After four full months of careful planning and diligent preparation, the Apple Festival of the city of Georgia has finally begun and it will be a fun day and as the son of the owner of the most important pastry shop in the city we are on the foot and leg to finish the preparations and it is baking all the apple pies that will. The festival is very large, I see it is bigger than last year, there are more than 300 vendors and exhibitions and includes stalls selling candles, handicrafts, wood, and food items and exhibitions of metal and glassworks. Fried and baked apple pies and other apple recipes are also the faces of the festival in Georgia. On the day of the holiday is all dedicated to the competition for the best apple pie and you find a lot and a lot of stalls and you have to be careful not to mix your shop with another and put and display your goods in it instead of your store at your stalls must be distinguished from others as a sign. Everything was going well and ready for the show for Lucas 'father to call out," Lucas, Lucas, is it already, son?" "Yes, dad things are fine" Lucas's father was very worried. He desperately wants to win this year over his rival, Mr. Sharma. Lucas, a boy at the young age of 23, blond hair, green eyes, and light brown hair. average height and worked as a director for sugar and flavoring specialized in making sweets and all kinds of bread, which is owned by his father, but retired after fats became responsible adores profession even though he studied architecture at the University. ##### Lucas went to the center of the festival and started to display their Apple products of all varieties of pies, baked goods, cakes, tart, jam, and everything related to apples, and it resonated if the audience gathered in front of his booth and he is in the midst of the fun of selling and displaying the products noticed that the booth of their competitor Mr. Sharma And it looks like the competition between them is going to be fierce, and Lucas should have acted to draw more attention to our products. Made a girl from the store, and asked Apple Pie test I ate a piece and said " yummy already soggy state meet I was curious to know how to bake " Lucas " it's a family secret, this is my grandmother's recipe, my grandmother's grandmother, my father's grandmother's from Switzerland and I've mastered cooking apple pies with a secret ingredient " Lucas admirably looked at the girl, contemplating the details of her face and the agility of her figure. It's cool. it goes smoothly in your mouth, Mira. Thank you. may I meet you, Lucas. Meera Sharma is Mr. Sharma's daughter. "Mr. Sharma's daughter, but I've never seen you, I know him very well," Lucas said. "Yeah, I was studying at University and finished it this year," Mira "And what did you study? "Lucas. Myra's " tax lawyer ". Good. good. I studied architecture, Lucas. Are you Mr. Perry's son, Mira? " Yeah, Lucas ". Lucas. "But I don't understand why all this competition between my father and your father," Mira track. "Doesn't it look kind of silly to you," Mira said. "Not! Whoever makes the best pie wins and gets the award and good customers all year, and I'm keen to win this year. "Lucas. So you're endorsing your father for this competition, Mira. "Yeah, you're talking to the CEO of a sugar and spice shop, and we're the one winning the competition this year."Lucas "Do you think so! We are the ones who will win, " Mira replied confidently as she looked at Lucas and surprised her heart palpitations every time she looked into his eyes. Mira is twenty-five years old, a smart and Funny Girl with long curly hair, brunette skin, and blue eyes, and since she is mixed-race from an African mother and an Indian father and her grandmother to her Dutch mother, making an apple pie is very easy for her. #### The sweet confrontation between the two bakeries raged and Lucas and Mira decided to raise the level of confrontation by giving a gift to everyone who stumbles and buys a pie. And at midday and it was time to rest, and in the next garden Mira headed for a comfortable lunch, and while she was away from the right patch to sit, I bumped into someone, and as soon as she turned around the uncle of the silence in the place, and the eyes converged, and he sailed, too, in the blue and green of their eyes, and "watch out for you in front of me" and his cheeks are very red. Mira stammered and surprised herself she experiences a new beautiful feeling on her not felt before she shook her heart and ignited a fuse for Lucas and he also, but they remembered the competition of course and it seemed clear the desire of one of them to kiss the other and melt it has developed rapidly. "You have to hold on, Mira, hold on, please. oh, your good-looking Lucas, like I've known you for decades, and I haven't seen you for two hours. damn, I wish I could eat your lips," Mira said. "It's Okay I was just looking for a special patch to sit down and see I didn't find it, I'd better go home." I'll show you a beautiful place that you're surprised to find here, that no one knows, Lucas. He held her hand gently and her heartbeat rapidly. "I know exactly what's going on with me when I'm sweating and I'm not running," Mira said. And then they penetrated between two bushes, and if a hidden place between them seemed charming, with a small waterfall and a distinctive green and a small pool of water, it was charming, and Mira was amazed at its splendor. " "Where Are you going to sit, I think it's right here, or it's not right, Mira." "Lucas, wait, mind you, you show me the place, you walk away and you leave me alone here," Mira. I thought you wanted to be alone here, Lucas. "I was really planning it, but now that you're there, things might be different," Lucas replied, then sat down and the silence between them again, and they talked together, "thank you for " Mira and Lucas at the same time. "Calm down, Mira, hold on. relax you. oh, my God, what's happening to them ". "What's wrong with you, Lucas? did thee cat eat your tongue for all this hesitation?" Lucas in himself looked at each other with endless passion and adoration, realizing that they had fallen in love with each other. Well, how about you try our apple pie, Mira. Taste Luke's piece of the pie and marvel at the splendor of her " Mmmmm delicious, really delicious, but how do you tell they felt a little bit of cinnamon with the tart taste I think of ginger and..... "Lucas. "The secret of my family won't move arrival, my maternal grandmother, a Belgian original art recipe from her family after they migrate to America. "Really good taste. that's why you beat us last year, Lucas. "Did we win over you last year, imagine I don't know about it, but when did the competition between our bakeries start?". "I think since' maybe four years.". "Since we moved in, it's weird, I haven't seen you for once, and we live in the same neighborhood," Mira said. I've seen all your family members, Your Mother, your father, your twin sisters, your brother, even your aunt, who visits you now and then, and I'm completely unaware that you're there, Lucas. "I also didn't even hint at you by mistake and I know almost all of your family and also by name John, Harry, Tara and Melanie, I even walked into your bakery and bought two delicious chocolate cupcakes and didn't see you." "Isn't that weird! ..؟؟......." Said Mira. "But why are you surprised not to recognize me after all this time! " Lucas. Mira was surprised by Lucas ' question, which they gave her a quick kiss, and she answered. "Did you know the answer now, we have to go now it's time to announce the winner," she said. They walked away together and their families bragged about their harmony. "It is now time to announce the winner of the best apple pie award at the festival after a fierce competition in which two contenders for the title reached a sugar and spice bakery for Mr. Perry's family and Mr. Sharma's family with their Indian bakery," said the festival presenter. "This year's winner ...!!!!! A tie is a tie for the bakers this year and the winner will be distributed equally between them and thanks to everyone's participation in this festival for the weekend. The competition ended with the bakery tied and Mr. Sharma and Mr. Perry shaking hands after Meera and Lucas convinced them to end the competition. Mira and Lucas befriended, got engaged, and finally got married. It was love and bread.


