Beep! Beep! Beep! Symone turned and slapped at the alarm clock, stretching and staring at the ceiling in the grey morning light, shaking off sleep. The dream plagued her again: being trapped in her old office, stuck in the musty, dingy brown walls. Nothing like a dream job turned into a nightmare to smash the visions of your youth. Then again, it was just a nightmare. She left that job fifteen years ago. She sat up and gently pulled the covers over Galen’s shoulders, mussing his short, dark blonde hair. He was still on medical leave, recovering from emergency surgery for a burst appendix. She flipped on the bathroom light and studied her sleepy face in the mirror. It was just a nightmare. She wasn’t an uncertain twenty-something trying to make her mark in the world. She was a middle-aged woman making the best of life. She scoffed at the few grey strands in her dark hair and splashed water on her face as a prick of memory rose in her mind. Stupid nightmare. Those days were over. She might not be classified as “successful,” but she was older, wiser, and calmer than she had been as a hot-headed youth. Sure, things were tough with Galen recovering from surgery. That sudden illness was a shock that shook up their world, but he was recovering. It would pass, like all other things. She moved through the rest of her morning routine, shoving the remnants of her former life nightmare into the background of routine. It wasn’t until she glanced at the date at the bottom of her computer two hours later that she realized it was exactly twenty-five years since she started working. She sighed. Some career, she thought as the clacking of her colleague’s computer keys rode over the drab cubicle walls . At least she knew where that nightmare came from. It must have been some subconscious memory of her dreams of being a psychiatrist dying to this mundane reality, combined with the stress of Galen’s surgery and recovery. If only she had been better and made it into graduate school. Or reapplied after a few years of working and retaking the Graduate Record Exam exam. But this was her reality, and twenty-five years meant she was vested in the company retirement system. It might have been two and a half decades of dull grind, but at least she was guaranteed to get something back for it eventually. It wasn’t what she wanted career-wise, but it was a goal achieved. Now to make it to retirement - ~*~ Beep! Beep! Beep! Symone turned and tapped off the alarm clock as strong arms wrapped around her. “Why do you set that thing so early?” Killian asked. She turned and smiled, running her hand through his curly hair. “To spend more time with you before work.” “Tell your clients to wait. You have a life, too.” She smiled. “They rely on me to keep them straight.” He smiled back, pulling her against his strong body. “They need all the help they can get. The pandemic messed everybody up.” He kissed her. “How did you sleep?” She turned on her back. “I had the nightmare again.” He sat up and looked down at her. “Again?” She nodded, remembering the drab grey walls. “It was like being in a rat maze.” “Did you ever work in an office?” “Never. It’s always been labs or colleges until I switched to helping you with the AI neural interface after the pandemic.” He laid back down, practically on top of her. “We’re lucky they have you.” She wrapped her arms around him. “You’re lucky I said ‘no’ to medical school to marry you, Galen.” His face fell. “Who’s Galen?” She stared at him, confused. “What do you mean?” He pulled back. “You called me Galen.” She paused, spots floating across her eyes. The nightmare returned, sitting in that cramped square paralyzed with a dull despair of life floating away. Symone forced a smile. “I’m sorry, that nightmare is still in my head. It’s a character in the book I’m writing.” Killian relaxed. “No wonder you have nightmares. You always get stuck in your worlds when you’re writing.” Symone pulled Killian against her. “How about bringing me back to this one?” ~*~ Beep! Beep! Beep! Symone sighed and ran her hands over her face, leaning back in the creaky chair as far as it would allow. The fluorescent lights almost aggravated her headache like that stupid, jamming printer did. “Symone, shut that thing up!” her supervisor’s voice shouted from the office next to her desk. “I’m on a conference call.” “Sorry,” she mumbled, standing and stomping toward the dot matrix printer. Sure enough, the cheap paper was shredded on the invoices she sent to the printer. She sighed, opening the disagreeable machine and tugging at the stuck paper. “Why do you have to be so loud?” her supervisor snapped as she stood and slammed her door. So much for that “dream job opportunity” after graduation. This was a nightmare. The light glinted on her diamond ring and she stopped, sinking back into her chair. She missed college and the dreams she laid aside when she didn’t get into graduate school. Maybe she could get back on track another way. She and Galen were too broke for graduate school after their huge wedding, but she had wanted to be a writer, too. Maybe she could do that instead. She could help people through her stories until she could get back to school to help them in real life. One thing was for sure, she thought as she yanked at the paper in the ancient printer: this wasn’t helping anybody. ~*~ Beep! Beep! Beep! Symone bolted upright in bed, gasping. The nightmare again. She gasped, breathing out the lingering musty scent of office machinery and printer dust. “I’ll be glad when we get the AI interfaced through our neural chips so we don’t need that noise to wake up anymore,” Killian mumbled from his pillow. Symone turned and smacked off the alarm clock. A hand rubbed her back. “Are you ok?” She trembled. “No.” “Nightmare again?” “It’s so real.” She leaned back against him. “The printer jammed.” “Printer?” he said. “Nobody’s used printers in over a decade. I thought you said this was a nightmare about your first job?” “It was. The dot matrix printer jammed -” “Dot matrix printer?” Killian laughed. “Whose first job was this, yours or your grandmother’s?” Symone froze. “What day is it?” “Friday, which means fun day,” he teased, wrapping his arms around her. She twisted and looked at the date on her phone. July 29, 2124. “What is this?” she whispered. “I’m supposed to tell you to let these nightmares go, but I enjoy helping you get over them,” Killian said as he wrapped himself around her. ~*~ Beep! Beep! Beep! “She’s shifting again,” the voice said in the darkness. “Already? It’s getting more frequent.” “This subject has been the most active in the neural interface,” the voice said. “Most of the others phase in and out of activity, like circadian rhythms. She never fully drops. She shifts in different patterns.” “I wonder what she’s seeing,” the other voice said. “The neural stimulation seems to last longer on her. She doesn’t need to be stimulated as often to power the AI.” “It appreciates that, but her neural imagery isn’t consistent. It jumps from one reality to another.” “It looks like she was a mid-level administrative worker in the late twentieth and early twenty-first century. Wait, she was also a writer. She published a series of science fiction books.” “Maybe shifting between her own life and the stories she wrote.” Laughter. “Most people see the life they had before being integrated with the AI, but these artists have a unique way of coping with the system. I guess the creative mind powers the interface differently.” “She has a higher energy output, which feeds the AI more information. Good for it, but is it safe for her? Her stress hormones spike when the realities shift.” “Most people believe they’re waking from dreams when they shift. Perhaps it’s the same for her, just more often since she’s phasing between the world she had and the world she created.” A pause. “I don’t know if it’s safe, but she’s the best biological power source the AI has.” ~*~ Beep! Beep! Beep! Symone squeezed her eyes tight against the bright light pressing against her lids. “Symone, can you hear me?” She shivered as a chill ran over her naked body. Her eyes opened a slit to see two male figures standing over her. Galen reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. “Welcome back.” “What happened?” she asked, sitting up. “We had to put you in cryo stasis,” Killian said, his long, curly hair brushing against her other arm as he handed her a robe. “The AI malfunctioned when the EMP bomb went off. We all passed out, but you had neurological damage. We had to put you under so the nanotech could heal you on the journey.” “EMP? Journey?” she turned to Galen, reaching for him. “What happened?” Galen looked away. “A dissident group launched EMP bombs around the country to put out the AI,” Killian said. “They claimed that the AI in our neural chips caused the pandemic. At any rate, people were dying again. We had to leave. We just made it on the last flight.” “How can AI cause COVID?” Killian’s brow furrowed. “COVID? That was over 100 years ago.” She looked at Galen. “What is he talking about?” “I did everything I could to fix things, Symone, but I couldn’t,” Galen said. “You didn’t hear me, so I couldn’t bring you back.” He pulled back. “I can’t reach you anymore.” She shivered. “Where are we?” Killian took her hand and pulled her toward the red glow in the window. “The moon would have been ideal, but the dissidents can still reach us there. The scientists at the settlement are willing to help us with the AI integration with our neural chips, and they think we’ll be far enough away from Earth to stay safe until our work is complete.” He pulled her close. “Welcome to Mars.” “Galen doesn’t have a neural chip,” she said, turning. The room was empty. Killian took her shoulders and turned her back toward him, staring deep into her eyes. “Galen isn’t real. The nightmares aren’t real. Nothing is real.” He kissed her. “The only thing real is you. What do you want, Symone?” Symone stared at the red planet, shivering. Life is what you make it and reality is how you create it. She knew what she was now. Not an office drone, or a scientist. She was a writer, a creator, a builder of realities. She smiled as her body warmed, awake to the limitless possibilities. Most people only have one story. She had millions, and they were all waiting for her to bring them to life. And when one reality broke, she’d build another one. She could have it all. All she had to do was accept it. She smiled in the red glow. “Let’s get started.”


