell him they’re gonna need from him, they still shred him. Casino built, slot machines in plastic. All those shiny little chips. They waited until the very last second. And then they knocked down every door and threatened every soul who could make his dream a reality. In three days. He lost everything. And on the fourth day he receives the bill for the demolition of his own casino. A demolition that had been booked a year prior to him paying every single one of those pricks. But I also remember the circus. An entire circus. This sun-bleached high-top that sat outside Albuquerque. We turn up and there’s nobody home. Everything set up for a show. Nobody there. Except for the ring leader. This flabby guy with no shirt on and a pair of jeans tucked into treadless cowboy boots and he’s stacking a bon-fire. Broken chairs and shit. And sitting right in the middle of it like an egg in a nest, is this big green safe. This old-school monster with brass dials. Size of a Datsun. And this guy is drawing on this dunhill cigarette and he’s screaming his head off. “This is what you fuckin’ get!” this and “This is what you fuckin’ get! You bitch!” That. And we stroll in and we ask him what he’s doing and he looks at us. And he draws this bright orange cattle-prod from this leather loop around his belt and he’s weighing it in his hand like he’s going to take a swing at us. And so we reach into our jackets and we flash our pieces and he lets his arm fall. And we ask him again, you know what’s the deal here, collateral’s coming in, legal defence needs to get paid, what’s with all the broken collateral? And the guy doesn’t say a word, he just flicks the switch on the cattle-prod and the sticks it into the bon-fire and the whole thing goes up. These big gasoline gorged flames. And we’re all watching this thing go up. And that’s when the safe starts screaming. Just howling. Like a storm siren at the bottom of a well. And my buddy, he pulls his gun and he starts whipping this fucking guy. Screaming at him. We’re running around like maniacs, trying to find water. My buddy Angelo just stomps the flames with his boots and eventually he just crashes right into the blaze and throws his body against the safe and it topples. End over end, it mashes into the ground. Angelo’s dropping and rolling. I go over to him but he’s okay. My other buddy Reese, he’s dragging the leader by the hair and he throws him onto the safe. Guy screams, the safe was red hot. And next thing the guy knows there’s three guns in his face. I’m frozen. But everybody else is screaming. They grab his wrists and make him work the dials. It’s burning his fingers bad. But he’s laughing and soon enough they’re turning that wheel and they all heft the door open. And flying out is this Orangutan. Enormous. And pursued by a black cloud that smells like burning hair and grilled meat. Teeth like sickles it comes at Reese, the monkey takes a swing at him and clips his jaw and I tell you it sounded like a queue ball hitting an eight! Pop! Jaw, broken. And without thinking, guns start going off. And they just shred that poor animal. And the leader, he’s just laughing. And we don’t know what to do. So we just call the cops. We never found out what happened. Until about a year later. There was this bar where all the cops drank and really all the legal servants had a tab. A real fuck-Irish place. There were better bars but I made sure to show up every once in a while to pay tribute to the other, ah, assholes in my line of work. But I’m there with a date of all people. And everyone’s talking and we get onto war stories. You know, gristly shit to rile up the girls and what-not. But out of nowhere, my date starts telling this story! She was a paralegal at the time and she starts talking about this gristly court case she’s on. She’s talking about this class action type deal. This ‘incident’ at this circus that was in the county at the time. She’s talking about one of the acts. This act they did with a magician and this orangutan. This disappearing act. Magician comes out with a pair of mahogany boxes. Big as a mini-fridge. Crank on the side. And this act is an audience participation affair. The magician announces the trick. Something will be going into the box. And won’t be coming back out. The ape is going around and it’s going to pick somebody out for the trick, right? And he grabs this baby. This little toddler out of her chair and he waddles off with her. And the mother follows. And people are kind of freaked out, but the mon’s laughing and going along with it. The ape sets the kid down. Pats it on the head. And the magician’s upset but the mother’s into it. This young blonde. Country girl. And the magician laughs it off, picks the kid out of the ape’s arms, hands it back to the mom and people are set at ease. Now. The magician briefs the woman. Something personal is going into the box. And it’s going to be sucked into the magical googah void or whatever. And eventually returned to her. No big deal. And the monkey. Is supposed to take something from her. Necklace, handbag, hat, whatever! And like you already fucking know, that ape has got that baby in that box quicker than the magician can mace the damn thing. And it’s cranking the crank and smiling and nobody knows wether to scream or not. Is this the act? Nobody knows. Evidently the magician is keeping on with the show, that’s his job. He’s making jokes and assuaging the mother under his breath that the kid is ok and he follows through with a quick spell and the ape hobbles across to the second cabinet and swings open the door. And there’s a top hat. Black velvet top hat. The magician fakes being shocked, the mother is looking concerned and the ape wears the hat and does a dance before putting the hat back into the cabinet. Door close. Crank routine, back to the first cabinet. Door open. Cantaloupe. Ha, ha, ha. Magician is hurrying it along. He’s talking into his head set, and the monkey keeps running back and forth between the cabinets, cranking and opening doors, alarm clock, shoes, cake, microscope, gloves, no baby, no baby, no baby! And the mother is starting to get upset. And so everyone’s starting to get upset. She’s getting a little too wrapped up in it. “My baby, my baby!” And the audience is starting to make it clear that this act isn’t funny anymore. People are calling out. The magician’s panicking, rushing through the act. And then he declares one final joke. “CRANK THE OTHER WAY!” And the ape does a big ‘whoopsidoo’! And he cranks the other way. And sitting in the cabinet, is this little, itty-bitty babydoll. And he walks over to the mother. And he tucks the doll into her thin little arms. And waits for the applause. Police. FBI. Search party after search party. They never found the kid. As much as one can grieve. That is the best damn magic trick that I ever heard pulled. And like they do with real witches. They tried to burn that monkey. I got a brain like a mine. Memories are like tunnels I dug. If I wanna see my brother’s face or my mom’s, if I wanna remember the first ride I ever bought. Or the first girl I frenched. All I've gotta do is take a walk. Down those tunnels. But lately, the more I try to remember, the more cave-ins I find. I couldn’t tell you what colour my mom’s eyes were. Let alone her hair. I don’t remember my pops at all. But I know. As long as I’m alive, the tunnel down which ‘that’ monkey lives. That’s been cast in steel. If it all comes crashing down. That tunnel. Is gonna be there forever.