A Bit of a Traveller The year was 1969, and the graduating class had decided to put objects into a time capsule, which was buried on in the far corner of the property owned by the high school. It was where some of the students went to go to smoke. There was a large bush that they could hide behind, and not get caught. The plan was to dig the time capsule up and revisit it every ten years, to give it a look, maybe laugh. However, 10, then 20, 30 and even 40 years later, there had been no such activity, even though about half of those class members had come to the first two reunions, and a substantial minority to the last two. Some had even gone to the corner to have a smoke, ‘for old times sake’. But they barely mentioned what they were standing on when they puffed away, although one or two would remark that there looked like there had been a little digging there recently, nothing much, just a little.. Most of the class had brought in fairly predictable things - vinyl records now worth quite a bit of money, fashion magazines, pictures taken at key events, like when the basketball team won the city championship, and a few snaps of people smoking behind the bush beside where the time capsule lay buried, that kind of thing. Larry Places a Mysterious Object in the Time Capsule But Larry had carefully placed inside the capsule something quite different. He had put it inside a wooden box before he brought it to the ‘incapsulating session’ as some smarty-pants student called it. A few were curious about what it was he had placed in the freshly dug hole, but no one thought to ask him about it. Although everyone knew of Larry, and they recognized him by sight as he had grown up alongside them year after year, no one really knew him at all. He was a bit of a ‘Traveller’, to use the British expression. His parents had come from eastern Europe and it was rumoured that they had lived in a caravan or trailer, along with others of their kind. They had made a little money telling fortunes, and selling shiny goods on the street, enough to pay for their fare over the Atlantic. No one’s parents knew them, not even neighbours. And this despite the fact that Larry’s father eventually came to earn a decent living as a sales manager for a big box chain store, and they lived in a ‘nice neighbourhood.’ The Fiftieth Anniversary It was 2019, the year of the 50 th anniversary of the class of 1969. Around twenty of them showed up, and some who had remained close friends over the years had decided that this would be their last chance to have a look at the time capsule. The reunion was on a Saturday, and they were going to do the digging at 3:00 p.m., the time when class usually got out. Larry left early, to arrive well before the starting time. He had something to do, and did not want to be seen doing it. He parked his car on the road beside the short path that led straight to the time capsule. He still managed to get to the front door about the same time as most of the others did. There were people there from classes all over the years, but he had his eyes set for those who graduated with him. He had particular people in mind. He saw Rick Jamieson first. He walked over to him. After the initial ‘hi Rick’ he jumped straight into a conversation, not something they had often engaged in when they were students, other than asking questions about homework: “How’s your wife Sally? And your sons, Bob, and Frank? They work at the factory where you used to work before your retirement, don’t they” Rick was stunned by this, as he did not expect what he was hearing. Once his suspicions settled, he got truly engaged in conversation. It wasn’t long before the two of them grabbed a coffee each, sat down on chairs nearby and talked about their lives over the last 50 years. To watch and to listen to them, you would think that had been the best of friends in school. After about fifteen minutes of conversation, they gave each other their cell phone numbers and e-mail addresses, both thinking that they might forget to do so later. Both then made jokes about how their capacity to forget was ever-growing. Rick had to go to the bathroom. When he mentioned that, they exchanged one-liner jokes about a capacity that was ever shrinking. As soon as Rick entered the ‘Boys Washroom’, Larry saw another classmate, ‘Stan the Man’ Martin and demonstrated a similar knowledge of what had happened in Stan’s life since graduation. Stan was just as surprised as Rick had been. He and Larry had never been friends, even though they had been in the same class several times. And Larry knew some personal details that were not part of general public knowledge, facts known to very few. When three o’clock approached, Larry walked with the others from his graduating class, as well as a group of interested others who had graduated later, but had not created a time capsule and were regretting it now. Some of those celebrating their 50 th reunion were carrying shovels that had been supplied by the school for the occasion. When they arrived there, some noticed, but did not comment, that it looked like someone had already done a little digging on their own. They did mention that the bush beside it had grown some since they used to hide behind it to have a smoke without getting caught. When the box containing Larry’s item came to the surface, he quickly picked it up, hoping that no one was paying any attention to what he was doing. However, Rick and Stan both spoke up, saying as if they had one mind between them, “What’s in the box Larry?” Just before Larry could complete his reply of “You wouldn’t find it interesting at all”, Rick grabbed the box right out of his hands. He opened it up quickly, then he and Stan flashed a surprized, and slightly shocked look on their faces. Knowing that the cat was out of the bag, or more literally the crystal ball was out of the box, Larry winked at his new-old friends and said, “Give the crystal ball to me. We will walk around behind the bush where no one can see us, and I will show you something.” Rick quickly handed the crystal ball over to Larry., and they walked full pace around the corner, where the bush shielded them from curious eyes. They stood together in a three person circle, around the ball that Larry held out in front of him with both hands. There was a cloudy swirling in the crystal ball, but that was as nothing compared to what appeared when Larry said “Rick Jamieson.” Pictures of Rick’s life literally flashed before all three of them. And there were sounds, barely audible but still heard, that added much to understanding what was going on in the scenes being shown. After about five minutes of this spectacle passed by, Rick pronounced a telling phrase that they would later use often, “It is kind of like a supernatural Google search.” Larry put the crystal ball inside one of the deep pockets of his brown leather jacket. The three former classmates, now on the road to becoming close friends, had something to share, the lives of their classmates over the years. Stan picked up a rock, put it into the briefly empty box. Then he handed the rock-in-a box over to Larry, who walked over to the newly-dug hole, and buried the box where it had once been. But the past would not be so buried. It would be visited by a bit of a Traveller, and his curious friends.


It was a gorgeous day outside, and I was enjoying a wonderful lunch with my best friend in the entire world. We had known each other all our lives, considering she was my sister. However, there was no one else I would rather spend an afternoon with. Here lately it was a rare occurrence because I worked all the time, and she had three kids and a husband who commanded her attention. I worked for a big cosmetics firm, and traveled a lot for my job. Which brought us to our current conversation. She had the usual concerns, such as when was I going to settle down and have a family, aka husband and children. My usual go to answer was I love my work, and at the moment it was all I wanted. But add in the fact that she was five years older, and practically helped raise me, she didn’t believe my answer. After lunch we usually went shopping, but this time she told me she had a surprise for me. She drove, and we parked in front of this Victorian looking mansion with huge stone pillars. It looked like it was a remnant of the 1860’s southern plantation. “I am not dressed for a fancy lunch!” I told her. She just smiled and told me to follow her. We walked up the impressive stone stairs, and read the sign on the old oak wooden door that stated to come in. We entered a long hallway, and there were three doors on each side. The first one said lawyer’s office. She motioned for me to follow her. The last door on the right read: Madame Helena- Palm Reader and Fortune Teller. I looked at my sister in disbelief. She knew how I felt about these kinds of utter fantasy. “Hear me out. You have been miserable since your break-up a YEAR ago. You need a new prospective, a new direction. Maybe she can open your eyes to different possibilities.”. My sister said compellingly. “Also, I already paid, and there’s no refunds”. She looked at me and held her hands in a prayer like fashion, and whispered please. “Fine, let’s do this. But then you owe me lunch!” She laughed and knocked on the door. It was a very dark room with heavy, velvet purple, blackout curtains on the windows. There was a card table in the middle of the room, with a red tablecloth covering it. On the table there was a crystal ball, and a deck of cards. The lighting above the table were three different colored globes in various sizes. There was a large painting of a black cat with green eyes on the wall behind the table. An old woman came out of the back room carrying a silver and red candle. She was dressed in what looked like a silk red bathrobe. She had long gray hair, covered by a black cap. She spoke in a deep voice and told me to sit. My sister walked the other way out the door! Wow! I was alone with this odd woman. She picked up the crystal ball and set it on the floor behind her. She said, “give me your hands”. She took my hands in hers, they smelled like jasmine. She held them for which seemed like forever, but in reality, it was more like 30 seconds. She spoke again in her deep voice. “I will reveal to you three cards, one from the past, one from the present, and one from the future. Are you ready?” I nodded, and she turned over the first card, on it were two small girls playing outside with a bunny. It looked like my childhood backyard, our pet bunny and my sister and me. I was super impressed and creeped out at the same time. I wondered how much information my sister had shared with her. She looked up at me and nodded yes. I nodded in return. She put that card to the side and turned over the second card. On it were one image over another. The first image was a man and a woman silhouette holding hands in front of a church. The one below was the same couple, but they were facing away from one another, and the woman was crying. It looked a lot like my ex and I, except it escaped the red mark on his face for being a two-timing piece of garbage. I was actually feeling sadness from seeing this image. She spoke up and said, “it's time to move on. He’s not the one for you, and he doesn’t deserve your sadness, or tears.” Yikes! She nailed it. “Are you ready for your future?” I nodded yes and she chose the third card. On it were three images. On the upper left-hand part, there was a woman standing at a podium with woman cheering for her, she has a check in her hand. The upper-right hand was a picture of a man and woman holding hands, and smiling at one another. The final picture was the couple standing in front of a house with a sold sign in the yard, and the woman looks to be very pregnant. The woman picks up all three cards, puts them in her robe and takes my hands again. She tells me, “I see much happiness in your future. Be open to it.” Then she gets up, and walks to the back room. I get up and go out the door to my sister, who is looking at a magazine. “How did it go? Did she have good news?” my sister asked. I replied hesitantly because I didn’t want to argue with her, but she needed to hear this. “My life is my private business, and I do not appreciate you sharing my history, or my aspirations for my future with her. From now on, please refrain from giving my personal information out to anyone!” She looked at me in disbelief and shock! “Hun, I set the appointment up and paid online. The only information I relinquished was my credit card information.” I just stared at her in shock. “She knew so much about me. This is a tad freaky. Let’s go to lunch at that new place downtown. We’ll talk then.” We walked into the new place, got seated and I told her everything the fortune teller told me. She agreed that it was a bit unnerving. We had finished our lunch, and were enjoying our wine when a man who identified himself as the manager/owner asked if everything was good. I looked up into the blue/green eyes of one of the handsomest men I had ever seen. He also looked like the man in the future picture. I smiled and said, “it was perfect, I believe we just found our new favorite restaurant.” He smiled back.


