“You really want to go undercover at Stay Out?” the sergeant asked him. “You know there was a shooting there last year, right?” “I know,” Detective Ziccarelli, or Zic as everyone called him, said. “But our snitch told us there’s a regular dealer who comes in there almost everyday and sells to the customers. I really want to make my first drug bust.” “Well, be careful what you wish for. It’s a dangerous place,” the sergeant said. “Thanks Sarge,” Zic said. “I’ll do my best to stay safe.” Following that conversation, Zic was ecstatic. He had long wanted to go undercover at the biker bar called “Stay Out.” It was a dream come true for him. Not only did he get to do real detective work, but he got to play the part of a bad ass biker. He could scarcely believe the department had given him official clearance and the budget for riding a second hand Harley and dressing in biker gear. He glanced at himself in the mirror in satisfaction. He was now decked out in black leather and chains, and he hadn’t shaved in three days. He thought he looked great. Dark and dangerous. His plan was to stay out all night at “Stay Out,” pun intended, and do his best to bust drug dealers, gang bangers and wannabes. He was eager to make his mark as a detective. He just knew that Stay Out would be the ticket to his success. He had spent the better part of a year carefully cultivating his confidential informant. The C.I. had finally admitted that Stay Out was a hub for drug deals and various criminal biker gangs. The bar was cleverly named in Zic’s opinion. It was a dive bar on a trash filled corner, a bar with a nasty reputation. Everyone in town knew the wisest thing to do was to steer clear, or “stay out” of Stay Out. Even before the shooting, the police had often been summoned to Stay Out, mostly for fights and once for a drug deal gone south. And now it seemed that the drug trade had once again resumed at Stay Out, at least according to the snitch. With Zic being relatively new to the force and therefore unfamiliar to shady characters, coupled with his natural born ability as a smooth talker and schmoozer, he had been the logical choice to go undercover. Zic looked like an Italian version of John Ritter, a bumbling, lovable goof of a man, mild mannered, wholesome, but swarthy at the same time. He was someone who perps and victims couldn’t help but either smile at or cry helplessly on his welcoming shoulder, all while spilling their guts out. Being a born actor, he used that gift to his advantage and often charmed his way into and out of multiple situations and predicaments. Even as a young child, he could wheedle his way out of anything. For that reason, he had rarely been punished, which drove his siblings crazy. The same held true in his love life. With his dark innocent good looks and innate charm, Zic had left behind a string of broken hearts all over the city, although no one seemed to stay mad at him for long. So far, he hadn’t made any inroads, however, in ferreting out any criminal activity. It was still early in the game, though. He was just starting to infiltrate and blend in with the Stay Out customers. Tonight he was sitting at the bar, trying to chat up the bartender and another biker sitting a few stools down from him at the scuffed wooden bar. “Care for another shot?” the bartender asked him laconically, as he dried a shot glass with a dirty, once white towel. Zic hesitated. Going undercover was treading a fine line. He needed to drink enough to appear just like all the other hard drinking regulars. However, he couldn’t drink too much, or he wouldn’t be at the top of his game. He needed to maintain his professionalism and follow procedure. If anything criminal were to occur, which was a strong possibility, being tipsy would definitely not help him in his mission. “Sure. Hit me,” he rumbled. You had to break a few eggs to make an omelet, or whatever that saying was , he thought to himself. He slyly looked around, trying not to attract notice from others. To his surprise, he saw another man sitting off in the corner, staring at him. The man’s position, sitting alone at a chipped wooden booth, set him apart from everyone else and didn’t invite conversation. As a cop, however, Zic knew the corner was the best place to be in a potentially dangerous situation. There was less exposure when your back was literally to the wall. The man was dressed like every other biker in the place, sporting jeans, heavy boots, and a leather vest with chains. However, he was by far the largest man in the bar, a veritable mountain of a man. He also had the longest beard Zic had ever seen. It was so long it nearly touched the floor. The biker also had an air of command about him - one hard look from him would be enough to get anything he wanted, and he knew it. At the moment, he had a sneer on his face. To Zic’s surprise, the man got up and walked over to him, sitting down heavily on the stool next to him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before,” the biker said with no preamble or context. He spoke in a deep, gravelly voice. “What’s your name and what brings you in? We don’t exactly get a lot of strangers here.” Zic knew he needed to maintain his composure and not sound defensive, although the biker was very forbidding looking. He took a deep breath before speaking, knowing he needed to give it right back. He couldn’t let the big man give him any crap. “Name’s Zack,” he said. Zack the alter ego for Zic or Zicarelli. Zic had often heard that the best lies were those that were closest to the truth. “Is there a law against having a drink here?” Zic asked the biker in an innocent voice. “Are you being a smart ass?” the biker said menacingly. “No. I wouldn’t do that,” Zic replied coolly. “Again, what brings you in here?” The biker repeated. “No special reason,” Zic said. “Just having a drink.” “Ok,” the biker said. “Just making sure you’re not a cop. We don’t need the badge here. We take care of our own.” The man looked straight into Zic’s eyes. Zic felt every muscle in his body tense up. Had the biker made him already? How was that possible? He had never laid eyes on the man before, and Zic had been exceedingly careful in his attire and cover story. He was just Zack, a biker new to the area, at least that’s what he had told the bartender. “No, I’m no pig,” Zic said, trying to sound convincing. “Well, that’s good,” the man said. “I’d hate to have to put out a hit on you.” “A hit?” Zic asked, disbelievingly. “Are you serious? That’s what you do to cops that come in here?” He hoped he didn’t sound too outraged, but he couldn’t help it. Was the man really issuing such a blatant threat to a virtual stranger? “Relax. Just testing you, buddy.” “That’s good,” Zic again tried not to sound rattled. “Excuse me now, I got to hit the john.” Zic needed a moment to collect himself. He needed to decide what his next move was. When he got back from the bathroom, Zic noticed to his surprise that the man was gone. Zic didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. Looking on the bright side, Zic realized that the man might have given him a lead or tipped his hand. The biker had that unmistakable air of authority and had even uttered what appeared to be a real, credible threat. It might even be enough to merit a search warrant or a wire tap. At the very least, the man was worth looking into more closely. Zic really needed to figure out who he was and how he fit into the puzzle. Zic needed to ponder that more, when he was fresh. Maybe his colleagues would have some ideas. For now, however, it was late and he really needed to go home and get some desperately needed shut eye. He headed outside to the street and to his Harley, looking forward to the rumble of the engine and the feel of the soft leather grips under his fingertips. With the wind on his face and the crotch rocket launching him into space and time, riding a Harley was a feeling like no other - sheer poetry in motion. He kick started his bike. It was an older model and didn’t have an electric start. He much preferred the older bikes. They had more character. The engine roared immediately to life. Before riding off, he looked around. It was always a good idea for a cop, and especially one who was working undercover, to take stock of his surroundings. It was now pitch black, but street lights illuminated the neighborhood. Glancing up and down the street, he saw a tiny Ma and Pa grocery store, a pizza joint, a laundromat, and a 24-hour check cashing place. It was a Tuesday night, and everything was still open, but most businesses were deserted. Blinking neon lights from the check cashing place cast a glow of warm colors on the sidewalk. For whatever reason, Zic felt a prickle of discomfort on the back of his neck, an unexplainable sixth sense that told him he was being watched. He glanced behind him but didn’t see anything or anyone. He failed to notice, however, that on the other side of the street, a little further back, the large biker that had confronted him in the bar was also climbing onto his own bike. As Zic drove his Harley away into the night, the biker followed him, staying several car lengths back so as not to be spotted. There was a surprising amount of traffic for this time of night, and the biker remained hidden in his pursuit. Zic still felt that tingling sense of unease, however. Even though he was riding along and enjoying the rush of the cool night air on his face, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him. He was approaching a yellow stoplight, hoping to get through it before it turned red. As a cop, he could easily run a red light and not get into any trouble. However, that might attract unwanted attention, should he get pulled over. It was best not to chance it. Sure enough, the light turned red before he made it through the intersection and he was forced to stop. He impatiently idled his engine at the stoplight, eager to resume his journey. While waiting, he turned his head and looked behind him. He could see two cars immediately behind him, and then straining his neck to look further, he noticed a motorcycle with a very large rider further back. He couldn’t be sure in the dark, but it looked an awful lot like the large man from the bar. He tried to turn his head surreptitiously to get a better look at the man. He strained his eyes and squinted. Yes, it was undoubtedly the biker. Was it just a coincidence? Whether it was coincidence or not, Zic thought it was best to err on the side of caution. He needed to shake the man. It was time for some fancy riding. He mulled his options. He really didn’t want to get into any sort of chase situation on a busy street. That wouldn’t be safe for anyone. It was best to adhere to the speed limit and traffic rules. He would just do some tricky maneuvering and make some sudden sharp turns. Although he was new to the force, he wasn’t new to the town and knew its streets like the back of his hand. He would use that to his advantage. Maybe it was simply his imagination, and he wasn’t being followed. Zic really didn’t know. It was hard to tell. He couldn’t afford to blow his cover, however. He really needed to lose the man. I t was now or never. As soon as the light turned green, he sped off down the street. When he got to the first intersection, a road cutting into a residential neighborhood, he made a hard right, gunning his engine as he did so. He sped off in no time flat to the end of the block and then took a sharp left, followed by another right. He glanced back, turning his head to look over his shoulder, while at the same time, endeavoring to keep his bike steady. His heart sank when he realized that his watcher had easily kept up with him. It was time for some even more fancy maneuvering. It was his only option. This time he didn’t telegraph his turn. He was halfway through the next intersection before he jerked the handlebars hard to the ride to turn his motorcycle. The bike tilted precariously towards the ground. He was mere inches away from his head hitting the ground, his nose hairs almost scraping the pavement. It went without saying that he was not wearing a helmet. Harley riding gang members were too cool for safety. Helmets were not their thing, although he would have preferred to wear one. Keeping his fragile noggin in mind, he carefully leaned his body upwards, straining to keep his balance while at the same jerking his wheels up. He continued to gun the engine. Somehow he managed to right himself. He breathed a sigh of relief, noting with satisfaction that his nemesis was further up the street. At the moment, the large man was attempting to make a speedy U turn. A full 180 degree turn was needed to get him back to where Zic was. Zic took advantage of that fact to make another series of wild turns, one right after another. Evil Kneival would be proud . He continued trick riding until he at last found himself winded, but blessedly alone in a distant neighborhood, one that he was surprisingly unfamiliar with. He thought he knew every square inch of town. Nonetheless, he realized with elation that he had successfully shaken his tail. Once he got home, he parked his bike in the garage, taking care that no nosy neighbors could see. He shrugged out of his now sticky black leather jacket and plopped tiredly down in front of his computer. He needed to type out his report while the events of the night were still fresh in his mind. His time at Stay Out had surely proven interesting. He planned on recommending that surveillance be continued at Stay Out and also especially on the large biker. Perhaps even a confrontation with the man, albeit carefully controlled, would be in order. Zic also wanted to run the man’s face through facial recognition software. Somehow, he needed to sneakily take the man’s picture with his cell phone the next time he ventured into Stay Out. He still didn’t know why the man had followed him. Did the biker know Zic was a cop? Was his threat about putting a hit on cops who entered the bar a real one? If so, Zic may have just escaped with his life. Stranger things had been known to happen. Zic took a shaky breath, reliving his wild ride. It was truly amazing to him that he had gotten away from his pursuer and hadn’t crashed his Harley. He was proud of himself for his riding expertise. He was now not only a true Harley aficionado, but also an expert rider, he felt. He had surely earned his status as an ace biker slash cop. One who had risked his life going undercover. Like the sarge had said, be careful what you wish for. Whoever said police work was dull? T hose tired cop jokes of d onuts and coffee be damned. He could hardly wait until his next time at Stay Out, where hopefully he could stay out of danger.