Feeling his hair blowing wildly in the breeze, he kept his eyes set forward toward the light, just breaking through the trees. It was far too late for his comfort, but the boy kept moving anyway, too many nights having been spent against a tree or in a field for both his emotional and his physical comfort, young joints aching as though he were of an old man, hunger weighing his body down toward the earth below his feet. If his navigational skills were any good- the main part of that phrase being if - then it was likely he’d find himself in civilization once again. Perhaps that was ignorant hope or naive optimism, and he’d simply be walking these woods until he wasted away. He finally paused for a moment, chest heaving with exhaustion as his lungs gasped for breaths that, in reality, it truly didn’t need , but longed for, reaching for the feeling of being fully human, rather than this bone-weary shell of his starved potential. he allowed his pack to slowly slide off his back, hitting the ground with a solid thump and gazed upwards. If he were near any sort of civilization, perhaps he’d be able to see it more reliably from higher up than on the lower level in which he stood at the moment, obscured by trunks reaching what felt like to the heavens. With a heavy breath, the boy grabbed the lowest branch, beginning his ascension, branch by branch, a trial of judgment of his weight and resilience. After minutes passed, branches threatening to splinter and give in from the force of his hand’s grip, he managed to find a solid footing in a fork in the canopy, poking his head out from the branches of the oak. There was a decent-sized cabin not too far from where he stood, the lighting of candles bringing slight illumination, though nothing that gave the boy an idea of whether they were able to be trusted. Aside from that, the next town he could find still was another few miles off, and that didn’t even guarantee a place to stay without having to beg. With the hope of a comfortable place to stay beginning to dwindle, he sat himself down, leaning against one of the sturdy offshoots in the canopy. If he were going to have to continue walking for so much longer or risk having to spend the 3rd night without a bed, he at least deserved a small break, at least a reprieve of the pressure under his feet. “Hey, kid, you doing alright up there?” The shock of hearing another man’s voice below him almost brought the boy off the branch, instinctually gripping a close branch near him. “I-... er, yes sir, I’m okay,” he responded, his voice gritty from lack of use, as though his own words were scratching his throat. “I’m sorry, I’m... not trespassing, right? “No, no, I was simply on a walk.” The man came into his eyeline now, seeming small from where he sat, but with a strong frame, his hair unkempt and choppy at the shoulders, but held no look of malice in his eyes. “Jesus, you look awful... kid-” “My name’s Lucas, if that helps at all.” The man grinned, nodding with some combination of relief and compassion. “Thanks, didn’t wanna pry, but you really don’t look well, and it’s late into the evening.” “Yes sir, I know. I’m trying to find a place to stay, sorry for distracting you from your walk.” “Don’t worry about that, I wasn’t trying to get anywhere specific.” He squinted up at Lucas, before speaking once again. “Would you be alright with coming down here? You look like you’re in pretty awful shape, even from down here.” He gave a friendly grin, but perhaps that almost off-put Lucas. With so much uncertainty and rioting from desperation, something about even the concept of receiving kindness felt foreign to him, but he wasn’t completely blinded by his despair to not at least entertain the kindness. “...that depends. I’ll come down on two conditions.” “Alright, what do you want?” “One, can you give me your name? Y’know, since I gave you mine and stuff-” “Ah, yes! Sorry, kid, the name’s John.” The certainty and speed of the answer brought Lucas comfort, but he still kept his guard up, watching the man below him carefully. “Okay, thank you Mr. John, but...” a wave of exhaustion hit him again, and he had to shake his head just to refocus himself. “Sorry, I... yeah, anyways, why... Why are you talking to me?” John’s expression turned from something of compassionate amusement to genuine concern, though somewhat masked. “It ain’t often you see a kid sitting in a tree who looks like he’s going to fall off at any moment.” Fair answer, can’t judge that. He nodded, before, very carefully, descending himself down the tree, a feat that, while far easier than trying to pull yourself up branches, left him feeling far more anxious, the risk of falling a dangerous amount more likely with less certainty about the strength of branches, but managed to find himself back on the ground no more scathed than he was before. John stood about 6 inches taller than the boy, and the strength in his form even more noticeable now that they stood, one in front of the other. “...you’re taller than I realized.” John gave a good-natured laugh, eyes that were creased with worry now a little bit less stressed. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Something about good bones, or something.” There was a calming quality to the amusement in his tone. If there was an attempt to lower Lucas’ guard for nefarious reasons, it was pretty effective, in all truth. Still, he didn’t fail to notice the concern in John’s eyes become just as clear as it had been before, now seeing Lucas in all of his starving and exhausted glory. “...I promise I’m okay.” “‘Okay’ clearly does not have the same definition between us, bud.” “I just.. Y’know, a little hungry, a little tired.” John nodded, silent as he thought, before speaking once again. “Would you like a place to stay tonight? I stay in a cabin pretty close by with a friend of mine, we have an extra bed and some soup, you could rest up for a day or two if you need.” Lucas looked at him, eyes wide and body still. “I... Why?” “Why what? Why am I showing you basic human courtesy? Lucas, kid, you look like you’re about to collapse, and you’re a good bit out from town, I’m worried about you.” “You barely know me, though.” “Doesn’t matter. Honestly, you look way too worn-down to do any damage even if you wanted to, I’m not worried about it.” John spoke with only genuosity, such a rare sight that Lucas allowed himself to nod at the offer, smiling. “Well... If you insist, I’d appreciate that, sir.” “I promise you don’t gotta call me “sir”, kid. Anyways, it makes me feel old, I’m not that late into my 30s.” So Lucas grabbed his pack and the two of them walked, the light conversation at least being enough to somewhat distract the boy from his aching limbs and his empty stomach. Despite being somewhat small talk, likely motivated on John’s end by the desire to make sure Lucas didn’t wear himself down too much, Lucas still learned a good bit about him. He fought in World War I, just 17 when the war started and 20 when he joined. “Not an experience I’d recommend, really, and not a war I found myself understanding the purpose of, but I didn’t know how to cope with my teenage spite,” he said, and, one some level Lucas found himself sympathizing with this, despite not liking even simple confrontation, much less violence, but he did find himself relating to the idea of unplaced spite. One could even argue that was why he was out there, so stubbornly set on making sure he didn’t follow the steps of men who he knew he didn’t want to resemble. Hateful, pretentious men who see themselves, and by proxy their ideologies, above others. Of course, he