The moment her fingers wrapped around the neck of a guitar instead of around the spine of a book, I knew that the family tradition would die with me. From the moment my twelve year old daughter plucked at those strings for the first time, she was a goner and everybody knew it. Everybody acknowledged it. They even praised her for it. But, according to the whispered rumours flying around the shelves I stocked on a daily basis, I was villain in every story that featured my daughter. I don’t understand why she won’t support Danica’s music. All Larissa ever cared about since little Dani was born is their family legacy. A bookstore owner or a librarian is hardly a profession to be proud of, if you ask me. Dani’s won so many prestigious awards already. When will Larisa realise that the poor girl is better off following her dreams than being stuck in this town like all the other women in their family tree? I never cared much for idle gossip. I found it amusing; a much needed source of amusement for avid readers looking for a more entertaining shopping experience. Hardly anyone in the whole town found the married and bored Mrs Drewby a credible source of information anyway. But on days like those--on days like these --when it all became a bit too much, I would find herself closing my eyes and replaying images of old memories to keep the cold at bay. I would visualise a younger, more enthused Danica running up and down the shelves, dragging me towards a shelf and pointing at a book on the topmost shelf with unwavering adoration. On days like these, I would watch at the shadows creep into my store through the large glass door and see her walking through the door; her eyes locked onto the shelf pushed against the farthest wall. Her guitar would be slung over her shoulders and her feet would lead her towards her target before the bell can stop ringing to announce her daily arrival. But then I blink, and the memory of my teenage daughter fades away. I let out a shaky breath and glance back down at the headlines glaring up at me from the wooden surface of the store’s front desk. Upon first glance, they aren’t that different. But the more my gaze glides between them, the more glaringly obvious their differences become. One is printed across a typical, neatly folded Eldrige County newspaper. The other is printed against an A4 sheet of paper with creases along the edges of were it was folded into quarters. One of them has a picture of my daughter on stage with a guitar and an award in her hand. The other has a picture of my daughter and her brother being shielded by my husband as they’re accosted by the paparazi outside a police station. Both of them are dated May 5 th . Both of them were supposedly published from the town’s printing office two days ago, but only one copy circulated this town that morning. TWENTY YEAR OLD MUSICAL PROTEGE STILL MISSING MYSTERY BEHIND LARISA LEROUX’S MURDER FINALLY SOLVED Two very different headlines rest side by side in front of me. I grab hold of the one that doesn’t belong in this town and turn it over. A single question is penned in the elegant strokes of her handwriting. It greets me as soon as I flip over the article she photocopied and slid between the covers of the book on my shelf. After unfolding her note in half, it was the first thing I saw. I’d scoffed as I read it, but that was before I saw my name across the headlines. I look down at her question with new eyes. Do you believe in a parallel universe too? I feel a vibration against the side of my thigh. I place the creased note back down on the countertop to unearth my phone from the confines of my jeans. I blink down at the sight of see my husband’s name flashing across the screen for a minute. After blinking away the moisture pooling just above my lower eyelid, I hold the phone up to my ear. “How’s the search going?” Direct. To the point. The phone calls between myself and the rest of the people Dani left behind have been this way ever since the night she disappeared. I shake my head, my eyes straying to the picture of the musical protege in her shining moment--then to the picture of a girl whose face is gaunt and cast in shadows. “It doesn’t matter where I look, Phillip. There’s no sign of my Dani anywhere.” “We’ll find her soon. I know we will.” I wish that I could say the same. I wish that I had an ounce of his unwavering faith left inside me. I wish that she hadn’t sent me the article. A moment of silence passes on his end. Then Brent’s voice drifts through the phone. “Where’s the pasta sauce?” “Not now, Brent. I’m on the phone with your mother.” “Hey, mom,” Brent says, his voice significantly louder, “where did you put the pasta sauce?” “Check the cupboard next to the one above the oven, sweetie.” “It’s been five hours since the search teams headed home,” my husband says, resuming our earlier conversation. “How much longer are you planning on staying out there without taking a break?” “I’m not in Ridgemond right now,” I tell him, making my way around the front desk. As I approached the store’s entrance, I added, “I’m at the bookstore.” “Again?” Brent asks, too surprised to bother hiding the incredulity in his voice. “No offence, mom, but I think the last place you’d find Dani would be at the bookstore.” The corners of my mouth lift up into a rueful smile despite the empty void expanding in my chest. I’d be lying if I said that thought hadn’t occurred to me. But around a week ago, I realised that her public aversion to the store is what made it the perfect hideout during the day. When everyone in town was out searching the whole continent, it made sense for Dani to hide out in the one place nobody expected her to be. I started leaving notes again, just in case she did indeed wander in when no-one was watching. And then one evening, when I went to check the shelves, the sunset was the most beautiful it had been in weeks--all because of those two glorious words. The sun shone a little brighter each day that I continued to open Charlotte’s Web and unfold one of her notes. Now that I know the notes hadn’t even been from her to begin with, I don’t know if the sun will ever shine again. In the background, I can make out the faint beeping of our microwave. I flip the OPEN sign attached to the door to CLOSED when Phillip’s muffled voice reaches my ears. “You’ve been going out of your way to lock up the bookstore a lot lately. Is there something that I should know about?” I cast a glance at the newspaper on front desk; at the battered copy of Charlotte’s Web beside it. “No. Not at all.” “We promised not to keep secrets in this family, Larisa. Not after the way Dani’s secrets caused her to run away from home.” “She didn’t run away .” “I’m on my way to join the search,” Phillip informs me. “Come home as soon as you can, okay? I don’t feel comfortable leaving Brent alone, considering everything that’s happened.” “I have one more thing to do and then I’ll head home.” I hang up and grab hold of the newspaper on the counter. Its pages crinkle in my tightened grip, but I barely pay attention on my way to the photocopier in the back room. I detach the front page away from the rest of the newspaper and find a pen while the machine whirs to life. A million thoughts, a million possible responses, pop into my head before I settle on one. Tearing the cooling sheet of paper away from the machine, I flip it over and scrawl a messy reply. By the time I wedge the battered book onto its perch in the centre of the shelf, some of the weight pressing against my chest eases. I may have lost all hope that my daughter wants to be found by me, but somewhere out there is a girl who hoped to never stop feeling her mother’s presence. I may never be able to have the opportunity to tell my Dani just how much I love her and appreciate her music more than any stupid family legacy, but I can make sure that Danica never forgets the feeling of just how much her mother cared about her. ...... My hands wouldn’t stop trembling. The moment we received the call about the arrest from the county police--the moment I watched the life drain out of our father’s eyes--I knew we’d have to experience the pain of her death again like a second tidal wave. It wasn’t until we went down to the station today and sat across from mom’s killer that the cold started to creep in under the surface of my skin. We were in two separate rooms. A thick wall of glass separated us from her murderer. If he glanced our way, his eyes wouldn’t be able to see anything but his own reflection. His calloused hands wouldn’t be able to reach out and grab me at all, and yet as soon as I raised my eyes to his, I felt like he was looking directly at me. He knew I was there; that we were there to watch the police officers interrogate him again. He stared directly at the glass and recounted every sordid detail of the night he slit my mom's throat with a smile. Why did you do it, Mr Fitzgerald? She blackmailed me about coming out to the police with my secret. She uncovered the truth about a rumour, you see. Dug her own grave, if you ask me. Would you state what rumour you're referring to for the record? I don't have to. Her daughter knows all about it. Don’t you, Dani? My hands haven’t stopped shaking since we left the station. No amount of stacking the shelves will get them to stop. “It’s not your fault.” I glance up from the steaming liquid in the mug my hands are wrapped around to see my dad watching me with a worried crease in his brows. I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. A hand reaches across the table. I want to flinch away, but he I can feel his shared grief through the contact. He wants to shoulder my burden. He needs to share his own grief at losing his wife. “It isn’t your fault,” he repeats, his tone firmer, more resolute. “Everyone is entitled to their secrets, Dani. But using his own secrets as a motive for a murder that he committed makes him the one at fault, not you.” It wasn’t about that. It was about so much more than that. I never told mom a thing about what happened when she was alive, and she took it upon herself to uncover the truth. I didn’t tell her what happened, and it led to her death. I need to make sure I don’t make the same mistake with dad, but every time I think of coming clean, images of all those secret encounters with our neighbour flash through my mind. I can almost feel Mr Fitzgerald pressing his body against mine when no-one else was looking. I can feel his unwanted caresses, his forceful holds. I can hear the rasp in his voice and feel the tears stream down my face every time it happened. After everything that happened, how can I possibly tell my dad that every time I look at Mr Fitzgerald, all I see a sexual assaulter, not a murderer? Everyone is entitled to their secrets. But what if I wanted to start carrying mine around on my sleeve for my family to see? My dad glances down at his watch with a frown. “I have to head out to work soon.” He looked torn between stepping out the door and keeping an eye on me. I forced a smile and shook my head. “I’ll be fine dad. Go to work.” “Call me if anything happens.” “I will,” I promise. And strangely, despite everything, I meant to keep my promise. The moment he walked out the door, the shadows started to creep back into the bookstore. Nobody had entered all afternoon. The townsfolk were probably giving me the time and space that my father practically yelled at them to give. I finish my tea in an attempt to chase away the cold settling inside me. When the last rays of sunshine completely disappear over the horizon, I drag myself over to the shelf and grab hold of Charlotte’s Web. A page folded into quarters slides out of the book and onto my waiting palm. The headline of a newspaper from May 5 th stares up at me--" Twenty Year Old Musical Protege Still Missing" --and proves what I already guessed about mom being from an alternate universe. I flip her note over, expecting to see a lengthy explanation about how she, too, used to tell Danica all about her conspiracy theories every time she made pancakes on a Sunday morning. What I read is something completely different, yet very much needed. I don't realise just how much I needed to hear the words until they were scrawled in her handwriting for me to discover. I never had the chance to tell my daughter how much I love her before I disappeared. If your mother was anything like me, she didn’t care about the family legacy at all. Don’t hold on to the pain of losing me for too long, my Danica. I’ll always be here if you need to talk, but if you’re keeping any more secrets from Brent or from dad, take a chance and trust them with your secrets. Your family will always love you no matter what. I will always love you, no matter what happened to you or who you become one day. Au revoir, ma fille. Love, Mom The pressure against my chest vanishes the more I read over her words. I feel the beginning of a genuine smile start to spread across my face. I feel something akin to hope for the future start to blossom within me. It's a feeling I thought I'd lost the ability to experience. And although she signs her note goodbye, it’s been so long since I heard my mother speak French to me that the simple phrase-- Goodbye, my girl-- chases away the cold I haven’t been able to shake off for weeks. I reach into my pocket and unearth my phone. I press my finger against his name before I can even consider talking myself out of what I’m about to do. Because mom is right. My family doesn’t know a thing about what really happened and Brent still hugged me on his way back to school. Dad stayed behind all afternoon to make sure I was okay. My family loves me regardless of the little they know. He answers on the third ring. “Danica?” I click on the button that connects Brent to our call. He answers almost immediately. “What’s going on?” he asks, no doubt noticing I have him on a joint call with dad. “There’s something I need to tell the both of you. It’s about Mr Fitzgerald, and what he did to me for months.”


