Captain Finnian, the famous intergalactic photographer, looked at the screen on the back of his camera and frowned. “That’s weird.” He muttered to himself. He held his camera up to the front window of his spaceship and snapped a few more pictures of the countless stars in front of him. Each time he took a picture he adjusted the camera settings before taking the next one. After several pictures he looked at the screen again, this time a look of confusion coming over his face. “Hey Quixly!” He called to his loyal co-captain, who also happened to be his best friend. “Come take a look at these pictures. I can’t figure out what’s going on.” Quixly, who had been studying star charts while eating some Chulaplugg stew, got up from his desk and hurried over to Captain Finnian. “What is it, Captain?” Captain Finnian handed the camera over to Quixly. “I got a new camera setting that can change the color and brightness of the stars without changing anything else in the picture. It measures the specific star wavelengths to know which part of the picture to change. It’s not a setting I’d use much anyway, but it’s not working on one of the stars in the picture. What do you think is going on?” Quixly clicked through the pictures on the camera, and he saw what Captain Finnian was talking about. In each picture the stars were different colors, but one star near the middle stayed white every time. Captain Finnian had adjusted the stars’ brightness in some of the pictures too, with that same star not changing. In the final picture he had dimmed the stars completely, making it a completely black photo other than that one, unchanging star. “I see what you’re saying Captain, that’s hard to explain” Quixly said, deep in thought as he looked at the pictures. All the sudden his eyes got wide, and he ran over to his star charts and started sorting through them frantically. “What is it, Quixly?” Captain Finnian asked as he watched his friend make a mess by throwing charts all over the place. Quixly was a species with four arms and three eyes though, which enabled him to search through his star charts with comical speed, and he soon found the one he was looking for. Once he found it, he compared the star chart to the picture, then ran back to the front of the ship and compared the chart to the stars in front of them. “Gee wizzy dizzy!” He finally said. “Captain, I know why that star isn’t changing in your photos! Because it isn’t a star! It isn’t on my chart! Wowza, how strange. I wonder what it is?” Captain Finnian grabbed the star chart and held it up to his view out the front window. He saw hundreds of thousands of stars on both, he had no idea how Quixly could spot a discrepancy like that. But Quixly was the brightest navigator he’d ever met, albeit a bit quirky, and he completely trusted his judgment.

“That is weird.” Captain Finnian said thoughtfully. “What on plant ZX-30 would look like a star if it wasn’t a star?” He pondered about that for a moment and then smiled. “Well, there’s one way to find out! Quixly, set our course for the false star, we’re gonna go check it out!” “Yes sir!” Quixly replied, and quickly punched in some navigation directions on his control pad. “Hi-dee ho let’s go!” he said with excitement as he pushed the final button, sending them off towards the strange “star” at hyper speed. After a few hours of flying their spaceship came to a stop, the strange star-like object glowing brightly in front of them. Even from up close it looked just like a star, and they needed to use their protective sunglasses to see it. “This is as close we can safely get to it without burning up.” Quixly said. Captain Finnian looked down at his control panel for a minute, and then pushed forward on the acceleration to get closer. “What are ya doing!?” Quixly yelped frantically. “If we get any closer, we could burn up! Our ship isn’t designed to get this close to stars!” “I know that, Quixly.” Captain Finnian replied with a chuckle. “But you’re forgetting something, this isn’t a star. It’s as big and as bright as one, but it’s putting off almost no heat. Our ship will be fine, I want to get a closer look.” Quixly gulped audibly, obviously still scared of the idea of getting closer. “Are ya sure that’s a good idea, Captain? What if it’s a giant spacecraft made by evil people who want to kill us? What if they pull us in with a tractor beam and lock us away forever? What if I never get to see Xankandria again, or worse, what if I never get to eat Chulaplugg stew again!?” Captain Finnian looked at Quixly and raised an eyebrow. Xankandria was Quixly’s new girlfriend. They only met a few weeks ago, but they hit it off great and seemed like the perfect match. “Did you just say you like Chulaplugg stew more than you like Xankandria?”

Quixly’s eyes got wide when he realized what he had said. “Oh no! Did I say that!? I’m new to this whole dating thing, I didn’t mean to say that! Don’t tell Xankandria! …. Besides, I do really like Chulaplugg stew…” Captain Finnian laughed. “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed. None of that matters anyway though, we’re not gonna get sucked into a tractor beam by some crazy evil organization who wants to kill us, that’s ridiculous.”