didn’t want to admit that he was spiteful to the man who was giving him a place to sleep and food. Still, though, there was simply something he trusted about this man, the sort of bright, yet not wide-eyed, attitude he had, clearly with his own experiences and their impacts, but not sunken down by them. Eventually, they reached the cabin, and once couldn’t help but think about how nice this must have been, just the quiet forest, a nice, decently sized garden, and your friend. That honestly sounded like a dream, but as most dreams are, was more than realistic. One of them must have had the house before all of this, lucky enough to be able to survive decently enough to not have to sell it. Lucas didn’t have that, he barely had enough to keep moving and keep getting small jobs, much less find himself any place to live. After walking next to Lucas’ side most of the walk, he walked ahead when they neared the door, taking and twisting the doorknob. “Henry, I’m back, and I have somebody with me.” Looking past John’s shoulder, he saw another man come from around the corner, with shorter- though just as shaggy as John’s- hair, much closer to his height than his friend’s. There was a moment of quiet between the two, a couple of back and forth expressions, a silent sort of connection only close individuals could have, before he looked Lucas over, before motioning to John to come inside. “You two come in. The soup is done, and you look like you could use it. What’s your name?” Henry’s voice had much less energy, coming off as slightly aloof, though not mean. Jaded, perhaps. “Lucas, nice to meet you, sir.” There was a small chuckle, copied by John. “Kid, I promise, you don’t have to call us sir, we aren’t your school teacher.” He nodded, following him into a decently sized kitchen and dining room (even having one felt astonishing, though) Henry reached up and grabbed a bowl, pushing his heels up just slightly to reach. “So, Lucas, what were you doing out here? I assume you found him in the forest, John?” “You say it like he’s some stray cat,” John laughed, getting a look shot at him, though the smile pulling at Henry’s lips betrayed amusement. “Hey, no, that’s not what I intended, and you know it. Lucas, I’m not saying you’re some stray, just curious as to why you’re out here.” “Ah, just... trying to find work, I suppose? I got a bit lost trying to find another place to stay and work, though.” His voice was quiet, glancing down at his feet and shifting his feet awkwardly, hoping that they didn’t take that as some excuse. “Hard to find any 1 place to have consistency, though, so I kinda just try and go around. Saw a town past the forest on a map, and just thought that I could shortcut my way there...” “Wait, so how long were you out there?” John spoke up, raising his eyebrows. “...well, I’ve been walking for about 2 days, in the forest for over a day, through the night, so not long.” The men were quiet, looking at each other with concern etched on their faces before Henry looked back at him. “And how old are you?” “15, which I know seems young, but I’ve been traveling for work for a while, don’t worry. Anyways, you gotta learn survival skills at some point with how... y’know, just about everything is. You have to sort of rush around to make it.” He could feel their eyes drilling into him, though they quickly averted their gazes as he looked up, and he reached to try and lighten the tension, letting himself grin. “Y’know, you could say this is my coming of age arc. I’m a little old for it, but better late than never, I suppose.” The other two gave somewhat crooked smiles, slightly amused but expressions still marked by worry for the boy, though perhaps somewhat lighter now, whether that be out of a want to not stress Lucas out or genuine relief, and Henry turned his back to grab a ladle and fill the bowl. “Give him my portion too, please, Henry. I’m not hungry, and he could use it.” The expression Henry shot back was one of reluctance, but John was too set for any words to be effective, so he gave a small shrug and refilled the ladle. John drew his attention back to Lucas, then behind him, toward another small hall. “We can get you set up in the extra room once we get you fed. If you need, we’d be happy to let you stay here for a couple of days while you figure out where you’re planning to go next-” “If he needs, finds some work in the town over, I’d personally be alright with him staying in exchange for some help in the garden or running to grab something from town,” Henry spoke over John, coming over to hand the boy a bowl of vegetable soup, the carrots and celery looking far better than anything he had gotten his hands on in quite some time. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like he was being parasitic to the strangers’ kindness, and Henry picked up on this quickly. “It’d be helpful to have another set of hands around here, and we have the extra room, it’s not being used by either of us.” “3 bedrooms is impressive, this is a wonderful place.” There was a moment of confusion on each of the two’s faces at the 3 , but they both understood the misunderstanding and silenced their corrections. Explaining the situation would be far too complex of a feat to try and convey to this child, and far from safe. Best to just let him draw his conclusions. Anyways, Lucas was comforted by the kindness shown between these two men. They were close, though he wasn’t sure just how close. Still, a part of him found himself jealous of their close companionship, wishing he could have reached for that without the repercussions from his family, the stern lectures and the forceful attempts at “firming the boy up.” Still, that was on a different level than what Lucas assumed they had, the likelihood of being able to live out his dream like that... “I’m sure it’s really hard to keep yourself this well though, I don’t want to make anything harder-” “Kid, I don’t think you realize that we’ve been living out here since before all of this. You need a place to rest for a while, and I don’t want to have to wonder if you’re going to accidentally get yourself back to this condition again. You don’t have to be dashing around, there’s a better option for you, as long as you want it and are willing to help out around here. You don’t have to keep rushing to give yourself anything. I’m not saying you’d be able to fully take it slow- I don’t think any of us really can- but you can at least recover, maybe, with some luck, find a place to work without having to worry about where you’ll stay.” Maybe, on some level, John could see the struggle this kid was going through. A 15 year old was young enough to want home and old enough to be useful, clearly something had happened, and there were a lot of bad men out there. Maybe part of him wanted to protect and guide him, and he could see that same concern in the way Henry looked back at him. He couldn’t make the kid choose to do any particular thing, but he could give him some sort of chance. “John, you’re talking your head off, let the poor boy eat something,” Henry teased, handing a bowl to him as well. “And you eat too. There’s enough for all of us.” Lucas took that offer with no objections, finishing it within minutes of letting his weary legs rest, finding an almost instant rejuvenation, refreshed by the full meal and the supportiveness. The talks for the rest of the evening were lighter, and while there were still questions, there was a mutual understanding that they could wait till the morning. For 1 night, maybe they could all take it slow, not worry too much about the hatred and panic of their reality.