When he had rung the doorbell, he hadn't expected to be greeted by a big white poof of a man, decked out in a red suit and hat. In fact, noticing the expanse of decoration around him, he froze. "Well come in Champ, you'll freeze out there. Though it looks like you already did." The man winked. "Ulysses, you made it! Your sister is in the kitchen." Ah yes, Abby. Maybe she'd have an explanation for why their mother had finally broken and hired a Santa impersonator. Dad had gotten one when they were kids for them and all of their cousins, but they were far from kids anymore. He entered the kitchen to find her mashing a pot of potatoes. He took the masher from her. "Mom really went all out this year, huh?" There was a tree strung with popcorn (though some along the bottom looked to have been nibbled away). There was a manger scene across the mantle, and despite not being lit, he would have had to been blind to not notice the winter wonderland set up outside. That could not be a cheap electric bill. Leaning back against the counter, she inspected the state of the potatoes. "Actually, that was Nick." He stopped mashing. "Nick?" "Mom's new husband. The fat jolly guy that answered the door." Taking the masher back, she tossed it in the sink. When had she gotten married? Sure, he had been across the globe on business trips and hadn't taken the time to check in on his family as much as he should have, but at very least he would had gotten an invitation, yeah? Was he that terrible of a son? "Mom married a Santa impersonator...named Nick?" His sister set a serving dish on the counter, grabbing a spoon. He held the pot up for her. Rather, he did until he processed her response. "They eloped last month. Remember how she said she was going to vacation in Vegas?" Thud went the bowl. He had no time to process it as a dog came running through, headed for the back door. Had there always been a dog flap? He was chased by a small green person that he could only describe as an elf. "What was that?" "Blitzen. Mom has a dog now." "Who was chasing Mom's dog?" Salvaging what she could of the potatoes, she carried the dish to the dining room. He counted the chairs. Five chairs. Somebody was coming for dinner. "Noel. He's Nick's dad." She noticed his confused face. "And before you say anything, he's not an elf. He's a midget." They turned at the sound of winded breathing. Holding onto the collar of Blitzen, he keeled over. "I prefer the term 'little person,' thank you." Nick appeared behind him. Grabbing the spunky dog, he let his suit get covered in hair. Thwack thwack went the tail. "Let's eat. Your mother won't let me touch the cookies until we've had dinner." He gave a hearty laugh. Before digging in, his mother had requested that they all say grace. They hadn't done it in years since Dad had left. There was already ham tucked in his cheek as he joined hands with Noel and his sister, waiting for their eyes to close so he could swallow. At first it was silent, save for the sound of forks scraping across the plates, and Blitzen whimpering for someone to 'accidentally' drop some bits his way. Ulysses, mouth empty, let his thoughts spill out. "You eloped with Santa in Vegas?" His sister choked on a spoonful of corn. "I eloped with Nick, yes. We've both been married before, and we didn't need a big ceremony to prove our love for each other." She placed a hand over her husband's. He shoveled in another spoonful of potatoes to avoid more conversation. It was obvious that his mother was happy, and he did not want to be the one to ruin it. "After dinner, I'd like for you to help decorate the tree. Blitzen ate a bit of the trimmings, but it'll be the most beautiful tree you ever did lay your eyes on. Rockefeller won't hold a candle to it." Nick cleared his plate. Pushing back from the table, he went to grab for a cookie. His mother followed. Abby smacked her brother. "Why are you so fixated on this? So he looks like Santa. He can shave. He can lose weight. Underneath it all, he's a nice guy who makes Mom feel special again. He's not actually Santa." Noel, still haven't left the table, piped up. "Not to burst your bubble, Abby, but my son is Santa. Works a Christmas themed park year round. Even sells his own brand of charcoal for grills. Calls it Naughty Nuggets." "What?" Ulysses chuckled. "So Mom did marry Santa Claus!" "Kids, get out here! Nick wants to decorate the tree before it's too late to go caroling," his mother called. She sounded excited. He missed her being excited. When her husband had left, he had taken all of her spirit with her. Christmas was a hollow exchange of gift cards and Chinese takeout. He had forgotten how good potatoes could taste when they weren't made from a packet of flakes. She set a box of ornaments on the floor, unbending paperclips and handing them off like she used to as they took turns running up to the tree to hang the decorations. "Remember, not too low, or Blitzen will bite the legs right off that gingerbread man." Nick wrapped an arm around their mother, melting into her. Nodding, he moved the ornament higher. When the box emptied, they turned off the living room lights. With a twitch of his nose (and an unseen press of a button), the tree lights came on. Abby's eyes sparkled like a little girl's. "That is...beautiful." Ulysses gawked at the tree, unable to turn away. That is, until his coat was thrown at him. "Let's go, before the storm comes. It's caroling time." Noel tugged a hat on. Now he truly did look like an elf, if you ignored the wrinkles. He picked his coat off the ground. "I don't sing." "Trust me, they won't be focused on you." He thrust a sack into his arms. "You're on toy duty." At every door, they'd sing. They, being everyone who wasn't Ulysses, who found he could mouth along, because Nick had a big enough voice for all of them. The children would gape at the jolly man, and be gifted a present personally, signed from, of course, Santa Clause. When they arrived back home, he realized there were still two boxes left in the bag. Had they not hit all the houses in the neighborhood? He was frozen stiff, and was anticipating the hot chocolate he had been promised. "Did you read the labels?" Nick asked him as they knocked the snow off their boots. "To Abby. To Ulysses. From Santa Clause." "Gotta wait until Christmas to open it." He would have to leave early in the morning to drive back home. It'd be a long trip with curiosity building up inside of him. He felt like a kid at Christmas, waiting for his parents to get up so he could see what Santa brought. "Right now, it's time for the big show." He set the gifts on the foyer table. "Big show?" The couch was too small for five, so he stretched out on the floor with his sister, as Nick hit play. "Every who down in Who-ville liked Christmas a lot..." Honestly, he wasn't in Who-ville, but for the first time in years, he could say the same. He liked Christmas, a lot. There was some sort of strange comfort in being a family again, even if it wasn't with Dad. He was so blissfully comfortable that he didn't even notice he had drifted off, exhausted, until he awoke to find a blanket draped over him, a pillow wedged under his head. Succumbing to the sunbeam, he got up. It was time to go. His parents (that would take some getting used to) left a note saying they had gone to church. They'd be back too late to say goodbye, but evidenced by the lipstick stain on his cheek, his mother already had. He arrived home in the late afternoon to a bleak apartment. It was cold, and he turned on the heat. Settling into the couch, he unraveled the ribbon on his box. "Dear Ulysses," he read, finding a letter inside. "Unlike the real Santa Clause, I'm not the best at giving gifts. But I hope that I made your Christmas magical. I love your mother dearly, and letting her have a perfect Christmas was my gift to her. So he's twenty bucks to get yourself something you want. And a rock, because I had to put some weight in the box. Fooled ya! Merry Christmas, Nick." Best gift ever.