Sisters I will not shoot an unarmed woman. She’s not unarmed, she’s holding a nail-gun. It’s not a real gun though. What part of ‘nail-gun’ makes you think that’s not a gun? ... A strange, strangled scream from the bedroom. The door burst open. Good morning my love, coffee? Fuck off! What...? I said fuck off! No coffee, no fucking cornflakes. He blinked. She slammed the front door behind her. ... A nail-gun can’t hurt anyone at this distance. It’s a powder-actuated model. What? It’s powder-actuated. As in gunpowder? As in gunpowder. You can tell because there’s no battery, no power cable and no compressed air tube. Also I just know. Cripes. It can shoot a hardened nail through three inches of concrete. Terminal velocity over 400 metres a second. Do you know the terminal velocity of a bullet from a .22 rifle? Nuh. 330 metres a second. Oh. They’re not accurate though. Correct, numpty. As in the nail could end up anywhere in the general direction of here. Why is she so mad at the old woman? Dunno. She keeps yelling something to do with DNA. ... His phone rang. He slid off the breakfast bar stool and slipped it from his jeans pocket. Hi Maria. Yes, well, it wasn’t what you’d call a conversation. More a short burst of personal abuse and then a slammed door. Well, as I have no idea what the problem is, I also have no idea where she might have gone. Hold on... He walked to the window. Yes, good guess. That was the squeal of the tyres on my Beamer as someone in a REALLY bad mood took off up the street. Well, I heard her phone ring a minute before she left then she made some weird noise. She just had on her denim shorts, one of my white shirts, which is embarrassingly see-through, and her pink trainers. Huh? No, look, she’s your sister. Not much I can do except hope she doesn’t trash my car. Maybe put out an all-cars alert on a stolen BMW? I dunno, you’re the copper, you sort it out. She called you? Why? Thought she’d called your mother? Hung up on you? Yes, sorry I keep asking questions back at you. Has she always been that volatile? She only moved in a few weeks ago and I’ve never seen anything like this. I thought we were as sweet as. ... Do we know who the other woman is? Not yet. She’s a bit older eh. A lot older I’d say. Why would you take an old woman hostage? Whoa. Watch it! The gun has come up. No, it’s gone down again. She seems to know how to use it which is strange. You have to be trained to use one of those. They are really yelling at each other aren’t they. They certainly aren’t the best of friends today. When are the HQ lot due? 15 to 20 minutes I think. She’s Sergeant Broom’s sister you know. He nodded. How can we tell if she’ll use the nail-gun? We don’t. But if she holds it up again, let off a warning shot. ... Hi Maria, you again. No, she never said anything about you and me. She’s known about that from the start and it was never a problem. No we never talked about you. I moved in with her. I didn’t take that step with you. She always seemed reassured by that. Also you and me was years ago. Yes she did the DNA test a few weeks ago. She was expecting the results any day now. She’s done what? Your mother? Bloody hell. Oh. The nail-gun? Bloody hell. Well, I showed it to her, but she didn’t actually shoot it. No. All right, yes I showed her how it works. Why all the questions about the nail gun? It was in the boot of the car. It belongs to the company. No I am the one trained to use it and they don’t like to leave it on site. Yes, for attaching serious kit to masonry and concrete. Oh shit... Yes, I’ll be here. Are you coming or... yes of course. I’ll be out front. ... Sergeant Broom pulled up at the miniature train station in the police car with a constable in the front passenger seat and Harvey Lister in the back. They jumped out of the car and ran up to the local constables who had been watching the two women argue noisily on the pedestrian bridge over the miniature railway line. Harvey look at his BMW parked nearby but it didn’t seem to have any dings. Long skid marks on the tarmac leading to the tyres. Mum comes here for a walk every morning. Guess that’s why she came here - to find her. Oh put the fucking gun down constable. She’s not going to shoot anyone. Screaming and yelling. The nail gun raised in the air. A massive BANG as it went off. A scream from the woman holding it as the recoil bashed it back into her shoulder. It fell from her hand and she dropped onto her backside holding her shoulder, and began to sob. Her mother looked down at the others and waved Maria up. Maria walked up onto the little bridge and spoke to her mother while her sister sobbed. A look of horror swept over Maria’s face. She walked back to Harvey and the coppers while the mother comforted her daughter on the bridge. You should leave now she said to the two local constables. Thank you for attending. Please send me a report so I can report to HQ. What happened? It’s personal. Please go now. They walked to their car, casting a few curious glances at the family tableau. She looked at the constable who had come with her. Please wait in the car. His eyebrows raised, then he nodded and walked back to the cruiser. She turned to Harvey. Did you know you were adopted? Yes, I always knew, he said. How do you know? What has that...? Never wanted to look up your birth parents? Well I had my DNA tested years ago but nothing came of it so I haven’t even looked in recent years. So on Ancestry you are Harvey Lister? Yes, of course, why..? Gaynor had her DNA tested recently. Yes? She paused, looked at the ground, looked back up at him, his broad shoulders, long hair, those pale blue eyes. “She is...we are...your sisters.”


*Author's note: Wholesome short about being at Pride for the first time. There's not much of an actual plot. Just a little something fun to get ready for June.* The sun beats down on us, arms already slick with sweat as we arrive at the vast park downtown. It is almost the end of June in Florida which means Alex is passing around the bottle of sunscreen they always carry in their oversized bag. Out of solidarity with Alex, I slather some all over my exposed arms and legs even though it would take hours in the sun for me to burn the way Alex does in ten minutes. Alex readjusts their They/Them pronoun pin from last year’s Pride on their rainbow tank top and pushes back their short red curls back with a bandana. Stephanie refuses the bottle, shaking her head. She doesn’t even try to humble Alex. She makes a point in telling us she was made for the sun. I hand back the bottle and we stand there taking each other in. I already feeling sticky and disgusting before we have even done anything. “Are you ready to experience your first Pride, Mira?” Alex asks. I shift nervously, thumbing the straps of my backpack. Alex and Stephanie have been going to Pride since they were in high school. I felt like I didn’t belong, so I never asked anyone to go with me. I felt too straight to go as someone part of the community and too gay to go as just an ally. I still haven’t figured out if the imposter syndrome is a natural part of being bisexual or if it stems from constantly being questioned about my history like I’m supposed to always carry a pass with me that would offer an acceptable answer. “I’m nervous. There’s already too much to look at but we just got here,” I answer. There are booths of art, food, and activities everywhere in the grassy area of the park. By the fountain there are groups of people trying to seek refuge on the park benches barely shaded under the trees. There is cornhole and an embarrassing group of people holding signs saying we are all living in sin being shouted at by a bigger group of people here to enjoy Pride. “Don’t look over there,” Alex says grabbing me by the shoulders and swiveling my body so I’m looking at Stephanie instead of the protesters. Alex is now trying to block them out of my view with their body. “This is a safe space.” “Wait until the parade starts,” Stephanie says laughing. “That’s when the real fun starts.” Her hair is tied into two knots on her head. She’s dressed in the colors of the lesbian flag, incorporating the colors with her eyeshadow and lipstick. Most of her torso is showing and the spray on body glitter glistens on her skin. She looks so beautiful and ready to take on the day. Alex, cool and comfortable. Then there’s me feeling like the outsider. My clothes don’t scream look at me with the muted shades of magenta, purple, and blue that look more like a coincidence than a statement of an identity I am still figuring out. We start walking around, grabbing everything that is handed to us as we follow the sound of music blaring from a stage somewhere on the other side of the park. I feel mesmerized by all the different people, outfits, and colors. So many people are walking around holding hands and almost everyone is smiling. I don’t think I have ever been somewhere with so many people where almost all of them looked so happy to be with those around them. I feel less self-conscious as I see more people wearing outfits that make me feel less like I missed the mark for the occasion. But a part of me still feels like someone will ask me what I’m doing here if I stray too far away from Alex and Stephanie. “Ooh this looks fun,” I say, pulling away from our little line, expecting them to follow me. I bee line toward a pit full of soap bubbles that are bubbling out from all sides of the sectioned off area. There are people laughing and singing as they build shapes out of the bubbles. This is like living out a childhood dream of filling the bathtub with too much soap, turning the bathroom into a castle of bubbles. It’s silly but makes my heart warm up and distracts me from my worries. I turn my attention away from Alex and Stephanie as I wade through the bubbles. Someone smiles at me and puts a crown of bubbles gently on my hair. I return the gesture with a sad little handful of bubbles I grab from a pile next to me. We share a laugh as they continue handing bubbles to everyone they walk by. I forget where I am for a while taking in the happiness radiating around me. I can hear the music and smell the food, the outdoors, and the beauty products. I get lost in the moment smiling at everyone who smiles at me. We don’t have to talk or ask questions. We are just all here in this moment together. We made it. We are here. I realize Alex and Stephanie are nowhere in sight. There are people all around me but none of them look familiar. I twirl, trying to remember which way I came from, but I feel disoriented. I’m covered in bubbles that now tickle my skin. The mixture of soap, sunscreen, and sweat begin to make my skin crawl. I panic realizing I have never been here before and most likely won’t get a text back from Alex or Stephanie if I send either of them a message. Neither of them checks their phones every five minutes like I do. I have to find them. Suddenly someone grabs my hand gently as if to say It’s okay, I’m here, pulling me out of the bubble pit as I try to get out. “Raven pronouns she/her,” she says smiling immediately. She has two long braids running down her back and glitter make up dusted across her face. She lets go of my hand and readjusts the trans flag draped across her back. “You looked like you were starting to have a panic attack so I thought you could use some help.” “Thanks, I’m Mira. Also, she/her. This is my first time at Pride, and I lost my friends after getting distracted by the soap bubbles. I couldn’t help myself,” I say starting to laugh as I calm down. She doesn’t look like she came out of the bubble pit so she must have seen me as they walked by. “I’m carrying this for my brother Clay while he eats. He’s not the best at multitasking.” Clay is trailing behind her and waves a hand at me with a paper plate in the other and mouth full of fried dough. His glasses slightly fogged up from