I parked my car in the gravel lot and walked toward the rusty “Scenic Overlook” sign. It was the same as I remembered. Though the stone wall of cemented stones looked like erosion had taken a toll on it. I rested my arms on it and leaned my head over the edge. Waves crashed far below, losing their never-ending battle against the massive boulders off the shore. I used to look at the view every morning on my run, but that was years ago. Back before Mrs. Leary. Back when I ran for myself. Back when I wasn’t running from anything. I moved here just over thirty years ago when I was twenty-two. It was 2022. I was fresh out of college and just starting my first job as an analyst. It paid the bills but I really wanted to be a cop. Burgundy, OH was a nice enough town. Cheap rent and good people. It sat right up against Lake Erie which made it a popular tourist stop during the summer. I used to run every day. Rain or shine I’d lace up my Nikes and be out the door by 6:30 am. My route was nothing too interesting. Up and down my surrounding neighborhood streets until I hit six miles. When you really give yourself over to a routine, you notice everyone else’s. The same grey Ford passed me on mile two. They usually gave me a wave or flashed their lights if it was dark. On mile three I’d pass the window of Rob Morrison’s deli. It was closed, but sometimes I got a glimpse of him in the back, prepping for the day. I liked that routine. Not just because of the running, but because of the people I saw. They were part of my day, and I was part of theirs. My favorite part of the morning was when my running app told me my run was over. It happened at the same spot every time; right outside Mrs. Leary’s house. She was an old sweet lady who I presumed to be in her mid-seventies. When I first moved there, she’d wave as I passed. After a few weeks, she started asking “You want some water, hun?”. Not long after that, she’d have two hot cups of coffee, a bottle of water, and a modest breakfast ready and waiting for me to finish my exercise. We hadn’t known each other aside from me being the kid who jogged outside her house at 7:30 each morning, but we became close. I never met my grandparents. I guess I assumed they died before I was born but never got confirmation on that. If I had to guess, this is what having a grandma felt like. I don’t remember the specifics of what we talked about, but we’d shoot the shit for a good hour before I’d walk the half mile back to my apartment. As the years went on, she got older and missed a few mornings. Couldn’t blame her, though it did disappoint me and usually never happened more than two days in a row. As selfish as it sounds, I sometimes wish I would have never met her. She was a wonderful lady, but damn did she leave me a mess to clean up. Not that getting murdered was her fault. It was a cool morning, on the cusp of autumn 2025. I had already waved to the grey Ford and saw Mr. Morrison loading his front window up with fresh cold cuts. On cue, the voice in my headphones told me I’d finish my jog. I looked up at Mrs. Leary’s porch which was empty for the third day in a row. Three days was the longest we hadn’t had our morning coffee together. Can’t exactly tell you what flipped in my head but I decided to check on her. I opened the screen and knocked on the old wood door. After a couple of cycles of waiting and knocking I walked around back, peering through windows on my way. I couldn’t see much as most of them had the blinds drawn. One didn’t but required me to climb on the air conditioner to see through. Once on top, I cupped my hands around the sides of my head to see clearly and saw nothing out of the ordinary. It was the kitchen I had been in multiple times, as clean as ever. The tiled floor was perfectly white and there were two clean coffee mugs on the drying rack. I hopped down and made my way to the backyard, which at one point was surely a beautiful garden. Over the years, it had taken over the yard and looked like its own self-sustaining ecosystem. I walked up the back stairs to the door and resumed my knock-wait cycle. Eventually, I got restless and worried so I tried the handle. It was unlocked. “Mrs. Leary?” I shouted. There was no reply but the silence was deafening. I continued through the living room which looked normal enough and up the stairs to the second floor. The lacquer on each step had worn off over the years of ups and downs. I could feel my heart beating after each step I climbed and I was positive it had nothing to do with the jog. The wallpaper was an off-white floral design. Out of date, yes, but definitely in line with Mrs. Learny’s personality and taste in fashion. Once on the second floor, the bathroom was directly ahead. I peeked inside but nothing notable stood out. In fact, the immaculate condition of the house was jarring in and of itself. After walking through the other bedrooms, I got to what had to be Mrs. Leary’s room. The door was closed but unlocked. I turned the nob and the door jumped open as if it were a challenge to get closed. I opened the door further, slowly revealing a tidy and organized bedroom, complete with a vanity and record player. As it swung further open, the foot of what had to be Mrs. Leary’s bed came into view, paired with her feet poking upward from under the sheets. Looking back, I find it quite interesting how in that moment of seeing her feet, I was absolutely positive about what had happened. Poor Mrs. Leary had slipped away in her sleep. No family or friends, aside from me, noticed her absence. To be honest, my first thought was confusion about who to call. Whatever emotions I initially felt sprinted away when the door was fully open. I saw it for what had to be less than a second, yet I see it in my head every time I close my eyes. Mrs. Leary had clearly been shot once in the head while she was asleep. She looked so peaceful as if she was just sleeping, but the black hole on the center of her forehead told the true grizzly tale. My memories of what happened after are a blur. I remember calling the police but I have no recollection of how I got to the police station. Honestly, the next thing I remember clearly is punching in the code to my apartment. I showered for the first time that day, nearly eight hours after my morning jog. Afterward, I called my boss to explain why I hadn’t logged on for work that day, and why I likely wouldn’t for a few more. There seemed to be a film of grey over everything that week. The colors were dull and eating food made me nauseous. I didn’t run. I didn’t wave to the grey Ford or Mr. Morrison. I tried to distract myself and pass the time with movies I enjoyed but the sight of her laying there was burned into my eyes. It was everywhere I looked. You probably won’t be surprised to hear I was pissed off for the entire next week or so. Not just because my friend was murdered