On the morning of September 3rd 1893, I received by urgent letter the news I had waited so long to hear. Christopher - my brother - had done it! After years of failed experimentation, he had finally succeeded in bridging the gap between our world and the fabled 'night-land'. I abandoned my breakfast, and made my way to the laboratory with a swiftness rivalled only by the locomotive. There are no words in all of human language to describe what I saw that day. Using a method known only by him, he had constructed a gateway. We entered together, and beyond the bridge of stars we found what the ancient legends had described. The great library of the night land. Forbidden knowledge from every corner of the cosmos and beyond. Tomes and scrolls of indescribable things, amassed by strange cosmic entities known only as 'Howlers'. Vaporous figureless beings that glided through the air like kites. If only our colleagues could have seen us! The glory that awaited us upon our return to the academy, we could scarcely imagine. The Howlers seemed indifferent to our presence, at least at first. We trekked for miles in complete awe. Upon a parchment I sketched the route we made into the labyrinth, never once failing to remember the location of the gateway. Had I the gift of foresight, I would have insisted we return to the laboratory at once, but Christopher's hunger for knowledge was insatiable. Whilst my focus was set upon a gathering of Howlers, I unknowingly allowed Christopher to wander out of sight. When I realized my folly, it was already too late. My cries were in vain. He could not hear me, or perhaps could not reply. Upon the ground where he once stood I found the ring our father gave to him, but Christopher was gone. To my horror, the Howlers began to follow me. They preyed upon me like a lion stalks a gazelle. I panicked, and in that moment my only desire was the gateway. I ran until my legs burned and my toes bled, all the while blood curdling screams echoed around me. I longed to return for my brother, but my cowardice drove me onwards. I will never forgive myself. With the gateway in sight, I turned a final time. Desperately hoping that Christopher had been with me all along. I was wrong to hope. Only the Howlers followed. Their gnashing teeth and tentacled limbs reached out for me. In my desperation to save myself from the Howlers, I destroyed the gateway upon my exit, and with it, any chance that I might see my brother again. I deeply regret that I abandoned Christopher to the Howlers. I only hope that now, after 20 years, he has finally found rest. I would like to believe it, if not for the torturous thought that keeps me awake every night. For we learned many years ago, that in the ancient legend of the night-land, it is said you cannot die.


As the crimson sun disappears into the large dark clouds and the rain drips down on the green grass and a cave larger than the biggest mountains shows a dark shadow One with large red horns, crystal blue eyes, large red hands threatening to break the stone under and teeth that could break the finest of armor’s. As the beast steps out of the cave's shadow it reveals to be a powerful dragon with scales of crimson and wings as long as the god’s wisdom. Its powerful presence threatens to be larger than anything, as the dragon roars the earth, sky, and sea shake as the dragon stands tall, flaps their wings and flies into the storm clouds its scales turning dark with the rain as it flaps its powerful wings it spots a small village with many homes of straw and dirt. As it slowly makes its way down the townspeople shake in terror at the dreadful and powerful dragon. “Oh, thy great o thy powerful great dragon what shall thee desire,” cries a villager in fear as the dragon walks toward the villager it glares, seeing if they should waste their time with them. The villager is a man of wealth with a balding head and large stomach and a robe with a rope tight around his belly. “Give all forms of arts and music to me now or else,” glares the dragon. As the man sees the dragons eyes, the man quivers in fear as he runs to a wooden shack and brings various instruments from the Viol to the Crumhorn and works of art such as sculptures. The dragon looks down on the objects and throws a large piece of gold. Its long circular and round object rolls to a villager as they examine it. As they look closer they notice it is a precious crown made out of gold with colored rubies around it. “That shall be your payment humans,” says the dragon as it jumps and flaps its strong wings against the ground. It holds its new artifacts carefully to its hoard and realizes there is no more room in its enormous cave as it moves around its treasures but its new additions don’t fit anywhere as it realizes it has no more room they lay down but accidentally breaks a sculpture. “What shall I do?,” roars the dragon as it heads outside and heads to sleep it wakes to the golden sun making its scales warm and bright yellow as it stands it goes back to its cave it sits outside glaring at its hoard it thinks of the various kingdoms it is destroyed and ruined the kings and gods it's toyed with, it begins to feel its first ounce of regret as it flaps its wings and flies up to one of the kingdoms it destroyed it is still attempting to rebuild yet neighboring kingdom’s attack it so as it swoops down its people try to attack the dragon but he glares at the people and they stand down in fear of being stepped upon the dragon’s claws. “If you desire to have your art and music back come to the mountain cave north from here and i shall give it back,” as the dragon flaps its wings to fly again a child walks to them. “Sir are you really going to give us back our music?Thank you sir,” smiles the child as she gives them their teddy bear. “my gratitude but I am not a sir good day small child,” says the dragons as they fly across the skies to the village they went to the last night as they swoop down the villagers quiver in fear he tells them to go the north mountain cave and they will receive their treasures back and they repeat the same process until they get to the final kingdom and the dragon sits and roars “come to the north mountain behind the cave if you desire your treasures back” as the dragon jumps up, it soars across the sky’s and heads back home waiting and the first kingdom comes and the dragon gives the treasures from that kingdom back to them and so he tells them to go back home and he does this until he has only one kingdom left as the dragon begins to not want to give it back the king says. “You told us to go behind why,” says the king “Your people have never done anything wrong yet i destroyed it forgive me yet i don’t desire to give anything back,” and so the king replies “Give us only the necessary gold and our arts you may keep the gold,instruments and art of your choosing,” So the dragon keeps a sculpture, an instrument, and the bear the child gave away without any regret and so the dragon falls asleep unknowing if they did the right or wrong thing. As it takes all the gold it didn’t give back it throws the gold and spreads it all across the big blue sky and when it begins to rain the golden rain begins as people head out they think they might be hit but not a single piece of gold harms a person. As the dragon falls asleep it smiles thinking to itself how it could help many people make others smile once more. As it stands back up it flies once more and makes more gold and as the gold falls everyone sits in their homes waiting to get their piece of gold hoping they will get rich but those rich dreams have become a shortcoming when the villager with a balding head comes and attempts to take all the gold for himself so the dragon swoops down and roars. “You desire to take away their happiness so take your precious gold and rot,” as a large golden bell falls above him and it chimes three times the golden rain stops and so the dragon now sleeps in its cave in hopes of a new hoard but the people of the village still celebrate them to this day for the dragon who helps them all sleep well dragon.


“You’ll be alone for the rest of your life!” Todd departed from Natalie’s world with the slam of the front door. She gripped her forehead and attempted to scrub away the last 5 years of her existence. How had she ignored the red flags for this long? Todd wasn’t worth a moment more of her headspace. She evicted him with a final tear. Natalie Romance figured her ancestors had cursed themselves in the love department by continuing on with such a mushy last name. If she’d been born a “Jones” or “Carter”, maybe she would’ve stood a chance at finding her “happily-ever-after”. She tossed herself backwards, burying her face in the pillow. Why had she decided to break up with Todd on Christmas Eve? She would have to return his present. It wouldn’t be today though. She had 50 minutes before she had to be at work. What horrible timing this was, but it was his fault, not hers. The final straw had come when she had seen him flirting with what’s-her-name at the coffee shop yesterday morning! Not any ole coffee shop. NATALIE’S coffee shop. She didn’t actually own it, but the guy who did, Eric, joked she came in often enough to at least have stock in it. And this is something Todd ought to have known. He probably did it on purpose, to rub it in her face. So many red flags. She half-growled, half-screamed into her pillow. Enough! She jerked herself upright and threw open her closet door. A power suit. Yes, that’s what she needed to tackle this day. She would have the rest of the week off, so she’d invest everything she had into this work day. The apple red blouse had ribbing along the side, enhancing her fit figure. The pencil skirt had enough give to be respectable. The grey pumps offered her 5’2” height the boost it lacked. She refused to change her routine. Eric had been privy to the beginning of the end of her sad relationship, but he had her coffee. She would not cower from her favorite spot and friendly banter with Eric because of an insensitive ex-boyfriend. “What’s happen’, Natalin?” Eric’s beaming smile greeted her. Natalie chuckled under her breath. He had misheard her name the first time she had come here. She’d corrected him, but somehow it had stuck as their inside joke. “Nothing much, but make my regular a venti, please.” Her cheeks reddened ever so slightly. Her mind couldn’t revisit the subject so soon. “Don’t ask. Don’t bring it up.” She silently pleaded. Thankfully, Eric seemed to be a mind-reader and kept their conversation light and airy. She appreciated that about Eric. He had the ability to keep topics flowing without a hint of awkwardness. That was probably the reason he had been able to get her to open up to him on so many occasions. He knew almost everything about her by this point. Her ruminations were interrupted when he threw her a curveball. “Hey, listen, after you get off, you mind coming back around 7:00p.m.? It’s my night to run the leftover food to the shelter. I would love for you to join me! It never fails to bless me more than the hungry people, especially around the Christmas season.” “Oh, sure!” Eric’s contribution to the shelter was legendary throughout the town. It’s why Natalie had started coming in the first place. It touched her how much he gave to the needy. “I’ll catch ya later then!” Natalie hardly glanced up on her way to the newsstand. Her feet guided her without assistance, following her habitual path. Her journalistic nature would not allow her to enter the news building without taking a look at the competition’s headlines for the day. Banner had learned to expect her and kept a fresh paper to the side for her. She appreciated his thoughtful personality, especially on this unforgiving day of hers. “Natalie! You’re looking great! How ya doin’?” Banner’s call rang out above the commuters rushing around her. “I’m here, Banner. That’s about it. How are you?” Natalie smiled at the simple joy shining from his eyes. She had never seen him angry or frustrated. How refreshing he was! “Things are good! I closed on that office space! I’m hitting the big time!” She laughed. “You’re not gonna forget us little people once you’re rich and famous, right?” “Natalie, I could never forget you.” His features sobered so quickly, she had to blink twice at him to catch up. “In fact, I want to show you the new