*Chapter 1: Once Upon a Time* Once upon a time, two races ruled over earth: Humans & Monsters. One day, war broke out between the two races. After a long battle.. the humans were victorious. The humans tasked seven of their strongest mages to seal the monsters underground with a magic spell. The only way the spell could be broken was if a force equal to seven human souls attacked the barrier keeping the monsters there. With no hope of escape, the king, Asgore Dreemurr, bore a son with his wife, Toriel. They named him Asriel. For ten years they lived happily, but that was due to change. *Chapter 2: Fallen Down* Chara lay on a flowerbed, their back in agony. they found the strength to turn on heir belly and look around. It was a cold, empty room, but sunbeams shone through, lighting the golden flowerbed with a warm kiss. Chara felt numb. But strangely... alive. It couldn't be. They had just fallen from about a thousand feet. But they had to be sure. "Hello?" They called. No response. "Hello?" They repeated, this time louder.Nothing again. At least, for a few seconds. "Uh.. howdy!" said a voice. Chara couldn't believe their eyes. Walking towards them was what looked like a child, but instead of a human look, he was.. a goat. So they screamed. "Shhhh!" said the goat-boy, gently picking Chara up and tossing their arm over his shoulder. "I'm not supposed to be here. You're human, right?" Chara nodded, petrified. "By the way, what's your name? I'm Asriel! Asriel Dreemurr!" said the goat-boy cheerfully. "A-am I in.. in hell?" squeaked Chara. "No, silly! You're in the Underground!" said Asriel. *Chapter 3: My New Parents* Asriel continued to walk Chara until they reached a little house. Surrounding them were well-trimmed bushes. The pictures they formed made Chara grin. "That's Dad's work," said Asriel, "he's the king." "The king?" enquired Chara. "Yep! You're about to meet him!" replied Asriel, knocking on the house's door. A kind-looking goat-woman in a purple dress answered the door, and looked quite shocked when they saw Chara. "Oh dear! Poor thing..." she said, kneeling down to Chara's level, gazing into their face with striking red eyes. "A human?" Asriel nodded. "Sorry, Mom-" "No, no, dear, it's fine, Asriel," she turned to Chara. "I am Queen Toriel. What is your name?" "Chara..." "Chara, huh?" asked Asriel. "That's a nice name." "I'll call Asgore," said Toriel. "Asgore! Asriel has brought home a human!" *Chapter 3: King of the Mountain* If anybody's personality was both underwhelming and relieving, it was King Asgore's. He came down the stairs in jeans that struggled to contain his snow-white legs and a flowered pink polo shirt. He looked like your typical hedge-trimming father until you reached his head. He had a golden beard and long horns that neatly curled upwards at the end, with friendly heterochromic orange-and-blue eyes and a warm, gentle smile. Chara could see a lot of Asriel in him, like their new young goat acquaintance would grow up to be identical to his father. He turned regally to Chara, who instinctively took a bow. The king chuckled and said, "At ease." he spoke in a kind but deep voice that made Chara smile. Chara's smile must have been contagious because Asgore gave Chara an amused grin. "Now come inside," said Asgore, grabbing Chara's shoulders lightly. "Toriel will make some butterscotch-cinnamon pie." *Chapter 4: Home* The Dreemurr household was not what Chara expected. It was small for a royal family, certainly. Yet it shone with a welcoming aura that you'd get from a little cottage on the surface. Chara walked down the hall, lined with plants, past rooms that they guessed were the two bedrooms and the toilet. At the end of the hall, there was a mirror. Chara gazed into the mirror, as a strong feeling overcame them. *Despite everything, it's still you.* They thought, when their brain was cut off by Toriel's motherly call. "Dinner is ready!" Chara took their time walking to the dinner table, taking in the sights of the kindly house. Asriel and Asgore were both at the table when they arrived, licking their lips excitedly. "This'll cheer you up," said Asriel, giving Chara a nudge. "Mom makes the best pies in the Underground." Just then, Toriel entered the room with a plate of pie. The smell wrapped a pair of arms around Chara's nose and locked it in a tight bearhug. "Smell's good, but it tastes even better!" claimed Asriel. Chara nervously took a bite out of their slice. Asriel was right. The pie was delicious in such an amazing way that Chara made a point of complimenting Toriel on how good it was, something they wouldn't be caught dead doing on the surface. She simply nodded and said "I get that a lot." "What did I tell ya?" asked Asriel playfully. "Well, you were right." responded Chara. Chara turned to look at Asgore, who was simply wolfing down his slice of pie, with his eyes closed and an expression of pure joy plastered across his face. "Toriel, you always make the best pie," he said. "What's your secret?" "A magician never reveals her secrets." said Toriel with a wink, and she began clearing everyone's plates. While she did this, Chara wanted to ask Asgore some questions. "Your Highness-" they began, before Asgore shook his head. "Please, Chara, call me Dad." *Chapter 5: Memory* For two years, Chara lived happily with the royal family, and the Underground accepted them. A human was a rare sight to them, but they lived with it. Then Chara fell ill. And it could not be cured. Their dying wish was made to Asriel: To see the golden flowers in their village, just one last time. So the prince took his best friend's soul, crossed the barrier, then carried Chara's body to their village. But the people noticed this. They treated Asriel with extreme prejudice, thinking he had killed Chara, and stuck a spear in his side. Asriel dropped Chara and stumbled back towards the mountain, clutching his ribs. He could have easily slaughtered them like lambs. He chose not to. Once he reached the Underground, he collapsed and transformed into a pile of dust. Enraged, the king decreed that all humans who fell would be killed. The queen disagreed. Shocked at Asgore's actions, she fled to the Ruins that were once her home, leaving Asgore alone in this prison disguised as a castle.


It was his favorite part, twisting the knob, the small rush of air bordering on a whistle as the gas began to escape. Then the anticipation of the flame. The scrape of the matchstick against the box, and the fire crackling to life, a whoosh when the stovetop burner caught. It reminded him of the beginning of Mission: Impossible . Except this was better because it was real. And he knew what was coming. “When do I get to light it?” Walter asked, settling into the kitchen stool. “When you’re a little bit bigger,” his grandmother Midge answered. “I’m almost as big as you are,” Walter protested. It was true. At 4’11” Walter’s Grandma Midge wasn’t even three inches taller than her 10-year-old grandson. She compensated by having step stools strategically positioned around her kitchen. One in front of the stove, one at the sink, and a three-step model in her pantry. “When you’re older then”, Grandma Midge said with a nod and the confidence of a long retired elementary school teacher, firm but gentle. And that was the end of any further discussion. Walter understood it. He didn’t like it. But he understood. “Now what you can do,” Grandma Midge said, scooping a dollop of Crisco into the cast iron pan she slid atop the burner, “Go into the pantry and bring me the flour.” Walter hopped down off the stool. In three steps, the kitchen small like everything in his grandparents’ house, he was in the pantry, which compared to the general size of things, was really quite large. The flour container was on the third shelf. He needed the stool to reach it. Just like his grandmother. The flour container sat next to its matching sugar counterpart. A foot tall and half-a-foot deep, Walter’s distorted reflection shimmered in the chrome of the art deco containers. His grandmother had received them as a gift when she and his grandfather had “set up housekeeping” as it was referred to long ago, shortly after they were married in 1932. No one remembered exactly who had given them the containers. Grandma Midge thought it was one of her husband’s, sisters. Heddy probably. Grandpa Wil thought it was Midge’s sister Mae. No one ever took credit. Or blame depending on the point of view. The mystery remained unsolved. What was agreed upon was that they were useful for as much as Midge baked. For as much as Midge baked, they could have even been larger, but they didn’t make larger sizes and Midge thought they were ideal, regardless. Walter wrapped his arms around the flour container, and with a grunt and careful footing, worked down the step. He lost his balance on the last one, but only slightly, and managed to catch himself on the pantry door frame without spilling. He sighed deeply. Relieved. Early on, a year and four inches before, he’d tried the same maneuver and lost half the flour across the linoleum floor. He felt a certain sense of pride that offset the definite sense of the previous year’s shame, when he delivered the flour container unmolested to his grandmother. “Thank you,” Grandma Midge said, carefully measuring out the the flour and whisking it into the pan. Walter loved the sound of the spoon on the cast iron, the sizzle of the Crisco, the scraping of the pan across the stovetop. The sounds, he’d come to learn at an early age, portended even more rewarding senses. The next was the scent. The aroma. Delicate, at first. The crumble being formed. A tease before the spices. Nutmeg, allspice and cinnamon. Intertwined in the dough. Still roughly subtle. Until the apples. Like the matches, Walter was still forbidden from slicing the apples, peeling them. He sat on the kitchen stool, watching his grandmother patiently coax the skin off each of the six with the skill of a surgeon, coring the seeds away and slicing the rest in almost identical pieces. Another sprinkle of cinnamon on the apples, and they went into