but because I didn’t hear shit from the detectives. A few days passed and I decided to lace up the Nikes. Thought it might shut my mind down for a bit. Took my usual route. Saw the Ford, but didn’t wave. Don’t even remember passing the deli. Paused a while at the “Scenic Overlook” but continued on after a small break. I turned on Mrs. Leary’s street and made my way down to her house. I realized I hadn’t done this run for myself, it was an excuse to stop by Mrs. Leary’s house, maybe talk to a cop or detective and see what was happening. It didn’t take long for a chill to run down my back. The road was a solid three-quarter of a mile, but from the far end, I could tell something was wrong. There were no police cars. No crime scene tape. After a minute or so, my phone told me the run was over, and there I was, outside the house I’d been seeing in my nightmares for the past week. It looked as normal as it ever had. I walked up the steps and looked through the front window expecting to see official-looking people working tirelessly inside. Nothing. I walked around the house as I had days before to the back and walked up the back steps. I tried the knob again, trying to ignore the aggressive deja vu. This time it was locked and I was livid. How could there be nobody here? My friend, a harmless old lady, was murdered in her sleep and nobody in this quiet little town seemed to give a shit. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. I wasn’t sure if this was an emergency per se but at that point, I didn’t much care. “911 where is your emergency?” said a man’s voice. “I want to know what’s being done about Mrs. Leary’s case.” There was a long silence before the voice returned. This time it was cold and emotionless. “Hang up the phone, kid. Leave it alone.” “Wha...” The line cut before I could finish my sentence. Even this many years later, I can feel the anger and confusion I felt that day. If I think about it too long, my cheeks turn red and my adrenaline starts pumping. I walked home confused trying to think who to call or what to do. I probably would have called a neighboring police force or the FBI, but that’s when I got the envelope. Now it’s not that big of a coincidence. It didn’t just show up that day. I had neglected to check my mail for the entire previous week and the envelope had been delivered at some point over those days. It was a legal size manila envelope, sealed with a string on one end. Inside, a handwritten note. Hello, my dear, I’m sure you have plenty of questions. I’m hoping to answer them as well as I possibly can but I can’t make any promises. I’m writing this in 2022. Today we had our first cup of coffee together, and I know it won’t be our last. If you’re reading this, I’ve made the mistake of getting too close to you, which I was not supposed to do. As you’ll learn, I can be quite stubborn so I’m also sure I’ll have no regrets about it at all. Surely, you will be the one to find my body. That wasn’t supposed to happen either but that’s my fault. I’m sorry you had to see that. I also want to say that you’re likely not going to believe what you read next, and I don’t expect you to. In time, all will make sense. I don’t know how this whole thing started but what I do know is a long time ago, a version of me in a different timeline did something bad to you. As a result, some kind of domino effect led to a global collapse and destroyed all of humanity. I don’t know what I supposedly did or what it caused. All I know is it can’t happen again. To prevent it from coming to fruition, you and I have been set up in an infinite time loop together. The loop is intended to ensure that at no point I can screw up the intended path of the future. For it to be avoided, I must die in every loop and it must happen before I get a chance to do whatever it is I did to you. Once I’m gone, I can’t interfere with you or the future of humanity. If I’ve sent this, you’re clearly a wonderful boy, and I’m sure I’ll grow very fond of your company over the years to come. Remember me and cherish the memories. In time, my error will fix itself and all will be resolved. Keep running, Mrs. Leary And that brings us to today, September 17th, 2025, again. I’m fifty-five years old and have been a cop for the last twenty. I’ll be honest, I thought the note was bullshit too. Sure enough, three years ago in 2052 (yes, I know it’s confusing) the loop reset and it was 2022 again. The reset didn’t affect me at all. I still looked like an out-of-shape middle-aged man with a hairline that seemed to disappear more each day. Soon after the reset, I met my wife, had a couple of kids, and tried to live my life as it was intended. I kept my distance from the younger Mrs. Leary, only reaching out to inform her of the loop. It took some convincing but she came around once I showed her the note she wrote for me. She also promised not to interact with my younger self this time. I made the same promise and quit jogging in order to put on a few pounds. I hoped that was enough to kill any resemblance between the two of us. The one thing I couldn’t leave alone was figuring out who did it. From a distance, I kept my eye on this loop’s Mrs. Leary. Nobody seemed to dislike her or want her dead for any reason at all. I kept my ears open every day for nearly thirty years but never found a motive or anyone else aware of the loop. It wasn’t until I accepted that there was nobody in the world who wanted to hurt Mrs. Leary that I finally figured it out. I took one last good look at the view of the crashing waves at the “Scenic Overlook” and got back into my grey Ford. I drove over to the road that I had run down hundreds of times in my younger years and parked outside the familiar quaint house. I knocked on the wooden door and was greeted by a sweet old lady. “Thought I told you to keep running,” she said as she looked at my gut. I laughed as she gestured for me to come in. I was worried she didn’t know why I was there but she must have seen it on my face. “Don’t worry. I figured it out too,” she said. “How about a cup of coffee for old-time sake?” “Sounds good,” I said with a smile. After the cups were empty, the two went upstairs and walked down the floral hallway to her bedroom. She tucked herself in and looked up at me with a tear in her eye, one that I mirrored. She nodded her head and closed her eyes. She already looked like she was peacefully sleeping. I couldn’t help but feel sorry. Not for me or her, but for the younger version of me running around the neighborhood at this very moment. Not yet aware of what he’ll have to do later in life. Not yet aware of what he’d already done an infinite amount of times in the past. Not aware of what he had just done. For now, I could let him run. One day he’d have to find out and I’d likely have to be the one to explain it all to him. But not now. For now, I’d let him run.