Right at that moment all the lights flickered on and off several times, and the ship started to pick up speed towards the giant false star. Captain Finnian tried pulling the ship away, but his efforts were futile, the ship was completely out of his control. “Hmm, maybe it isn’t so ridiculous.” Captain Finnian said. “But hey, I’m sure they aren’t evil.” The speaker system came on and a mean, robotic voice came through. “You have two minutes to explain who you are and why you’re here, or we’ll blow your puny little spaceship into a billion pieces.” Captain Finnian gave Quixly a sheepish smile and a shrug, as if to say, “whoops, you were right!” Quixly would have glared at him if he wasn’t so busy shaking uncontrollably with fear. Luckily Captain Finnian didn’t get scared as easily as Quixly, so he responded to the voice with confidence. “My name is Captain Finnian, I’m an intergalactic photographer. We came here when we saw that your “star” wasn’t showing up in our photographs like real stars. We wanted to see what was going on.” There was a pause, and then the voice said, “What do you mean it wasn’t showing up like other stars?” “Well, to the naked eye it looks the same, but I have a camera app that measures the specific wavelengths of stars, so it knows what to edit in the photo. Your star has a different wavelength of light than natural stars. So, it must be fake. Did you build it yourself? I’m very curious.” There was silence for a full minute after Captain Finnian spoke. It seemed that the evil person who had been talking with him was just as surprised at Captain Finnian’s calm demeanor as Quixly was scared of the situation. Finally, the voice came back through the speakers. “We’re going to pull you into our space station to talk to you further. Prepare your ship to be boarded.” “Sounds good. Thank you!” Captain Finnian replied.

Quixly added, “Thank you

sir!

Thank you, kind sir! Thank you very much for not blowing us into a billion pieces!” He then looked at Captain Finnian and whispered, “what do you think is going to happen to us?” “I’m not sure,” Captain Finnian replied. “But just follow my lead. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” A few minutes later their spaceship reached the false sun and was pulled in through a small opening. Once inside the spaceship landed, the opening behind them closed, and the voice came through the speakers once again. “Open the door, we’re coming in!” Captain Finnian quickly opened the door, and in walked three people. The first was a very large man who seemed to be half robot, half person. Behind him were two more people, a man and a woman, who were regular sized and not robotic, although they were both strong and tough looking. None of them looked like they would hesitate to kill Captain Finnian or Quixly if needed. “Welcome to our humble spaceship.” Captain Finnian said to them as they walked in. “What can we do for you?” The big robotic man spoke with authority. “Bring me your camera. Let me see how our star wasn’t showing up like others.” While Captain Finnian didn’t frighten easily, he also wasn’t stupid. “Yes sir.” He said politely, and he quickly grabbed his camera to show the large man. He explained how it worked and showed him the different pictures, just as he had shown Quixly earlier. Once he was done, the big man grabbed the camera and angrily crushed it in his robotic hand. “Phroqit!” He cursed. “I was led to believe our space station was indistinguishable from natural stars, and yet an amateur photographer finds us with a simple camera app!?” “I don’t know if I’d use the word amateur…” Captain Finnian started to say. “SILENCE!” The large man roared at him. He then looked at the two people who followed him on board. “Bronxin, you stay here and keep these two idiots out of trouble. Atheepla, you come with me. There are some engineers who need to learn a lesson.” With that he walked out, followed by the woman. The man, presumably Bronxin, stayed on board, holding a laser gun to Captain Finnian and Quixly.

After the other two were well out of earshot, Bronxin whispered “are you really

the

Captain Finnian? The famous intergalactic photographer?” Captain Finnian smiled in surprise. “Yes, I am! And this is my co-captain Quixly.” He gestured to his quivering green friend, who gave a small wave, his eyes glued to the laser gun still pointed at them. Bronxin saw what Quixly was looking at and put the gun away. “Sorry about that, don’t want to frighten you. Just under the boss’s orders, you know! Anyway, I can’t believe it’s really you guys! I’m such a huge fan of your photography! I have the picture you took of the Painted Candle hanging up in my office!” “No way! I remember when we took that picture. I can’t believe you actually have a copy hanging in your office!” Captain Finnian was beaming.