I've been writing this story for a little bit and it's nowhere near done, but I got impatient and decided to post what I've written so far. Enjoy! Alternatively, don't enjoy!   It was a Utopia. A true, bona fide Utopia, where everything was perfect because no one had an issue with anything and everything was perfect and you always put the usb drive in the port the right way the first time. Yeah, it was that good. There was sadness, of course, suppression of that would probably involve some dystopian measure, and everyone knew that and everyone accepted that and so there was sadness because everyone knew that it was only human and you didn’t really need constant happiness to have a utopia, anyway. Bad words still existed, but no one was offended by them anymore. Besides, people had almost completely switched to Brandnewspeak, anyway. Brandnewspeak was a brand new language which had been invented just a year ago. It had become the most widely spoken language in the Utopia in under 4 months and its official language a month after that, success which many attributed to its clean, smooth sounding words. Indeed, it was agreed that Brandnewspeak was wholly superior to English. In the center of the Utopia was the flag, depicting a circle of people linking arms with each other around a smaller version of the same image. The Utopia’s motto, “everyone and everyone else” was painted in the Utopia’s official font, Times Brandnew Roman, just above the door to the main hall. Opinions were respected, facts were verified. Everyone had plenty of food, water, shelter, medicine, and the like. This is where our story begins. Sam was a simple lad who led a simple life (a simple, perfect life, mind you. The word “perfect” had been forgotten many years before the introduction of Brandnewspeak. Because everything in the Utopia was perfect, the distinction had no longer been necessary to make, resulting in the word collectively fading from the people’s vocabulary). He enjoyed music, pubs, and long walks on the beach. His job as a plumber didn’t pay much, but it paid enough. In fact, it paid the perfect amount to cover his life style. Yes, Sam led a virtuous life in the Utopia, a satisfying, stimulating, exemplary life. But everything was about to change. But not today. Today was a pretty regular Wednesday. Sam had woken up, eaten breakfast, gotten out of bed, and prepared for the hours of calming problem-finding and problem-fixing that were to come. He departed from his house in his 0-CO2 emittance shoes. He was walking down the sidewalk, as one does, when he came across something awfully peculiar. He picked the thing up and, since he couldn’t discern any possible use for it, put it in his pocket to dispose of at the nearest recycling duct. The recycling ducts were a massive and elaborate structure beneath the Utopia which lead down to the recycling center (itself a massive and elaborate structure beneath the Utopia which was capable of recycling any synthetic material at all). The ducts were truly a work of genius and had been designed by Will Einstein, the greatest plumber to ever live. Ooh that’ll have big ramifications on the story, won’t it? Yeah, probably. I figured I’d give you a freebie since most of the foreshadowing has probably gone over your head up till now, unless of course you’ve had it explained to you by some obsessive, cranky english teacher who reads way too far into things. You know, the kind that could read the first two sentences of our story here and come up with some reason as to why it’s actually a dystopia. Oh, and they’d probably fit Shakespeare’s “To be or not to be” soliloquy in there somewhere, too. But I digress. As Sam continued along the sidewalk, he pulled out his map to make sure he was going the right way. He was. Putting his map away, he saw that he was getting close to the recycling duct. He felt in his pocket for the object and examined it more thoroughly. After all, he may have just missed its purpose, and he’d hate to have something useful recycled. Looking at it now, he noticed nothing new. It was still a hard, smooth, hexagonal prism, with a hole in it. He was now standing in front of the recycling duct. He was about to toss the hexagonal prism away when he noticed a key lying on the ground directly in front of the duct. With a lapse in the logic of probability, he tried to put the key into the keyhole. It didn’t fit. “Ah, well. Down you go, then.” he said to himself, and tossed both the prism and the key into the chute. Sam made his way to the first home he was to work at that morning. It was a small, familiar, quaint house, not unlike his own. Fairly unremarkable, but remarkable enough. It’s not like all the houses were exactly the same because of some dystopian, oppressive government that prevents its citizens from realizing that it has taken away their individuality and slowly makes every aspect of their lives as mundane as possible. He rang the doorbell and, after the perfect amount of time, someone opened the door. “Hello, Ms. Jones,” Sam said. “How are you this morning?.” “Quite alright, Sam, and how are you?” she responded. “I’m just fine, thanks,” Sam said. “Good, good. Then please, come in,” Ms. Jones said, leading Sam to the kitchen. “You see, Sam, the faucet has stopped working,” she said, as she turned the handle and watched the pitiful dripping with a frown. “Now don’t you worry, Ms. Jones. I’ll have your faucet up and running in a jiffy!” He said, and got straight to work. I won’t bore you with the details, because who cares about fixing some clogged pipes? No one. That’s why you call a plumber to do it for you. What I will say is that it involved a wrench, a lump of muck, and some pipes. Yep, a perfectly normal plumbing job.


George? He stood over the gas stove with the kettle warming pulling it off seconds before the whistle as not to startle his friend in the next room. “Hey Dom, do you care what kind of tea?” Leo asked from the kitchen. Dom didn’t answer but gave a slight head nod. Leo entered carrying a tray with two mugs filled with hot water, a string hanging over the side, and bowls of sugar and milk. He set it down on the small table between the couch and chair where they sat. Dom continued to stare off at the wall, but his eyes stayed unfocused. Leo knew he would have to speak first to pull Dom out of the shock of what had just happened. He didn’t know how to approach the situation other than a cup of tea to calm his nerves. Dom’s clothes were in bad shape, with rips and stains covering them. One of his pant legs had almost been ripped all the way around as it hung off his knee. Leo inspected him closer to see that the stains took a faint color of red. He wondered if he needed to know what happened or call the cops. Leo was not the type that liked trouble and avoided it at all costs, but Dom was his oldest friend. He wanted to be there for him. “Dom, um... what happened?” He whispered, afraid of scaring him anymore. Dom’s head slowly turned to focus on Leo, who sat up straighter. “A fight.” “With who?” Leo questioned a little too loudly as Dom jumped back on the couch. “I’m sorry, with who Dom?” Leo corrected quietly. “Remi,” Dom mumbled “What? Remi? She wouldn’t do that.” “WELL, SHE DID!” Dom yelled back at him. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, please tell me the whole story,” Leo begged. It all started yesterday. Remi and I went to eat lunch together and catch up at this new place called ‘The eatery.’ At the restaurant, the waitress took our drink order. She then didn’t come back. We asked another waitress to take our order. “Excuse me, can we get some help?” Remi asked. “You aren’t one of my tables.” She barked and walked away. Remi’s face turned red from anger. “I’m not taking this.” She got up. “I’m going to find the manager.” She stomped off, not going to let anybody treat her that way. After ten minutes, a man stopped at my table, “Are you here with Remi?” I hesitated to answer, afraid of the trouble she had gotten into. “um... yes.” He just walked away. After several steps, he turned back, “Are you coming?” I jumped up from my seat on his heels as we went through the kitchen to the back door. “Hey, what happened? What’s wrong?” The guy wouldn’t answer me, just kept walking. He kicked open the door, “THERE!” He turned, going back inside. Remi laid on the paved ground, sprawled out with blood smeared across her face and arms. I dropped to her side, trying to get her up. She didn’t move. I couldn’t believe they would leave her like this without calling an ambulance. My anger began to grow. Out of the corner of my eye, somebody stepped out from behind the dumpster. I froze. I was next, and nobody would help. “You good?” She asked. I couldn’t believe it. “Piper! Where have you been? It’s been almost a year since I saw you last.” I yelled. She shrugged. “Wait, did you do this to Remi?” She moved out from the shadows. “No! why would you think that. Why would I hurt her?” She snapped back. “Then who did? Why won’t anybody help her?” Piper took a step back into the shadows. “Just go. Grab her and go. Don’t ask any more questions.” I reached down to pick up Remi. Maybe Piper knew what she was talking about. One thing I knew was that I needed to get Remi to the hospital right away. I had her arm over my shoulder as I walked down the alley to the parking lot. “HEY! YOU!” A guy yelled from behind me. I didn’t want to turn around. I wanted to get Remi to the car. I glanced back and stopped as he held a gun at my head. “Drop her!” He barked. “No!” I took another step towards my car. “Drop her now, or I’ll shoot you. She is mine!” “What? You can’t have her. She is a person, not a possession.” I snapped back at him. What was wrong with him thinking he could take her. It’s not like finder’s keepers. I sat Remi down softly on the ground, leaning against the side of my car. I turned to face him, ready to fight for her. I would not let him take her. I bent my knees with my hands up, ready to take him on. A head popped out from behind the alley not too far away. It was Piper! She was