\[If I am posting in the wrong space, thank you in advance for letting me know.\] To give some context, I write as a livelihood. So one day, my editor and I were having a conversation about how sometimes it can be hard to sleep at night where every bump or notion keeps one awake, and that reminded me of this original that became associated with the notable caption of ' **Teddy bears: protecting innocent children from monsters-under-the-bed since 1902.**' Its potency allowed it to endure in my mental workshop for the longest time. This story came to me all of a sudden, one of the rare ones I write from inspiration rather than structure and conscious planning. It sprang from my wanting to create stories that do something, in this case as a bedtime story, to help bring peaceful sleep. And that, is why I write. Thank you, Enid Blyton. Enjoy Nightwatch. \ ‘Mommy.’ Says the little girl sitting on her bed, hugging her pillow tight, looking at her mother with wide eyes. ‘Yes, Delilah?’ The mother closes the storybook she is reading to her daughter, ready to tuck her in for the night. ‘I don’t want to sleep.’ She pouts, trying not to shed tears. ‘Ohhh, sweety pie, why?’ The mother checks that the nightlight is working, and lets the curtain fall enough for the moonlight to shine through the window facing the little girl. ‘Cos I’m scared.’ Delilah burrows into her bed even more, pulling the blanket around her. The mother stands in the middle of the room. ‘Well, that’s the best reason to ask your friends to help. If you can pick, which of your toys do you want on the bed with you--’ ‘All of them!’ The woman smiles, admitting defeat. ‘Okay, there are too many toys and too small a bed. You don’t want to be on the floor and only the toys can fit on the bed, do you?’ ‘No.........’ Delilah shakes her head side to side. ‘Okay, so, how about this.’ The mother raises one palm and splays out her fingers. ‘Five friends. Pick five of them and they will be with you the entire night so you can sleep safely.’ Delilah’s eyes brighten, loving this game. She scans the room, clearly making decisions in her small frame. ‘Teddy.’ The mother picks up a plain-looking teddy bear that has seen more years than the daughter. ‘Cos you gave him to me.’ ‘That’s right. It was mine and now he is your friend too.’ Delilah hugs Teddy as the mother passes it to her. She points to a toy hat on the dressing table that has two expressive eyes always in mirth. ‘Hat comes too. She talks funny and makes me laugh.’ The girl picks out a plastic hammer on the floor. ‘Magic Hammer!’ The mother places the squeaky hammer on the bed. ‘The better to scare the monsters away.’ Delilah looks at her cooking set. The mother knows what she is seeing. The woman pulls out of the pile a miniature serving cloth that waiters hang over their arms, but is a security hanky for her daughter. The girl’s palms are open and grasping to touch it, and she hugs it tight to her chest. ‘Alright, honeybunch. Last one.’ ‘Kito please.’ The woman smiles. ‘I knew you were going to say that.’ She steps over to the chest of soft toys, and brings over a small plushy hedgehog. Delilah sighs in contentment as her personal toy rests in her small arms. All her fears slough off her tiny person. ‘I want you to be up nice and early for pancakes.’ The girl squeals. ‘Pancakes!’ ‘Yes, so sleep.’ The mother brushes the girl’s hair away from her eyes, and pulls the blanket over her. The toys are all nestled under it, around Delilah. Her eyes are already closing, and her breathing goes even. The mother kisses her forehead. ‘Good night.’ She pads over the floor, holds the door, and closes it behind her as she heads off. Creature slinks from under the bed. It towers over Delilah. It wants to feed. The blanket moves. Creature wonders if the girl is waking up. No. The bump under the blanket comes out and stands on its small hind legs. Teddy steps closer and looks up at Creature. Creature sizes him up, and chuckles a throaty snarl. It glides closer. It does not notice that Teddy has a weapon behind his back. Teddy swings. A growl like a guard dog echoes in the room. Creature howls in pain as Teddy smashes its snout with the Hammer. Usually a squeaky toy to amuse a little girl, it is now pulsing with a steady glow, a low growl coming from deep within it. Teddy brandishes the Hammer again. The growl gets more menacing. Creature pulls back... ...and flings a toy at Teddy with one of its inky tendrils. Only for Kito to appear and turn around to have the toy bounce off her spiky back. Creature hisses. The baby hedgehog goes to Teddy, looks up at him, and imploringly opens her tiny paws to ask to be carried. Teddy reaches out with his left paw. Kito embraces the paw as she curls into a ball, pulling the paw inwards. Teddy pulls his paw back into place, his shield, Kito, ready to protect. Kito sniffs the air. She notices something. She makes a chirrup noise. Teddy spins, just in time to block the attack of a tendril snaking up from the side of the bed. It was moving too fast for him to strike back with the Hammer. The weapon chuffs with annoyance, its prey out of reach. Hat hops up and lands on Teddy’s head. It spins around on its own accord, its big eyes seeing everywhere for danger. Two tendrils are coming over the headrest behind Teddy. But there is no behind for Hat. Hat spins about and gives a death stare, as bright light flashes from its eyes. The tendrils quiver and disintegrate before the luminance. Creature bares its black fangs, its wounds cauterized by the searing light. Hat turns to look at Creature. And winks. Several other tendrils hit out, but Teddy blocks with Kito or shatters with Hammer. Creature casts its hateful look at the girl sleeping soundly beneath the blanket, unaware of tidal forces clashing within her room. Creature takes in a deep breath. It holds. And holds. Holds some more. Teddy does not wait for it to do something. He leans forward to break into a run. Creature exhales. Brown vapors escape from its mouth, flitting about the room, making their way to surround the brave companions. Vapors that carry multitudes of whispers that sing