“Wowza!” Quixly said, more confident now that the gun wasn’t pointing at him. “I can’t believe ya referred to it as the Painted Candle! I’m the one who came up with that name!” The three of them laughed, talked and bonded over photography for a few minutes, and then Bronxin became more serious. “Finnian, Quixly, I’ve been wanting to give up this evil life and devote myself to photography for years, but I’ve never had the opportunity to leave. You two obviously need my help to get out of here. I think we can all help each other. If I break you out of here, will you teach me more about photography and help me get started with a new life?” “Absolutely!” Captain Finnian responded enthusiastically. “That’s a great deal! But how are we gonna get out of here?” Bronxin smiled. “Leave that part up to me. You just need to get in position to fly out of here quick on my signal.” Captain Finnian and Quixly ran to the control room to get ready. Bronxin closed the spaceship door, and then made a call on his communication device. From the control room it was hard to hear everything he said, but Captain Finnian managed to catch the phrases “execute the prisoners” and “under orders from Master Zvonix.” He hoped Bronxin was actually on their side, but at this point they didn’t have any other options. A few moments later the giant door to the space station opened up, and Bronxin yelled, “Now! Fly out of here before they stop us!” Captain Finnian manned the controls and zoomed out of the space station. Once they were out Quixly entered some coordinates into his screen and yelled “hi-dee ho let’s go!” as he pushed a button sending them into hyper speed. They were safe at last. Bronxin walked into the control room and started talking to them more about the giant space station. Master Zvonix, the massive half robot man, was an evil villain intent on ruling the universe. The space station was his disguised hideout where he was preparing countless weapons and people to help him take over the universe. Master Zvonix would kill anyone who tried to leave, and he disabled any long-distance communication devices in the space station, so no one could report to the intergalactic authorities what was happening. Bronxin had been stuck in the space station for years, and his only connection to the outside had been through photographs the new recruits brought in. He especially loved Captain Finnian’s photography, and he had promised himself that if he ever escaped, he’d become a photographer too. The three of them laughed and cried together as Bronxin spoke. Once he finished, they immediately contacted the intergalactic authorities and police force, who would be able to stop Master Zvonix and destroy his space station and thus his evil plans. They then got to work teaching Bronxin photography. He was a slow learner, but he was determined, and over the course of a few weeks he improved dramatically. As a final project, Captain Finnian and Quixly took him to the Painted Candle, where he took his own photo of it. Tears welled up in Bronxin’s eyes as he looked at the photo and realized how far he’d come from the confused man who joined Master Zvonix years ago. The next day, the three of them were eating Chulaplugg stew at a planet not far from the Painted Candle. “Well, Bronxin,” Captain Finnian said in between bites of his stew, “you’re sure you want to stay here? We’d be happy to take you on one more adventure if you’re willing!” Bronxin smiled. “Thanks guys, but my mind is made up. I’m ready to settle down and start a new life here.” “I don’t blame ya!” Quixly responded, his mouth full of stew. “I’m tempted to stay here too; this restaurant is amazing!” Bronxin chuckled. “Wow, I’m really gonna miss you guys. Quixly, keep me updated on your relationship with Xankandria. Finnian, keep sending me new pictures you take. And I’ll make sure I see you both at any nearby photography conferences.” He got up and gave them each a hug, and then walked away, ready to start his new life. “Wowza, I’m gonna miss having him around.” Quixly said. “Me too.” Captain Finnian replied. “You know, taking pictures really helps us see the beauty in life. But developing friendships is what makes life beautiful.” “Very true. That, and good food!” Quixly said with a smile. “Well, I can’t argue with that!” Captain Finnian said. He looked down at his now empty bowl and turned back to his friend. “So, let’s order some dessert!”