sneaking up behind this crazy guy. I had to distract him for just a minute to allow her to get a better advantage point. “Why don’t you put down the gun, and let’s do this the old fashion style. Hand to hand, man against man.” He took a minute to answer, “Or I could just shoot you, and it would be over.” He tightened his grip on the gun. “Wait, wait. That wouldn’t be fair. I was with her first. You can’t take her from me then expect me not to fight for her?” I begged. He seemed to understand that as he put his gun in the back waistband of his pants. “Alright, let’s do this the old fashion way then.” He agreed. Oh, I wasn’t expecting him to take the bait that quickly. It worked, though. Piper flew out from behind a car slamming into the side of this guy sending him down to the pavement. His face slid across the loose rocks ripping the skin off and blood streaming down his cheek. He pushed himself up and Piper off him in one swift movement. She didn’t let him have a second’s rest as her fist connected with the side of his head, sending him stumbling backward. I couldn’t believe it. She was going to end this quickly. The guy stood up, looking me straight in the eye even though I hadn’t done anything. He charged at me like an angry bull, slamming me against the car. I fell forward on the ground. The guy picked me up, throwing me across the parking lot, ripping my pants. He headed for Remi, sitting against the car. I jumped, running towards the guy, ready to tackle him to the ground to protect her. Sirens sounded from down the street, stopping me in my tracks. Somebody had called it in. We were finally going to get some help--the police speed past us. My heart sank. We were going to have to handle this on our own. My hesitation allowed him to have time to start trying to pick Remi up. She had woken up some but didn’t seem like enough to defend herself against this big guy. The next thing I knew, she stood up on her own, and the guy fell to the ground shaking, eyes wide open. She turned to me with a small smile holding up her tazer. “I don’t leave the house without it.” “Okay, then hurry up get in the car before he wakes up.” I snapped. She crawled in, laying down in the back seat. Piper kneeled next to the guy checking his pulse. “Um... Dom. His heart isn’t beating.” She whispered. “What? Seriously? Now we are going to jail for murder.” “Oh, too dramatic. Let’s make it go away then. Come on, help me put him in the trunk, and we can go dump him out in a field. “ “Geez... Piper. That is a bit extreme. Can’t we just leave him here?” I asked, afraid of doing anything more with him. “Fine, I guess. Well, I’m not sticking around. Later!” She slid back into the shadows. I jumped in the car, dropped Remi off at the hospital, letting them know we were attacked. They asked me to leave, not allowing me in due to protocols. “Then I came here not sure of what to do next.” “Um... that is a lot,” Leo said, unsure how to handle all of this. “Yep.” “You can take a shower and borrow some clothes. Then we can check on Remi in the morning.” Leo suggested. Dom stood up, heading towards the bathroom. “Knock. Knock.” Leo turned to Dom, “Somebody is at the door.” Dom’s eyes were wide. There was no way he would get away with all of this. Leo made his way to the door; it flew open on its own. “FREEZE!” Both stuck their hands straight up in the air. Eyes squinted, trying to see through the flashlights. “Dom Hernandez, you are under arrest for crossing into the outer dimension and murder of George Happy.” A deep voice boomed through the room. “Wait, we didn’t go to the outer dimension. That is where the prisoners are held. Why would we go there? Plus, I can’t do that.” Dom argued back. The officer stepped into the room, “You weren’t alone, were you?” “Well, no. My sister Remi was with me, but she can’t cross dimensions either.” “Either way, you are the one that crossed over and committed murder. However, you made it happen. You are still under arrest.” He grabbed Dom’s arm, spinning him around slapping the handcuffs on him. He practically drug him out of the room. “Leo, help me. Fix this, please!” Dom called back to him. Something clicked, “Wait! You saw Piper in the outer dimension!” Then they were gone, and Leo was left to find his sister and prove his friend’s innocents, with no leads on where to start. He didn’t have the ability to cross dimensions. There were only a handful of people like that. A bright light flashed, temporarily blinding him. “Leo! Let’s go!” Her voice yelled as a hand grabbed Leo’s arm, pulling him into the light. Once the light faded, darkness surrounded them, making it just as hard to figure out where he had landed. “You alright?” Leo recognized the voice. After all, it was his sister Piper. He would never forget her voice. “Yeah, what is going on? How did you do that?” He questioned. Piper turned on a small lamp illuminating the room with two wooden chairs. “Have a seat, little brother. Take a minute to gather your thoughts.” He grabbed a chair, knowing that he would never calm after everything that happened tonight. He let the questions fly. “What happened? Why are you here? Why didn’t you come home? What’s wrong? How do we fix this?” “Wow, Leo. Chill out. Look, I’ve always been able to do this. I hid it so I wouldn’t be taken away from you. Last year, somebody found out, and I’ve been on the run ever since.” Piper explained. “Okay, then why did you show up now?” “Well, it has all been a setup to pull me out of hiding.” “What has been a setup?” Leo questioned, confused by this whole thing. “Look, there are some very bad people out to get me because of what I can do. Since I have not been bound like the other ‘Pushers,’ I can reach more than one dimension. I would be able to do many things for them that would allow them to get away with anything.” She explained. “Piper, then you need to turn yourself in and stop all this.” “No! You don’t understand what they do to the ‘Pushers.’ They torture them and use them as tools and weapons.” She snapped back at him. “Then you are going to let Dom and Remi take the wrap for this?” Leo argued. “Leo, of course not. That is why I was there helping them and why I came to get you. We have to put a stop to all of this. I’m tired of hiding from them.” Piper stood up with a hand out towards Leo. “Let’s go. We don’t have much time to set this straight.” “I’m just supposed to go with you after a year, without you telling me a plan of any kind? How can I trust you?” Leo questioned. “I’m your sister. Know that you can always trust me and that I have your best interest at heart.” Leo stood slowly, allowing Piper to pull him into a tight bear hug that they both have missed. “Okay, let’s do this.” He spoke enthusiastically. A bright light flashed as they disappeared through the portal. They reappeared in a dark alley. Piper pulled Leo against a hard cold wall. “Shh... they are just around the corner.” “How do you know?” Leo questioned. “Shh.... I’ve been watching. Now let’s go, quietly.” Piper insisted. They slide alongside the wall to the metal door. Piper placed her hand on the door with a small flash of light, and the lock and handle disappeared. “I didn’t know Pushers could do that?” Leo spoke too loudly. Piper spun around, slapping her hand on his mouth. “You have to be quiet. The sensors detect sound, not light.” The overhead lights flashed on, the sirens blaring. “Too late, now we have to move fast. Stay on my heels, or you will be in jail like Remi and Dom.” Leo grabbed on the back of her shirt like he did when they were kids in a big crowd. He always knew that his big sister would take care of him and never get lost. They zigged-zagged through the corridors. Leo lost track of how many turns they made, but Piper knew exactly where to go. Piper stopped suddenly, with Leo slamming into her back, sending her past the wall. The guards saw her and opened fire in their direction. Piper turned back to Leo, grabbing his hand. “Stay here. I will be right back.” She disappeared in a flash of light. BANG! Leo kept his back to the wall as he waited, not breathing, afraid that she wouldn’t come back. The hallways were silent, raising his heart rate. He gasped for air, debating to run back through the maze. “Leo,” Piper whispered. “Leo!” He poked his head around the corner. “Oh, Piper, I thought they got you.” “Yeah, right, they wish. Let’s go.” Leo attached to Piper’s shirt again, and they were off weaving through the corridors. He had a stitch in his side as he tried to slow Piper down some. “I can’t.... Please... Just a minute.” Leo begged. “No, we have to keep moving if we stand any chance of getting them out. The alarms already went off. We are almost there.” Piper explained. They both knew what they had to do. They ran with everything they had straight into a large metal door. “Piper, can you do your light thing again?” Leo asked. She hesitated a minute, “Not sure if I can on this door. Hold on. I’ll blast it with everything I have.” A bright light flashed, and the door turned bright red from the heat. Piper waited and pushed in the middle of the door. It fell to the ground with a bang. The room on the other side stayed dark. A whisper came from the shadows, “Piper? Leo? Is that you?” Remi and Dom came running out of the room, jumping on them in big bear hugs. Piper grabbed Dom’s shoulders, holding him back to get a better view of his face as he had a black eye and a cut on his cheek. “Dom, what did they do? I thought the cops came and got you?” Piper questioned. “They did. By the time we reached the car, some other guys had charged us. Knocking the officer out instantly while they punched and beat me a bit before shoving me in their car and bringing me here with Remi.” “Well... I’m glad they put you two together. It is going to make this next step simple.” A flash of bright light appeared, and Piper led them all through to a new dimension. There were beautiful tall trees and green rolling hills. The sun shined bright. The wind blew fresh air across their faces. “Where are we?” Remi asked. “Home,” Piper answered.