the heat rising off the funnel cake. “I’m here as an ally and supporter,” Raven continues. “And because it’s a lot of fun.” Clay wipes one of his hands off and pulls a few beaded necklaces off from around his neck. “To match your outfit and make it a little festive,” he says putting a pink, purple, and blue necklace around my neck. “We were going to watch them set up the parade cars. Do you want to sit with us before we look for your friends?” Raven asks. I nod and follow them. Happy to be on the quieter side of the park for a few minutes. I already feel better with the breeze coming off the water. The parade vehicles are lined up on a long road that runs through an empty section of the park along the water. A few people are sitting on the stones that look out into the ocean. “Look!” Raven shouts as she grabs my hand again to pull me closer to the edge. I tear my eyes away from the parade in progress and see dolphins swimming back and forth. Everyone sitting down exclaims with excitement and brings out their phones to capture the moment. I send a quick blurry picture to Alex and Stephanie hoping they will see it and find me before it’s too late. We sit down in the grass and watch them talking about anything and everything but not once questioning why we are here. The dolphins a wholesome addition to the beauty of everything else around me. * “We finally find you!” I hear Alex exclaim behind me. I turn around to wave Alex and Stephanie over. “I made some new friends,” I say smiling at Raven and Clay. “I’m so proud of you!” Alex claps as they greet Clay and Raven before sitting down in the grass with us. “Maybe we should lose you more often on our outings. Me and Stephanie clearly aren’t meeting anyone else.” Stephanie sits down too, her hands full of more stickers, buttons, and bracelets. They both look a little red and a little tired. Alex’s bag stuffed to capacity and powdered sugar is lightly dusted on the front of their shirt, matching Clay. While I was busy being lost from them it looks like they had their own adventure. “We befriended Mira. Three of us is plenty but we can make an exception for today,” Stephanie says. All five of us watch the water, the dolphins having returned into the depths of the ocean. We enjoy the shade of the tree and the quiet until the parade starts. The worries I had when I first arrive might come back, but for now, I can just enjoy the moment being a little lost and a little found.


Sarah Jackson held the small leather journal against her chest excitedly as she nearly skipped her way out the campus. The words of her physics professor, Adrian De la Rosa, were still fresh in her mind, none of which had anything to do with the subject. The young woman had found a kindred spirit with the older man the moment he’d begun to share his fascination with the world of spiritualism and how he utilized his expertise in the field of science and applied it to the world of magic. Every end of his class, Adrian would take some time to share with his students his vision of the world with passion and fervor. And while everyone listened, very few gave merit to his words, content with having half an hour spent in anything else other than the college's curriculum. Yet that soon differed. It had promised to be another typical lecture about the balance and order of the universe up until the man had produced a small leather bound journal from his jacket, the very same that now in her possession. As soon as Adrian had brought out the journal, everyone's attention was focused on him, the air shifting inside the classroom to something akin to shock and awe, but also fear. And for the first time since their professor had begun to impart with them his beliefs they listened, hanging from every single word the moment he’d uttered two words. Astral projection. It had caught everyone off guard, Sarah being the most affected by it. The words sent a pleasurable shock of electricity straight to her brain. The older man handed the small journal to his students, instructing them to pass it along as he began explaining what the concept of astral projection entailed, detailing the process that went into reaching a paradoxical state of mind -both dreaming and awake- required to partake in such a practice. And with each excited and fascinated explanation, Adrian continued to assure his students that it all related back to Plato's old school of thought about the true world resting above theirs; the world of ideas . By the time Sarah was finally handed her professor's journal the bell rang, signaling the end of today's classes. One by one, her peers trickled out the classroom as they often did, talking excitedly amongst themselves as they left. Sarah herself purposefully moved slowly, eager for the moment where only herself and the professor remained. When the last of her classmates had left, Sarah mustered enough courage to approach the older man. Dozens of questions poured out of her mouth before she had time to give them order, allowing for very little breathing room in between. Yet Adrian seemed unbothered by her excitement. The man smiled fondly at her despite Sarah not noticing in her feverish questionnaire. It wasn’t until the man had uttered two singular words that her questions were brought to an end. “Take it.” Adrian had offered sincerely. Sarah was at a loss for words, unable to process what had just been said and resulting in it being repeated once more. Soon confusion turned into pure delight as the words finally settled in. Sarah wondered if there had been a gleeful gleam in her eyes with the way Adrian's flashed with recognition and pride. That was how the journal had come into her possession. Everything afterward seemed miniscule in comparison. Sarah could barely hold her excitement in, spoiling herself to a few entries before reaching the privacy and safety of her apartment. Yet another emotion lingered at the back of her mind, gnawing away every second she’d spent reading the journal. Fear . Her heart raced with eagerness as soon as she reached what appeared to be one of the more detailed travels, her fingers caressing the worn pages as she read about a seemingly infinite and ever shifting city of white sand and salt where shadows old and new coexisted in harmony. The usual transit time Sarah endured each trek to Kabata university and back appeared to be non-existent, easing her mind until she finally reached her destination. By the time she’d crossed the threshold, Sarah plunged her room into darkness, perturbed at the idea of prying and curious eyes questioning her on what it was she was about to do. A soft short lived breeze cooled her face as the pages were turned until they were back at the beginning, where a series of experimental first projections from her teacher had been recorded until a considerable success had been achieved. Eighteen. It had taken professor Adrian eighteen attempts before he'd reached the fabled world of ideas, and with some luck she'd be able to reach it in her first try. It all came down to whether or not she followed her professor's established rules perfectly, though the consequences that were constantly implied at the end of each entry remained unclear to her. Even then, the night couldn't come quickly enough. Utilizing what little sunlight remained, Sarah accommodated her bedroom for the coming night while familiarizing herself with the rules that came from interacting with the world above theirs. By the time the blue summer sky turned black and the stars began to glimmer into existence, that initial delight and excitement was slowly fading away. She couldn't explain why, but Sarah was overcome by this oppresive fear of the darkness in the corners of her apartment. It was as if a thousand eyes watched her every move from every miniscule shadow that the light could not dispell, the feeling only growing more unbearable the closer she was to finalizing the necessary arrangements for the projection. Sarah was beginning to get cold feet, but still pushed on. It was difficult to ignore the feeling of being stalked like prey when she settled into her bed. She could sense the invisible eyes burning through her behind the blouse covering her eyes, she felt as they pierced her flesh until they were staring right at her soul. Whispers and murmurs echoed in the dark, hidden beneath the white noise of the soft pitter patter of the rain playing through her speaker. None of the rules Adrian had written in his journal had spoken of such things, but the fear of stopping now, of taking the blind off and seeing the dark, of seeing what it was that stalked her inside of it made her continue with the rite. Soon the cacophony of sound and sensations reached its maddening crescendo and Sarah screamed desperately in an attempt to drown them out in her own sound and pain. She wanted out, wanted to rush out her apartment and into whatever light she could find. The journal could burn for all she cared, her interest in that which remained unseen be damned, tainted by the sentient darkness. She was this close to taking the blind off when she saw it. It was dim at first, barely noticeable, but all her attention was placed on it as a last attempt to ignore the horrors she had unwillingly invited inside her room. A light, not of her room, shone beautifully, bathing her in colorful hues she could not begin to describe or understand, only admire for its beauty. Suddenly, the darkness exploded with that impossible light, yet it did not blind her, instead filling her with warmth as the terror that consumed her no more than a few moments ago melted away. The entries could not do the sensation any justice, for there were no words in existence that could even begin to describe the ethereal. The whispers were gone now, and so too was the feeling of being watched. It seemed as if they had retreated under the might of her protection's light, acting as a shield to the lurking darkness that accompanied the cosmos. Still, the prior run-in with such a bizarre and paralyzing nightmare would be impossible to forget, even when witnessing a beauty beyond words. Poor Sarah wished she could have at least caught a glimpse of the shifting citadel of sand, or the howling forest even, instead she now found herself wishing she’d never been offered the book in the first place. The experience now tainted and distasteful. She tried to stir awake, forever done with the unknown, yet as she hoped for the bright light to subside and let the dark of the cloth take a hold once more, the storm of colors only grew in its intensity. Sarah continued to fight the pull of the light to no avail, growing panicked when the world shifted beneath her. Something dark and humid slithered all around her, moving over each other as snakes yet flowing seamlessly like a river. The tendrils creaked and snapped as they kept expanding, snaring her feet where she stood. The feeling was harsh against her exposed skin, scraping away small bits of flesh with every minuscule movement she made. Wood . Sarah thought in surprise. The empty space had been overtaken with a sea of roots. Sarah had thought that perhaps she had been rewarded with the sight of the howling forest, yet that possibility died as quickly as it had spawned. There was something different from what the book had described, and even if she’d hadn’t read the entity the sensation of wrongness would have lingered still. Life was often related to the image of trees, but such a concept was not transmitted by that thing. Whatever it was, it used that image mockingly, twisting it with its vile nature. Appearing more like thorns than roots. The ground suddenly shook, pulling her away from her musings. The world shifted again, and the sea of thorns parted like the red sea under the tremor's might. And from the newly formed pit, large figures shifted within. Sarah squinted her eyes in hopes of getting a better look, but it