the mix. Along with four slices of cold unsalted butter. The butter was one of the most important ingredients, by Grandma Midge’s reckoning. She would use only one brand. Ashcombe Farms. Twenty minutes outside Harrisburg by most reckoning. Thirty-five by Grandma Midge’s driving. Walter didn’t mind. He enjoyed riding with her. The Pennsylvania countryside just outside Harrisburg seemed timeless. From an early age, Walter could sense the history. It wouldn’t have surprised him to see Union cavalry ride out of the hickories along the single lane highway . “Nothing around here ever changes,” he said to no one in particular. Just a thought he felt strongly enough to share. “Now what’s the one thing we need still?” Grandma Midge asked, her teaching instincts still guiding her even in her relationship with her grandson long after her retirement. Ask rather than tell. Teach to fish rather than give a fish. Walter knew the answer straight away. “Sugar,” he said, bordering on shouting. Confidence but not arrogance. That wouldn’t be proper. “What was that?” someone shouted in from the other room. Walter ignored it. “Good,” Grandma Midge said. “Go get that for me, please.” Walter was in the pantry before he recognized he was in the pantry. “Sugar,” he said to himself. “Third shelf.” And then he noticed something wasn’t quite right. Where was the step stool? He looked left and right and then into the doorway behind him. It was a big pantry but not that big. Not big enough to hide a step stool. The stool was definitely gone. And equally perplexing, the stool was unnecessary. The sugar container was on the shelf directly in front of him. It had just been there on the shelf next to the flour. He had just seen it. It didn’t make sense. Grandma Midge was a creature of habit. Pennsylvania Dutch. She ran things neatly. Methodically. Everything in her house arranged just so. Everything had its place. Nothing ever changed. Walter found it comforting. As things changed around the rest of his life, his Grandmother’s house remained the same. Until now. “Why did you move the sugar here?” Walter shouted. “It’s supposed to be up on the third shelf.” “Walter,” someone called from the living room just outside the kitchen. “Please come back and join us.” The voice was familiar. But it wasn’t Grandma Midge’s. “Do you need the sugar still?” Walter called back. Somebody might have said something but he didn’t quite hear it and didn’t quite care that he didn’t. He leaned close to the sugar container. He’d retrieved it for his grandmother as many times as he could remember. It was as familiar to him as she was. As his own reflection. A reflection he saw distorted now in the chrome of the sugar container. Distorted like in the mirrors of the funhouses from the boardwalk in Ocean City. He raised his head up and down, watching his forehead stretch, his eyes widen, his nose grow as he leaned in. His brow crease and wrinkle. His hair recede and gray. His eyes cloud. If he didn’t know the reflection was him, he never would have guessed it was. “Walter, please come out,” the voice called again. Then the pantry door widened, and a graying-haired woman who was familiar but wasn’t his Grandma Midge smiled and extended her hand. “Come on now, darling,” she said. “I was getting the sugar for Grandma,” he said . The woman nodded and smiled, but the smile didn’t extend to her eyes. “She’s making apple crisp,” he said. “I’m helping.” “I know, Walter,” the woman said, taking Walter by the hand and leading him back into the living room. Back to his chair. Lowering him into it. She pulled an afghan up over him. “Grandma needs the sugar,” Walter said. “Someone moved it.” “I know,” the woman said, patting his hand gently, handing him the remote control for the television set. “Why don’t you rest here a bit first. I’ll get it for her.” “Okay,” he said, his eyelids growing heavy. “You stay here and enjoy your program,” she said, turning up the volume. “We’ll be done soon and all have some apple crisp together.” “Okay,”Walter said again. The familiar theme music began again and the lit match and the twentieth time Walter had seen this episode of the original Mission: Impossible series began again. But it was all new to Walter.


It’s been years since I set foot in this place, the ominous halls, the old ceiling caving in, I can still picture that fateful day. Back when I was just a girl, walkin’ to this school with a smile on my face and dreams in my heart, but it was gone all too soon. The dreams turned to nightmares on that day, none of hardly anything or anyone survived; except for one thing. I searched the halls in sight for something I could salvage, after all, they were going to demolish and replace this place with a new school, though it will never get rid of the memories that still send chills down my spine. I got down to the cafeteria, the mainly devastated area, the walls only reached up to my knees, and you couldn’t see the floor past the rubble. I went to piles of rubble and pushed away at it, looking for something to salvage, nothing. I made my way to the exact class I was in that day, it was all normal, perfect, though notes of suspense lingered in the hallways, it all seemed fine. Nothing was out of the ordinary, there was a plane flying from above, and the room was silent; until we heard a loud crash, and a chorus of screams, the ground shook and we fell to the ground. Fire arose from where the bomb had hit, and smoke filled the halls. Teachers joined in a panic as they started evacuating children, I was following the crowd when I looked back and saw the cafeteria gone, and half the school in flames. When we had escaped, I heard the sirens of fire trucks and ambulances in the distance, mixed with the voices of teachers reassuring the weeping children. My head started to get fuzzy, and I looked around in what felt like slow motion, and my mind went silent, my sight became dark, that's all I can remember. I searched the room and memories came flooding back, it raced through my mind and I started getting dizzy, “not this time” I thought to myself as I clung to an old desk for support, and slowly pulled myself up. I scrambled to find something, anything, that could have survived the misfortune of this room. Brushing on the crumpled blackboard, I could feel all the feelings I felt then, the lack of hope that soon swept my mind; but then I saw it. I knelt down and brushed a pile of ash and rubble away to reveal a cracked porcelain music box, painted with flowers and vines. I turned the rusty knob on the side and it opened to reveal a beautiful dancer, flowers in hand. Music started to emanate from the box, I closed my eyes and started swaying to the soft tune. This was the only way my mind could escape those harrowing memories, I sat there listening, until I started to drift off and my worries began to fade. I dreamt of bright blue skies, adolescent me walking to school happier than ever. If only life could actually really be this perfect, only in my dreams. The years have passed me by, imagining this all never happened, like I never lost so much so soon. “They’d never understand,” my conscience whispered; it’s true, and it’s unjust, no matter how many times I've looked back and feared this place, it can’t leave me, I can’t leave it, not yet. I awoke with a jolt, rubbing my head and huffing, while I looked up through the broken ceiling at the now night sky. I lay motionless, staring up, continuously toying with the music box still perched in my hands. I finally started to stumble my way out of the unlit room, walking in a daze towards the exit, but I felt an urge to stay, like there was more to be seen. I wandered down the halls in sight for somewhere I could have missed, and I saw it, a mysterious darkly-lit library that looked completely untouched. I stepped in cautiously, clutching onto my music box; “It’s freezing in here,” I thought to myself, hugging my arms for warmth. I ran my fingers on the books sticking out of the shelves, deals of dust and ash stuck to my fingers and I wiped it on my already dusty pants. I squinted to the far side of the library, stacks of books untouched, I crept over to the stacks and searched for something I could have forgotten. Copies of fairytale books stacked almost like building-blocks on the floor turned me back to the memories I missed greatly. I spotted a filing cabinet, papers overflowing through the top of the drawers, and a stack of more papers on the top. I slowly walked over to it, holding out my hand, careful to not bump into anything, and gently swept my hand over the paper on the top; “The Water Creek School Devastation,” was printed on the top of the paper, it must be a newspaper. I read the description, it was written by a person who could never understand how it actually felt, I could tell by how under dramatic it was. I read further, names and pictures of victims who were killed, but then I saw something that made my blood run cold; “Harper Perkins” was another name on the list, my name. I dropped the music box, which caused it to start playing music, I walked backwards, gasping for air, finally reaching the wall I slouched down, the silence in the room was deafening and my surroundings were dancing. Different memories started to fill my mind, instead of already being outside of the building I was inside, clutching my music box and singing the tune while keeping my eyes shut, I was the only one there, they forgot me. “Wrong” I thought, there was no possible way that I could have died, I'm still here aren’t I? And how could they have just left me to die Alone? I jumped up in fear and raced to the exit, I ran, and ran, and ran. I finally reached the door and pushed through with all the strength in my body, causing me to slip and fall. I braced for the ground but was warmed by a surrounding bright white light, Floating around in circles in what seemed like a version of heaven. Then it all went cold, silent, and dark. I was placed at the front doors once again, daylight crossed my view, “it’s been years since I set foot in this place” I recited, just like a script.