“I’m panicking here!” I say into my phone. I hear my best friend holding in her laughter. “Alright, alright. Sorry. It’s just... there’s no need to panic. She admitted to liking you back!” I roll over to the other end of my bed, pouting. “Yeah, but like... social anxiety. And Maggie is just so perfect and what if I start to be myself around her and she decides I’m too weird and she doesn’t like me anymore-” Amanda cuts me off, tutting into her phone. “Nope. You are not spiralling right now. Not happening,” she says. I frown, hating how easy it is for her to calm me down. Sometimes I just want to be able to spiral and not care and just fall into it. “Alright, whatever. Let’s change the subject,” I say, sitting back up on my bed. I find it hard to sit still while I’m on the phone, having very little to occupy myself without taking the attention from the call itself. Thank goodness my sister isn’t in the room to see me fidgeting every two minutes. “Sure. Tell me how your room is looking now,” Amanda says. I look around the room. Stacie has her stuff set up in one triangle of the room, her bed and desk and bookshelf arranged to fit the space. We had come to the agreement that we would split the room diagonally, giving us more wall space. The closet was split in half, and was on my side of the room, seeing as I had a bunk bed to shove stuff onto instead of a desk. The top bunk worked well to hold all my miscellaneous dishes and school supplies that collected themselves. As of now, all the stuff that would normally be strewn around my bedroom was still packed. “It looks the same as last time you asked. Except Stace organised her little library.” My sister had an obsession with reading, and somehow balanced AP classes as well as reading and a social life. I would never be able to read more than five pages without dying of boredom. Somehow, Amanda agrees with her love of books. “I still wish you read. It’s so much fun,” she says on the other end of the line. “Well, it’s not happening. You can wallow in your books alone,” I tease. I’m about to ask how her holiday is going when I hear my mom holler from downstairs. “Casey, Mark and the kids are here! Get off your phone and come down here!” The doorbell ringing confirms her statement. I roll my eyes, sighing. Amanda must’ve heard through the phone, because she sighs along with me. “I’ll let you go. Try and be friendly,” she adds. “They’re in the same situation as you, y’know.” I nod, even though she can’t see me. “No promises.” We say our goodbyes and I hang up, slipping my phone into my pocket as I trudge down the stairs. I can hear the family through an open window somewhere, and try to tune them out. My mother had gotten remarried earlier in the fall, and the only reason her new husband hadn’t moved in with them had been a need for a new house. While I have a sister already, Mark has three children. A little girl named Margot, and twin boys, Cameron and Kris. It’s not that they are bad people, but going from three people in the house to seven is a lot for anyone. They hadn’t officially moved in yet, they were still living in their old house as everything got sorted out. But it was still too much for me. We had been forced to spend time together before, and the twins seemed to share my enthusiasm for the situation. Margot was really cute and bubbly, and didn’t seem to notice the discomfort whenever the group got together. And Stacie seemed to be having no problem adjusting at all. Of course. She had to be good at everything. As I get to the bottom of the staircase, my mom is reaching the door to greet her husband. I glance around the foyer, trying to figure out where to stand as everyone comes in and take their winter gear off. It wasn’t snowing hard enough to be a problem, but it was still enough to leave white flakes in their hair and melting on their jackets. I opted to lean against an empty spot on the wall, trying to appear casual. “Welcome! How were the roads hon?” Mom directs the second part to Mark, and they fall into conversation as the kids get settled and head to the living room. I stay against the wall, since it’s close enough to be part of the conversation, but still gives me space. The twins sit on the couch, but Margot runs over to me, wrapping her short arms around my waist. I smile, hugging her back. “Hi Casey!” she squeals, her ponytails bouncing with her movement. Her head barely comes up to my rib cage; she’s only six. “Hey, Margot. Are you excited for Christmas?” I ask as she pulls away to look at me. Her grin is almost contagious. I settle for a small smirk, not wanting to seem like I’m completely enjoying this. Margot is the most tolerable of Mark’s children. It’s not that it’s difficult to get along with the twins, but they’re a year and a half older than me. And they’re boys. Not too much in common there. Mark is alright, but I’m still being stubborn about really getting to know him. My mom says that Dad is alright with it, and that he’s still going to be a part of my life. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to accept a new father figure just yet. “Yes! We’re going to watch movies and have a big dinner and give each other presents!” Margot motions for me to lean closer. “And I get to help you make apple pie,” she whisper-shouts into my ear. “I can’t wait,” I say, feigning total excitement. I look at my mom, who meets my gaze. Don’t mess this up, she seems to say. I shrug, looking back at the living room. The Christmas tree is standing and lit, but there aren’t any ornaments on it yet. Mom decided to wait until Mark and the others got here to put anything on it. We can make new family memories, she had said earlier that week when they were weaving the lights onto the branches. My mood sours a bit at the memory. I look around the house, observing the new decorations Mom and Stacie have been busy setting up. They’ve hung garlands on the pillars by the front door, and candles and strings of lights have been sprinkled around the house. The candles are lit, and the warm scent of cinnamon floats through the air. The sky is already starting to get dark, and the warm lights from the candles cast faint shadows around the room. It’s almost enough for me to enjoy the vibe. Almost. Cameron and Kris are sitting side by side on the couch, looking a bit uncomfortable. Funny, I think to myself. They look as enthusiastic as me . They’re not identical twins, but are quite similar in appearance. They’re both about the same height, and their hair is the same dark brown. Cameron has a bit of a shorter style to his hair, and Kris dresses more confidently. I think of how similar Stacey and I look. Well, how different we look. Stacey has long, blonde hair that she keeps straight. She dresses cute and kawaii, and basically only wears pastels. A huge contrast to my lazy casual-wear style. I have dark hair like my dad, and pixie cut, really short in the back and longer on the top so I can fluff it up. Most days I wear jeans, sweats, and sometimes leggings, along with my signature flannels and a random t-shirt underneath. And I pair it with some crazy earrings. Today I donned some large snowman earrings, with top hats and rainbow scarves. Stace had made fun of them when I bought them, but I had ignored her. Plus, you can never go wrong with rainbow scarfed snowmen. “So, how is school going for you guys?” Mom asks, trying to break the awkward silence. Cameron just shrugs, so Kris pipes up. “School’s pretty good, the teachers are laying off on homework because of the holidays. Though I wouldn’t put it past them to dump a stack on us the minute we go back.” Mom and Mark laugh at the last part. “How about you, Margot? Are you having fun?” Margot nods vigorously. “Yeah, we’re learning about writing our letters really good. I can do the whole alphabet almost!” I smile a bit. Margot is definitely going to become my soft spot. “And I can’t wait to go back and see all my friends! I can tell them about all the fun things we’re going to do together.” My smile falters a bit. The break is almost over already, and then I’ll have to face Maggie at school. When I told her I liked her, it had just slipped out. I hadn’t meant to say it, but then I did. And she had responded in the best way possible. So why was I still so nervous to see her again? Mom jumps up, pulling me from my thoughts. “Ooh, hot chocolate is ready!” she says as she heads into the kitchen, Mark following close behind. I can hear something bubbling on the stove top, and a chocolatey smell wafts through the room. “Make yourselves comfortable,” Mom calls from the kitchen. Margot plops down on the couch beside Stacie and cues up some Christmas cartoons, while the twins exchange glances. I don’t understand the look at first, but they stand up and head towards the stairs, throwing me a sheepish smile as they pass. I take that as a sign that I can go back to my bedroom, and unlock my phone as I take the stairs by twos, finding a couple emails and some snaps. Nothing too important, but I decide to go through my email anyways, for lack of better things to do. The twins turn into their shared room, and I pass to mine. The house is a four bedroom layout, so the twins and Stace and I share rooms. Margot has her own room, down at the end of the hall by mom and Mark’s room. There are a couple bathrooms scattered around the upper level, but Stace and I got the attached bathroom. I sit on my bed, pulling my laptop towards myself to start doing... whatever I ended up doing. A couple days later, when mom calls us all down to the table, my spirits are somewhat lifted. I ended up watching a Christmas movie on Netflix, and though I didn’t pay much attention to it, it provided an idle background sound while I played on my phone. “Alright, everyone sit,” mom is saying when I reach the bottom of the stairs. My chair is still empty, and I’m grateful that she at least left that part of our lives normal. We begin to pile food onto the fancy dinner plates that mom pulled out for the occasion, and there’s sparkling cider since none of the kids are old enough to drink yet. Though, I have no doubt the twins have had alcohol before. I’m about to take a bite of ham when mom stops us. “Alright, girls, this might be a bit different, but Mark and his family,” she gestures to the man sitting beside her, “say grace before eating.” I try to discreetly put my fork down, and Stacie and I share an uncomfortable look. Mom holds Mark’s hand, and the twins and Margot link as well. Stacie and I hold the hands of those flanking us, and Mark starts it. The twins join in, and Margot mumbles the parts she doesn’t know, and perks up at the parts she does. Stacey, mom and I stay quiet, trying to be respectful. It’s a bit weird, but they finish and I pull my hands from Stace and Kris’. “Alright, dig in!” Mark says. I duck my head a bit, ready to eat. “I did the carrots with brown sugar, I hope you like them,” he adds. I don’t voice my hesitation, just try to avoid eating them as long as possible without seeming rude. I gingerly lift my fork to my mouth, and I’m relieved when I realise nobody is paying me any attention. I take the bite, and am pleasantly surprised. The brown sugar makes the carrots sort of soft, and sweet. Mom and the twins are talking about plans for college, and Mark and Stace are talking about extracurriculars. Margot is eating her ham, listening to both conversations. I smile a little, watching her eat her mashed potatoes gleefully. I wake up to small hands shaking my arm. “Casey, wake up!” a young voice says beside me. I open my eyes to see Margot beside my bed, barely outlined by the hall light. The sun is just starting to come up, blinking behind bright snow clouds. I sit up, seeing Stacie getting up from her bed. “Santa came!” Margot says, bouncing a little and tugging at my arm. I smile, pushing the blankets back and blinking away the last cobwebs of sleep. It’s difficult keeping the magic after so many years of not having to pretend, and I almost let slip that I heard Mom and Mark setting presents up last night. But I bite my tongue, and put on a smile. I’m running on like, four hours of sleep, after binging two seasons of Trinkets with Amanda late last night. “Look at all the presents!” Margot bounds towards the tree, draped in sparkling garlands and twinkling lights. We had decorated the day before, and though it had been a bit awkward putting our ornaments on the tree along with the new ones, it had turned out okay. I sit on the couch, in my usual spot, which happens to be closest to the tree. Stace sits beside me, and Margot plops down on the floor in front of the presents. After Margot assures us that everyone is coming down, we wait in silence. The stockings are filled to the brim, and the presents have to be stacked around the tree because of the surplus. Once we are all settled, I go to grab my gift from ‘Santa’, but my mom stops me. “Actually, Case, we’re going to try something different this year.” Mark nods and reaches for the stockings. “We like to do these first,” he passes Kris and Cameron theirs, “and then family gifts,” then Stacie and I get ours, “and presents from Santa come last,” and Margot finally gets hers. She giggles, waiting for something from her father. “Go ahead,” he smiles warmly. We begin to open all the individually wrapped presents, and I come out with some makeup, a couple pairs of funky earrings, and some new earbuds, as well as a bunch of chocolate that was in the bottom of the stocking. We open the family gifts next, and I’m itching to open my ‘Santa’ gift, but mom gives me a look that quells my excitement a bit. I stick it out until the end, and I even get into a bit of conversation with the twins. We start talking about relatives, and I even share a couple stories about my Aunt Reina, Stace piping in at some point about our Grandmas. It was nice. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.