was like staring at a static screen. A thousand lines moved from within, but she was slowly starting to make out some silhouettes from inside the darkness. She counted two, maybe three large humanoid bodies wriggling from within as they continued to ascend. Their bodies convulsing as the thorns convulsed, spasming violently as the black thorns snaked across their bodies like veins. It wasn’t long before Sarah could see the divine bodies more clearly, their white emancipated bodies sat proudly on their thrones. What might have been a proud and powerful race now laid dead before her, their carcasses towering over the corrupted world were thorns now reigned supreme. Her mind cowered at the thought of something celestial dying, of it being possibly killed. Sarah suddenly turned her head to the side, swearing that something, someone had been standing beside her. A voice echoed inside her mind, speaking her name urgently before vanishing just as the figure had done. Then a new voice told hold of her brain, speaking her name with a more mocking and vicious undertone. Sarah. Sarah. Sarah... With each uttering, her skull vibrated painfully, bringing her to her knees. The roots from the bodies shifted once more, the dead gods collapsing from their thrones as the thorns escaped from the corpse’s frame, leaving only a hollow shell behind. The sentient roots converged above the three thrones, creating a mass of snaking wooden tendrils that expanded and fell in on itself. The voice kept growing louder inside her mind, driving her closer to the edge of madness. And as the mass of roots kept becoming larger and larger, flashes of a creature birthed of thorns invaded her mind, its branching arms burrowing themselves as roots into countless worlds as the one she was standing in, a sea of dead gods laying at its wake. Join us. Join us. Join us. Join me. Be whole with me. Sarah kept desperately trying to wake herself from the projection to no avail, her mind too overwhelmed to properly focus back to her physical body. She continued to try over and over again, meeting with failure each time, provoking the cruel laughter of the demonic being. Then, like a miracle sent from the heavens, Sarah felt the connection with her anchoring body. It was a barely noticeable connection, but it was a connection nonetheless. Eager to escape the clutches of the monstrous thorn god, Sarah let herself be taken by the same warmth that had enveloped her when the rite began. The nightmare finally appeared to be coming to an end, yet as she began to breathe easy again the amalgamation of roots shifted once more. She'd barely any time to scream when she felt her body be pierced by a thousand needles. Her skin bulged outward as the smaller roots turned her body into their new home, threatening to tear at it with their violent thrashing. By the time the pain finally settled in her mind, her vocal chords had already been cut by the thorns growing inside her. And as the darkness overtook her no last time, the voice whispered into every crevice in her mind eight words that sealed humanity’s fate as she felt herself finally return to her body. Together. Freedom. Together. Awake. Together. Nothingness. Together. Rebirth.


Once upon a time, long, long ago and far, far away there was a little bird. And the little bird loved to fly high above the trees. All through the hot summer days, the bird soared and dipped and dived. She found such joy in the spread of her wings and the feel of the wind in her feathers. She would weave in and out of the full branches, feeling the brush of the leaves along her wings. Hearing the songs of her companions. Feeling so full of life and bustling with energy. And time passed. As the bird flew, the leaves changed their colors, and the skies clouded over. There was a briskness in the air that hadn't been there before. And still, the bird took to the skies every chance she could. She dipped among the many-colored leaves and gloried as they fluttered around her, falling to the ground. She smelled the distant scent of smoke and saw the fruits and vegetables ripen and be harvested. Soon, the trees had lost all their leaves leaving their branches bare. The sun hid behind the ever-present clouds and the sky was dark. The snow fell. Lightly at first, then with greater urgency. The snow piled around the base of the tress, muffling the sounds of the forest. Hiding the beauty under a blanket of white. The chill air hurt the bird as she flew through it. The deep breaths that had brought her the summer-fresh breezes and the crisp autumn winds took a cruel turn. The coldness if the wind bit into her skin as she continued her flight. Her heart became as heavy as the sky now. The efforts it took to flap her wings and lift herself into the sky made her very bones ache. But on she flew. With an ache in her bones and a chill through to her skin. On she flew. Until, one day, she just... couldn’t. The bird landed. So tired and so cold from the winter, from the abuse of the elements. She landed, shivering, on a bare branch, nestling in close to the trunk of the tree. And she rested. But soon, as she rested, she noticed, next to her in the branch, a tiny little bud. And as she rested, she noticed a slim shaft of light breaking through the clouds and warming her. And each day, as she rested, more buds blossomed around her, and the shaft of light grew brighter and stronger. The buds turned to fragrant blossoms and bright, fresh leaves. The forest, shaking off the chill of the winter, was starting to come alive around her. And as she rested, *she* grew stronger. And one day, when she had rested, she stretched out her wings again. And with a strong flap, she lifted back into the skies. Braver for the winter she had endured. Stronger for the time she had rested. And wiser for the time that had passed. But still, she took to the air, rising on the currents. And she dipped and she dived, and she flew, and her heart again soared.


Cupid is striking hot! Dear readers, Just when everyone thought we would be having a quiet summer, nope, it does not look that way, especially on Chestnut Way. Things are heating up. Majorly, actually. And folks, it’s guaranteed to be “hotter than July!” News has it that our “on-again-and-off-again lovebirds,” aka the mysterious Mr. M and the bright Ms. E, were caught in some kind of love triangle. Yes, you read that right! We all have taken notice of Mr. M’s ways: low key, speaks little, but a total party boy. Oh boy, the man can throw the loudest and most lavish parties at his mansion. If you have been lucky enough to attend one of them, you would know what we mean. Anyways, he seems to have been caught two nights ago with another woman, late in the evening. The two looked very close. But no one knows who she was. Ms. E was nowhere in sight. No one had seen the platinum blonde with bright neon-colored clothes anywhere close by. So, speculations have started.....obviously! This is what can be said for now. The new couple was seen leaving the Plaza hotel holding hands. It was close to two in the morning. Maplewood, being such a tight-knit community where everyone knows everyone, can be particularly explosive. We asked the staff of the hotel, and the bellman was the first to respond, “With all due respect, sir, I do not recall seeing these guests leaving our property last night.” At the reception, the same response. Even among the other hotel staff--and there were many--including the housekeeping service, no one seemed to know about this mysterious woman. It looked as if she appeared at the door, they got in a car that was waiting for them, and off they went. Oh snap! Things are heating up in Maplewood. Dear readers, Since our last column, no one has yet seen the mysterious woman who was seen leaving the Plaza a few days ago with Mr. M. We will now start referring to her as Ms. A. Ever since it happened, we have been asking about her. Some people who saw them leaving the hotel lobby said she was part of Mr. M’s entourage. They had dinner together, just the two of them, and they kept holding hands throughout the entire meal. He had ordered steak and she only had a salad. But the champagne, the Dom Perignon, kept pouring. Suddenly, the waiter got a sign that they were leaving. After that, it was a blur for everyone. Known for their loyalty to all their guests, the staff at the Plaza have been tight-lipped ever since. This was the only thing we know from them. Since the two were caught leaving the hotel late at night, there were not many people who could have possibly seen them. Upon some investigations, there are multiple sources that came forward with a version of the story. Maplewood is not such a big place after all! More soon! Mystery on Acord Street Dear readers, The saga continues in Maplewood. A young man driving by on the evening of the infamous night out confided that he had seen Mr. M having a heated argument with Ms. E in the park. This was a few hours before the incident. He was shouting at her and at some point, she slapped him and took off. He tried to run after her, but then gave up. Out of frustration, he was seen throwing his cap on the ground and walking to his car. Meanwhile, one of Ms. E’s neighbors said she had seen her leaving the next morning, with two big suitcases that she could barely carry. This made her wonder what she could have been carrying and what may have been inside. Then, she assumed she was leaving town after the scandal and heading to her parents' house in the Hamptons to cool off. They owned a beach property there. This may be the reason why a delivery man also said that Ms. E seemed to have vanished. He had tried to deliver a package at her home the day after the incident. He rang the bell several times and no one answered. Her housekeeper, who is generally the one who comes to the door, was nowhere in sight. So, he left the box by the door. At the local Starbucks, the owner would not say a word. When asked, he could only say, “This is none of my business, but the three seemed quite tight when they last came in here to get coffee.” No one else seems to have seen them, but he is adamant this happened shortly after the incident. So for now, all three seem to be missing in action and the lights at Mr. M’s mansion have been off. Have they suddenly left town? Look out for our next update, soon. When there is smoke... Dear readers, Just when we thought that the local news was only fake news, things are re-heating again. As the saying goes, “when there is smoke, there is fire!” We eventually caught up with Mr. M and he has been tight-lipped but with a smirk on his face. Ms. E. seems to be frequently going to the local bookstore, skipping the Starbucks, and looking contemplative. Meanwhile, Ms. A, whose identity has now been revealed to us, seems to be the life of every social event, almost as if she's enjoying this new attention. All of this leaves us to think, just as the local baker said, "I think Mr. M dropped something more than a muffin." Also overheard the librarian murmuring, “Books aren’t the only things checked out here!” Up to you to fill in the blanks on these comments. When there is a way... Dear readers, When there is a way, there is certainly a will...and perhaps a little thrill! Now, one might wonder if Ms. E's contemplative bookstore visits are more about chapter turning than just book learning. Or if Ms. A's newfound zest for social gatherings is a recipe for a story sweeter than any dessert the local baker could whip up. They say still waters run deep, so keep your eyes peeled and your imaginations running wild, because it looks like this tale is just getting started--and who knows what juicy details might tumble out next! What really happened on that fateful Friday night? Only time--and perhaps a few too many espressos--will tell. Until the next slice of scandal, keep your mugs full and your rumors spiced!