Hey guys, potential for more if you enjoy. First time really writing a story, hope you like it. If you would prefer to hear it as an audio narration, I've added links here  Some people say they have skeletons in their closets. Others may guess, rarely correctly I’ll add, that their house is haunted. I’ve even found myself having to hold back a laugh when a friend once told me he had 'inner demons'. Until you've smelt an actual demon, you have no sense of what one truly is. The smell touches all of your senses simultaneously; it smothers your skin, sticks to the back of your mouth like mustard, and sounds like the hum of electricity, an uncomfortable and thick buzz you want to scrub off. A werewolf is even worse. The smell of flesh simultaneously dying and being reborn is unlike anything else I have experienced. I could close my eyes. I could plug my ears. But that smell. That smell took weeks to wash away. Since birth, for unknown reasons, I have had the ability to see the supernatural, and them, I. To be honest... looking back, it had all become far too overwhelming. I could see monsters, but I couldn't touch them, or fight them away. Instead, I was helpless, left for them to pray on me from a distance. I couldn't go to bed without Wendigos howling at my door, and even when I did finally drift off, sandmen would feed off my dreams and lock me in their realm. I was often paralysed for days on end, pleading for them to hunt elsewhere. My body had also been drained by psychic vampires to the point that I was a shadow of my former self, as weak in body as in mind. For many years now, this curse caused me not just emotional, but physical damage. There appeared only one way out. I had picked the perfect spot, a bridge overlooking a river far below that opened out to the sea. Lilies grew amongst the reeves, and the water was always teeming with life. It seemed as good a place as any to die. I had prepared two cheese and onion sandwiches as a form of last supper, and made my way through town. I was followed by the usual gaggle of ghosts, each moaning and babbling behind me. The fresh spring-time air, as normal, was overpowered by the faint stench of a werewolf, perhaps two or three kilometres away, and a high-pitched shriek in the distance suggested it was accompanied by a banshee, a personal favourite of mine due to their sulky, self-absorbed nature and complete lack of personal space. Finally the bridge appeared in sight, calmly overlooking the river below. It was built from red bricks and white, triangular wooden beams that had withstood the weather for over a one hundred years. I perched myself on the edge of the rail, and looked out towards the sea. With my feet hanging over, I unwrapped the sandwich and began tucking into my last meal before jumping to my peace. It was genuinely delicious, and for a brief moment, it was as though I was tasting food for the first time. The smell of flesh seemed to disappear with each bite, and I was suddenly hit by the overwhelming, and admittedly welcoming scent of lavender, fresh bread and cut grass. I was also increasingly becoming aware of the fact the smell was getting stronger, and was not my imagination. I started to panic, worried perhaps a siren had marked me, or worse, an imp trickster. And yet, as quickly as the panic arrived... it was gone. Drawn from me like poison from a wound. I decided to ignore it, someone else’s problem now. I was here for a single purpose. I closed my eyes and in one motion, rocked forward, over the edge of the bridge and down towards the beckoning water below. It was not the river however, that engulfed me, but something else; not unlike water, calm but altogether warmer. Pure light seemed to surround me, and when I finally opened my eyes, and the brightness settled, I was back on the bridge. A small boy, no older than five, was sitting next to me. We were both holding sandwiches. His eyes were astonishing, seemingly brown, blue and green all at once, whilst a deeper, more curious colour I had not quite seen before swirled within them. They seemed ageless, and the most beautiful things I have ever seen. In an instant, they met mine and whilst his mouth remained still, I heard his voice. 'Do not be afraid, old friend. There will come a time when you are ready to go. On that day, I will take you gladly, and we shall both finally return home. But not today. Today, war begins.' The boy winked, and was gone. I was, again, alone. Bewildered by the experience, I stumbled home. The sun’s rays seemed to have intensified in the recent hours, and looking up made me nauseous. I felt literally drained. Psychic connections had left me tired in the past, but I had never experienced more than a distant whisper, a scratch against armour. This was different. What I felt was indescribable, and I felt it... awaken something in me. As I passed the local park and turned towards my house, I suddenly realised how quiet it was. Much quieter than usual. Looking behind, I saw why. My ghosts had gone. I expected it to settle me, but instead threw up next to a park bench. After two more incidents, I gratefully made it home, although my sight still hadn’t recovered. My dad had left me the place before he disappeared, and it had seen better days. A pile of greying books by the door nearly made me trip as I essentially felt my way to the kitchen. I quickly downed a glass of water, and then my body crashed onto the sofa. As I drifted off, I could have sworn I heard the distant voices of men, arguing between themselves and gradually approaching.   *My eyes open. It’s freezing, and I’m bare chested. Deep, blue waves of sand crash into a pink ice field, stretching as far as the eye can see. Huge icebergs climb out towards the horizon, glowing like rubies within great diamonds. The sand rises in a hundred foot wave, before crashing against the icy shore. The sky is empty, an endless, distant void. In the centre, a crater overflows with enormous skeletons of strange, tusked beasts. Two thrones, carved in ice, sit in the centre, and appear to have grown out of the ground over many years. I am sitting in one. My skin feels like it’s on fire. I try to move, but realise my skin is frozen to the chair and let out a scream in pain. The second throne sits empty before me.* *‘Can you hear me? Hello? Can you understand what I’m saying?’* *For a moment, I’m confused. Then quickly I arrive at the truth; the sandmen are feeding on me again, and someone is trying to wake me up. I shake myself, trying to ignore the very real agony I’m in. You’re in a dream, I think loudly. Wake up! This is the sandmen. Don’t let them get inside your head!* *‘Ah fantastic. Although, let’s face it... that ship has sailed, my Lord. Mark, get over here. I told you something was different! He even calls us ‘Sandmen’!’* *Before I have time to react, the sand begins to rise around the second throne, kicking up a great blue storm and swirling up into the sky, before rocketing against the throne twice. When the clouds finally disperse, two short, fat men are revealed in silk cloaks, one perching awkwardly on each arm. They have pale, translucent skin and a large, trunk-like nose that curves around their mouth, before hanging freely off their jaw. I have never seen a sandman in this form before, and it completely throws me. The one on the left, slightly shorter and slightly wider, pulls a note from his pocket and clears his throat, as well as his trunk.* *‘Greetings, Almighty Key! Welcome to my humble Sand. My name is Gus, and this is my fellow sandman, comrade and long-term lover, Mark.’* *The second sandman waves slightly and smiles... I assume. The surrounding icebergs start to glow in unison, turning a pale shade of lilac.* *‘I would first like to deeply, and dark-heartedly apologise for consuming you for so long. In our nature and all that jazz. We had very conflicting emotions about the whole thing, if I’m being honest. Emotions we’re only now beginning to understand. Therefore, to the Almighty Key, we are truly sorry. Next, we would like... well I would personally like to say how thrilled we both are that you personally got in touch, and how excited we are to finally die! I mean, four thousand years is plenty of time to be stuck on Earth for us, and I for one will be happy to finally be at peace, especially with the war looking the way it does. I mean, I didn’t even know this was an option until today, and Floyd said... sorry. I’m rambling. Anyway, we graciously accept your offer, and await your further command, Almighty Key.’* *The second sandman bursts into applause, before shaking his comrade/lover’s hand passionately. Suddenly they embrace and their trunks begin to intertwine, before almost realising where they are and, somewhat reluctantly, stopping. They then turn towards me eagerly. Another great wave of sand rises behind them in apprehension.* *I blink. What is happening? The key to what?* *‘Well... Purgatory of course?!’* *The sandman responds to my thoughts immediately. I open my mouth instinctively to ask another question, but at once the sky flashes and turns a sickening yellow. The wave breaks upon me, tossing aside bone and shattering the throne upon impact, throwing me backwards. I can hear the sandmen scream out in the distance, terrified. The ice begins to catch fire, and I’m taken away by the sand. A deeper, commanding voice swallows me.* *‘You will free me! Together, we will rise!’* *The sand tightens around me, twisting and turning my body. Razor quick, it slashes out at me, leaving a deep cut in my right cheek. I raise my hands to cover my face. A sandman is still screaming, or maybe grieving, and as the storm begins to deafen me, the sand starts to take form. Now a deep, black stone, six great fingers curl into a fist, flying towards me and striking me head on...*   I was brought back to reality with a jolt. I struggled for breath as I attempted to figure out what I had just experienced. Was that a sandman, or something else? Sweat streamed down my face and as I went to wipe it away, a large and very real cut across my right cheek suggested the latter.