Saturday, September 4  8:00 \-Wake up  8:05 \-Get out of bed \-Go To the bathroom  8:07 \-Brush teeth  8:09 \-Make a bowl of Cheerios  8:10 \-Eat bowl of Cheerios \-Watch ESPN  8:20 \-Get dressed  8:22 \-Tend to the garden  9:00 \-Weed in the backyard  11:30 \-Make a hot ham & cheese sandwich  11:33 \-Eat sandwich \-Watch MacGyver Season 2 Episode 21 on H&I  12:01 \-Go to the bathroom  12:05 \-Watch No Country for Old Men  2:07 \-Wash the dishes  2:15 \-Complete the daily crossword \-Listen to the radio  2:45 \-Call mom  3:30 \-End the call with mom \-Turn on National's pregame show  4:05 \-Watch Nationals vs. Mets  5:35 \-Get ready for supper at Rachel's house  5:50 \-Drive to Rachel's house  6:00 \-Get to Rachel's house  7:20 \-Drive home  7:30 \-Watch Dateline NBC  9:00 \-Watch SNL  9:35 \-Take a shower  9:43 \-Shave  9:55 \-Put on pajamas  10:00 \-Watch the news  10:30 \-Turn off TV \-Do nightly stretches  10:45 \-Go to bed   Sunday, September 5  8:00 \-Wake up  8:05 \-Get out of bed \-Go To the bathroom  8:07 \-Brush teeth  8:09 \-Make a bowl of Cheerios  8:10 \-Eat bowl of Cheerios \-Watch ESPN  8:20 \-Get dressed  8:22 \-Tend to the garden  9:00 \-Weed in the front yard  11:30 \-Make a hot ham & cheese sandwich  11:33 \-Eat sandwich \-Watch MacGyver Season 2 Episode 22 on H&I  12:01 \-Go to the bathroom  12:05 \-Watch A Nightmare on Elm Street  1:36 \-Wash the dishes  1:44 \-Complete the daily crossword \-Listen to the radio  2:15 \-Call mom  3:00 \-End the call with mom \-Start making lasagna  3:45 \-Finish preparing the lasagna \-Watch the end on National's vs. Mets  4:20 \-End of National's vs. Mets \-Put lasagna in the oven  4:21 \-Read No Longer Human  5:40 \-Get ready for supper at Rachel's house  6:00 \-Rachel arrives  6:10 \-Eat with Rachel  7:30 \-Watch American Psycho  9:11 \-Clean up the house  9:50 \-Take a shower  9:55 \-Shave  9:57 \-Put on pajamas  10:02 \-Watch the news  10:30 \-Turn of TV \-Do nightly stretches  10:45 \-Go to bed   Monday, September 6  8:00 \-Wake up  8:05 \-Get out of bed \-Go to the bathroom  8:07 \-Brush teeth  8:09 \-Make a bowl of Cheerios  8:10 \-Eat bowl of Cheerios \-Watch ESPN  8:20 \-Get dressed  8:22 \-Tend to the garden  9:00 \-Weed in the backyard  11:30 \-Make a hot ham & cheese sandwich  11:33 \-Eat sandwich \-Watch MacGyver Season 3 Episode 1 on H&I  12:01 \-Go to the bathroom  12:05 \-Watch The Shining  2:31 \-Wash the dishes  2:39 \-Complete the daily crossword \-Listen to the radio  3:10 \-Call mom  3:55 \-End the call with mom \-Watch the end of Nationals vs.


“I just need to get them to sign, then we can finally be done with this,” Kevin said to himself. He had just parked his car in front of the house. Not just any house. This was the house. Kevin worked for a real estate development company that was in the process of designing and building a new business and housing district in the area. The design was ready and approved and the community was looking forward to having a new area to explore in their city. They had everything they needed. Except… this new district would be going up in an area that was previously a residential area. The good news for the development company was that this area had seen a mass exodus in the last decade with few holdouts. The development company had “generously” offered every last person in the neighborhood a price that was well above market value and all of them had taken it. All except for one… Today is Kevin’s last chance to rectify this. “From what Tim, Jennifer, and Clyde all said, these people are a little odd, but I need to do whatever it takes to get them to sign,” Kevin mumbled to himself. As he got out of the car, Kevin briefly thought about the failures of his colleagues. Or, more accurately, former colleagues. Tim, the first one who had tried getting them to sign, gave up after trying for roughly six months. He got so frustrated that he came back one day and just quit. Jennifer, on the other hand, just moved away unexpectedly after trying for a few weeks, citing the same annoyance and frustration as Tim. Jennifer was on her last legs at the company and was a very odd individual, in Kevin’s opinion, so no one had questioned her departure. She would have been fired if she had returned empty handed since she had yet to make a sale or a signing. But Clyde… Kevin wasn’t sure what had happened to Clyde. He was a hard worker and they had sent him to close the deal a couple of weeks ago. After several tries, one day he had never returned. They tried calling the cops, but they said that he probably just left on his own and didn’t investigate at all. Clyde was single with no kids, so the police just assumed he took off on his own. Kevin had liked Clyde, for the most part. He had never spent any time outside of work with him, but the time at the office had always been pleasant.