place. You want to stop by on your walk home? It’s right around the corner, and I could give you a tour!” Surprised though she was, she would never turn down Banner’s invite. His friendly compassion had soothed her on more than one occasion. “I would love to! As long as I’m done by 5:30, I should be good!” “Oh, got a ...um... hot date with Eric?” Banner’s eyes had clouded over, and Natalie could no longer see his inner beauty. What was this about? She drew in a deep breath. “No, actually, we’re no longer together.” The grin which stretched across Banner’s face shocked Natalie a little, but she ignored it. His gushing “see ya later!” followed her along the sidewalk. As she entered the front doors of the building, the receptionist called her name to pass along her messages. Natalie scanned them as she hurried to the elevators. She needed to talk to Anthony, her boss, before returning any calls. He had an annoying habit of forgetting time-off, and she wanted to remind him of her 5-day vacation starting tomorrow. Obliviously, Natalie entered the opening elevator doors, only to bowl over Roger. “Whoa! I’m so sorry!” She hastened to remove her hands from his well-formed chest, fingers tingling. Roger righted his dripping coffee cup. “Hey, it’s alright! I still got some left in the cup. I’ll survive.” He regarded her intently. “Usually, you’re gone when I leave for work, but you were home this morning. Are you ok? You look a little down.” Roger had been the first person Natalie had met upon moving into her apartment complex. He lived next door, and nothing seemed to get past him. Maybe it was because he was a photographer. “Thanks for asking, Roger.” Might as well rip the band aid off. He would notice the lack of Eric soon enough. She sighed. “Eric and I broke up.” “Well, it’s about time!” Roger exclaimed. Natalie gasped. “What??” “He was a jerk. He never remembered your birthday, and I sensed a passive aggressiveness to him that made me want to punch him in between the eyes.” Roger’s fists flexed. Natalie’s eyes rounded. It wasn’t the size of Roger’s body-builder biceps which caused her to take a step back but his overwhelming protectiveness which underlined every word he spoke. What a kind neighbor she had! “Thanks for that, Roger. It’s nice to be looked after.” “There’s more where that came from. I’ll see ya around, ok? I gotta bring more pictures to Anthony. He’s hired me full-time for y’all’s paper. That makes five contracts I've added to my portfolio this week alone! Business is soaring!” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be around, Shorty.” Natalie worked to put indignation into her response. “Good for you, Goliath!” But a secret smile filled her face at his familiar farewell. The top floor opened to reveal Anthony’s receptionist who announced her via speakerphone. Anthony’s disembodied voice boomed back, telling her to enter. Before she could speak, Anthony took over. He hustled around to plant her in a leather seat in front of his massive oak desk. “Just the girl I wanted to see!“ Natalie brushed away the bristle forming from his egotistical greeting. “Morning, Anthony. I’m just here to...” He didn’t even pause. “Have I ever told you how much you mean to this company? We’re growing! We’re going places. I’m glad to have you by my side. When we take over The Generation newspaper in this town, I’m taking you with me. We’re going to be bigger than ever! There’s no stopping us now!” As Anthony took a breath, Natalie attempted to interrupt his flow, but it was hopeless. “Yes, but I’m only wanting to...” “Nothing’s holding me back. But, there is something you can assist me with... I have yet to establish myself as a traditional family man. I’ve come to realize the people of this town take that seriously. If I’m to advance up the ladder of fame and prominence, I'm gonna need to change a few things. This is where you come in.” His gaze halted her to stillness. Her inner monologue took up a chant. “Please, don’t. Please, don’t.” “I don’t want you by my side simply for the paper.“ He strung her along in suspense as he held her captive with his blue eyes. “I want you by me for life. Say you’ll do it. Say you’ll be my bride! Renown and prestige await you!” His self-satisfied smirk sickened her. She had to strategize. How to get out of this and keep her job? Anthony was a great boss, but a life partner? Absolutely not. He had never asked about her likes or dislikes. Every group outing for team building activities inevitably ended with Anthony being the center of attention. She couldn’t do it. A brilliant lightbulb pinged through her brain. “Anthony, I thought you knew... I’ve been trying to set you up with Betsy from accounting for months! She’s over the moon for you and has just the go-getter spirit which would support your endeavors. She’s got a squeaky-clean background. No skeletons for other press members to dig up. I hear her cooking is great too! A far cry better than my own! Betsy’s the one you want, sir!” Natalie hoped she was portraying innocence. “No way! Is that true? Betsy. Hmm.” He mulled it over as if it were a potential front-page runner. “I can see it. Good point, Natalie! Now, what are you still doing here? Don’t you have an article to write for me?” True to form, Anthony spun it around to appear like the idea had come from him. Natalie didn’t mind. The pressure was off her, and Betsy truly was infatuated with Anthony. Maybe, this was a perfect match! “I did want to remind you about my 5-day PTO starting tomorrow.” She slipped it in as she rose to exit. “Of course! Take all the time you need. I’ll send ya a wedding invite when the time comes.” He winked at her. Natalie stifled the urge to roll her eyes. Jumping back into the elevator, she mentally reviewed her lineup of eyewitness accounts which she had scheduled. An 80-year-old woman was coming in an hour to give her the scoop on a knitting scam. A seven-year-old was coming by with his mom around 11:00a.m. to share about his charity creation. Then at 2:00p.m., Wayne would be bringing his weekly predictions on the mayor’s race. She had told him more than once, he could just email her, but he never took her up on that. Their conversations tended to last an hour. She couldn’t understand her inability to resist the man. He always arrived with a small gift which never ceased to amaze her at the relativity of it. He brought her exactly what she needed without her even recognizing her desire for said object. A pencil sharpener for her desk made her life more convenient. A purse with a built-in phone charger prevented her from having to chase after outlets. She smiled and wondered what Wayne would bring today. Natalie’s non-stop responsibilities came to a screeching halt when two hands descended over her eyes. “Guess who!!” Her subconscious immediately recognized the deep bass. “Wayne! I know that’s you!” “Hey, Darlin’, so good to see you!” Wayne leaned over for a hug. “Got ya something!” Natalie chuckled. “Can’t wait ‘til the end of the interview today, huh?” “No,” Wayne’s somber answer caused her to focus on the square package in his grasp. “No, Natalie. I don’t think I can wait one more second.” Her heart beat at a staccato rate as she took the tiny box from him. She ripped the packaging off to reveal black velvet beneath. Natalie was dumbfounded. Wayne took it and flipped it open. The sparkling diamond arrested her attention. What was happening? He presented it to her. “Will you... marry me? I’ve...” “Wayne, stop!” She couldn’t let him continue. “I don’t understand where this is coming from. Are you aware I’ve been in a relationship for the past five years?” She couldn’t help the exasperation seeping into her voice. He had never genuinely talked to her about anything deep. He must think he understood her, but Wayne was completely off base. “But do you love that guy? I bet not. I’ve been right here, buying ya stuff, making you laugh. I’ve been a distraction, haven’t I? That guy isn’t me, so I know he isn’t the one for you! Give me a chance!” Wayne grabbed her hand. Natalie stuffed her annoyance and spoke gently. “The answer is no. I believe it would be best if you email me the predictions this time. We can both take a breather from this conversation.” She glanced around. Fortunately, no one had noticed. She didn’t wish to embarrass the man. Wayne lurched away, clutching the tiny, black box to his chest. “Alright, Darlin’, but I’ll be asking again. I don’t give up that easily.” “I’d really rather you didn’t.” Natalie said firmly. “We aren’t a good fit. I’ll email you about work-related stuff. That’s it. Bye, Wayne.” Her afternoon passed with a blurry speed, leaving her winded. How had she ended a relationship and received two proposals in the span of 8 hours? At least, she had the meeting with Banner. Spending time with a buddy would balance out her emotional distress. She left by 4:55p.m. and trotted toward Banner’s newsstand. Having closed up his shop, he proffered his arm and led her down the block and around a corner. “Here we are, my good lady.” Banner popped his keys in the lock and held the door for her. “Wow, this is fantastic! Thanks for giving me the chance at first glance!” She spun to get the full effect. However, the sight behind her paralyzed her. This could not be happening again. Was she dreaming? Banner was down on one knee, ring box in hand. “Natalie, I feel like I finally have something to offer you. With Todd out of the picture, I can begin to express my innermost feelings to you. I love you. Please, will you do me the honor of...” “No, no, no! Banner, please get up.” Natalie clutched her brow in horror. “I can’t lose you as a friend. I simply can’t take that today. You are a constant in my life, and I treasure your kindness. Don’t finish that proposal if you care about me at all. Keep searching for your dream girl.” Banner bowed his head for a moment. His eyes sparkled with unshed tears when he pierced her with his green-eyed stare. “Ok, Natalie. I’m crushed, but I’ll try to do what you say. I’ll look forward to seeing you after your vacation.” He never rose, but his defeated crouch remained in Natalie’s vision as she fled the premises. Her cheeks were wet when she reached Eric’s coffee shop. She scrubbed her face and knocked. He shouted a hello and jogged to the locked entrance. “Come on. I’m loading my car through the exit in the rear. You can help!” The lugging and tugging of packed food seemed so ordinary Natalie began to relax. Surely, her night would be boring. She needed boring right now. “That’ll do it!” Eric stepped aside as she tossed the last bag into his trunk, slamming it shut after her deposit. He pivoted towards her and ran his hands up and down her arms. “I appreciate you doing this with me. You know, Natalin, you deserve to be adored. I’ve been thinking... we’d make a great match. What say we get ourselves hitched? Something quick. Courthouse wedding sound good? I’d love for you to be my wife.” Natalie clung to his coat lapels out of pure survival instinct. What had become of her life? Should she accept? He treated her right and didn’t try to change her. But no, she couldn’t. She wanted more. She wanted sparks. “I’m sorry, Eric. I can’t. I’ve got to go.” She ran as if a fiery chariot pursued her. She was sobbing as she attempted to insert her key into her locked front door. Before she succeeded, another door opened behind her. She felt the electrical current which preceded Roger announcing himself. He simply placed his hands on her shoulders. “Allow me.” He took her keys and let her into her own apartment. “Come here.” He bundled her against him on the couch, wrapped in a huge, fluffy blanket. “Short stuff, I hate you like this. Tell me about it?” Her entire day spilled out between sobs. “And really, Roger, if I had dreamed of anyone proposing, it would’ve been you!” She sucked in a breath, fully realizing what she had confessed. She loved him. She saw it now. Why had she wasted so many years? He swallowed. She peered up at him in fear of his rejection. He cleared his throat. “Shorty, I’ve been carrying something around with me since before you began dating Todd. When you did, I tried to forget about my plan, but I couldn’t.” Holding her tight with one arm, he fished something from his pocket with the other. Natalie knew what it was before she saw it. This time, she would say yes with all her heart!