Daniel watched as the train left without him, leaving him stranded until the next day in the town that used to be his hometown. The warmth of summer still bravely flickered far into the fall, the reds and yellows of the leaves bringing their own kind of warmth, but he could feel the cold seeping in. There wasn’t much left for him here except for a few friends, acquaintances, and old memories. His brothers and sisters had long since scattered to other parts of the country, and his parents had moved someplace sunnier. But maybe she still lived here. He still felt terrible about the way they had parted seven years ago, so he hadn’t tried to reach out to her during his short visit. But deep down, he knew he had secretly wished they would randomly bump into each other. His hometown was along the way to the city where he was scheduled to present his most ambitious architectural plans for a building. That was why he had decided to stop by. Now he had to hurriedly call his company to tell them that things had to be delayed. It was a bit embarrassing. Once that was done, he shuffled over to the service desk to reschedule his ticket for the next day. Then he felt like grabbing a quick bite to eat. There were a few restaurants in the train station, including a pizza restaurant with a big round pizza sign, which was the one he chose. Perhaps it was because they would always eat pizza together back in the old days. He was lost in his thoughts as he was seated at the restaurant and was handed a menu by the waiter. Then as he read the menu without really reading it, he sensed a familiar presence nearby. There was a playful and excited energy as someone came and sat down right across from him at his table. He didn't deserve this. It couldn’t be! Daniel looked up from his menu to see Helen's expressive eyes and her wide grin, looking as though this was a surprise party for him. And it was. "Where I come from, I used to have this boyfriend named Daniel, and we liked to order Hawaiian pizza together," she said, winking at him. “It's great to see you again, Helen. I'm so glad I ran into you.” “It is a nice surprise. I'm happy you finally came back, Daniel,” Helen said, making him feel the old regret, but her look of forgiveness made it feel more sweet than bitter. Daniel stared at her black cat earrings for a moment. “Oh, these? I got them for Halloween. Don’t you think they’re cute?” she asked, touching them. “They look good on you, Helen.” “Aww, thanks, Daniel. You were always so sweet," she said, giving him goosebumps. "But I’m dying to know what you've been up to all these years,” she continued. “Well, I’m a successful architect now, just like my father always dreamed of,” Daniel said, digging up the building plans from his suitcase and showing them to her. “They look nice, but I know you, Daniel... and you don’t seem excited about this. Why is that?” “I could never hide anything from you, Helen. They’re good plans, but frankly, my heart hasn’t been in my work for a while.” “When I look at these, I see a fine building that people would be happy to use. But if you say your heart’s not in it, then what is your heart in, Daniel?” “I’ve always wanted to be an artist, but my father never approved. He always said I should apply my artistic skills to something more serious. That’s why I went into architecture instead.” “Of course, I remember. You always talked about making art for video games and stuff like that. You were pretty good at it too!” Daniel became excited. “I’ve been working on a graphic novel. Here, let me show you some of it,” he said, reaching over to show her on his phone, and their hands touched. Helen looked his work over appreciatively. “Oh, this is very nice, even better than I remember. What an imagination you have, Daniel! You should totally pursue this!” Helen said, her hand touching his elbow as she spoke enthusiastically. “It’s hard to do at the same time as my work, though.” “But these are so amazing. It would truly be a shame if you stopped, Daniel.” “I guess it is up to me. You know, it's time I faced my past in order to move forward. I shouldn't blame my father anymore. He did his best to give me a good life. But I'm in control now, so if I'm not happy, the fact is that this is all my fault.” “That’s a good way to think, Daniel.” Daniel saw the shadow of someone waiting patiently behind him. He turned around and saw the waiter; it seemed like he had something to say. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear. I hope it’s not intruding too much, but I wanted to let you know I’m taking a big leap too. Everyone at the restaurant is celebrating my leaving party today. I’m going back to school to study psychology, just like I’ve always dreamed of. I think you should take a chance too. Just my two cents. I’ll stop talking about it now.” “No, it’s fine. That’s an encouraging story. Thank you,” Daniel told him. “You probably need more time to think about it, but what are you thinking about right now, Daniel?” Helen asked after the waiter had left. “I'm just adding up the expenses in my head, and I think I've saved enough to come back here and live with minimal income for some time. It's risking everything, but maybe I can give my dream a try for at least a year or two.” “That's awesome, Daniel!” Helen said, looking genuinely happy for him. “Helen, may I ask you something?” “Sure, Daniel.” “Are you seeing anyone right now?” “As a matter of fact, I’m not,” she answered coyly. “You know, I’ve always regretted leaving you behind when I went to study across the country.” “Oh, Daniel. I’m not going to lie. It was very hard, and I hated you for a long time. But now I’m over that.” “I know it sounds a bit like a silly rom-com, but I’d like to reconnect with you.” “I’d like that very much. And if you come back to live around here, maybe we can...” she said. “Yes, that’s what I was thinking, too,” Daniel said, and she smiled and held his hand. Daniel paid the bill and gave a large tip to the waiter. Then they went to wish him luck in his studies before leaving the restaurant. “Helen, I missed my train, so I’m going to have to spend the night at a hotel,” Daniel said when they reached the tall double doors of the train station. “There's no sense in you going to a hotel alone. Why don't you come to my place, Daniel?” “Thanks for the offer, Helen," he said with a smile. "Hey, look, it’s starting to rain outside. We better get to your car quickly." “Who cares? We used to love the rain when we were younger,” she said, taking him by the hand and pulling him after her into the rain shower. “Remember when we used to go down to the lake together every day, rain or shine?” Helen said as they danced in the warm rain, feeling like kids again. Daniel snapped out of his daydream during the morning team meeting, but there was a smile on his lips as he thought of Helen. I really should reach out to her and see how she’s doing, he thought.


“I came as quickly as I could. I’m really sorry.” Cotton Clayborne looks up at Kirk Chapman, his eyes hollow with worry and fear. Clayborne hooks his thumbs in his bib overalls, shifting his oil-stained CAT cap. “You know I want to help, Kirk. I’m a patriot and a veteran like you, and I want to win the war against Zirconia. But she’s a threat to the safety of my family, and that goes beyond the call of duty.” “Where is she?” Clayborne grimaces as if he’s reliving a horrific memory. “In the barn.” “Again, I’m sorry. I know she didn’t mean for this to happen,” Kirk says, putting his hands on Clayborne’s shoulders. Looking up at Kirk’s angelic features, Clayborne feels a sense of reassurance. “You know, I used to feel like I was taking the government’s money, but not now. What my son saw will stay with him forever. He saw her change shape. The last coherent thing he said before he went mute was, ‘I was swallowed up by hell.’ No one should see that.” “Well pay for his therapy,” Kirk offers. “Don’t bring her here anymore.” Kirk enters Clayborne’s spacious barn. Freya is sitting on a haystack, looking forlorn. Wearing a brightly colored floral sundress, her dark hair cascading down her shoulders, and with her light blue eyes pointed toward the floor, Freya looks like a pouting twenty-something with a lot on her mind. “I screwed up.” Kirk sits down beside her, putting a comforting arm around her. “You don’t have eyes in the back of your head.” “Not according to Dr. Mortel. He thinks I’m part insect anyway. I was in a hurry. I could feel the change coming on. I had no idea the boy was in the loft... Last night I was reading him Grimms Fairy Tales. Today I became one of the monsters in their stories. How is he?” “In a state of shock,” Kirk replies. “We’ll take care of him, and we’ll find you another place you can rest between missions. You'll have to stay at the lab for now. I know it’s like a jail, but the director of security doesn’t think you should be wandering around...” “So, I’m going to be guarded, just as if I was in jail.” “You’ll get plenty of tuna, Friskies, whatever you want.” “Then you’ll send me out to spy on someone, or demand I do something worse. I’m just a tool to you.” “No, not to me.” “When is this arrangement of ours going to end?” Freya asks. “When will I be free?” “It’s difficult to say. There’s a war going on...” “It’s becoming harder to control my transformations. I need to be someplace where I can be alone when they happen. I’m the last of my kind, an abomination,” Freya says, leaning her head against Kirk’s shoulder. “Don’t think that way.” “Before I die, I want to know who killed my brother, Talgo.” Picking up a strand of hay, she adds, “But I suppose that would be like finding a needle in this haystack.” “When this next assignment is over, I’m going to use all of the department’s resources to find out.” “You’ve said that before,” Freya replies. “No more assignments until we find out, okay? And I promise you’ll have more freedom.” “...All right... What do you want me to do?” “Win the war.” “Thanks to your brother, we know the Zirconians are planning to build a revolutionary submarine that will turn the tide of the war in their favor,” Kirk says. “My brother gave his life for that information. I’m much more reluctant to do the same.” Dr. Mantel Mortel holds up a cat collar. Pasty, with thick glasses, acne, and greasy hair, the head researcher for Aldoria’s secret service division, prides himself on having traded good looks for an abundance of intelligence. “This will adjust in size whether you’re a cat or in human form. It has a miniature camera and recorder in it. We’ll be able to hear and see what’s going on.” “But your main mission is to get one of the three flash drives,” Kirk says. “Have you memorized the route?” “Yes, of course.” “Then it’s time for you to change.” Freya rises from her stool, trudging toward the bathroom. “Just once, I’d like to see how she does it,” Dr. Mortel says. “It’ll cost you your sanity,” Kirk replies. Dr. Mortel notices Kirk’s dejected expression. “Those pretty blue eyes have got you feeling bad for her, haven’t they? “She doesn’t deserve this kind of life.” “She’s not human, Kirk. She’s a cat on two legs.” “Well, we treat our pets better than we treat Freya. She’s alone in the world. The Zirconians promised her people safety, then slaughtered them for sport. We promised them sanctuary, then turned them into spies and lab rats. Have you come up with a formula that can stop her from morphing and keep her