The one time that stood out to Kevin was the Christmas party three years ago. Neither of them knew it, but he and Clyde had somehow been each other’s Secret Santa. They had never talked to each other besides the typical “How are you?” pleasantries you say day to day to people, so neither of them knew what to get the other. Kevin had mused about a tie or a coffee cup and his wife suggested that he get Clyde a sweater or “something cute.” Clyde knew that none of these suggestions would do, so he did the only sensible thing when not knowing what to do. He turned to alcohol. Kevin, a man in his late twenties, decided the safest thing was to get Clyde a bottle Scotch. Nothing too expensive, of course, but the gesture would be there all the same. His wife was a little apprehensive about the gift, but relented when he asked her if she had any other ideas. When the day of the Christmas party came, Clyde put his gift on the table like everyone else and joined in the office festivities. They were one of the regional headquarters of a national conglomerate, so their Christmas parties were always decent. It was still a corporate office, so nothing too exciting ever happened. Just some live music and a few holiday themed games. It was during the day around 2pm, they weren’t allowed a plus one, and they were limited to two drink tickets each. Kevin perused the drink selection as he waited in line. Like previous years, it was just beer and wine. Kevin was regretting giving the Scotch to Clyde. Not that it was expensive or anything. He just wanted it for himself after this disappointment of a Christmas party. When the time came for the Secret Santa gifts to be given out, Kevin waited for his name to be called. Clyde’s name was called before him and he waited until everyone else had their gift. Kevin went to get his and opened it as soon as the rest of the gifts were given out. When he opened it, Kevin was astonished that it was the exact same brand of Scotch that he had given to Clyde. When he looked around at who might have given it to him, he saw Clyde doing the same. They both held their bottles up and nodded at one another with a smile. Kevin then watched Clyde leave the party, Scotch in hand. Clyde was a simple man. A man in his forties with no wife or kids. No personal attachments that Kevin knew of, but he was damn good at his job. Clyde would constantly be able to close the difficult deals, so when this house was the constant holdout and no one else could do it, they called on Clyde. Everyone was shocked when he just… vanished. Kevin hoped that he was ok, but he had to focus on the task at hand. He had to get that signature because today was the deadline for the giant bonus they would give to whoever could get it. As Kevin walked towards the house, he looked around the dilapidated neighborhood and imagined that at one point it had been a lively place full of children playing in the streets. Times had been tough for their city, but this new development project was sure to turn things around for the entire community. Plus, it would mean these people, whether they were a little odd or not, would be able to start a life somewhere fresh with the large sum of money being offered to them. The house in front of him was surprisingly nice for the area. Most houses around him were smaller ranch style homes without much flare. This house was a little older, but it was two stories, had a nice porch with pillars on each side, and a decent sized garage with an attic above it. Kevin thought that it probably had a basement too. He wasn’t surprised that they were holding out if the house was this nice, especially if it had sentimental value to them. Before Kevin could knock on the door, it opened. “Hello! You must be with the development company!” Said a woman in her late fifties to early sixties. “Please! Come in! Come in!” Kevin stammered as he was hurried inside the house where he counted at least four other people, who were all hustling around carrying boxes and moving furniture. Kevin overheard someone yell that they needed to organize the truck in the garage again before putting anything else inside.