Like every day, Dylan arrived with plenty of time to spare. He had been following the same routine every day for twenty-three years, and up until this point there hadn’t been a single day he’d arrived later than he proposed. He had followed the usual route from his home to the office: first he had taken a coffee in his café of choice; once he had finished, he passed by the newsstand to get the newspaper and from there, he had begun walking in a calm pace towards his office. Twenty-five minutes later, precisely fifteen minutes before his shift begun, he was going through the entrance door of the incredibly high skyscraper in which his office was. He greeted the receptionist with a slight nod and continued through the main hall towards the line of eight elevators that were arranged to move throughout the entire height of the building. He went into the first available elevator, introduced his key to unlock the access of the highest floors, and pressed the button of the last floor, where his office was. One hundred and eighty-five stories. The doors closed behind him and the elevator started to ascend. The elevator was a cubicle no wider than two meters and around three meters in length, with a very long panel in the left wall in which the buttons for every one of the floors were installed. In front of the door, as usual in many elevators, there was a big mirror that went from waist-height until the ceiling. In the wall on the right there was a vertically oriented screen that showed a clock, a little area with meteorological information and a section devoted to showing ads. Dylan closed his eyes. The trip in the elevator was one of the few moments of the day in which he had enough time to relax. The screen flickered quickly, although Dylan didn’t notice, and the faint ambient music that was playing suddenly stopped. “Dylan,” a voice said. Dylan turned to face the screen, where the voice originated, and saw that the information and the ads had disappeared, and that in their place there was a face that didn’t cause him any impression, of a man around his fifties. “One hundred and forty-nine floors,” the voice continued. “Tick, tock. Tick, tock.” Dylan turned to face the control panel of the elevator and, after a quick calculation, realized that, indeed, he was in the thirty-sixth floor and, as a result, one hundred and forty-nine floors remained to reach his office. “One hundred and forty-eight.” The voice seemed to come from behind the screen, while the music that had been playing just a few seconds before came from the speakers installed in the ceiling of the elevator. “What the fuck is going on?” Dylan asked, slightly scared, but intrigued at the same time, while he turned around again to face the screen. “One hundred and forty-five,” a different voice from the first one said a few moments later, at the same time as the face on the screen changed to that of a young woman. “You are getting closer to your destination, Dylan.” With his nerves cracking, Dylan acted by instinct. He pressed the elevator’s emergency button, which should suddenly stop the elevator and open the doors. But nothing happened. “One hundred and forty-four,” a different voice said, this time of an elderly woman. The voice changed at the same time as the faces shown on the screen were changing. *Why doesn’t her voice come out of the elevator speakers?*, Dylan thought, attempting to analyze the situation as calmly as possible. He saw a little tab on the right side of the screen. He pulled it and the screen moved to its side, leaving a small hole on sight in which there was a speaker, a paper note with some numbers, *78-36, 43-21, 3-15, 32-2*, and a device with an alphanumerical keyboard connected to what looked like... Two dynamite cartridges? “Fuck,” Dylan muttered. Dylan tried to stay calm. What were those numbers? If he had any chance of surviving, he supposed those numbers would be the key to it. As a result, he tried to introduce the numbers on the note in the alphanumerical keyboard. “Wrong. Sequence,” a robotic voice said through the same speaker. “Did you truly believe it would be so easy?” the voice, which was human again, said. “One hundred and one.” The elevator was going up quickly. The day-to-day perception made the trip seem very long, but with the heart beating so fast time seemed to pass by much quicker. The answer had to be in the numbers. Or maybe it was a distraction? No, it had to be in the numbers. *Of course! The number pairs are all lower than one hundred and eighty-five. They must be pairs of floors*, Dylan thought, while he began to press the elevator buttons two at a time. Nothing happened. “I’m such an idiot,” he grunted. “I must input something in the keyboard I found behind the screen.” “Sixty-five,” another voice continued, this time of a kid around eleven years old. “Why don’t you like to play with me anymore?” That last voice... That last one wasn’t completely unknown. Or was it? He tried to concentrate on what mattered the most in that moment: only sixty-five floors remained until his inevitable death arrived. He couldn’t think in trifles, he had to focus on what mattered the most. What mattered the most. Dylan lived for his work. How didn’t he think about that in the first place. Clearly the situation in which he found himself had to be some kind of vengeance of something from work. “Who can have so much resentment toward me?” Dylan thought aloud. If he managed to find that answer, he was sure he would know what he needed to write in order to stop what was happening. He begun to think in events which had happened recently at work. That time he promised to his superiors to have the slides ready for a week earlier, but that he couldn’t deliver until one day after the due date. That had been a disaster, but not so much as to justify what was happening. *No. It can’t be that*. Or perhaps... Could that be possible? It was true he had been pushing his subordinates for a while with persistence, but had he pushed them that hard? Could that be so serious as to arrive at that point? He thought of the employee who was just under his level. He was the one that had received more pressure from him. If it had to be someone, it had to be him. “Peter McKinsey,” Dylan muttered while he wrote the name on the terminal. “Wrong. Sequence.” The robotic voice reverberated throughout the little cubicle. “Forty-three,” said this time the voice of a woman who should have around his age. That voice brought him memories. But he didn’t have time to stop and try to distinguish the voices that were speaking. “Fuck!” Dylan exclaimed while he channeled all his rage in the shape of a blow with his fists against the elevator’s mirror. The mirror shattered and fell into pieces, leaving a note visible behind. *It’s a pity you know to the minute in which time of day you live, but you don’t even know which day it is today*. “Thirty-five.” What did that note mean? What day was it? He pulled out the newspaper he bought less than half an hour before to look at the date. *20/01/2021*. He didn’t think that would be the answer, given that it had nothing to do with the pairs of numbers of the first note, but he tried anyway. “Wrong. Sequence,” the robotic voice said again. “Twenty-two floors,” continued the voice of the same woman who had been indicating him how many floors were left since a few moments ago. “So organized for everything and you can’t think of anything else?” And then he had a revelation. The newspaper. He glanced at the note with the numbers. *78-36, 43-21, 3-15, 32-2*. He opened the newspaper as quickly as he could at page seventy-eight and started to count words until he arrived to word number thirty-six. *Dylan*. He followed the same procedure with the remaining number pairs. *We*. “Fifteen floors, Dylan. Tick, tock.” *Miss*. “Twelve.” *You*. “Ten.” *Dylan, we miss you*. The words echoed in Dylan’s mind, when suddenly he remembered the voice of that kid that had sounded through the speaker so many floors before. Could he be... His son. Then he began to identify all the voices that had been sounding, all the faces that had spoken. His brother, his older daughter, his mother, his little son and finally... *My wife*..., Dylan thought. Always worried about work, it wasn’t uncommon that Dylan would leave his family aside on many occasions. It had been years since he had spoken with his brother. Months without calling his mother. Weeks knowing nothing about his daughter. Days he didn’t kiss his son good night. His wife. Finally, he remembered. That day it was his wedding anniversary. With a tear in his cheek, Dylan realized that the password that would save him couldn’t be the anniversary date, given that he had already tried it before. “Three floors,” his wife’s voice reverberated, louder than any of the other voices, with a sad touch to her voice, as if she was crying. “I’m sorry,” Dylan whispered. “Two.” “I’m sorry!” Dylan exclaimed, with his eyes filled with tears. “One,” whispered the voice of his wife through that speaker. “Good bye, Dylan.” And as quickly as he could, Dylan typed into the terminal: *I’m sorry*. The elevator music began to play again and a bell sound played. “You have reached your destination,” said the usual elevator voice.


I woke up at the sound of the crashing of the door as it opens. Wakefulness floods in as I examine the surroundings that I am so familiar with. The same box that I have been in for all of this time is what greets me. They say that life is change but this box has never looked any different in these twenty years. They worry about my security at night so they close it up and make sure that no one can come in. It really is truly thoughtful of them. I rise up and head out down the stairs to start at the breakfast. It’s the usual meal. I like it because they say it’s good for me and it is always similar in consistency as well as mild in flavor. My friends are all there already and we give each other grunts of acknowledgment. They put us all in the same clothing. The same material and color all for twenty years they tell me. My memory is starting to go. The doctors tell me that I have some form of Dementia and that many years ago I hurt someone and ended their life and now my fate is to live this way until the day that my life as well is extinguished. I told them that I am truly sorry for what they say that I did and I’m sure it was not nice of me but I’d be grateful if they allowed me to leave today. Every day they say, ‘No’.