#Welcome to Micro Monday Hello writers and welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I provide a simple constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. This rotates between simple prompts, sentences, images, songs, and themes. You’re free to interpret the weekly constraints how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.**   *** #This week’s challenge: - **Theme: ** - **Bonus Constraint:** Danger is averted. This week’s challenge is to use the theme of *‘lighthouse’* to inspire your story. You may interpret the theme any way you like as long as the connection is clear and you follow all post and sub rules. The use of the image prompt and bonus constraint are not required. **Note: Don’t forget to after the submission deadline!** (The form usually opens at about 11:30am EST Monday.) next Monday before the deadline! You get points just for voting.   *** #How To Participate - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below.** You have until **Sunday at 11:59pm EST**. (No poetry.) - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post, exclusively. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Come back throughout the week, read the other stories, and leave them some feedback on the thread.** You have until **2pm EST Monday** to get your feedback in. Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of . - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **2pm EST** next Monday to submit nominations. (Please note: The form does not open until Monday morning, after the story submission deadline.) - **And most of all, be creative and have fun!** If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.   *** #Campfire - On **Mondays at 12pm EST,** I hold a Campfire on our server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide live feedback for those who are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Everyone is welcome!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. You can complete the following things for points. - **Use of prompt/constraint:** 20 points (required) - **Use of bonus constraint:** 5 points, unless otherwise stated (not required) - ***Actionable* Feedback:** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Submitting nominations:** 5 points (total) *Users who go above and beyond with feedback (more than 5 detailed crits) will be awarded Crit Credits that can be used on r/WPCritique.*   *** #Rankings - **First:** - Submitted by u/katherine_c - **Second:** - Submitted by u/who_wood - **Third:** - Submitted by u/vMemory - **Crit Star - Thread:** u/katherine_c **And I’d like to also reward this week’s Campfire Crit Stars:** - u/vMemory - u/katpoker666 - u/katherine_c *Crit Stars receive 1 Crit Credit to use on r/WPCritique. In order to receive your credits, you must either link your reddit account on our Discord, or have made at least one post on r/WPCritique.* *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires and other fun events! - Join in our weekly writing chat on . We discuss a new topic every week! New here? Come introduce yourself! - Try your hand at serial writing with ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Ray entered the room. He was exasperated - not because of what he saw, but because the sight didn’t surprise him. There she was - pretty, big-eyed, and red-handed. “I can’t believe you, Jane” She averted his gaze. It made her feel even guiltier. She knew she had just broken his heart. She wasn’t afraid of the big woman, but he was. She knew he was. Even though she didn’t want it, he always watched over her; made sure she didn’t do anything to incur the wrath of the big woman. She admired his efforts, and made it a point to respect his concerns. She wanted to stop getting caught like this, but she was far too gone. She was addicted. She thought she was addicted to what’s inside the box, but he knew her better - she was addicted to the thrill of breaking the rules. “You can’t even look at me, can you?” , he exclaimed. “Please, Ray, I can expla--” “Explain what? You know the rule, Jane. As long as you’re here, you can’t open the box. The big woman will find out” “I know. But I can’t help it. I’ve held off for too long. I need it Ray; I need it right now” “Don’t be a baby”, he scolded. “I don’t care what you call me. I know what’s best for me. I’m opening the box” “You’re begging for trouble. If you get caught, you’ll--” Ray froze, as he heard the footsteps. This was it. They were busted. Jane started crying. “I’m sorry Ray. I didn’t mean for you to get in trouble. I’m really sorry” The door creaked open, and the big woman entered the room. The couple was holding on for dear life. Jane’s sobs faded away in fear, leaving a grave silence in their wake. The big woman stared at them, her eyes burning through theirs. They stood in front of her, defenseless and vulnerable, waiting for the worst. And then, all of a sudden, the silence died. “I made her do it. Let her go” Silence again. Jane suppressed a fresh wave of sobs, while the big woman suppressed a smile. The big women were known for their cruelty, and this one was no different. However, despite her natural instinct, this act of nobility by Ray moved her heart. “This is your last warning. Don’t let me catch you in here again. Now take your boxes and leave” she said, with contempt boiling in her words. The couple scurried off the room. “We got lucky, Jane” “You took the blame. I can’t believe you took the blame” “I’ll do anything for you, you know” “I love you too, Ray” The big woman watched as they confessed their feeling on their way out. “Just don’t do it again, Jane. You know the rule. Say it” “We don’t open our lunchboxes in the classroom; only in the cafeteria”, she said, to satisfy him. “Remember it next time”, he sighed in relief. The big woman finally let out the smile, as the 5-year-olds ran into the cafeteria. “Ah, to be young and in love”, she sighed. After all, she wasn’t always a teacher. Once upon a time, she too, was a kindergartner.


Henry Bishop was sitting at his desk working when his boss, Mr. Carn approached him. “Bishop, you were supposed to give me the Compton report this morning. I want that report on my desk before the end of the day. Do your job,” he bellowed and stormed off. “Loudmouth bastard. He's always finding something wrong with my work. I wish it were legal to kill people like him. He’s giving me an ulcer.” In order to forget how much he hated Carn and his job, Henry spent his weekends going to the beach and wandering around the city. One Saturday, he stopped at a curio shop. “This is a fascinating place,” he said looking around. He picked up a dusty book. “Boy, this is weird. There’s only one page. ‘You don’t have to die,” he read. “I wonder what the characters below mean. I’ve never seen characters like those before.” As he wondered about the book, a man appeared behind him. “May I help you with something, sir?” “This book. There’s only one page, and all that’s written is, ‘You don’t have to die’ and there are symbols that I don’t recognize, and where are the rest of the pages?” “That’s the only page. It is the only page that is needed. The symbols are from an ancient civilization’s language. They refer to life and death." “Life and death? What about life and death?" "All I know is they refer to life and death." "Well, what about the statement 'You don't have to die?' Why would anybody write that? Everybody has to die.” “That’s not true. If you could read the ancient symbols that are on the page, you would understand. What would you say if I told you that you could live forever?” “Forgive me, but I would say you’re crazy.” “Come with me,” he said and Henry followed him into a back room, where he opened a desk drawer and took out a dagger. “What would you say if I told you I can’t die?” “Not possible.” “Watch,” he said, and plunged the dagger into his stomach. “Oh, my God,” Henry gasped. “I’m proving to you that I can’t die,” he said and pulled the dagger out of his stomach. As he pulled it out, the wound healed. “I’m not dead, am I?” “I don’t believe it. It must be a trick.” “It’s not a trick,” he asserted. “Here, take the dagger and push it into my stomach.” “Are you crazy?” “No, I'm not crazy,” he said, and put the dagger in Henry’s hand. Henry stared at the dagger and watched the blood that was on it evaporate. “I’m not gonna...” Before he could finish speaking, the man grabbed Henry’s hand and pulled the dagger into his stomach. Henry gasped, jumped back, and stared wide-eyed as the man pulled the dagger out of his stomach. Henry watched the wound heal and shook his head in disbelief. The man then took a small box out of the drawer, opened it, and took out a vile. “My friend, if you drink this potion, you, too, would become immortal. If you want to live forever, drink it,” he said and he put it in Henry’s hand. "Why would I want to live forever?" "Imagine what you could do if you lived forever, if you couldn't die. Imagine what you would know about the past in 200 years from now." Henry stared at the vile, looked at the man, and then drank the potion. He waited for something to happen. “I don’t feel anything.” Without warning, the man plunged the knife into Henry’s stomach, and Henry gasped, looked down at the dagger, pulled it out of his stomach, and watched the wound heal. “Oh, my God. It’s true, I can’t die,” he mumbled several times and, as though in a daze, walked slowly out of the shop. On his way home, he stopped in a sporting goods shop and bought a hunting knife. “Mr. Carn, I bought you a present.” When Henry went back to work on Monday, he waited for Mr. Carn to bombard him with complaints, and he didn’t have to wait long. “Henry, the Compton report was full of grammatical errors. Didn’t you go to school,” he yelled. “One more blunder, Henry, and you’re history,” he growled. “Mr. Carn, if you will stop yelling for a moment, I want to show you a present I got for you. He e took the knife from a drawer, and plunged it into Carn’s chest. “How do you like your present, Carn?” Henry waited for the police, who arrested him and took him to jail where he was booked. His court-appointed lawyer stood by his side and entered a not guilty plea. “No,” Henry said loudly. “I plead guilty.” Because of his crime and his guilty plea there was no trial. Instead, Henry had to face a judge, who sentenced him to death as mandated by state law, and he was transported to death row. In the visitor’s room, Henry met with his attorney. “Is it true that if the condemned can’t be executed, can’t be killed, he has to be freed?” “Yes, Henry, but why do you ask?” “George, I can’t die. Soon I’m going to be free. I will have gotten away with murder.” “You can’t die? That’s impossible. Everybody dies.” “Not everybody, George. You’ll see, and I don’t want you to file any appeals.” Two weeks later, Henry’s lawyer visited him. “Henry, good news. The state supreme court has abolished the death penalty. Your sentence is now life in prison without the possibility of parole. Henry, the state saved your life.” “No. No,” he yelled. “They can’t do that. I want to be executed,” he sobbed, fell to his knees, and pounded the floor with his fists, and two guards dragged him out of the visitors’ room. “I can’t spend eternity in prison. I can’t,” he sobbed over and over as they dragged him to his cell.