human?” “You might as well ask me to come up with a way to beat the house at a casino. She hasn’t been helpful. We know about as much about her kind as we did when they surfaced six years ago. She’s hiding something. Freya has the ability to change her shape, yet a simple thing like a panic attack can stop her from being able to morph. She won’t tell me if her civilization came from here or another planet, or why her x-rays are virtually identical to ours, instead of those of a cat. Freya won’t even tell us how old she is. We estimate she’s at least three hundred years old. Still want to have a hot date with her?” “Stop it, Mantel. I just want to make sure she’s looked after and treated with respect.” “You’re in way too deep, Kirk. I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this, but when she comes back from this mission, we’re going to study her more closely.” “What exactly does that mean?” “A quick death, then dissection.” “You can’t do that! She’s the last of her kind!” “Have you seen any woolly mammoths lately?” Dr. Mortel retorts. “We can duplicate her body. Thanks to our examination of her body functions, we’re on the verge of making it possible for humans to live as long as her kind. What we haven’t figured out is how she’s able to morph from human form into a feline.” “And you need to kill her in order to find out?” Dr. Mortel slides his fingers through his greasy hair. “It’s not my call, Kirk. We recently discovered two other species that can alter their appearances. She’s obsolete.” The bathroom door creaks open. A black cat pads into the room. Kirk picks up the cat, stroking her fur. Freya purrs contentedly. “You’re too close to this,” Dr. Mortel repeats. Freya sits near the backdoor of the Zirconian military headquarters. She meows loudly when the door opens. A kitchen worker out for a smoke notices her. “You’re a cute kitty,” he says, picking her up. He looks at her collar. “Freya. My name’s Marcel. Nice to meet you.” Freya purrs loudly. “Would you like some milk, kitty? I only have lactose free until the delivery truck gets here, but it tastes the same.” Marcel takes Freya into the kitchen, placing a bowl of milk in a corner for her. The dishwasher looks over at Freya. “Another stray, Marcel? You know how General LaCroix feels about cats, especially black ones. He thinks they’re witches. Remember what he did to the last one?” “...Tortured it... Then strangled it,” Marcel says sadly. “Someone should do that to General LaCroix.” “....Sssh. Shut up.” Freya’s ears perk up. “...General LaCroix...,” she says to herself. Freya laps at the bowl. A tiny field mouse peeks out from behind the nearby refrigerator at her. “Go away, Micky.” Frightened by Freya’s whispered threat, the mouse’s eyes bulge and it scurries away, Freya sneaks through the kitchen and out into the hallway. Passing disinterested guards, Freya climbs the steps to the second floor. Passing gold-framed portraits of heroes, generals, and admirals, she enters the war room. Half a dozen of Zirconia’s highest-ranking military leaders are gathered around a massive conference table, staring at a series of plans. Placing his monocle over his eye, Admiral Brice Berne says, “The X-15 cobalt-powered submarine is the perfect innovative weapon to bring Aldoria to its knees. “It had better,” President Francoise Picardy harrumphs. The heavyset, double-chinned leader of Zirconia glances at Freya, picking her up. “Please put it down, Mister President. Black cats are witches in disguise,” a tall General with a long scar on his left cheek protests. “That’s old-world nonsense, General LaCroix. You’re so superstitious.” Freya’s ears perk up and she hisses at General LaCroix. “Relax, puss,” President Picardy says, stroking Freya’s fur. “It’s strange, General. Cats can sense fear, anger, or happiness in humans. What do you think this cat is sensing in you?” “That I’m the baddest mother...” “GENERAL!” “Forgive me, Mister President.” “Save your anger for the fight against Aldoria. How quickly will the new submarines be ready, Admiral Berne?” “Three are under construction now. They’ll be finished in three months.” “And you say they carry missiles that can reach the Aldorian capital city?” Admiral Berne replies, “Yes, sir!” with boyish glee. President Picardy puts Freya down in a nearby chair. “We have three flash drives with the plans on them,” he says. “General LaCroix, as my most trusted commander, I’m passing my flash drive onto you, and I trust you will destroy these plans after our meeting. I will say this candidly, gentlemen, we are losing the war. But a submarine that carries twice as many missiles as anything Aldoria has, is twice as fast, and can stay submerged for two years can bring us victory. We will sink their convoys without the fear of retaliation, then bottle their fleets up in their harbors and lay siege to their cities. I think a celebration is in order. I have champagne and caviar down the hall in the library.” Laughing and patting each other on the back, the president and his staff file out of the room. General LaCroix quickly returns. Leaning over the table, he glares at Freya threateningly. “I get rid of one black cat and three months later another one shows up. Soul stealer! I’ll choke you to death and gut you just like the last one. You can’t fool me, witch. I know you’re the devil’s mercenary. I’ll take great pleasure in sending your empty husk back to hell.” Freya hisses at General LaCroix, swiping at him. General LaCroix recoils. “Witch! You scratched me!” He tears the collar off Freya’s neck, tossing it on the floor. “I’m going to take all nine of your lives, witch!” Picking Freya up by the nape of her neck, General LaCroix moves toward the window. Freya meows loudly in protest, fighting his grip. General LaCroix is about to throw Freya out of the window when he hears someone clear his throat. Turning, he smiles weakly at President Picardy, dropping Freya. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell who the real animals are around here,” President Picardy says. Pushing the door open to the bathroom, Freya begins to change. She comes out of the bathroom with her hair up, wearing a tight blouse and a short skirt. Sashaying down the hallway, she passes an admiring young captain who arches his eyebrows approvingly. Entering General LaCroix’s office, she confidently marches toward his assistant’s desk. The woman lowers her glasses, eyeing Freya like a rival. The women exchange icy pleasantries. “I’m here to spell you for this afternoon,” Freya says. “Happy anniversary to you and your husband from General LaCroix!” “I knew he would remember!” Grabbing her coat and pocketbook, the woman speeds out of the office. Freya is studying sensitive information about troop movements on the computer when General LaCroix bounds into the office. His look of surprise quickly turns into a lecherous leer. Rubbing his scar, he removes his hat, tossing it on a chair as if he were hurling a Frisbee. “Well, who are you?” “Your assistant for the rest of the day. Jackie had an emergency and had to leave.” “I think we’ll work well together. Come into my office with me.” General LaCroix sits down in his plush chair. Looking up at Freya he smirks, patting his knee. “...Why, General...” “I can make you a commissioned officer tomorrow if you want.” Freya sits on his lap. Wrapping her hands around his neck, she draws him closer. “I think you can sense how I feel about you,” he says breathlessly. “...Such eyes...” “Almost like a cat’s eyes, eh?” General LaCroix gasps for air as Freya’s hands tighten around his throat. “You killed my brother.” “What? I haven’t killed anyone,” he gasps. “You strangled him, cut him open.” “I did that to a cat...A witch...,” he whispers as Freya crushes his windpipe. “Let me show you how I feel about you!” Freya’s beauty begins to melt away. Her fair skin turns into a gelatinous mass, her arms into claws, and her peerless smile into dozens of hungry fangs. Her silky hair morphs into poisonous hissing snakes that peck and bite at General LaCroix’s flesh. Freya takes the flash drive out of General LaCroix’s jacket pocket. She passes the boyish-looking captain in the hallway again. He pauses to take in her beauty, smiling to himself. Remembering he has a dispatch for General LaCroix, he enters his office. General LaCroix’s once-dark hair has faded to snow white. His chest, arms, and legs are torn open. What’s left of his ravaged face is frozen in a silent scream. Written in his blood on the wall are the words “For Talgo.” Freya quickens her pace, her heels click-clacking against the sizzling summer pavement. Ducking into an alley behind a garbage bin, Freya tries to will herself back into the form of a cat. “...Calm down... Calm down...,” she says to herself, but the more she speaks, the more nervous she gets. Wringing her hands, she heads back into the street. “There she is!” the captain yells. A detail of four other men charges after her. Shucking her heels, Freya races down the street, dodging bewildered onlookers. The men follow haphazardly, knocking down bystanders and barely avoiding groups of curious children. Scampering down an alley, Freya scales a fence, putting some distance between herself and her less agile pursuers. She tries to ignore the glass cutting the bottoms of her feet as she crosses an old football field. Crossing the street, she enters a bodega. The elderly man behind the counter tries to smile at her but can only manage a slack-jawed expression as he watches Freya tread blood across his linoleum floor. Heading out the back door, Freya pauses to catch her breath and get her bearings. A tabby cat rubs up against her leg. “Hello, fella. Can you help a fellow feline get home?” The cat purrs, looking up at her. He begins to walk away, then pauses to look back at Freya. “Really? You want me to follow you? What have I got to lose?” The cat leads her through a maze of alleys, stopping at what appears to be an abandoned apartment building. Freya follows the cat inside. She watches in fascination as the cat morphs into a sandy-haired young man. A group of men, women, and children appear out of the shadows, greeting her. “Where am I?’ “A sanctuary for changelings like us,” the man replies. “How did you know I was one of you?” “Your eyes. They tell a story. Your brother, Talgo, described you to us. He said you were fighting for the Aldorians against the Zirconians like he was. He told us that you were as disillusioned as he was to be involved in a war that had nothing to do with us. He found this sanctuary for us, a home for our civilization to grow while the humans destroy each other. It’s your home too, Freya.” “Who is this?” Kirk asks, looking at the sandy-haired man. “Hoffen. He’s a good friend.” “I thought we were good friends, Freya.” “I’ll always be your friend. But I’m also a changeling, and so is Hoffen. I have to go where I belong.” “This sounds like goodbye.” “It is,” Freya replies, handing Kirk the flash drive. “I know I promised to help you find Talgo’s killer and to give you more freedom...” “I found those things on my own.” “Just as well. Dr. Mortel wanted to dissect you.” “I know. I think he changed his mind. Go ask him.” Kirk is surprised to find the door to Dr. Mortel’s lab open. Broken glass and destroyed files line the floor. “Mantel? Are you here?” Seated in a chair is Dr. Mortel’s shredded, white-haired, moldering corpse. His mouth is frozen open in a silent scream.