Looking out the window into the night, I see the empty sky. The stars have forgotten to come out tonight, and it leaves the blackness wanting to have that little bit of light that it will never get. I decide that 10 p.m. is as good as ever to begin. I roll Hamilton, shove him into my nostril, and inhale the long white line. Pain, for a moment, and then bliss. My head feels light and I sit up, eyes wide. I think I am in my room, but the walls are floating up and out of sight to reveal an endless black chasm. My bed stays under me, and I feel like I too am floating, but only the walls look like they are gone. The fuzzy carpet tickles my feet, until it melts away into a liquid that pours like a beige waterfall. Out of the blackness, a face flies at me with pure white light for eyes, screaming. I scream in response until I notice it is my own face attacking me. It hits me and with a rush of terror, I fall back, but my bed has shattered into millions of tiny shards. I fall, never landing, and never ending. I float through happy times that make me glad I was sober. The home run when I was fifteen; the clock I made in shop class; the birth of my first child. Then I crash through the sad times, the ones that make me give up my winning streak. The time I got mad and punched the referee who said I was cheating; when my father hit me for getting a B on my shop project; the death of my first child. I see his eyes, full of hope and joy for a brief moment, until I’m thrust into the future. His eyes, dull and full of wasted dreams. A hand on my shoulder conveys grief. “He looks nice in a suit.” “The colour really compliments the mahogany.” He wears his favorite baseball cap to cover his scar from where the car hit him. This seems unfamiliar to me. The image of my son is pierced by a blinding light, and I hear a horn honk. It is 7 in the morning, and I am naked in the middle of the freeway. I am standing there, blank expression, nose bleeding. I snap back to reality, and see my car. Great, I drove last night. I can’t believe myself. I walk over to the car and see a dent in the front, with a red spatter. The windshield is cracked. I get in and drive home. As I pull up, I see red and blue flashing lights. The sirens pierce my ears, even from inside the car. I can’t get into my driveway; there are police cars and an ambulance in the way. I stop next to my driveway, and get out of the car. I hear crying; my wife’s. The last thing I see before I feel the cold metal rings around my wrists is my son lying on the pavement, backpack on, ready for his first day at school, head split at the top, blood leaking out and into the gutter at the end of the driveway, and my wife holding his hand screaming at me. From behind me, I hear “You have the right to remain silent.


TV sets are turned on. Sunday “Breaking News. This is Aspen Woods reporting for HVVM Channel, your channel. Although this year’s drought has been increased by the global climate change, authorities found the cause for this year’s wildfire in California: experts concluded it was detonated by a match... Believe it or not, after many laborious hours of investigation, specialists from the California Fire Department claimed to follow a firing track, as they called it, to an area by the roadside, where they found the remains of a match, probably from a smoker who drove through the area...” Monday “Breaking News. This is Aspen Woods reporting for HVVM Channel, your channel. A woman was found dead in her luxurious apartment in Beverly Hills, LA. The LA Police Department believes she was murdered by her girlfriend who ran away from the crime scene. Police officers found the crime weapon, a wooden baseball bat, full of the girlfriend’s fingerprints and blood. They suspect the victim had changed her life insurance beneficiary, from her mother’s into her girlfriend’s information...” Tuesday “Breaking News. This is Aspen Woods reporting for HVVM Channel, your channel. At this round wooden table, you can see, the 3 top arms-producing companies’ CEOs just signed the contract to produce any type of weapons our armed forces may require, from a simple gun to mass destruction weapons...” Wednesday “Breaking News. This is Aspen Woods reporting for HVVM Channel, your channel. Neighbors of Sun Valley’s friendly community are shocked by the accident a retired language teacher suffered. Witnesses said this beloved teacher fell from a wooden ladder while he was repairing the roof of his house; unfortunately, the educator broke his neck. Thus, when the ambulance EMTs and firefighters arrived, nothing could be done. Neighbors explained the retired teacher was known as a model citizen who was always helping everyone in this community and his good deeds won over their hearts...” Thursday “Breaking News. This is Aspen Woods reporting for HVVM Channel, your channel. As you can see, the ambulance EMTs are taking the body of mister Eladio Miller who drastically ended his own life. Police officers asseverated the incident was a suicide due to the fact they found an extremely emotional suicide note inside an old wooden chest box on his studio desk. The note explained all the hard times Mr. Miller had lived and suffered recently. A real series of unfortunate events! He lost everything that matters in a person’s life: his mother, who died of cancer; his wife, who was killed in a traffic accident by a drunk driver while she was jogging; both incidents affected, deeply, Mr. Miller’s ability to work, so he was fired, and, having no incomes to pay the mortgage, he also lost his house (a written notice to vacate was given to him). And that was the straw that broke the camel’s back!” Friday “Breaking News. This is Aspen Woods reporting for HVVM Channel, your channel. Four children were found inside of what appears to be a wooden cage. A neighbor, who wishes to keep his identity a secret, called 911 to report the case that took place in the backyard of a quiet old house in Playa del Rey. The youngsters seemed to be malnourished. Authorities also suspect the kids were being mistreated since they found some bruising from blows to the body and head. Now, detectives are trying to clarify the reasons why these children were captive; and, if there is a criminal organization involved...” Saturday “Breaking News. This is Aspen Woods reporting for HVVM Channel, your channel. A mother and her baby were living in a wooden box in O’Melveny Park. This young woman was a single mother who left home because her parents wanted her to give her child up for adoption. The young mother explained she belongs to a wealthy and influential family; however, she was determined to have and raise her healthy baby. For the last week, the single mother was eating ‘whatever was around’, as she said, to be ‘strong enough’ to feed her baby. The woman and the child were found by...” Somewhere in a tropical country a couple of months ago. “Breaking News. Indigenous people, Green Peace activists, and many other Mother Nature lovers are protesting in our Capital City against what they consider to be the biggest crime ever. The demonstrators claim the Government is allowing multinational companies to cut down all trees in protected areas. The last indiscriminate tree-cutting took place in an indigenous reservation. The same large section of the reservation was destroyed 30 years ago by a foreign company; those enemies of the planet only left a giant tree standing on that occasion. Consequently, the ancient tree became a symbol for the tribe and the rest of the indigenous citizens, activists, and country. New trees were born in the devastated area and, after 30 years, the secondary forest recovered its majestic appearance. Nevertheless, certain humans never quit doing bad deeds, and they have become experts on evil. Once again, all these new trees of this secondary forest were cut down, including the Giant Tree. Moreover, all the wood was exported to build matches, baseball bats, tables, ladders, chests, construction materials, and boxes, among others. The demonstrators cannot believe that the natural bond was broken. Their message is clear and direct: trees were made by the Creator, Pachamama, or the Great Spirit, to provide a home for insects, birds, reptiles, and mammals; a place to breed new life; a refuge to humans, especially indigenous people; food; oxygen for all creatures to breathe; beauty for your eyes; a natural barrier to reduce the amount of stormwater runoff or flooding; a playground for kids, some income from tourist activities, a reduction of the cooling costs if trees are well placed; a windbreak; an increment of the value of a well-landscaped home, an extra beauty to your community; a traffic calming effect as tree-lined streets, a natural screen to unwanted views or noise; a complement to architecture; a patient’s health recovery (just by watching a tree through the hospital windows); a living memorial of loved ones... and the final argument: the fact that trees are living beings and they have the natural right to exist...” TV sets are turned off.


He threw the cup into the fireplace and before it hit the coals he had turned again to continue his pacing, unmindful of the sudden flare of brandy in the flickering flames. “Damn the man,” he repeated. “You say he was not at the meeting place as arranged. How long did you wait?” he snapped at the figure standing petrified before him in the gloomy study, looking to all the world as if he would rather be seated before his trembling knees gave way beneath him. “A very long time, Your Grace. I could wait no longer as the fog was getting thicker by the minute. It were all I could do to find my way home as it were, Sir.” Sir Matthew recovered himself and realised there was no point in venting his anger on the manservant. “Take yourself to the fire while I ponder the matter. It must have been cold outside.” “Aye, Sir, that it was. Thank you, Sir.” The man moved towards the fireplace and supplicated his palms to the warm glow. Sir Matthew strode to the large desk that dominated the room and sitting himself down he pulled open a drawer. Taking out an ornate wooden box, he placed it on the polished inlaid leather before him. A coat-of-arms adorned its top; a shield bearing a motif of crossed broadswords and the inscription “Honour before Glory”. Swinging open the heavy lid, he leafed through the papers inside and pulled out a beige vellum envelope that bore his name in a familiar script - Sir Matthew Sheridan, Marquis of Bath. Reading the letter for what must have been the tenth time was totally unnecessary. The words were indelibly burned upon his mind, but it gave him a chance to ponder the actions he must now take. The final line is the key. “I did what I could, Matthew, to bring Mary back with me but I have failed, and I cannot live with the shame of what I have done, or caused to be done, and you may think on me no more, neither as a brother, nor even as a man.” He put the letter down and, even though the air was still, he automatically secured it with a quartz crystal paperweight, at the same time rising to renew his pacing. The young fool had taken the whole matter far too seriously. Mary had left of her own accord, of that there was no doubt. Mark’s unthinking remark calling her “an old maid fit for naught but embroidery and lace” had not been meant for her ears, but hear it she did, none the less. It had spurred her to take the coach to Bristol and there to seek out the man who had once asked for her hand. The fellow was no good, seeking only to lay his hands on the fortune Mary might bring with her, and he had rightly sent the villain on his way. Sir Matthew cursed again under his breath. It had been over a week now that Mark had gone after her. No word was heard from him until the letter arrived two days ago. The news was not good. In words that seemed hastily written, Mark explained that he had located Mary and her lover in a seedy dockland tavern. Mark and the man had exchanged angry words and then - Sir Matthew clenched his right fist at the thought - then Mark had drawn his pistol and shot the fellow. The man had been popular and there were enough witnesses to the murder that even Mary could not have saved her brother from the vengeance of the mob. Mark’s escape was only secured due to his victim regaining consciousness for a few moments. It was long enough for Mark to take advantage of the distraction, and time also for the man to breathe his last in Mary’s arms. Sir Matthew slammed the clenched fist into his palm. The hot-headed young fool! But why had he not been at the rendezvous? The bag of guineas Oliver was to hand him would have seen him safely to the Americas and a reasonable life, at least until it was safe to return. A sob from the fireplace startled Sir Matthew out of his reverie. The lackey had sunk to his knees and held his face in his hands. “Oliver, what is it man? What troubles you? Is there something about this matter you have not divulged?” The servant looked up at his master, all but wishing the hearth would open and swallow him. “There is, Sir, there is.” Then he broke down sobbing again. Sir Matthew suppressed a desire to drag the man to his feet and shake the truth out of him. Instead, he watched the face highlighted by the fire’s glow distorted by the sobs and waited for Oliver to get a grip on himself. The sobbing subsided at last, and Oliver managed a stammer. “It were the fog, Sir. Quite thick it were. Then it cleared for a moment as the sun fought its way through and what I saw made my blood run even colder than it were already.” “What did you see man? Tell me at once,” Sir Matthew demanded. “There were a man, Sir. Hanging from a lamppost by the bridge. I could...I could swear it were the young master. I couldn’t look no more, Sir. I ran all the way home, fast as the bag of coin I carried would let me.” Sir Matthew sank to the chair behind the desk, his face a mask as he watched the flickering glint of firelight inside the crystal for a few moments. Taking the letter from under it, he tucked it into the envelope and tossed it back in the box. As the lid snapped shut, his eyes fell upon the family motto. He stared at it for a long while. Recovered now, Oliver dutifully put some more coals on the fire. He lit a lamp and drew the curtains across the window as the light faded and the day finally gave way to night.