for death and promise a kiss of agony. Teddy swings the Hammer through the brown gas, but the vapors playfully dance around it. Teddy pushes Kito’s spiny back into clumps of gas, and all it did was scatter to reform. Hat flashes its eyes everywhere but light does nothing except highlight the vapors encroaching towards Delilah’s sleeping form. Creature snuffles, its malignant version of a suppressed laugh. Cloth whips up and ties itself around Teddy’s neck, security hanky by day, sentient battlecape by night. It flaps and flaps and flaps, using Teddy as an anchor as it creates eddies in the air. The brown vapors, so close to Delilah’s cheeks, blow away as before a strong wind. They break apart, and every time they try to reform, Cloth sends them scattering, and eventually, unable to piece together. Creature, frustrated beyond its capacity to understand or endure, shrieks a shriek of rage. Teddy and Kito and Hammer and Hat and Cloth brace for the mighty confrontation about to come. This is the moment of the night. Where Delilah either dreams, or has nightmares. Creature charges, bearing its full size and dark powers at them. The Indomitable Five stand fast. That is all they can do. That is all they want to do. For Delilah. Creature bares its maw open to devour the interfering upstarts. The Five strikes.  *Five friends come together,* *Five friends stand supreme.* *Five friends to fight for the child forever,* *The child’s sacred right to dream.


eases back into his chair and breathes a sigh of relief. It was his 92nd birthday; retirement age. No more 10am starts, no more having to relinquish three days a week to the full-time employment rat race. Finally.. free. He relishes the moment, feeling his chair snug him warmly, its material continuously and amorphously shifting around his frame to maximise comfort. The quality of the air, the heat from his coffee cup, the light beaming through his window. Goldilocks would be jealous, he joked to himself. “Sim-space, show me my father’s television from 2018 please.” The sim-space AI assistant quickly peruses the latest scan of its owners memory and inquires, ‘The Samsung, Mr Chivers?’ Marnold confirms with a nod. The boundaries that contain the sim-space glow to resemble an empty cuboid against the wall, warning any bodied-beings not to come close. For a second, Marnold hears that call of the void that so many do and wonders “what would happen if I put my hand.. ?” He’d heard the horror stories, obviously, but couldn’t quite fathom the science of it. Some picoseconds later however, there popped into existence a perfect reconstruction of the television from his memory inside the sim-space. Marnold picks up the remote, a device that was used to remotely control electronic devices back in Modern times, and looks through the simulated content on the television. Marnold squints at the screen, reacquainting himself with the 2-dimensional nature of Modern video. His eyes widen at a collection of pixels - ‘World Snooker Final’. It had been too long since Marnold had last watched a real game of *chess with balls* - as he would put it. His finger instructs the remote with a button press, and a pulsing infra-red energy bathes the room momentarily. The television summons to life a broadcast of yore; a gentle ensemble consisting of a giant green table centre-screen, with smartly-dressed human beings knocking sticks and balls over it. Marnold catches himself daring a smile, “the good old days.” He puts his feet up on the stool in front. “Grea’granda!” Plucked away from his contentment and with a whiff of irritation, “Wh-wha? Who’s there?” “It’s Russ you fool, happy birthday -slash- retirement! Thought I’d whip by, ya know, see how you are. Thought it better than just sending another dopamine hit.” Marnold smiles. He could never put his finger on it, but there was always something better about seeing people - he had never fully signed up to the idea of reading a well-wishing and injecting the enclosed gift of dopamine. It felt nice, sure, but he couldn't help but feel there was something missing. Cards, too! Of all the social-niceties that Marnold hoped would die off with technological progress, cards had stuck around like a bad smell. Maybe 92 is when you start getting cranky he thought to himself. “Ahh thank you, it *is* good to see someone non-digitally once in a while,” he replies, concealing his cynicism nicely. Russ points to the sim-space. “A television? C’mon gramps, of all the things you could will into existence.. a television?” Marnold squirms. “Well the good vibes sure lasted didn’t they(!) Listen, sprog, being 50-something may feel like it has conferred some sort of worldly understanding upon you but, believe me, you’re just starting out. You still have no idea what the important things are in life. And if you can’t appreciate the simple things in life, you have no foundation for the complex things. This television is my simple thing. It is my birthday. My retirement day. And I wish to spend it as I mean to go on - appreciating the simple things.” So rarely does he socialise these days, Marnold had almost forgotten how quick he was to anger. “Simple things, simple minds. That’s what father says.” Marnold mumbles his frustration, “Yes. I know *exactly* the kind of person my son-in-law is.” A palpable silence hangs. It’s funny how tension can manifest socially, no other emotion can fill a room in the same way. The 2040’s wave of pheromonologists got close to understanding it before *you-know-what* happened. Russell’s cortisol-meter started shrieking which didn’t subtract from the awkwardness, but does at least act as a call-to-action for someone to cut the tension, “Well- what are you watching then?” “Snooker” is the unenthusiastic, staccato reply. Marnold continues watching the screen emptily, pretending to be engrossed but projecting annoyance. “Didn’t know humans used to play.” Russ responded. Marnold groaned as though those words were daggers to his sensibilities. “Yes... It’s just another domain that AI took from us. God damn robots - they have no philosophy! Pure pragmatists. They completely destroyed snooker - turned it from a gentlemanly game into an arms race.” Through a flattened smile and nodding dog routine, Russ’s lack of interest was obvious. He signals to the entrance with his thumb, “Well I’d better be goi--” “-- an arms race I tell you! That’s why there’s so many rules governing the game these days. It started off as a friendly between bot and human - just a novelty, like that Jeopardy show and IBM’s Watson?” Marnold looks to Russ for a bodily cue to continue.. nothing - at least, nothing encouraging. "Ah well," he thinks to himself, "it’s my birthday and I'll rant if I want to." “Well, maybe it’s not living memory for you youngins but the world went crazy for the first bot v. human snooker match. It’s ironic thinking back on it now, we were clapping our eventual oppressors. Everyone tuned in to witness flesh versus circuits and saw a microcosm of their future. ‘Ronnie O’Sullivan vs G147-365’. Man vs machine. And what a machine(!) A jumped-up laptop connected to a junkyard frame. It couldn’t even pick up its own cue - it had to be carefully inserted into its grip by a technician.” Russ was looking in Marnold’s direction, but you couldn’t charitably say that he was looking *at* him. Looking *through* seems more appropriate; his mind clearly pre-occupied. “It was a bloodbath - metaphorically, of course. I mean, the bot started off quite slow, sure, but it was learning. Every time it whiffed a shot, it updated its algorithms to appropriately account for the mismatch. By halftime, the only shots Ronnie got to take was when it was his turn to break! G147 was hitting maximum points routinely by the end. And you know what? Not one of them were as beautiful as Ronnie’s 5 minute corker back in 1997.” Russ, eyeing the clock on the wall, noticed a pause amid Marnold’s white noise and felt he had to prove he was listening. “Uhh... 1997 huh?” Marnold, noticing that Russ had only picked up on the last word he’d said, continued with spiteful grace. “Yes. 1997. But that’s what I mean by no philosophy, there’s no meaning in what they do. It’s just all numbers and logic gates. No art, no style. Pure pragmatism.” “It didn’t end there though. Ooooooh no. Then the bot v bot matches began. Every country in the world slowly jumping in to prove their AI researchers were the best. You know, like how America and Russia fought a proxy-war by proving who could get to the moon first - thereby proving who was technologically superior? Snookerbots were fast becoming that, except it had no end goal. They just competed endlessly, accepting diminishing returns on their victories each time - perhaps preferable to other forms of national chauvinism, granted.” “But they’d be outfitted with fancy cameras and sensors - detecting every possible detail of the table. The knap, the humidity, the moisture of the cloth, microscopic blemishes on the balls - even mapping the material density of the side-cushions! Soon enough, they were making shots that made no euclidean sense since they could take advantage of unseen imperfections in the table and balls. It used to be that people would clap astonishing feats; maybe an amazing curve shot, or a cunning safety play. But it got to a point where the audience could only appreciate what they were able to understand - everything was so baffling. It was like chaos theory to everyone but the participants.” Marnold continued with his frustrated nostalgia, “And the sonic booms! That was a game changer. The balls were starting to chip - and sometimes explode - from the impacts of the bots cuing them. So they were upgraded to some nano-whatever to allow the bots to really let rip. And boy, did they. They would hit the cue ball so fast that a mini sonic boom would disturb the entire table! The algorithms of course learned to account for this and soon enough every match was just a stalemate of mini explosions. No country's bot was able to win any more, all they could do was not lose by default - ie, their bot suffering a mechanical malfunction. So, a once-great game became a war of attrition.” With Russ’s vague silhouette in his periphery, and still looking at the screen (though paying it no attention), he continues. “They’d reached an impasse - every bot was as good as the next one. No further improvements to be made because they were limited by the human imagination. Viewership figures dwindled, sponsors started pulling out and human snooker players were even being asked to come out of retirement - what a novelty(!) They all refused, naturally.” “So, some hot shot from America gets the idea of asking the bot what it needs to improve. This is what happens when you don’t read and heed Asimov. The bots’ AIs up until this point were permitted to update their algorithms in accordance with sensor data. It was not permitted for an AI to freely rationalise - and for good reason! But, this was pseudo-Cold War 2, and global dominance had to be demonstrated. Now, I’m no AI researcher but I’ve heard it explained as them creating a sort of positive feedback loop between perception and reflection, causing something analogous to consciousness. I mean, whatever, however they did it, they did do it. And so, they fed it the question: What do you need to improve at your task? And do you know what it said?” A silence goes unacknowledged as Marnold leaves his chair and heads towards his bookcase. He thumbs through a few newspaper cuttings and, after an insociable amount of time in quiet, he produces an article that had the ‘scoop’ back in the day - a printed transcript of the AI’s thought process. Marnold turns around to hand it to Russ but is met with an empty room, and then an empty spirit. He’d left. Marnold slowly lowers his out-stretched arm, article in-hand. He wondered how long he’d been speaking to himself for, and starts his own feedback loop of doubt and self-loathing. “God damn it..” he scratches the back of his head and makes for his chair again. As he settles in, the material again moulds around him with a pathetic agency - but it is of cold comfort now. Unpacking Russ’s gift, Marnold loads the syringe and looks longingly at the television. “Happy 92nd Mr Chivers...