“Excuse me! Ma'am? What’s going on here?” Kevin asked, confused. “Why, my dear, I thought you of all people would know,” the lady said, with a toothless grin. “Me? Know what?” Kevin said, still not understanding. “Oh… I thought you were with the development company. Weren’t you coming to get our signature?” The lady said, innocently. “Yes, I uh… wait, you want to give me your signature?” Asked Kevin. “Of course!” Said the lady. “Great!” Kevin said as he handed her the clipboard. “On one condition, that is,” the lady said, holding up a finger. “You have to help us move some of our things into the truck.” “That’s it?” Kevin said with a sigh of relief. “And…” said the lady. “And?” Asked Kevin. “And! You have to eat a meal with us. It’ll be an honor to have you eat with us for our final meal here before we leave!” She said, slapping him on the back. “I would love to!” Kevin said, thinking that it couldn’t be this easy. The lady introduced Kevin to her husband, son, and two nephews as he helped them load the truck up with what was left in their house, which was just as spacious as Kevin thought it would be. From the front door Kevin could see the dining room in front of him. A lovely white staircase with a wood railing to his right. A doorway to his left that he assumed went to a family room. And a closed door to the right that was connected to the staircase. “Where does this door go?” Kevin asked as he was helping them move a sofa. “That’s the basement,” said the lady. “We don’t need to get anything from down there. Don’t worry about it. The final thing to load was the dining room table and chairs. The lady said that she wanted that to be loaded last so they could have one final meal. She ushered Kevin into a seat between her and her husband as she served Kevin his meal. He wasn't sure what it was, but it was delicious. Some type of meat, potatoes, glazed carrots, and some pie for dessert. Kevin thought that helping them move was worth it just for this meal. While they ate, Kevin told them about his wife, his work, and he asked if his colleagues had said anything about leaving when they were here. The lady, who had been the only to talk up to this point, said that she remembered Clyde had said something about needing a vacation. She wasn’t sure about the girl. The lady thought she was odd, so she wasn't surprised that she just vanished. “Well my dear,” said the lady, “I think it’s about time we get goin,” “Do you need help moving the table?” Asked Kevin. “Oh no, dear, don’t you worry about that. You’ve been more than enough help,” she said. “Ok, well, I better get going too. Thank you for the lovely meal,” Kevin said. “Don’t you want that signature?” Asked the lady. Kevin stopped. He had completely forgotten about the signature. He turned around and faced the lady with an embarrassed smile and said that he would love the signature. He said he wasn't sure how he had forgotten about it. More than likely it was because of the lovely hospitality and the amazing meal that she had provided. With signature in hand, Kevin wished the family the best of luck and headed towards his car. As he was walking towards his car he took his phone out of his pocket and started to text his boss that he had the signature. Before he could hit send, he started to feel lightheaded. He opened his car door, but didn’t have the strength to get inside. The world around him started to spin as he clung to the car door. Suddenly he heard voices ask if he was alright. It was the lady and her family. Two of the men put his arms over their shoulders and carried him inside as his phone dropped to the ground. The lady picked it up and followed them inside. “You’ll be ok, we just have to lay you down real quick. This normally happens at first, don’t worry,” said the lady. “Wha… what happens at first? I don’t understand…” Kevin said, barely able to speak. “Where are you taking me? What’s going on?” “Oh, my dear, we’re taking you to the basement. There you will truly start to understand,” the lady said with her toothless smile. The lady then opened the door as two of the four men carried him down the stairs into the darkness. Kevin’s world was spinning. He couldn’t tell up from down. The only two things keeping him from the ground were the two men holding him up. He felt ill. Like something in his stomach was attacking his entire body. Which was weird because the only thing he had eaten today was… “Did you poison me?” Kevin hoarsely asked. “Poison?” The lady asked, seemingly taken aback. “That was not poison, young man. That was your gateway into eternity!” As Kevin descended the stairs, the basement light came on and he saw the other two men standing there. They turned Kevin so he could see the entire basement. It looked like a butcher’s shop. Knives, cleavers, hammers, and all assortment of tools hung on the wall still. It seemed that this would be the last place that was packed up, not the dining room. As they walked Kevin over to a table, they turned more lights on and he saw something hanging from the ceiling. Or more precisely, someone. He squinted and saw more than just one. “Jennifer? Clyde? What have they done to you?” Kevin screamed in a hoarse whisper. “Oh, they can’t hear you my dear. Not yet anyway. Soon you’ll be reunited with them. Now, just lay on back and let this old lady take care of you,” she said, with a soothing tone. Kevin tried to struggle, but couldn’t. He couldn’t lift his arms. His head felt like it weighed a million pounds. He could barely even keep his eyelids open. “Why… are you doing this? You’re moving and you… you gave me the signature… I… I don’t understand…” Kevin kept gasping for air and could barely talk at this point. “Why?” Asked the lady. “You just were too tempting to pass up. We couldn’t help ourselves. You should have waited until tomorrow to come. We would have been long gone by then and you could have claimed our house without any effort. You are so selfish and greedy, just like the rest of them. We couldn’t just let you leave. We had to send one. More. Message.” Kevin continued his attempt at struggling, but he was far too weak now. His eyes were practically closed. He couldn’t talk. He could barely breathe. “Don’t worry. We’ll text your boss so he doesn’t worry. We’ll also text your wife and tell her you had to go out of town for a business trip and won’t be back for a while. That way they’ll all be oblivious to your current… circumstance.” Kevin is able to get out one more “why?” before finally losing the ability to talk. “Why?” She laughed. “I guess I’m just a little sentimental and just wanted to have fun one last time.” Kevin grunted in pain. He didn’t know what it was. Some kind of sharp pain in his legs and down his left side. “And don’t worry about us my dear. They won’t find you until well after we’re gone.” Kevin let out one final grunt of pain before finally succumbing to darkness.