It was 2:25 AM I sat at my laptop aimlessly scrolling as the minutes dragged by. Only 3 more hours left until I needed to start getting ready for a long day of work. I leaned back in my chair and cracked my neck. As I heard the tension being released from in-between my vertebras with a few satisfying pops I contemplated crawling into my bed and calling it a night, but my over stimulated brain was still rushing after several hours of scrolling through endless tweets, half reading reddit posts, and hitting the next recommended videos on YouTube. I eventually found myself in the deadly cycle of switching between the home page and the inbox page on Facebook. I reached across the table and took a long swig of my now-flat Pepsi than lurched as I felt a trickle running down my chin and onto my exposed keyboard. Quickly using the sleeve of my hoodie I frantically wiped off the keys that the sugary liquid splashed onto. I cursed under my breath. “I really need to stop snacking at my computer,” I thought to myself as I observed the many crumbs scattered between the keys. I pulled my sleeve up over my thumb and dabbed it twice onto my tongue and began to scrub in between the keys. Don’t judge me! I'm sure you have done it too. After looking over my somewhat cleaner keyboard with satisfaction I looked back onto the screen. A massive jumble of letters were strewn across the google search bar as the result of my late night keyboard scrubbing session. I briefly considered googling my own name for the third time that night but then decided that those 3 hours of sleep might be just enough to get me through my next 8 hour shift. As I was about to stand up a small square suddenly appeared in the corner of my screen. It was plain white with a red frame with the bold letters flashing from blue to red reading, “This link will disappear in 60 seconds.” Below a small timer began counting down from 60 to 59 to 58. I grunted in amusement. “Nice try,” I thought to myself, “probably some low budget website or internet scam trying to trick me into taking their surveys or giving out my credit card information so that I can win that free new iPad.” The numbers counted down from 40 to 39 to 38. As the numbers counted down my curiosity of where that link will take me began to grow. I hovered the mouse over the box then stopped myself. “What if clicking this link would install some malware virus onto my computer? I have already had a computer virus once before after pirating a whole season of “Rick and Morty” onto my computer.” The numbers continued to count down from 24 to 23 to 21. I reached for the top of my screen and began to close it. “What if it was the FBI trying to bait me into clicking a link to an illegal web-sight.” Just as the screen was about to meet my keyboard I stopped. “What if it really was a once in a lifetime opportunity and by clicking this link I would get the chance to view something no one has ever seen before.” The thought of never knowing where that link would take me is going to drive me crazy and I could surely see myself losing sleep over it. I slowly lifted my laptops screen again and saw the numbers count down from 5 to 4 to 3. I gritted my teeth and cursed my overactive imagination and gullibility. I reached down to my mousepad and clicked the link just as the timer reached 1. A New tab appeared on my screen as what looked like a video began buffering. I held my breath and braced myself for disappointment. I hoped to God It wouldn’t be some kind of really messed up porn. It was going to be hard enough getting myself to sleep let alone spending the night trying to erase certain images out of my head. I bit my lip as the buffering eventually stopped and the tab was now filled by a full screen video. I blinked in confusion as all I saw was a very blurry video feed with a blinking red dot in the corner of the screen next to the words LIVE. I stared for a few seconds trying to make out what exactly I was supposed to be looking at. From what it looked like it appeared to be the shape of someone’s silhouette from his head to his shoulders. “Did the link bring me to live stream chat with some random person?” “Hello?” I stammered nervously as the dark face just stared at me in silence. A second later I heard my voice echo from my computer repeating the same “Hello.” I waited a second before trying again. “Can you hear me?” The person on the other end of the stream just sat there as I heard my voice again echo from my computers speakers. It kind of sounded like when you’re on the phone with someone and they have their volume turned up to loud so you can hear your voice repeating while you’re talking to them. I sat there for a full minute not saying anything, waiting for the person in the livestream to respond, or move, or do pretty much anything. They just sat there the whole time barely moving. Than from the corner of the screen I saw another figure standing in the background. It also appeared to be the shape of a man. At first the second figure also just sat there unmoving, than began to sway back and forth. It was kind of like the way a tree sways in a gentle breeze. This continued for another minute than it stopped and went rigid. It’s head began to twitch to the side every so often becoming faster and more rapid as time went on. I then saw it begin to raise an arm toward the other figure sitting closest to the screen who during the duration of this time just sat there motionless as if unaware of was going on behind it. I then shifted my gaze to the figure behind as it began to slowly walk closer and closer to the person very slowly and jerkily. It walked in a slow, in a zig zag like pattern. It got closer and closer to the person sitting closest to the screen who still to this moment just sat there motionless just staring at the screen not even acknowledging the figure behind them. The figure behind no longer seemed human its movement was just too strange and unnatural. It reminded me of the way a puppet on a string walked. It got closer and closer to the other figure. It eventually was so close that it’s face was nearly resting on its shoulder. My heart began to race! “Why don’t they notice what is going on? Are they drugged? Are they asleep? Is this some kind of prank or some sick snuff film being streamed on the dark web by some psychopath?” I wanted to yell out to the person warning them of the figure standing dangerously close to them who’s movement was of no doubt no human being. God, I wish that the image was more clear. It was just so dark and blurry that I could barely make out what I was seeing. Just when I thought it was about to be all over, the twitching figure stopped and went absolutely still just inches away from the person in front. By that I mean, unnervingly still. Although the figure in front remained still there was just enough movement to know it was alive. It’s shoulders raised rhythmicity as it were breathing and I would catch small movements of its head. The figure behind though was as still as a corpse. Than slowly it began to crouch down off camera and I could no longer see it from behind the seated figure in front of the screen. After my heart began to slow down I leaned in closer to the screen to try to get a better view of the mysterious figure in front of me. Than to my surprise the seated figure leaned in as well. I slowly tilted my head to the side in mild confusion than seconds later the figure seated in front did the same. “This guy is mimicking me,” I realized in amusement. I raised both of my hands slowly than seconds later the seated figure slowly did the same. I lowered my left hand and the figure lowered its left. I held up two fingers and the figure did the same. I then noticed a small light at the top of my computer monitor. A steady green light right next to the monitor camera. It was then I noticed that my camera lens was extremely dusty. It’s a wonder that the figure on the other end could not even see me. Using the same technique as before I reached my sleeve up and gently wiped the dust off of the monitor camera. The second my gaze returned to my screen I felt my heart began to race. The image on the screen was now clear as day, the figure I have been staring at this whole time was me. This whole live stream was not a 2 way video chat. It was just a recording of me sitting in front of my laptop. The figure was not mimicking my movements, it was my own reflection. The only reason it movements seemed delayed from mine was because a live feed is always a few seconds behind the actual recording. That also explained why my voice was echoing before. Than just like that the image disappeared from the screen. The tab I had open no longer showed the link with the flashing letters or the timer, but just small text reading “eRRor 404.” My mind raced as everything began to settle in, if that was a live recording of me, than that means that the lurching figure behind was actually a recording as well? I made two mistakes that night. The first one was clicking that link in the first place. The second, was turning around afterwards.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers and welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I provide a simple constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. This rotates between simple prompts, sentences, images, songs, and themes. You’re free to interpret the weekly constraints how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.**   *** #This week’s challenge: **Sentence: “The truth was stranger than fiction.”** **Bonus Constraint (worth 5 extra pts.):** - All or part of the story takes place in the . This week’s challenge is to use the above sentence in your story, in some way. You may add onto it, or change the tense if necessary (i.e. “was” to is”), but the original sentence should stay intact. **Stories without the above sentence will be disqualified** from rankings. The bonus constraint and use of the image are not required. **Don’t forget to after the submission deadline!** (The form usually opens at about 11:30am EST Monday.) You get points just for voting.   *** #How To Participate - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below.** You have until **Sunday at 11:59pm EST**. (No poetry.) - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post, exclusively. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Come back throughout the week, read the other stories, and leave them some feedback on the thread.** You have until **2pm EST Monday** to get your feedback in. Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of . - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **2pm EST** next Monday to submit nominations. (Please note: The form does not open until Monday morning, after the story submission deadline.) - **And most of all, be creative and have fun!** If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.   *** #Campfire - On **Mondays at 12pm EST**, I hold a Campfire on our server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide live feedback for those who are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Everyone is welcome!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. You can complete the following things for points. - **Use of prompt/constraint:** 20 points (required) - **Use of bonus constraint:** 5 points, unless otherwise stated (not required) - ***Actionable* Feedback:** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Submitting nominations:** 5 points (total) *Users who go above and beyond with feedback (more than 5 detailed crits) will be awarded Crit Credits that can be used on r/WPCritique.*   *** #Rankings - **First:** - Submitted by u/rainbow\-\-penguin - **Second:** - Submitted by u/katherine_c - **Third:** - Submitted by u/katpoker666 - **Bay’s Spotlight:** - Submitted by u/FyeNite - **Crit Star** - u/FyeNite *Crit Stars: Don’t forget in order to receive your credits, you also must have made at least one post on WPC *or* have linked your reddit account to the sub on our .* *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires and other fun events! - Join in our weekly writing chat on . We discuss a new topic every week! New here? Come introduce yourself! - Try your hand at serial writing with ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