#Welcome to Roundtable Thursday! Writing is so much fun, but it can also be very challenging. Luckily, there are so many other writers out there going through the exact same things! We all have unique skills and areas in which we excel, as well as places we’d like to improve. So I’d like to present a brand new weekly feature. This will be a weekly thread to discuss all things writing! And... to get to know your fellow writers a bit! Each week I will provide a topic and/or a few questions to spark discussion. Feel free to chime into the discussion in the comments, talk about your experiences, ask related questions, etc. You do not have to answer all the questions, but try to stay on-topic! *** #This Week’s Roundtable Discussion **This week I want to talk about Focus. For me, it’s one of the most important parts about writing but also one of the most difficult. What I need to help me stay focused on writing is quiet and comfort but you might need something different. So this week’s question is:** **What helps you focus on your writing?** #Introduce Yourself: - **We’d like to know more about you! How long have you been writing? What’s your favorite genre to play in? Your favorite book? Anything! Let us know in the comments!** *** #Reminders - **Use the comments below to answer the questions and reply to others’ comments.** - **Please be civil in all your responses and discussion.** There are writers of all levels and skills here and we’re all in different places of our writing journey. Uncivil comments/discussion in any form will not be tolerated. - **Please try to stay on-topic.** If you have suggestions for future questions and topics, you can add them to the stickied comment or send them to me via DM or modmail! *** ###Subreddit News and Happenings - Come practice your micro skills on or experiment with long-form writing on - You can also post serials directly to the sub! Check out for more information.


I’m in a ditch, lying in a crater of my own making. Glass mixed with leaves and bracken on the floor, the heavy weight of machinery crushing the soft, wet earth that always supported me so well. I’m scratched by gently-swaying branches; I always wondered what they felt like as they blurred past me on brighter days. An animal sits poised as it watches me, illuminated only by the last remaining bright thing, me. The world oscillates gently in the wind, but not me. I am still. A wheel sticks up at an angle, like I used to see cats do when they thought nothing was watching. The familiar weight that always pulls me downwards is somehow different; like I’m on a hill, but much worse. Rain spatters where there used to be windows, gently soaking into my seats where people should be. I like rain, but not like this; rain should be on the outside, and the inside should be dry. The inside should be safe. It’s quiet, at last. The fear, the lights, the panicked voices have all disappeared into the distance over the hill, on some other road to be swallowed up by the clouds. I never saw the corner coming, but I see it clearly now, even in my dim glow. I see the wet earth, the oh-so familiar texture that shook me and took me by surprise. Having navigated so many miles, what a strange thing to end on. I remember them now. I remember their faces, I know them so well. I remember Dad, so excited to bring me home to show Mum and Chloe what he bought for them. I was so excited to meet them, so excited for all the adventures we would have together. They all knew that Mum was heavier because she was carrying Sophie like I carried them, but I didn’t know that then. They never knew that I knew them, but I could feel them. I could feel their comforting weight, their warmth, their excitement to see the world with me. I love taking them places, I am so very lucky to be theirs. Dad takes care of me like I’m always brand new, and keeps me company on a Sunday afternoon. One day, Dad forgot to close the window in the car wash, and Chloe squealed in delight as the water flicked through the hole, soaking us all. I remember that day, I had wet seats that day too. But not like this. That water was warm, the lights were on, Dad was happy and laughing, even if a bit annoyed with himself. That was my favourite day, we all shared a joke together for the first time. Mum would say the most interesting things, especially when Dad wasn’t around. I would listen as we drove, she would tell stories to Chloe, and then sometimes to herself when she thought there was nobody else listening. I remember the time she cried on her own by the shops, and I cried with her. I kept her warm, until we turned around and I took her back to Dad and Chloe. Dad was sat on the driveway, and looked so relieved to see us back home. I was part of the family, and I knew I was so lucky. The rain is beating harder. Another car drives past, slowing to look at me before disappearing off into the night. I’m growing heavier, the light is fading. One of my lights is buried in the mud, the other sticking up awkwardly in a futile attempt to illuminate the clouds. Dad taught Chloe the word illuminate, I love illuminating. I never thought I’d get to illuminate clouds. Chloe is my favourite. Dad would take us to the drive through on Thursday nights while Mum was at work, and I’d keep them both warm as she told Dad about her day. Chloe loves Thursday nights with Dad, and so do I. Dad is such a good listener, and always tells Chloe he’s proud of her, and that as long as she does her best, everything would be okay. I remember the night Sophie arrived. I was so clean, packed and ready for my very important. Dad was so calm in the traffic on the way to the hospital, but Mum kept making noises until we pulled over. Very soon, I was carrying three people. They were busy, scared, relieved, but I knew they were grateful for me. I knew Mum had done something important in carrying Sophie around, and I knew I was important for carrying them around, too. I don’t understand why Sophie walking was such a big deal; they don’t need to walk, I’d take them anywhere in the world. But when she could, Dad brought us to the beach, and I watched the seagulls as they ate ice cream and Chloe made sandcastles with Sophie. A seagull pooed on me, and Chloe laughed and laughed, but I knew Dad would take care of it on Sunday afternoon, like he always does. We were a long way from home, so we huddled together for warmth when the clouds came and started our long journey back. The rain came as we drove; I don’t know why they’re always so worried about the rain. I can keep them safe from the rain. I was watching the branches, the corner came from nowhere, and the earth moved underneath me in a new, scary way. We all made noises we had never made before, the world spun until I landed in the crater of my own making, but I kept them safe. I took the force of the earth just like I’m supposed to do, and gave them the airbags that I know I can only use once. It was over very fast, and now it’s cold, and it’s quiet, but I know I did my best. We didn’t have chance to say goodbye, but I won’t forget them, and I don’t think they’ll forget me. I hope Chloe never forgets me. I’m so lucky to have seen such lovely things. The sun is rising, but my light is nearly out, and I’m nearly one with the earth. The animal disappears into the bushes. I love them. I kept them safe. I did my best, just like Dad said. Everything is okay.


“So, what’s the catch?” “No catch, man, it’s just like I told ya.” “Really? When it’s too good to be true, well, you know, it usually is.” “I’m being straight with ya, man. This ain’t like that Nigerian Prince scam ya get in your fax machine. No, no. This is one hundred percent, full disclosure, top notch, no bullshit stuff I’m talkin’ ‘bout here.” “Okay, so let me ask. Why me? How’d you land on my sorry ass, huh? What, am I on the cover of Gullible Magazine this month?” “C’mon, nothing like that, I’m just trying to do you a solid, that’s all. It’s all above board, nothing sketchy. Honestly, hand to God, it’s for real. So am I.” Harry pushed the stool back from his makeshift desk, reread the last bit of dialogue and stood, stretching his tall frame side to side until he felt a few cracks and pops in his aging back. After hunching over his computer for over an hour it was good to bend and move. Not bad, not bad, but I don’t know where I’m going with this idea, he thought, scratching his bristly white scalp with chewed fingernails. I’m just letting it flow, stream of consciousness style. Frequently it worked for him and sometimes he didn’t have the foggiest idea what he was going to write about, but after sitting down at the screen, it just came. Often, he would reread what he had just typed and would marvel at where it had come from. It just seems to write itself, he thought. He found it helpful to begin with the word “So” and go from there. This way, he wasn’t looking at a completely blank page. That can be intimidating. All his blog posts began that way: So. . . . And so far it seemed to be working for him. He began his blog about two years ago, after finding himself unemployed, grief stricken and frightful of venturing out into a Covid infected world. It helped fill his day. It helped distract him from his heartache. He would blog about the injustices in the world, about the political and social outrages he saw and read about, and about personal things as well, anecdotes and events he had experienced. It felt good to get them down on paper, well, not paper exactly, he thought, but in writing nonetheless and it was cathartic. Like letters home from a war front or a secret diary hidden by a child, he would record and recount the stories of his life. Of her life. Of theirs. His blog entries gave way to more fully realized stories, not necessarily about himself. He began to enter writing contests where the idea was to write a story based on a selection of prompts offered up by the website. Just as the “so” of his beginnings acted to jumpstart his creative juices, so did these prompts, leading him to areas he would not otherwise have gone and he was on a roll lately, producing more completed work in the past few months than he had. . . well, ever. So, what to do with this newest challenge? So, what’s the catch? The “catch” being the crux of this new contest. To start a story with that phrase and explore the possibilities. He didn’t want it to be some Twilight Zone variant, although he did love that old show with its twist endings, but rather wanted something more. . . heartfelt. Not sure. I’ll stop thinking about it and let my subconscious work on it, he thought, and lay down on the leather couch for a nap, chiding himself that it was some kind of research. As he slept the dreams came, as they always did. His wife. Her face, her laugh, her final breaths. They were the kind of dreams that he both wanted and dreaded. Sad and heart wrenching to relive moments of their lives together, but also happy for the chance to do so. To see her in his mind, hold her there, trace the curve of her face with his sleeping fingers. Breathe her in. He would have breathed for her if he could at the end, but the virus would have none of it. It was her ventilator that kissed her then, filling her lungs with the dispassionate air of a machine. In the end her metallic lover couldn’t save her and the lungs that had once sighed whispers into his ears, just stopped, like a faulty bellows unable to rekindle an ember. He awoke, momentarily unsure of where he was. A blurry image coming into focus, lines sharpening at the edges. Easing himself off the sofa, he stretched again, bent to touch his toes and then the ceiling. It was dark out now. How long had he slept? The glow of his computer, screensaver sliding random pictures from his photo library, lit the kitchen countertop. At the moment it was a wedding picture, where she had smacked his nose with icing after cutting their cake. That spontaneous moment always made him smile, as he remembered rubbing noses with her and listening to her giggle. He could hear it now, through the cloud of his grogginess. Rachel would have been so proud of him, he thought, for the work he was producing. All those years he talked about it, but aside from the occasional anniversary poem, there was nothing. Now, he wrote consistently both on his blog and on that writing site for fiction. His blog had over two thousand followers and his fiction was beginning to gain a bit of attention, despite having never won a contest, it still garnered many likes and positive comments. He appreciated the ego salve it provided. Harry removed two shiny cold triangles of foil wrapped pizza from the fridge, placed them in the toaster oven, and poured himself a glass of white wine from an open bottle. He would continue with his story after dinner but for now he raised his wine glass, silently toasting Rachel. So, was this the bargain? Was this the catch? Did she have to die in order for him to begin writing in earnest. Did the torment, does the torment still, unlock an inner cell of emotion and creativity, allowing him to vent his pent up feelings. No answer. He looked back at the first few lines of dialogue he had attempted to address this latest challenge with and realized that it wasn’t leading to any sort of “catch,” it was only a placeholder waiting for the true story to emerge. That story, the one where he “catches” her attention and they create a life together, where she herself was the “catch” of a lifetime, is the one worth telling.