Lindsay McBride murdered her husband. She stabbed him to death while he was trying to leave the house with their son in his arms. If Lindsay could do it all over again, she would still kill her husband. Sadly, Lindsay’s husband, Dennis, wasn’t her only victim. Lindsay also murdered her 5-year-old son, Amari.

The little boy didn’t suffer as badly as his father, but he still died. His father’s shielding arm took most of the stabbing blows. Amari died instantly when his mother stabbed him in the neck by accident. She was aiming for his father’s face, but she severed her child’s jugular vein. Lindsay murdered people before, but she promised herself to never kill a child. She loved her son more than anything, and she attacked her husband when he told her she would never see her son again. Lindsay went berserk on her husband after he caused her to stab her little boy by accident.

The mind of a serial killer can be irrational. Lindsay blamed her child’s death on her husband. He shouldn’t have been holding her child while she was stabbing him. It all started when Dennis found out that his wife was a serial killer. He tried to grab his son and make his escape from the house, but he was too late. He called the police, but his wife arrived at their home before the cops did. She came home from work early. Dennis didn’t expect his wife to be home so soon. He heard the news reports about the killer, and he didn’t know that the killer would be his wife.

Lindsay became enraged after she found out her husband removed her SD card from her phone while she was sleeping. He saw all her picture files and documents. He saw the photos of her victims on the SD card. Lindsay hated her husband for hacking into her phone’s external hard-drive and finding out her dark secrets. How could he be so suspicious? She couldn’t believe that he played detective after he found a smidgen of blood on her red floral dress. Lindsay despised her husband’s attention to detail. She tried so hard to be a good wife, and this is how he repaid her. This is what Lindsay was thinking as she was stabbing her husband to death. She didn’t want her husband to see the pictures on her phone. She didn’t want him to see the mutilated naked bodies and the blood. Lindsay wanted to maintain her image of the perfect, blonde, and beautiful trophy wife of a star NFL player and corporate businessman. Her husband’s bloodhound actions ruined everything for her. She couldn’t be the co-owner of her husband’s company. She couldn’t launch her new perfume called Glamour . No more expensive jewelry and designer dresses. No more living in a luxurious twenty bedroom home. She always knew that her husband suspected her of being a killer, but it didn’t stop him from having sex with her every other night.

Lindsay loved her husband, sort of. She loved his celebrity, which is the only reason she married him and had a baby with him. Having a baby with him would ensure her financial security if she divorced him. But after stabbing her husband with a kitchen knife, all of Lindsay’s financial security went up in flames.