From the very first moment I opened my eyes to this unknown world around me, I was in here, in this box-shaped glass. A vast room with weird-looking glass walls. The thick layer of glass is sapphire blue, with nothing to be seen outside it. With no doors or windows. I’ve always wondered, from where I’m getting this delicious food. And where are these people who deliver this food coming from? Three meals per day, but no more than that is allowed to me. I was young and oblivious to what's around me. Accepting anything they gave me, not knowing what’s better anyway. But, the sole thing I had in me was curiosity. Like any other child my age, I desperately wanted to know more, to explore whatever I had in my both little hands. But, the only thing I explored was the varied types of vegetables, fruits, and sweets I got as a meal. My favorite one was chocolate sweets, I loved those so much; I used to cry for them, the days that they send me other tastes. They didn't care tho. With age, I wondered about other stuff like why I'm in here alone and the others are outside; I see them coming with food and nothing more. Every day, Nothing changes they burned the same routines into my memory. Initially, I couldn't comprehend what they say when they communicate with each other. No one taught me how to speak. No one taught me how to think properly, I was just going with instinct. With time I taught myself some words, the one connected to the food I like. A few years later, I started thinking of a way to escape past that barrier just to see what's on the other side, and nothing more. But they won't allow me near any of the walls putting me to sleep whenever I get close to one of them. I tried running past them when they come with food, but they always leave behind one of them to keep me from doing that. Not even getting close to the lights of the other side. They enter and leave the same way, through the far end of the wall, but when they leave, the wall returns to its original frozen state. And with that thinking, I've always ended up with the same dead-end, so I started changing my perspective. I started carefully looking at these people’s faces trying to learn about them; I tried to imitate the way they interact, thinking that can help me properly understand them. And to my surprise, a few days after I started my novel way of thinking. I instantly started seeing splendid stuff while asleep. Random stuff about the people I tried to focus on understanding during the day. I started seeing stuff about the girl I was looking at during the day. I chose her because she was remarkably the closest and nicest one to me, at least from my prescriptive. During one night, I slept naturally at my usual bed timing. And the moment I put my head on my pillow, I started seeing this weird stuff and feeling as if I'm no longer in my body. It felt obnoxiously weird at first, but the same strange power that got over me instantly giving me this dream forced me to get used to it. I was looking through the girl's eyes at the most elegant thing I've ever seen in my life so far. She was looking wonderingly at the clear night sky; I recognized what was she looking at even tho I've never seen it before. At that moment I undoubtedly recognized who I was, and where I'm right now, it wasn't my actual identity, but in that realm it was. I was merely watching. Not able to perform any action of my conscious will. I indeed kept looking at unusual objects for the first time and I kept on learning about them just by looking fondly at them. I went through the next few weeks learning about the world outside this chamber through that innocent girl. She was approaching her days performing her routine activities not knowing that I was observing her actions during the night. I thought I was re-experiencing the events she went through during the day. Until one night, I noted an odd thing. During the dream I embodied. The girl fell and injured her arm and got replaced with another girl. That frightened me. But later on, when they brought breakfast, she was the one who delivered it to my hand, and she was fine with no visible bruises or injuries. I freaked out for that; I was witnessing events that didn't happen. That got me shocked for a while, and I didn't know what can I do or achieve with that. It's not like I had a way to use the dreams deliberately. The next day, the girl got replaced; it was then that I knew for sure that what I saw a future event. It stunned me at first and got me spending the entire day thinking about it. Now that the girl is gone I'm back to my normal dull routines. I tried the same approach I took the first time with the other girls that served my meals, but with no results. Months went by. And one day, the girl returned. I was so happy to see her that and for the first time; I displayed a different facial expression, for the first time I gave genuine positive emotion. When I had done that, the one next to her instantly noticed and told the armed guards. They came in with beautiful glowing chains, used to bind me down. I tried resisting but with no use; I was so scared weeping for my dumb reactions, not like I could've changed them willingly. I screamed at the top of my lungs, just to burst up from my bed frightened. It took me a while to calm down knowing that it was just a dream and that my actions today will get me in trouble. After a long time, it felt strange to get back to that ability. But this time it took me off-guard, it came to me with no outside help. The thing I understood about this dream ability is that it is just a defensive ability that was activated through that girl, but the connection developed with her blew my mind. And, that was the first time I witnessed the complete use of this ability. By the time that girl entered with the food, I was already calm and waiting impatiently to see her after all this time; after all, she is the only one who can aid me accomplish my goals even if it's not by her own will. From that night I continued searching for specific answers using that girl, and after a couple of days, I got valuable info about what I was eagerly seeking. Using some old books she had with her, I can finally get to unravel the truth behind my lifelong imprisonment.


First time posting here! I was awakened by a sharp jab to my side, one that went through the mattress I was sleeping on. My body fell and bounced upward once more, further adding to my confusion. I groaned softly before a wave of fear came over me. I was paralyzed when the next sharp stab came. Was my brother doing this? It had to be. My mind rejected any other possibility. I rolled over, constantly reassuring myself that this was some half-thought prank my sibling had conjured in his head. A minute passed without the mattress lifting my body upward. I was relieved that it was finally over, and I braced myself to see my brother’s face, complete with a mischievous look. He would quickly confess that he was the one to pull the stunt and promptly exit the room, leaving me alone once more. I opened my eyes, not aware that I had shut them in the first place. A face awaited my gaze. Not my brother’s, I had known that no more than a split second after I had laid my eyes on it. What was looking at me was black, darker than the darkest moonless night. Instantly, my heart skipped a beat. It spoke as my mouth opened to empty my lungs in a bloodcurdling shriek. It held a slender finger up to its crooked lips. “Don’t,” it whispered. “He’ll hear you.” My lips were involuntarily sealed. The entity glanced upward. “We’re in the clear for now,” it exhaled. “Don’t try to wake it up or we’ll both die, got it?” It’s mouth dissolved into a stern frown. My heart was still pounding out of my chest but I replied hastily, trying to keep my voice quiet. Several questions rifled through my mind, but one stood out. My own lips started to quiver, forming the words “what do you want?” The entity became aware of the fact that he was still giving a potentially hostile expression and shifted it to a more passive one: a smile. “Oh, I just wanted to help, that’s all.” It put a hand on my shoulder. “The One on the Ceiling, he scares me too. Why don’t you come down below your bed with me? We’ll both be safe then.” “I... Um...” With what higher level thinking I could muster, I evaluated the situation. Could this... Whatever this thing was, could it hurt me while we were under the bed? And what was he talking about when he referred to the One on the Ceiling? I looked upward for the first time. There wasn’t much I could make out in the darkness, but I could see a giant blob drooping down from the ceiling. It wasn’t moving as far as I could tell, but in the back of my mind I knew that it would be if I woke it up. I shifted my gaze back to the entity and nodded. After all, dying to him was far better than ending my life at the hands of a mysterious blob on the ceiling. At least this creature had sentience and seemed to have a plan with me. “Great,” the entity gushed, almost abandoning the warning he himself gave me. Swiftly, he dove underneath my bed and I saw his hand beckoning me to hurry. I gripped my pillow and pulled off my covers all without making a sound and joined the entity below my bed. I fluffed my pillow and began to talk a bit louder, trusting my bed to muffle some of the sounds we made. “I’m here, are you happy now?” “Yes, very much so,” the entity chirped, a grin spreading across his face. Not one of malice, but genuine happiness. “Thank you. By the way,” he pointed at my pillow, “can I try that? I hadn’t used one in my life.” I somewhat reluctantly handed over the sleeping device and almost instantly the entity buried its face into the delicate stuffing. “This is amazing,” he commented. A few seconds later, he placed it between himself and I. “I’m sorry, that was just so... soft. It felt like I was holding a cloud.” I didn’t know what to say. Normally children would be warned about beings that made homes under their beds, that they would most certainly die if they were to meet them, but this one... The entity stared into my eyes using his own. “Listen, we should start to sleep now. The faster morning arrives, the faster the One on the Ceiling - and I - will disappear. I bet you want that to happen, right?” I sighed and began to relax my neck, my head descending into the comfort of my pillow. “I suppose so. So just what are you, anywa-?” My question was interrupted by a sharp wail. My baby sister. She was only a few weeks old, but aged enough to keep quiet during the night. Even in the occasional call for food or my mother, I was capable enough to take care of her myself. For her to act up now of all times, though, was a fatal mistake. The tide of fear flooded back into my head and my heart started to ramp up its activity to unprecedented levels. “No...” was all the entity could say before my ears were filled with a crashing sound. Peering my head outside, my eyes yielded the sight of a dark appendage slowly reeling my sister toward the blob, the One on the Ceiling. Even though there was a voice screaming in the back of my head for me to do it, I knew I couldn’t attempt to fight back against the monster. I was too weak to do anything. I pulled my head back. There was a sharp crunch coming from the ceiling and my sister’s wails ceased. In my now shock-filled brain, I linked the sound to a cracker being split in two. The entity placed its hand on my shoulder once more, apparently sharing the same expression I felt myself displaying. “Sleep, James. It’ll all be over soon.