Everything started with her. She invited me to one of the biggest nights of the year, for a nerd anyway. It was N7, a convention where all of the biggest game developers came together to announce their upcoming games. There were giveaways and demos and specials, and it was especially difficult to get passes. Somehow, it doesn’t matter now; she got the passes for us to go. I was to go to her house, pick her up, and drive us there and have a good time. When I got to her house, I immediately noticed the shape it was in. broken down, gloomy, and just plain creepy. I decided to not mention it. She came outside, and I was stunned. She only wore her normal, everyday clothes, so did I, but she still looked beautiful. We went there, and I immediately saw a theater room for one of my favorite developers. I rushed inside, dragging her along beside me. The lights dimmed, and I saw a familiar face. It was the main protagonist of my favorite game as a kid. The name doesn’t really matter now, but I was excited. They were going to make another game! Throughout the rest of the night, I marveled at the new gaming systems and games that were coming out, but my mind still went back to that one game. I then took her home, and that is when it all started. I insisted on bringing her to the door, and saw her in. What’s important is what I saw. I decided to step in, maybe meet her parents. One step and I was knee-deep in water. I was paralyzed. I felt weaker and weaker at the moment, as if my life force was being drained away. Then, I felt tendrils of seaweed brushing against my legs. You know the feeling of touching seaweed in the water? It was like that, but I couldn’t move. I fell into the water, sinking as the last bit of my life was draining away. Then, one powerful tendril of seaweed shot up and knocked me out of the water and onto the front porch. I sat up, and saw her. But it wasn’t her; it was her, covered in seaweed, with a strange green aura around her. She was almost floating in the air. I sat there for quite a while, and she hovered there for quite a while, and then, for the first time all night, I built up the courage to speak to her. “So,” I said, “You’re seaweed.” She nodded, and came over to sit by me. She explained it all to me, and I understood. She fell in here as a little girl, and drowned. The magical properties of the swamp gave her life again, but as seaweed. The other human-seaweed hybrids took care of her, nurtured her, and protected her from predators. She was their child, in a way. Eventually she learned to morph between human and seaweed forms, but she had to be careful. The magic of the swamp was strong, and would pull her back to her seaweed form if she was gone too long. It was never explained to her why the swamp was in the house, or how the magic came to be, so don’t come asking for that. “It’s alright,” I said, still not sure what was real anymore, but I decided to just go with it, “I understand.” She pushed herself away from me and sobbed, “No, you don’t understand! I could die any day! I could get eaten by some fish or just of old age! I won’t know what life will be like! I won’t know love!” And she was right. I didn’t understand a bit. But I decided to try to make it better. I pulled her in my arms and just held her there, stayed throughout the night. I did not say a word. Neither did she. When day came, she whispered “thank you” before letting herself drop into the swamp. I went home, told no one about it. The next morning, I saw everything differently. There were fairies in the trees and music in the air. It was either my mind was opened to how the world really was, or the swamp water gave me hallucinations. Either way, I kept seeing them, and I talked to them now and then. Every day afterward, I went to the house. I looked in, relieved to find the swamp still there. I sat down, dipped my feet in. I felt my life draining instantly, but kept them there until I felt too weak. I looked down into the swamp, among the seaweed, and found one. I was certain it was her. I could always tell. After I was too weak, there was always a gentle nudge, pushing me back on to the porch. After my many other adventures, when I was old and grey and saw everything the world had to offer, I went back to the house. It was gone. Demolished. In front of me stood a large plain house. I knocked, and a man and his wife came to the door. I explained that an old friend used to live there and asked if I could come in. They accepted. The house was obviously new, and as I walked down the hall I saw a room. I peeked in, the owners of the house looked cautious, but they decided what could an old man like me do? There, in a crib, was a little baby girl, I looked at her, and saw her face. Her face. I told them she was beautiful, and then walked out without a word.


It was on glum and gloomy, thunderous nights like this that I sat by the grand marble fireplace and reflected on my life to the rhythm of the rain. The chandeliers, the glare of the grand piano and ivory centrepieces of the penthouse dimly glistened in the room as I had requested, being the first lady of the Sapphire Hotel sure had its perks. I lit a few more chandeliers so I could look at the people on the sidewalk of the busy yet opulent left wing of the city. Some were businessmen, stockbrokers and private bankers in suits; others were valets tending to their rich (or posing) masters. Despite their varying positions, they all looked up at me with similar reactions, some envious, a little resentful and always a wistful longing. At times, I felt akin to the posers on the street because unbeknownst to anybody; my life was teetering on the edge of a knife.... The smell of firewood and hot cocoa wafted into my nostrils, these days sharp smells like garlic and aged cheese just would not do. I could not bring myself to stomach them, much to my relief; the penthouse was always filled with clean, natural smells. The wood burning in the fireplace, the mahogany from the ever polished hardwood floors and fresh flowers from our florist. I walked to the large, antique, gilt-framed mirror, sashaying this way and that way, I could be vain, like a peacock preening its feathers for all to see, not that I cared what any onlooker would think. With my dark thick hair, my green-brown eyes, naturally full, pouty lips, high cheekbones and Spanish heritage, my late mother had often joked that I was a mash up of Salma Hayek and the Kardashians. Even the slightly thicker curves of my Spanish flair seemed to make any male jaw drop. There was never really much to be said about modesty when women wanted to be you like a pampered pooch and men wanted to be with you at you every beck and call to appease their fancies, even if only to stare. Despite having a “husband” of my own, I can’t begin to tally the number of women who didn’t want me around theirs, merely as a precaution. I had married two years into my law degree, forsaking a life of deadlines and stress for one of wealthy and refinement. I had married a hotel tycoon, who tended to my every financial need and desire. No one seemed to care about my smarts (just my exotic beauty), as long as my skin was supple, polished and perfumed and my bosom curved in all the right places, no one gave a hoot what the Supreme Court ruling should be on anything from a cushioned trophy wife. I barely saw my ‘husband’, except in the festive season where he hosted wholesome family-style office parties for his executives, or charity balls for whatever orphanage was in need. I had to make appearances with him, so that together we graced the covers of the Business Daily and he remained a firm front runner in the hotel industry. Whenever we stood together, Charles and I, some would say we looked more like father and daughter rather than husband and wife. There was never any real affection in my marriage, everything was rather cold and transactional, he bought me anything I wanted and I gave him “one over on the boys” in his midlife crisis. My life was glamorous and flashy, but also loveless and lonely. That was until I met Henry... Henry added depth to my life; he listened to me, played chess with me and cured my aching loneliness by staying up with me to talk about everything and absolutely nothing as I doodled circles on his coffee coloured skin with my bare hands. I oftentimes felt guilty for keeping him up late with my whining when he had to wake up early and tend to his duties as my driver. During the summer, he’d drive me to Tiffany’s, so we could pretend the 20-carat rings were from him and not the American Express card from my husband. We’d have picnics in secluded parks, go on long walks and sometimes skip town in places where nobody knew us for a few weeks at a time, so we could just be lovers and I would sit in passenger seat so he wouldn’t feel like” the help”. He often stressed about how little he had to offer financially, I was not having it, he was the best thing I had going on in my life, and I actually preferred that he was the pauper yet my own Prince Charming, as though he stepped right out of a soppy novel. Henry represented what my life would have been had I not been too keen to chase the money and having spent time around the elite, I knew money made them shallow, superficial and even a little underhanded. For months now there had been talk of my husband’s shady business dealings and further whispers of the police being hot on his trail. Words like fraud and racketeering were up in the air and even with his overpriced legal team, I wasn’t waiting for the entire White Collar crimes unit to bust down my door before I made a plan. I was selling all of my jewelry, in cold, hard cash. I wasn’t leaving this god-forsaken marriage with nothing but I was also not taking the fall. Henry and I would buy a quaint, secluded farm somewhere and raise our child in peace. I just needed the puzzle pieces to fall into place... I had to think hard and fast, as much as I resented my pretentious husband, deceiving him would be no easy feat; he had not gotten rich by being foolish, so I had to plan carefully. My timing had to be right on the money. In between the business dinners, galas and soirees of the festive season, I needed an escape plan that would guarantee my husband never caught wind of my pregnancy or my affair with Henry or we would surely be goners. In this town, it was not going to be easy, the money he had afforded him many privileges that were denied to ordinary civilians, business deals among his rivals and stock tips often came faster than he could grab them. Simply put, he owned this town and all those he didn’t own, he could do so with the flash of his cheque book. Mine and Henry’s plan was about to come to fruition, we had enough to live off for a very long time. As Charles was in town we had been talking only in the car when we needed to speak as a matter of urgency. Lately, we had been sloppy, meeting even in the sauna when he missed talking to his ‘little one’ through the veil of my stomach. I was tired of walking on eggshells in this place, big as it was, filled to the brim with all the best money could buy and yet, a cold, empty house, even with the fireplace in the corner. I would not miss this place, it had too many bad memories, I wanted this new life with Henry so bad, I could taste it. Tonight was the night, come hell or high water, my love and I were making a break for it. It would be do or die given the circumstances, but the promise of our emancipation was well worth the risk...