The Dying of the Light 1987 words The village of Rathmullan is a special place, surrounded by steep hills and a forest of millennial oaks. The road from the coast corkscrews down under the green canopy of the trees until it reaches the valley floor where the houses nestle on either side of the Avon Beg river, connected by a steep stone bridge. It is a world-apart, out of time, where the only sound is the wind in the trees and water running over rocks. On one side of the bridge is a shallow ford where children paddle in summer, racing paper boats and catching sprickly bags in jam jars tied with string. The valley is so isolated that only an occasional car disturbs the peace - usually a tourist or someone lost. The village church stands at one end of the main street. At the other end the gates to the manor house lie open. In fact, nobody in the village can ever remember them being closed. The Woodvilles own most of the land in the area and have lived in the “Big House” as long as anyone can remember. They are not stuffy or stand offish. Flora and her father, Owen Woodville, know everybody in the village by name. Owen breeds horses, famous for their speed and stamina. ‘It’s in the blood people,’ say and dealers come from all over to pay top dollar for his yearlings. Flora has a gift for healing and no one who needs her help is ever turned away from the kitchen door at the back of the house. Flora was hot and flustered as she stood over the vat of sweet smelling strawberry jam that was bubbling on the stove, when a figure appeared at the kitchen door. “Sorry to bother you. Car’s broken down on the bridge. Think the axel might be smashed. Know any good mechanic round here?” Flora brushed a stray lock of hair back off her forehead and looked at the handsome stranger. It was the combination of blues eyes and the mischievous smile that did it: love at first sight. “Flora Woodville - would you like a cup of tea while you wait?” In the end he never left and a year to the day later they were married in the village church. On the day of the wedding her father had warned her. “ You know what will happen if you step onto the stranger’s land. We Woodvilles are tied to the land and the woods .” She had nodded but hadn’t ever thought about it since. The farms and the village and the valley were her world. She had never needed anything else until Peter came along and some things were better left alone. Her time would come in the usual way and when the light began to go she would fade into the night. For now, she was content with her handsome husband and their three beautiful daughters, Rose, Poppy and Daisy. Peter was a sales rep and had to travel around the county selling farm machinery, so it was not unusual for him to be away for days at a time. One day as Peter reached over to kiss her goodbye; Flora thought she detected an unfamiliar perfume. She was so surprised that she blurted out “Oh did you get a new cologne?” ‘The smell was the light and flowery scent of late summer roses. Very different from his usual cologne of sandalwood and vetiver. “Oh it’s a tester they had in the chemist shop - I gave it a squirt to see what it was like. A bit too feminine for me. “ Flora looked at her husband but decided to make light of it. “Typical male!” she laughed as she went out into the garden with the girls. At the door she turned back to say something to her husband and then forgot what it was. Their years together had been happy, idyllic even. Peter O’Brien was still the handsome, charming man she had married. His dark brown hair was beginning to show signs of silver but, other than that, he hadn’t changed in all this time. ‘ Where have the years gone?’ she thought as she went on out into the late October sunshine. It would be Hallowe’en on Saturday and she wanted to collect some apples and the last roses from the garden. She would make a wreath of roses and honeysuckle berries for the door. Her grandmother used to say it protected the house from witches. Flora liked to make a fuss at Halloween, for the children, but also for herself. It was a time for ritual and remembering and sharing. It was her grandmother who had taught her everything she knew about healing and the ancient rituals were a way of remembering her kindness. The next morning Peter looked at her sheepishly. ” I have to go to Galway for a couple of days. “There’s a big trade fair on in The Ardilaun Hotel over the weekend and there’s a chance of a big deal.” As he spoke the light flickered and Flora shivered. For a moment her vision blurred and she put her hand up to wipe her eyes. Peter looked at her. ” What’s wrong?” he asked. “Nothing” she said. “Someone must have walked on my grave.” Peter pulled Flora close. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll be back on Monday and we can celebrate Halloween together then. I know what it means to you.” After Peter left Flora went out into the garden. It was time for the last tidy-up before winter and a couple of hours pruning and raking would calm her down. The house was surrounded by a ring of hawthorn and elder broken up with an occasional rowan. She loved the jewel colours of the berries in autumn and the perfumed air of the blossoms in spring. It was where she felt most at peace, walking in the dappled shade of the woods. She was in the middle of cutting back a large buddleia when she heard a phone ringing. Instinctively, she patted her pocket but there was no call. She walked back into the warm kitchen. Peter’s phone was flashing on the dresser. ‘God! ,’ thought Flora . ‘ He’ll go mad when he realises he’s forgotten it’. As she picked up the phone she realised it was his old Nokia. They had both got new smart phones as part of a deal with Eircom and she thought he had consigned the trusty old Nokia to the drawer in his desk. The screen lit up with an incoming call from an unfamiliar number. Without thinking she clicked on the message. “Looking forward to tomorrow night. Don’t forget to bring your costume. Love, Tara!” it was followed by a heart emoji. This time the flicker in the light was almost visible. ‘ Maybe it’s my blood pressure. I should get it checked out .’ At the same moment she remembered her father’s last words to her before he died. ‘The only thing that can kill love is the dying of the light.” Flora knew what she had to do. Her glamorous witch costume was hanging upstairs and with ghoulish face paint and a hat she would be next to invisible. There was only one problem. None of the Woodvilles ever stepped out of the safe enclosed world of the valley. Flora looked at her winter boots and an idea occurred to her. She went out into the garden and brought in a bag of soil from the orchard. She took the insoles out of her boots and put in a layer of the rich dark soil, pressing the insoles firmly back into place. It might be a bit squishy but it would do the job. Sitting at the bar of the Ardilaun Hotel sipping a virgin mojito, Flora didn’t have long to wait. With a witches face and straggly hair on top of a young body her own mother wouldn’t have recognised her. The man in the Pierrot costume sitting beside her looked her up and down. “Jaysus! Great legs, pity about the face.” as he got off his stool and staggered drunkenly in the direction of the disco. The bar filled up steadily with people of all ages, some in costume others not, but most of them well on towards getting roaring drunk. When the crowd thinned in the middle of the room she saw them sitting in the corner. He was dressed as Dracula and she was dressed as a sexy vampire in a costume that left very little to the imagination. Flora thought she was either, going to faint or vomit as the room spun around her and her vision blurred. She got off her stool and walked unsteadily in the direction of the ladies. It felt like walking through a thick mist. For anybody watching she was just another tipsy party goer. She saw them glance briefly in her direction but they were too engrossed in each other to pay much attention. Flora felt as if the world was closing in on her and knew she needed to get home. The next day she was tired and withdrawn. The children sensed something was wrong and were clingy all day. She thought the day would never end so she could go to bed and be on her own. When Peter walked in at lunchtime on Monday he was his usual perky self. He gave her a big kiss and then out of the blue asked. ”Why are the gates on the avenue pulled over.” “No Idea,” said Flora. “Maybe it was the wind. It was very stormy here last night. Must have been wild in Galway, what with the wind from the sea.” The edge to her voice was unmistakable. Peter looked at her. “Are you alright? You sound a bit distant.” Flora stared at her husband as if seeing him for the first time. “You know something, Peter? The essence of a lie is being found out - otherwise there would be no such thing as a lie. Did you know that?” Before he could say a word she went on: "Do you remember what you said to me the day we got married? You said I was the light of your life.” “What on earth are you talking about? And what’s with the light in here? - surely it can’t be getting dark already?” He knew he was in trouble and needed to escape for a bit to get his story together. “I need to clear my head, I feel a bit groggy. One too many at the show.” He laughed but now he sounded brittle and empty. Flora could see the fear in his eyes. “I’ll walk down the avenue and wedge the gates." As Peter turned the corner onto the avenue he looked back and saw Flora and the girls standing in the lighted doorway. He could feel the damp mist rising around him. “Must be coming up from the river.” he muttered to himself. By the time he got to the gate the mist was so thick he could only see a few feet in front of him. He kept going and found himself standing on the stone bridge looking back towards the gates that now began to close, very slowly. “What in God’s name is happening?” Slowly the mist began to clear and Peter looked around him in disbelief. There was no sign of the gates, or the village: just a wall of ancient trees. “ I must be hallucinating. Someone must have spiked my drink last night." He looked at his watch to check the time. The hand was wrinkled and blotchy with liver spots and sausage fingers - the hand of a very old man. “This can’t be happening. Flora, where are you? I need you!” There was no reply. In fact no sound at all. Nothing, except the sound of running water and the wind rustling in the trees.