I’m almost glad Jim’s running late, because I’m about to break his world, and damn it, he’s my bro. He’s my guy. We go way back. But if there’s bad news he’s gotta hear it, and it’s my duty to tell him. That’s what friends are for. I’m not really good at this touchy-feely stuff, so I hope this cake place is all right. They got a decent coffee here, and a bitching key lime pie. Man, that shit is bananas. If pies were women then this one would be- Oh, there he is! “Hey Jim!” Yeah, he sees me. Ooh, is that a new jersey? Looks pretty dope. Looks legit too. I wish I had legit jersey money, but honestly? Those fakes from Monty are pretty good. I mean, not like take-a-close-look-when-you’re-sober good, but you know. "What’s up, Big J? Yeah, I like this place, figured we’d, uh, get a brew for a change. Uh, coffee brew, I mean. Good pie here. Oh man, and the waitresses. Psst. Look at the one behind the counter. Yeah, her. Glenda . Look at the size of- “-heh, nah, I actually don’t think your wife would mind you looking.” Uh, whoops. He’s frowning at me. Too soon, he hasn’t got his pie yet. Ease him into it. Geez, delivering bad news is harder than I thought. Feels like I got shrimp-and-scotch indigestion. I hope this goes better than when I had to tell Peter. I can’t believe the same thing keeps happening to my married friends. Anyway, I gotta distract him. “You see the game?” Heh, I love when Jim recaps stuff. He’s got a great voice for it, and he does the hand motions too, really keeps my attention. I think he could be a pro announcer, and I’m not surprised Janice fell for him. Look at him go! Oh yeah, I remember that play, lol. Wait, did I just think “lol”? Did I actually laugh out loud? I don’t remember. I better laugh now because that was a funny moment, and I don’t want to be rude. “Oh my god, that was friggin’ hilarious!” That’s better. Geez, maybe I do spend too much time on the phone. Well whatever, waitress is here. “Hey Glenda, we’d like-Brenda? Oh, sorry, Brenda then. We’d like two things of key lime and some coffee. Yeah, thanks.” I pull out my manila envelope, filled with the horrible, heart-breaking, life-ruining evidence. Damn damn damn, this is going to be tough. I don’t want to hurt my best bud, but I feel like I’m about to kick him in the balls. Least I can do is buy him a pie. “Pies are on me, Big J. What? Why? Uh... it’s a surprise. The envelope?” Damn it, stop asking poignant questions. I gotta get you in a real good mood before I kick you in the junk. I know how much Janice means to you. “You’ll see. Hey, you remember that trip to Vegas?” Ha, there we go. Yeah, it was an awesome trip, Jim. I can’t believe all the places we were kicked out of. Man, what an epic time, back when it was just us bros. No wives, no kids, no real jobs, no real worries. Ah, she’s back with the pies. Mm-mm, can’t wait to eat that pie, girl. Heh, noice . “Thanks, Glenda. Brenda? Really?” Whatever. “Good pie, eh? What do you mean, it’s okay ? It’s key lime, it’s the best. You prefer cherry? What the hell is wrong with you.” Geez, you think you know a guy. Oh well, it’s now or never I guess. This was always going to be shitty news, and you can sugar coat shit, but it’ll still just be cherry pie. "So, listen, man. I got some bad news. Ha, nah, I’m okay. It’s not bad for me, right? Like, bad for you. Yeah. Okay, so, you know your wife? Janice? It’s the big C. “No, not cancer. She’s cheating on you.” Oh my god, there it is. He’s gone all pale and trembling, like that time we were in Little League and Jim was at third base and Ricky Santiago just plowed into him and Jim wasn’t wearing a cup and he fell and we all laughed, but then we felt bad about it later. Only this time, I feel bad right away. “Yeah, sorry man. Yeah, I got proof. You know I wouldn’t make something like this up, bro.” I tap the manila envelope. “Are you, like, sure you want to see this? Okay.” I hope he can take it better than Peter did. I slide the envelope over to him. Oh boy, this is bad. Geez, he’s even crying. I can’t believe Janice would do this to him. He opens the envelope, slides out the photos, and takes a look. His face changes. First it’s soggy and he’s doing that romcom thing where his lip shakes and his breath is all weird, like he’s tired from running or whatever, like his girl’s on a train or whatever and he doesn’t know if he’ll catch her. Then he frowns, looking closer at the photos, sliding from one to the next. Then he’s scowling and he’s bared his teeth, and he’s all red in the face. Yeah, that’s good! Be angry , Jim. Nobody likes a crier. He slams the photos onto the table, and I nod, knowingly. “Yeah, told you bro, it’s pretty bad-” Wait, why the hell is he yelling at me now? That’s not fair. “Dude-” Stop interrupting me, man. “Bro-” Man, I knew delivering bad news would be hard, but I’m kinda regretting it. There’s really no call for shouting at me. It’s kinda rude. “Dude! Why are you shouting at me? She’s the one that cheated on you.” Oh my god, I cannot believe he just said that. In public. I hope nobody’s recording this, for Jim’s sake. Christ, he’s actually mad at me now. Real nice, Jim. After I try to do you a solid. This is Peter all over again. “Yes, I know I’m the guy in the photos, Jim! That’s how I know she’s cheating on you! Hey, don’t scream at me, bro. I’m a victim here too. This married woman, who should have known better , just swooped in on my poor, lonesome, vulnerable heart. She took advantage of me, Jim. She made me feel so dirty.” Actually, fair, I liked the dirt. Janice is filthy . I can see why he married her. “Nah, she didn’t take the photos. They’re stills from my video. Yeah, I recorded it-what do you mean? I always record it. I mean, look at me! I look great in these shots! No, I did not secretly tape your wife! I caught her screwing around on you. I did you a solid, man, don’t turn this around on me.” Oof. He just slammed his key lime pie in my face. Real mature, Jim. Real nice. Not only does that hurt my feelings, it’s a waste of a perfectly good pie. Let’s see, maybe I can scrape it onto my plate... there. Mm that’s good pie. Yeah, fine Jim, just leave. Just scream at me and leave. Make a scene. Whatever , bro. I know you just need time to cool off. It’s gotta suck learning your wife betrayed you. Just know I got your back. That’s what friends are for.


It came before. Before time would have any concept or meaning. Before matter burned and cooked and crystalized into any quantifiable form. Out of the impossibly ancient swirling dusts of creation it slowly, inexorably gestated. It was not created, it was not willed nor wanted into existence, it simply was not, and then was. How this came to be, when there was nothing, even it could not know. There were not words to form ideas for it to ponder such existence. In all the great nothing, it simply now was. It has no eyes; there was not yet light for it to see with. It has no shape or form in any meaningful way, there was nothing, and it was formed out of the swirling nothing. If matter existed, if space was defined in any meaningful way, it would have been more vast than any concept of modern measurement could possibly describe. Alone; adrift the infinite, endless void it was all, it was the only one of its kind; or any other; more than that, more than anything else it formed a thought, that thought. The first thought. "I am alone". The concept of alone, the first act of creation, the first words ever given form, trillions of years before the first star would set alight; so far before anything capable of conscious thought would possibly speak a primordial language. The very concept of thought, of existence, of this endless formless being was given life, and it was in the thought. It was the thought. "I am alone." If time could be measured then, it would be in aeons. Each word of that first thought billions of years in forming. The burning, twisting embers of each syllable flowing from the void, forming the first sparks of energy that might one day decay into matter to drift coldly beyond the stars. I. It now was. The first principle of existence could now be, it existed, then with that thought the possibility of existing formed with it. It was, and therefore all could be. Am. If it was born of nothing, then this concept made the nothing into something new. It coming to be drew the infinite nothing tighter and tighter, and in the nothing it now was. With this word the the concept of being, the very notion of acting, doing, interacting established itself. Change was possible. 'I' gave form. 'Am' gave motion to that form. But not yet. Alone. With this final word it reached out and felt across infinite space, searching for one like it, for anything other then self, for anything to interact with and found only the void from which it came. The concept of self meant nothing, for there was nothing else. But this differentiation of it from the endless nothing was in itself the first act of creation. It created itself by this thought, formed over countless millennia. Alone meant more. For in this moment, it gave the possibility for something else to exist. The concept of self must inexorably imply the concept of not self, of other, and in this time before time thought and form were one. The first God, in its now formed state now knew what it was. The embers of its first act of creation, of its own birth, drifted slowly out into the nothing, forming and collecting and condensing down into endless galaxies. Time and space made out of the detritus of its own formation, swirling and drifting and fading as the universe spread out from it. The first God screamed.