The pine trees swarmed around the lake like a great barrier keeping everything safely inside. To the boys: William and Michael, it seemed like the woods were creating a private summer get-away spot just for them. Of course, their parents and little sister were still tagging along - someone had to provide the snacks and juice boxes, they supposed. But once they had been well sunscreened and had their floaties tucked on they felt like they were swimming all along on their perfect island. “Billy! Mikey! It’s time for lunch!” called their mother from the picnic table just inland from the lake. The boys could already smell the meal their father was grilling and it was clear their mother had laid out all the necessary items for burgers from the small ice chest they had brought. Their sister had already begun drinking a bottle of Kool-Aid and smiling at them with a rather blue mouth. The boys looked at each other and instantly started racing up the sand trail back to their family. The boys playfully pushed each other and tried to hold the other one back in order to win but in the end, they both arrived at the table together. Their mother, Susan, smiled down at them, trying to pretend as if she weren’t annoyed that their ‘playing’ always included roughhousing. She was a sensitive woman and not at all interested in anything violent or what she called ‘not life-giving’. However, when it was meant for fun, she often let it pass so as to not cause an exasperated uproar from the rest of her family. “You two ought to play more kindly, or else someone might think you two just love violence and will offer you more than you can handle,” Susan said, trying to speak jokingly but came off just weird and a bit annoying. The children brushed it off and continued to tease each other and their little sister. “Who wants cheese?” Jake asked, opening the package of presliced American cheese that was in the cooler. All the children raised their hands. He could tell from Susan’s expression that she would have also liked some but she refused to raise her hand for fear the cheese would go straight to her hips. Jake offered a weak smile but said nothing as he turned back to the grill. “Who would like to say grace for lunch?” Susan asked. Both of the boys groaned in unison. “Do we have to say grace? It’s summer vacation!” Billy whined. “Just because it’s summer doesn’t mean we need to be any less grateful for all the things we have,” his mother answered. “Will Jesus take it all away if we don’t pray?” the little girl asked, speaking for the first time. Susan smiled and Jake stifled a laugh as he put the cooked meat onto the paper plate. “No, Jesus doesn’t give things in order to be thanked but it’s still important we remember to be grateful. We are a lot better off than most people and it’s important to keep that in mind,” their mother replied. Jennifer, the daughter, did not look at all satisfied with this answer but she said nothing. “Soups on!” Jake called, setting the plate down on the table and dishing up the meat. Everyone had already prepared their burger buns and were ready to finish it off with the main ingredient. As soon as everyone’s food was ready, Jake took his seat and held out his hands, his wife did the same. Reluctantly, the children followed suit and bowed their heads. Their father gave a prayer, which in the boys’ minds was much more like a long sermon, and then squeezed the hands he was holding and they prepared to eat. When they had finished, Billy and Mikey wanted to race back to the water but their mother insisted that they needed at least 30 minutes to rest and settle their stomachs. Both of the boys groaned and moped and then decided to take the opportunity to explore the woods. “Now don’t go wandering too far and get lost! You don’t want to make a meal for some kind of wild bear!” Their mother called. Billy and Mikey laughed it off, thinking that first off they wouldn’t run into a bear but at any rate, they could take a bear together. The two of them talked and made up stories about how they were as strong and wise as Optimus Prime or a crazy fighter like “Stone Cold” or “The Rock”. Then their conversations turned to simpler and more manageable fights and arguments like the best Pokémon or how to win a Yu-Gi-Oh card game. Then all at once, they heard a noise. It sounded like a little girl crying. The boys exchanged an uneasy glance. “Should we check it out?” Mikey asked. Billy shrugged. He didn’t want to admit that he’d rather turn back - especially not if his brother was brave enough to investigate. The two moved closer to the h sound and the cries became more distinct. “It sounds like Jen. Do you think she came in here after us and got lost?” Billy suggested, suddenly feeling much braver. Mikey chuckled and playfully punched his brother's shoulder. “Hey, Jen! It’s us! We found you, you’re alright. Come on out now!” Mikey called. The crying stopped abruptly. The two of them continued down the path toward the sound of their crying sister. “Come on, Jen. The gig is up, we found you,” Billy called again. “I can’t, I’m stuck. Come help me!” their sister cried out. Both boys looked at each other with a smirk. Of course, they would help their sister, but this would serve for lots of teasing for the rest of the summer vacation. That was something they would really enjoy. “Hold on, Jen,” Mikey called out, barely able to contain his laughter, “we are on our way!” The two of them carried on, calling out if they lost the trail towards her. Jen would always answer with a cry and beckoned them forward. It was almost sunset when the boys finally came upon a large cave. The mouth of it opened up into a foreboding black pit that offered eerie and ominous adventures. “I’m in here!” Jen cried out. The boys wasted no time and ran into the cave despite not being able to see a foot in front of their faces. Almost at once, they were completely engulfed in darkness as if something had shut off the entrance behind them. Before either of them could even register enough to feel worried or fearful they found themselves facing a pack of the most horrifying and strange creatures they had ever seen. One of the creatures was still crying in Jen’s voice while another was still begging them for help, again in their sister’s voice. Both of the boys were stunned with fear and paralyzed in their thoughts. “What... what are you?” Billy managed to whisper. None of the creatures ventured a reply. Instead, they opened their mouths wider than any human mouth should be able to, though it was already apparent these creatures were less than human. There were rows of teeth in their mouths that seemed to almost be swirling around. Without another moment of hesitation, the creatures lunged at the boys. It was after nightfall when Billy and Mikey made it back to their campsite. Susan and Jake were none too pleased that the boys had stayed out past dark. Their mother gave them an awful lecture. In fact, she had been so worried and angry at her sons that she didn’t notice that both of them were much quieter than they normally would be. Neither of them was talking back or objecting to her discipline. After a moment Jake stopped his wife and gave the boys a small bowl of cereal for dinner. Both of the boys at manically as if this was an unusual practice for them. They stared straight ahead and never uttered a sound. It wasn’t until all five of them were snuggled into the tent together that anyone was aware that these boys were not Billy and Mikey at all. Of course, by then, it was much too late.


Once upon a time, there was a kingdom ruled by a King and his loving and adoring Queen. Together, they birthed two children, the oldest was a Princess and the youngest was a Prince. The young royals were sheltered, having never stepped outside of the castle. Rumors say that the Princess was one of the fairest of them all, while her brother was one of the most well-behaved children in the land. Subjects of the kingdom adored the perfect image of the royal family but failed to realize that the perfect image was simply an image. If there was one thing that was not a rumor, was that Princess Libre was an extremely gorgeous girl. She was slim and tall, with curves that compliment her frame. Her hair was long so she kept it braided out her stunningly gorgeous face. Not only was she physically beautiful, but spiritually. Ever since she was a child, servants of the castle noted her positive and kindred soul. She was a rose in a bed of weeds. When Libre was born, her mother instantly hated her for the simple fact she was a girl. She saw her as competition, not her daughter. The king was indifferent toward her. He wanted his firstborn to be a boy so that he can inherit his throne but instead, he got Libre. During her childhood, she was beaten relentlessly by her mother for little mistakes such as playing with the servant children. When she was 7, a blessing in disguise came. Her brother was born. Cupid Ite Suro the second was born at the break of dawn. The word spread like wildfire. A Prince was finally born into the royal family. The king mandated a celebration in the name of his son being born. The land was filled with joy and happiness. It was the first time Libre ever saw her mother smiling. Ever since then, her parents ignored her and dotted on her brother. Growing up with no discipline and all the power in the world, Cupid became a nasty child. He would beat on the servants and maids when he didn’t get his way, would deliberately tear his clothes up to anger the seamstresses, and rip the flowers in the garden to the dismay of the gardeners. The Queen insisted on keeping Cupid away from Libre, but when the siblings did spend time together, it caused Libre headaches. As she got older, she became bored with her life in the castle. She was tired of having the same conversation with the same maids and servants so she wanted to explore. The king and queen wanted to keep their life private so their children never stepped outside the castle before. With the help of some guardsmen, she planned her first trip outside the castle for her 18th birthday. When the day came, cloaked in a long robe which obscured her face and her body, she took her first steps out of the castle. The air was fresh and clean, the sun was warm on her face, and the color of the trees and grass were vibrant. She never experienced something so beautiful. Her first trip outside the castle walls was to a little village close to the riverside. Libre was taken aback by the busyness of the village. Children were running around in the streets with muddied clothes. It was strange, even though the kids were dirty they looked so happy. The townsmen and women were in the streets, dancing and singing to the jovial music playing from the bar. The waitresses from the bar were bustling to serve out ice-cold beers and ales. Libre spent her time in the village observing them from the sidelines. When she got back, her father sat her down to have a conversation. It was the first time she had a real conversation with her father in years. While looking her straight in her eyes he said, “I have arranged a marriage for you. He is a wealthy prince from across the sea who is looking for a princess.” Libre wasn’t surprised. She was hurt, but not surprised. She’s been waiting for this day ever since her brother was born. Her parents finally had their true heir, the only thing left to do was to get rid of the only obstacle in their perfect family. Libre. Since then, she began taking frequent trips outside the castle. She could not bear to stay in the castle, waiting to get whisked away by some stranger. One day as she was walking through the village and spotted a small shop. The energy radiating from the shop was... enticing, irresistible. She found herself knocking at the door, wanting to know more about The door opened up a crack and there stood a woman. She was middle-aged, short, and stout. Her hair was long and stringy nearly touching her buttocks. Libre knew exactly what this place was when she looked into the woman’s eyes, it was the place that the guardsmen warned her against. It was a witch shop. And the woman standing in front of her was a witch. Her bright violet stared at her, assessing her. She then swung the door open and beckoned Libre in. The shop was small and welcoming. The floors were covered in rigs made from exotic animals There were shelves filled with crystals and bubbling potions. Libre followed the witch to a small table in the back of the shop and sat down. "What do you seek?" The witch asked, her voice croaky and dry. "I was just passing along town and was drawn to your shop-." "People do not come to my store without a purpose. What do you seek?" Libre sat there thinking about the question. What did she want? After a while, Libre spoke in a whisper, "I want to be free ." Free of her life in the castle, free of her impending marriage, free of her family. Just free. The witch smiled. Not a pleasant one, but a twisted, evil smile. "Nothing is free in my shop. Everything comes at a cost." "I have riches and jewels that I can give-." "I'm well aware of your wealth, Princess. You can take off the cloak, you must be sweltering." Libre did as she was told, uncloaking herself. It felt refreshing to take off her cloak and show her face. “You have something more valuable than your riches and your jewels. I want half of your heart." "Half of my heart?" Libre asked, surprised. "I am not a deceitful witch, princess. I will tell you right now that taking away half your heart will take away the ability to love someone fully." Libre sat for a while longer before wrapping her cloak around her and standing to leave. "I won't miss a feeling that I've never felt before." And with that Libre left the shop and went back to the castle. The next day, Libre went back into town and to the witch shop. This time the door swung open before she could even knock. "Ready?" The witch asked, her violet eyes glowing unnaturally bright. Libre took a deep breath and said, “Ready.”