Monsteropolis, September 4, 2020 Yesnia St. Cloud could barely contain her excitement the higher up she and her traveling companions flew. They were just about to breach the clouds that led to her hometown, and she couldn’t wait to introduce her surface friends to her Overworld friends and family! It had been too long since the young witch had been back to visit her hometown, and she couldn’t wait to introduce her folks to her new fiance! At the ripe old age of 27, she had finally met the love of her life in Felix “Freak” Fernandez. Yesnia St. Cloud-Fernandez has a good ring to it! “So... Why is Monsteropolis high up in the clouds? The vast amount of media would have you believe that most monsters lived in Transylvania and in black lagoons and stuff like that. Earthbound, if you will.” The pint-sized gnome artificer Artia Flameborne asked the current leader of the party. The jets in her boots were working double-time to keep up with the sleek new Duskbreaker 3005 broom that Yesnia was riding with unbridled glee. Behind her was her beloved Freak, clutching her waist for dear life and trying in vain not to look back down towards the rapidly-shrinking planet beneath them. “I’ve been asking myself that since we left the ground!” he piped up with tears streaming down his face. “Isn’t there some sort of giant escalator or... What about a hot air balloon?? Something where my feet can be squarely under me?” “Oh hush, Freaklin. Artia is coming along so she can set up a high-speed teleporter at my parents’ house so we never have to do this scenic sky trip again... Unless I feel like it!” She said before releasing a cackle that pealed through the clouds like thunder. With a snap of her fingers, she had the dramatic lightning to accompany the raucous laughter. “Yesnia!! Chill with the lightning! We’re all flying types right now and not all of us can just shrug off the fury of Raijin!!” screamed Yumi Kuromori over the crackling of the lighting above them. She was usually the toughest customer in the group, but the lightning had her trembling like a leaf in the strong arms of her lover and close friend, Allegra Powers. “It’s okay, Yumes. We’re almost there. I’ll handle any lightning that comes our way!” Allegra reassured her in a loving tone. She smiled a smile so warm and bright that it instantly melted away any fears that Yumi may have had. They both leaned in for a kiss, but the attempt was abruptly interrupted. “Hey lovebirds, we’re here!” chirped a voice from behind the pair. It was Brin Monterey, holding on for dear life to the cape streaming from Allegra’s back as they finally pierced through the base layer of clouds that made up the “ground” for the Overworlders. The sign sticking out of the bottom of the clouds read: “Welcome to Monsteropolis! Population: 4,395 spooky individuals!” “Artia didn’t build you those phoenix boots to intrude on my love life, Brinny,” Allegra joked with her oldest friend in the universe as their heads started to poke through the stretchy upper layer of the stretchy ground that the Overworld was built on. She was actually a little glad Brin stepped in when she had, as she didn’t know if Yumi could catch the Halo virus, but she really didn’t want to chance it any more than she had to. “I helped design them AND your new suit there, Legs. You can’t just give all the credit to the magical gnome you met a couple of weeks ago.” The suit Brin was referring to emulated her natural powers while still preventing her from physically touching other people to spread the dreaded enhanced-targeting supervirus. “... And that’s why it was built up in the sky. Oh, we’re here! Welcome to my town, guys!! Monsteropolis!” Yesnia took a deep breath of the thin, crisp air as the group of five relative Earthlings she had brought with her were able to take in the sights of a city square whose only source of illumination other than the moon and the twinkling stars peppering the inky blackness above was the warm light of the fire burning inside a gigantic jack-o-lantern. Standing more than five stories tall and floating over a giant purple fire that smelled strongly of apples and cinnamon, each side of the gargantuan gourd was carved with the faces of the citizens of Monsteropolis. The four biggest faces on the giant pumpkin, sitting in a horizontal row on the pumpkin’s equator like a veritably monstrous Mount Rushmore were the cold, yet inviting gaze of Countess Lucinda Dracula, the awkwardly charming smile of Governor Adam Frankenstein (Formerly known as Frankenstein’s Monster), the fearsome countenance of General Lupe Alma de Lobos, and a the bandage-wrapped, mummified face of High Priest Imhotep. “Oh my gourd, that’s a big pumpkin!!” Allegra exclaimed as she carefully set Yumi down so she could get her first taste of actually walking on a cloud. A dense fog effect surrounded their feet as the “ground” stretched ever so slightly under their reduced weight. Freak, excited to finally be able to stand on his own, stretched his legs and leaped up high enough to get a better view inside of the giant pumpkin before realizing the lessened gravity meant he could easily get almost three-quarters of the way up the pumpkin with a single leap. “Oh, aces! I loooove the lack of gravity here! It’s like a giant bounce house!” “You’re not gonna join us on the cloud, Allegra?” Yumi asked with her arms crossed. Allegra had to laugh. “Nah babe, walking’s for suckers!” Everything was kosher until she felt her sorta-girlfriend’s glare piercing her soul like a thousand tiny daggers, causing her to drop to the “ground” immediately. “Juuuust kidding! Boy-oh-boy do I love walking hehe...” Bats flitted through the air, squeaking and fluttering their wings gracefully. The sound attracted the views of the group towards the closest unimpeded view of the full Harvest moon that any of them had ever seen before, excluding Allegra and Yesnia. “The moon looks so perfect up here. I can see every single crater and... Hold on, is that a colony on the moon??” Artia asked as the pair of goggles on top of her head flipped down automatically, zooming in telescopically to give her a clearer view of what she had always assumed was a barren rock in the sky. “Oh yeah, you didn’t know ‘bout the Lunarians? They tend to keep out of Earth business, but they’re super nice! I’ll take you to meet ‘em sometime.” Allegra chimed in. “Yeah, they’re our favorite neighbors! No offense, Earthlings... They invite us to their parties for different eclipses and all sorts of lunar holidays. We like to have them over for all sorts of Harvest festivals, especially Halloween! Oh, those moon kids looove candy, and their little costumes are so precious!” Yesnia’s eyes were full of stars and her orange irises glowed eerily with the brilliant light of the moon flowing through them. Freak’s hand waving in front of her face caused her to exaggeratedly snap out of her Harvest-induced stupor. She slid the handle of her broom into the handy holder strapped to her back before gesturing for the group to follow her. “Anywho, let me give you guys a brief tour on the way to the ‘rents place. I know all the coolest spots!” The party of six young adults set off into the chilly night air. It was the perfect hoodie weather, which Allegra, Yumi, Freak, and Brin were all warned of before making the 10-mile trip up to their vertical neighbors. Artia, however, was a walking radiator, giving off excess heat even in the absence of her loyal phoenix companion, Orryn. Today, her rusty red toolbox and the goggles that seemingly never left the top of her head would have to be her only aides. She was the only one bold enough to wear just a faded band t-shirt (It says “Magically Lucid”) and jeans in the chilliest environment any of them had personally been to. After a couple of minutes walking and chatting about various townsfolk that passed by on their way to living their lives, they happened upon a huge section of trees that were gnarled, withered, and almost entirely devoid of leaves. The moonlight shining through the branches cast wicked shadows over them as they approached, immediately unnerving most of the group. “Hey, what gives? Most of the other trees still have orange, red, and brown leaves up, why are these ones bare?” Freak looked upon the creepy forest that stretched for at least half an acre with apprehension, secretly hoping they wouldn’t have to go through it. “This is the Star-Crossed Woodlands!” Yesnia’s voice echoed across the thicket with incredible clarity, causing her to hush herself before continuing. “Legend has it that it was created during a bout between Dracula and a goddess of the land. When her life-giving plant-growth powers mixed with Dracula’s unholy blood, it created a single, massive weeping willow that ended up spreading its dark influence over the land around it. It stopped once it hit its current size, so we started building around it.” “You’re not worried that, like, those spooky roots could spread under your houses and roads and cause some real massive damage one of these days?” Yumi questioned as she tightened her hoodie around her face, a hard shiver running down her spine as she did so. She really couldn’t stand all this cold, but as soon as Allegra’s gloved hand grabbed hers, she was reassured everything would be okay. “Nah, we had some witches look into it and the potential to grow anymore has diminished over time. Now the only thing abnormal about this place is that it can be very tricky to get out. Looking up while you’re inside will actually show you the stars in the wrong position, constantly forcing you to travel in a spiral. More than a few people have perished from getting stuck like that. Since then, we put in a convenient trail of glowing mushrooms that show all of the available paths. Just DON’T. LOOK. UP. Got it?” Yesnia grabbed Freak’s arm and strolled casually into the spooky grove without a hint of fear. The rest followed with noticeable hesitation before seeing the blue row of glowing mushrooms on both sides of the well-worn path they were walking down. A gentle hum emanated from the fungi and it actually helped to alleviate their nerves a tad. All of their nerves besides Artia, of course. She was used to danger around every corner, especially when the world around her was trying to calm her. It felt like a trap, so she drew her sword, guarding the rear of the group and looking over her shoulder every couple of seconds. “You brought a sword??” Brin almost couldn’t believe it, but then she remembered who she was asking. “I ALWAYS have my sword. I’m surprised you didn’t,” Artia retorted. At one point, she’d been spooked by the rustling of some tree branches that turned out to be a rogue bat that was lost, even with its use of sonar. She swung at it and almost cut the poor thing in half before realizing what was going on and helping it out of the branches that had ensnared it. She ended up carrying it with them through the rest of the dreaded woods. “I think I shall call you Brana! Brana Bat. Fly free, you beautiful fool!“ Artia called out, releasing her new friend as the group finally stepped out of the Star-Crossed Woodlands. “Ah, fresh, non-haunted air,” “Artia, that forest isn’t haunted... Right Yesnia?” Freak questioned, receiving nothing but silence for a few too many seconds. “Oh no, it’s TOTALLY haunted. Like, abnormally haunted. One of the most haunted places on or around Earth. People who go missing anywhere on the planet a lot of times end up stuck there. We were being tailed by, like, 12 ghosts. I’m surprised you guys didn’t notice the humming!” The response was so nonchalant that everyone besides Freak who was being dragged along and Artia stopped dead in their tracks. “Told ya.” The half-pint wizard chimed in, sticking her tongue out as she sheathed her sword. “Listen, y’all; as soon as we get back home, I say we extort a big ol’ bottle of Curse-B-Gone from Leo. Agreed?” Allegra posited to the group in a hushed tone, taking their astonished nods as confirmation. “Oh shoot look, a rescue shelter! I should’ve taken Brana over there.” Artia pointed to a bright blue and white building with the words “Monsteropolis Rescue Center” in bold red print at the top. “Ah, don’t worry about it. Bats are like pigeons here. Besides, Brana wasn’t hurt, they just have a poor sense of direction with all the trees in the way,” Yesnia patted Artia on the shoulder, clearly sensing that she missed her Orryn. “Buuut, we do have some time to kill before we’re due at my parents’ house. Let’s check out the current residents? We get some really weird critters thanks to The Woodlands’ effect of pulling in anything that gets lost!” she said already heading over towards the building. “I’m game!” Yumi followed with a small hop in each step. “Oh, there’d better be some stuff that’ll blow my MIND!” Allegra floated behind, grabbing Yumi’s hips like it was the start of a conga line. “Absolutely!” Brin followed, ready for something less spooky to calm her nerves. “Haha what could it hurt?” Freak strolled in after the rest. Artia stayed behind for a brief moment before casting a little spell. She whispered something barely audible into her cupped hands, which started to glow with a faint light before releasing it into the night air. And with that, she turned to follow her comrades. When Artia got into the building, she was intrigued to see it almost resembled an Earthling hospital, but much smaller. She walked up to the reception desk and, with a well-placed jump, she was directed by an incredibly sweet Oni girl to the playroom. “Just follow the green line on the floor all the way to the back and you can’t miss it! Enjoy your time and consider adopting one of our misplaced cuties!” The rest of the group were already oohing and ahhing and playing around with a few incredibly strange species of animals that were unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Allegra was chuckling to herself and juggling a completely gelatinous teal creature with three eyes and no mouth that looked to be completely enjoying the experience in two eyes, although the other eye was starting to look nauseated. Yumi was crouched on all fours in a staring contest with a purple frog that she swore changed into a different animal the very second constant eye contact wasn’t kept on it. The creature bested her once more and only her shocked cry alerted Artia to the fact that the frog was now an orange hedgehog. “Oh, I’m coming back for this one! Imma call you Ryoshi!” She happily picked up the spiny orange critter and hugged it, but as soon as her eyes shut, she was holding a green mouse. Brin had her face pressed to an aquarium with a family of electric starfish whose lightning changed colors depending on the mood of the nearest creature. Currently, they were all emitting thin arcs of vividly vibrant violet electricity to reflect Brin’s awe and glee at the beautiful display going in. “How have you not been... Allegraaaa!!” “C’mon Brin, we JUST got Meo!” Allegra walked over with the semisolid creature wrapped around her neck like a feather boa. Yesnia was showing Freak a miniature shapeshifting creature that could turn into a tiny version of anything or anyone. Freak was alarmed that something so dangerous was just out and available to be played with. “Pfft, he can’t grow, Freaklin! So if he turns into you...” she held Freak’s face up close to the little dude who currently looked like the small green army man next to him on the floor. In a matter of seconds, he had completely turned into a near-perfect copy of Freak, minus the height of course. “Now how could I ever mistake him for my handsome Freakasaurus Rex?” “Y-yesniaaa!\~\~” Freak embarrassedly shielded the mini version of himself from seeing Yesnia pull him into a kiss that made Artia blush before she cleared her throat to bring the party’s attention back together. “It’s about time we headed out, it’s almost eight already!” On the way out, Brin and Yumi made plans to adopt their respective favorite pets on their way back. Allegra rolled her eyes the entire time they were signing papers, but she had to admit that she couldn’t think of much cooler pets to pick up than the two they had chosen. They headed off down the road, passing different street vendors and performers on their way towards the edge of Monsteropolis’ downtown. Once they were a few minutes past the hustle and bustle, the clouds beneath them started to ripple as a heavy wind kicked up seemingly out of nowhere. Accompanied by the near-deafening and unmistakable sound of powerful wingbeats, within seconds an imposing, shadowy figure had landed in front of them. The hulking humanoid turned, staring down the group menacingly with huge, glowing red eyes being the only facial feature they could recognize in the dark. Everyone instinctively hid behind Yesnia in fear as the creature began growling, but Allegra was beyond excited. “YOOO!!! You didn’t tell me THE Moth-Man lives here!! He’s a frickin’ legend back where I’m from!!” “Hey, Mr. Mothman! Lose the hyphen, Allegra. How’ve you been lately?” Yesnia walked up and gave the towering creature a hug as he started to clear his throat loudly before hugging her back. “Aggh, those thick clouds choke me up ev’ry time! I’m doin’ good, Yeshny! Ye’ve shertainly grown up shince I shaw ye lasht! Who are the normies? Well...” He said as he looked down to see a diminutive gnome, a girl with a frog tongue wrapped around her like a scarf, and a superhero flying towards him with an autograph book at the ready. “Moshtly normies, at leasht.” “Hi Mr. Mothman, I’m Allegra, huuuuge fan. Nobody on Earth has a solid consensus on what you look like besides your beautiful ruby eyes! But a moth head on a man’s body? That’s fascinatin’! And Scottish! I never would’ve guessed!! D’you mind signing my Book of Legends?” She held out a bundle of pens, each a different color, and a red bound leather book with gold leaf lettering with “Book o’ Legends” in a beautiful flowing script. “Alright then,” The Mothman picked up the neon pen and turned to a blank page in the middle to etch his name onto with scraggly, erratic strokes. “Anythin’ for a humie that doesn’t want to light me on fire or get me shtuffed for the ol’ mantle. Ye wee ones headed over to your folksh’ place? If so, could you drop shomethin’ off for me?” “We sure are! I’m going to introduce them to my fiancé. Freak, come say hi to Mr. Mothman!” Freak was hidden squarely behind Artia, which was impressive considering she was almost a solid meter shorter than he was even when she had her power armor on. If it weren’t for Yesnia’s keen sense of smell due to her witching heritage, he could’ve gotten away with it, but she plucked him like a daisy and presented her shivering groom-to-be to her old neighbor. “N-n-nice to m-m-meet you, sir...” The look of terror on his face was evident as he tried not to look too closely at the bulging scarlet compound eyes, the prominent feathery and slicked-back antennae, or the curled up proboscis behind the almost beak-like opening of a mouth the creature before him possessed. “... Are ye good kid? I promishe I won’t bite ye, it’s actually imposhible, I don’t have teeth!” A hearty laugh echoed out into the crisp night air as the Mothman thought his attempt at a joke would ease the tension. “Oh, don’t worry about him, he’s terrified of moths after an ‘accident’ as a kid,” Freak’s eyes went as wide as dinner plates at the mention of his accident. His mind was instantly teleported back to his 8th birthday in 1983, a day he had often tried to forget. He went completely white and grew incredibly cold and clammy as one of the worst days of his life replayed in his mind in glorious super 8mm quality. “He’ll be okay, it’s just gonna be a couple of minutes,” Yesnia sat her traumatized partner on the ground and knelt beside him, stroking his hair and holding him close to her. “What did you need me to drop off, by the way?” By this point, Allegra was gathering measurements on the Mothman, pulling his wings to get an accurate wingspan measurement, taking stock of his musculature, and even pulling out a pair of calipers to get a good head measurement. He didn’t seem to mind, treating her like most humans would an average moth flitting around them. “Ahhh, 27 centimeters. Interestin’ indeed...” She muttered, scribbling notes like mad in a different book. “Artia! Did you give her the measuring tape and calipers?” Brin questioned. “Just because I’m a scientist doesn’t mean I go handing out my equipment all willy-nilly!” the gnome retorted as she clutched her trusty rusty red toolbox. “And where are you getting all these books from??” Yumi asked as she used her tongue to snatch the tools from Allegra’s hands. “No more work, it’s bad enough you’re wearing your uniform on this little side plot.” “Wait, how did you know this was a side plot??” The utterance of the term “side plot had snapped Freak out of his dazed stupor. “I... Didn’t? It’s just a good term for a one-off adventure like this, no?” “Okay, I’ll tell them you said Happy Harvest. Bye, Mr. Mothman!! What a nice guy, eh? I can’t tell you how many times he helped me get my brooms out of the tree in our yard! That damn tree has eaten more good brooms than I can...” Yesnia turned back to the group in the middle of a weird argument about what constitutes a side plot when they noticed the disappearance of the large humanoid Lepidoptera and the fact that she was now carrying an awkwardly-shaped object that was wrapped in a sack made of silk. “What’s in the bag?” Brin asked, walking closer to get a better look at it. “Well I can’t let the proverbial cat out of the bag, but it’s gonna be really cool once everything’s set up. Anywho, my house is right down the street, let’s go!” The collective party walked until they came up to a huge 4-story gothic mansion that almost looked like a castle made of the oldest stones the Earth could provide. There was a beautiful run-down quality to the place. Multiple pointed spires topped the massive abode, stabbing the heavens themselves with crimson flags hauntingly dancing in the still night air like blood dripping from the moon’s pierced surface. The windows were alight with a ghastly golden light with flickering wispy figures phasing in and out of existence in them. Walking through the tall, dead grass of the front yard to get to the door, they could see a graveyard to the south of the house with a couple of creepy scarecrows that seemed to turn and watch them approach. “And you’re SURE this is the right house??” Yumi questioned just as Yesnia rang the doorbell. “DIIIIIING... DOOOOONG...” the doorbell sounded more like a church bell, mostly because it was. There was a giant bell in one of the spires that rang loudly to let the house, and the entire neighborhood for that matter, know when a guest had arrived. “Yep!” Yesnia said before a trap door opened up beneath them all, swallowing them all with a loud, collective scream of terror in an instant. All of them except Allegra, who was floating when the trap went off. “Heh! I told ‘em walking’s for suckers. See if I ever involuntarily fall for a trap door...” After a loud howl from what she thought had to be a werewolf, she shrugged and gently descended down after her friends. Partly to make sure they weren’t dead, but also because she definitely didn’t want to be left out here all alone.