“We have to stay the whole night,” Mr. X said with the determination of a contestant on Survivor. “The whole night!” Mr. Y protested. “Not the whole night! I haven’t agreed to this!” “Well, we’re already here, so you might as well try it.” Mr. X shrugged. “It’s so-o-o boring!” Mr. Y continued to behave like a little child tugging at his parent’s sleeve five minutes after they’ve arrived at an adult gathering. “C’mon! It might be fun. You never know.” Mr. X dialed up the optimism. “You’re crazy, man,” Mr. Y shook his head. “What are we supposed to do the entire night? Not a single soul here but us. Told’ya it’s not a good day to visit. We might’ve waited until the night of Halloween at least. There could’ve been spooky parties taking place. Kids in terrifying costumes...” His thought drifted off for a bit before his eyes lit up. “That could have been FUN!” Mr. X looked around. He had to admit his friend was right. The night was unusually calm. Time seemed almost still; not even a whiff of breeze could be felt. He bet that if it wasn’t for the pleasant chirping of crickets, he might be able to hear the grass growing. The wide green field before them was looking quite peaceful under the generously cast silver moonlight. There was nothing sinister about the gravestones and family mausoleums. At best, the angel statues looked like the perfect museum exhibit of gothic art. At worst, the simple headstones resembled badly chiseled garden gnomes. “Yeah, you’re right. Nothing much going around here, huh?” Mr. X sighed. “But that's kind of the point. To see what a graveyard looks like on an ordinary night.” “So? We saw it,” Mr. Y crossed his arms in front of his chest, “and I was right. We haven’t lost anything by not coming here.” “But don’t you want to get a sense of what it’s like to hang around?” Mr. X asked. “That’s supposed to be every person’s final resting place. I wonder who came up with the idea of burying the dead together. In ancient times all you needed was to dig a hole wherever and there you go - a grave! People did it in their own back yard. Must be hell of a lot cheaper.” “Who came up with the idea? Not a very creative person, I’d tell you that much.” Mr. Y snorted. “They didn’t understand anything about design. Rows and rows of the same granite stones, and if you’re lucky your family might get you a statue or two. But always angels. Or mostly angels. God forbid they did something original. Let me know, if you see anything different. Although, I highly doubt it.” “See, there’s one.” Mr. X pointed to a bigger tombstone on their right. There was a tall figure leaning over the grave - its face hidden under the hood of a long robe, its right hand armed with a scythe. “Death? Really?” Mr. Y was unimpressed. “How innovative! Are they seriously still doing him with a robe and scythe? More like a Versace suit and custom-made Rolex. Ah, some people seem to be stuck in the prehistoric era still.” He approached the statue and peeked under its hood. “Yea-a-ah, they hadn’t even bothered to give him facial features. Not even a skull. See, the stone below is completely round.” He stuck his finger into the space where Death’s face was supposed to be. “I bet he won’t be too happy about it.” “How do you know he won’t like it?” Mr. X turned to his friend. “Ancient superstitions are a classical choice. They never get out of fashion.” “Just a hunch.” The friend replied. “Nowadays Death is a stylish guy. He doesn’t strike me as someone who’d go back to wearing the trashy robes he used during the bubonic plague.” “OK.” Mr. X nodded thoughtfully. “Let’s say you’re right. What would you do differently?” “At a graveyard?” Mr. Y’s rhetorical question propelled him into a monologue. “Let’s see. For starters, I don’t like the colors. So dull. Gray on green. And come winter - gray on gray.” He rolled his eyes. “Why not red, orange, and yellow? Combined with black. Yeah! That would be a cool look for a graveyard. And no more identical headstones. How the hell are you supposed to remember or distinguish which one is yours? I think everyone should do with their plot whatever they think fits best. Ideally, it has to be something the person resting there enjoyed while they were alive. Like, I would’ve loved for mine to be occupied by a bar, and a poker table. Could you imagine? Endless games and booze. That’s the life... or, well, death.” Mr. Y paused to enjoy the dreamy sequence in his head. “And yours? What should yours be like? I’d say a Ferrari. A big red-ass Ferrari, ain’t that right? If you want, you could throw in a Ducati by its side.” “Really?” Mr. X was surprised. “You want your grave to remind you of the guy that shot you at the casino?” “Ah, that’s water under the bridge.” Mr. Y waved his arm dismissively. “Besides, he can’t shoot me twice, can he?” “Well, you’re wrong about me.” Mr. X threw him a stern look. “Being reminded of the car crash for eternity is the last thing I’d go for. I was a dumb piece of shit that believed he was invincible. Now I know there are other things, things worth living for... But it’s too late.” “OK.” Mr. Y conceded. “What would you have then?” “I think graveyards should be made more appealing and fun for the living. People tend to bury their kin and then they forget about them. Oh, to be sure, they do visit from time to time. But those visits start spreading farther and farther across time, until eventually they stop altogether.” He lifted his index finger like a teacher explaining a very important lesson. “Now, imagine if they were more like an amusement park, or if a fair was taking place every week - raffles, and camel racing, and the like. I bet that Lynn and Tyler would visit me then... And I wouldn’t have to hang around the house so much.” “See, that’s what I’ve been telling you.” Mr. Y livened up. “Graveyards are boring. That’s why no one stays here. Hell, I didn’t even come for my own funeral. I found it too depressing.” He continued. “It’s far better at the house with my ma. Watching evening game shows and stuff. Sometimes I think she knows I’m there. Makes her feel calm.” He turned back to his companion. “You don’t want to be around your folks no more? I thought you liked it in your old place.” “Well... Lynn has been seeing this guy for a while now.” Mr. X let out a heavy sigh. “Things are getting serious, and Tyler is growing up. They hardly ever speak about me anymore.” “I’m sorry, man! I didn’t know.” He tried to emulate a pat on the back when suddenly something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. “Whoa! Yes! There it is! I can’t believe it!” Mr. Y directed himself to a nearby gravestone, his smile getting wider and wider. The piece of grey granite itself wasn’t anything spectacular, but one could easily see that its borders were decorated with playing card symbols - hearts, clubs, spades, and diamonds. “It’s not a poker table, but it looks like your ma knows you quite well.” Mr. X smiled. “She does, she does...” Mr. Y’s voice started to tremble a bit. “Man, I didn’t expect to get that emotional. I thought being dead for years kind of roots this out of you.” He tried to compose himself. “Let’s look for yours. It should be around here somewhere.” The two friends kept perusing the headstones until finally Mr. X stopped in front of a white marble one with black veins. The inscription read: Xander Reed (1985 - 2017) Beloved husband and father He stood completely still, facing his grave. After keeping silent for a few seconds, he spoke. “I don’t know what I expected.” There seemed to be a hint of disappointment in his voice. “It’s short and sweet. But they hadn’t even bothered with an original epitaph.” Mr. X started to walk away, “You were right. This isn’t fun- “ He had barely made half a turn, when his friend stopped him. “Hey! Wait! There seems to be something there. Do you see it?” Tucked between the headstone and the marble flower vase next to it was what seemed like a handwritten note placed in a transparent sheet protector. Mr. X wasn’t keen on using his psychokinetic abilities, but this time curiosity got the best of him. He locked his eyes on the note and concentrated. At first nothing happened, but after a few seconds the sheet of paper started to shake violently like a scared bird trapped in a cage. Suddenly it flew out of its hiding place just to end up flat on top of the grave. The spotlight cast by the Moon revealed a messy handwriting done in blue crayon. HI, DAD. I HOPE YOUR GOOD IN HEAVEN WITH GRANNY. SAY HI TO HER FROM ME. I’M OK. YESTERDAY I SCORED MY FIRST GOAL IN LITTLE LEAGUE. I WISH YOU WERE THERE TO SEE IT. MIKE SAID TO WRITE YOU ABOUT IT. HE HELPS ME PRACTICE AND HELPS MOM AROUND THE HOUSE TOO. HE’S NICE. I JUST MISS YOU. A LOT. I’LL WRITE AGAIN. PLEASE WRITE BACK IF YOU CAN. I LOVE YOU DAD The two shadows in the graveyard couldn’t produce tears, but the air around their faces started to glow as if filled with dozens of fireflies. It was Mr. Y that broke the silence, “I thought you said they didn’t mention you anymore. You seem to be mistaken, my friend.” He grinned. “I hate to admit it, but you were right to make us come here. The place might not be my style, but now I know its purpose - it’s a communication hub between the living and the dead. And the living do visit. At least, until both sides still need the connection.” “Yes-“ Mr. X said thoughtfully. “You know, I will start coming round more. I think I might be getting some new mail soon.”