Lindsay turned in her glamorous Versace dress for an orange prison jumpsuit. Handcuffs replaced her Gucci handbag. The life of a female prison inmate was not the life Lindsay dreamed of. She didn’t want to leave her Mediterranean style beach house to become a resident at the Miami-Dade County Women’s Detention Center. Dreams fall apart like a slice of ice cream cake sitting in the scorching summer sun. This is how Lindsay saw her dreams melting away. The only thing Lindsay felt bad about was stabbing her son by mistake. She kept seeing her son’s bright unadulterated smile and the tiny star-shaped birthmark on his chin. After she stabbed her child in the neck, she saw the light dying in his little eyes. Lindsay snatched her dead son out of her husband’s arms before running out of the house. She carried her child’s body to her car. Tears burned her eyes and she hovered over her little boy after laying his dead body across the back seat of her silver BMW. His body barely covered half of the back seat. Blood stained his miniature shorts and his green Power Rangers tank top. Lindsay had her child’s blood all over her hands and dress. She kissed her child’s stubby fingers while lingering over his face, with her shoulder-length hair touching his little forehead. Lindsay wanted to bring her child back to life. She kept touching the bloody wound on her child’s pint-sized neck. Every time she’d caress her baby’s face, she’d accidentally smear blood across his nose and lips and his trimmed, curly Afro. Lindsay crawled into her car’s back seat, and she held her son’s body against her chest for a few minutes. Since her home was near the beach, she could smell the saltwater in the ocean breeze. Her car’s rear door was still open, and the breeze washed over Lindsay’s face and her little boy’s face, which she held against her chin.

Lindsay could hear police sirens in the distance. She forgot that her husband called the police before she killed him. Lindsay’s husband thought his towering, muscular, 250-pound frame would save him from being killed by his wife. Unfortunately, his little fashion model wife proved that size was no match against the serrated steel blade of a kitchen knife. Did Lindsay feel guilty for murdering her husband? Not really. His pretty-boy looks and his perfect white smile would annoy her. She knew her husband was a playboy. That’s why she killed the three women her husband was having sex with. She tracked down all of his mistresses. Cheating on her with one woman was bad enough, but when she found out he was seeing two other women, she made him pay for his infidelity. She left blood on her dress so her husband could find it. She left her second phone at home, knowing that her husband would hack into her phone and see the pictures of three dead women. She wanted him to know. Lindsay enjoyed finding out where each woman lived. She enjoyed pretending to be a delivery woman and surprising the women at their doorstep at night. It helped that all three of the women were single. One woman was a lawyer, and Lindsay hated lawyers. She killed each woman the same way. They’d see her FedEx uniform and assume that she was a delivery woman who needed directions. Their helpfulness got them killed. Lindsay knew she’d have them in her trap when they would open the front door. First, she’d stab them in the throat so they wouldn’t scream. Then she’d stab their eyes out. Lindsay slaughtered two of the women in their living rooms. She had to chase the third woman around her house, which irritated her because she expected the woman to drop to her knees after stabbing her in the throat.

Killing her child was the only regret Lindsay had. The young woman never budged when she heard squad cars surrounding her BMW. She attacked one policeman when he reached into the back seat of her car, attempting to remove her dead child from her arms. Lindsay bit the police officer’s hand. She cussed at the officer after biting him and slapping him across his face. The policeman had his hands full and he had to use his taser gun on Lindsay. Two police officers had to drag Lindsay out of her car. They ripped her son out of her arms before throwing her on the hood of her car and slapping handcuffs on her wrists. Ironically, the hip hop classic, Fuk Da Police , was softly booming out of Lindsay’s BMW. When Lindsay heard Ice Cube’s iconic voice exiting out of her car, it made her more aggressive and ready to fight the policeman who was working his ass off trying to subdue her. Lindsay laid one last punch on the policeman. She nailed him in the stomach with her elbow. After she did that, she blacked out from a hard blow to the back of her head. The last thing she saw was a policewoman carrying her little boy’s body to an ambulance.

Worse situations confronted Lindsay once she was in prison. She got into a fight in the prison cafeteria.

“Ain’t you the bitch who killed her husband and her baby?” A fellow inmate spitted her words in Lindsay’s face. The inmate knocked Lindsay’s lunch tray out of her hand before shoving the woman to the floor, which was a huge mistake. Lindsay jumped up from the floor, tackling the woman. She drove her fist into the inmate’s throat, crushing her larynx. After Lindsay crushed the woman’s throat she hurled her to the floor. Another female inmate attacked Lindsay from behind, grabbing her hair and throwing her into a wall. Lindsay shook off the blow and she punched the inmate in the face, fracturing her nose. More women tried to gang up on Lindsay, but a prison guard broke up the brawl. The other women prisoners told the guards that Lindsay started the fight. She badly injured two inmates. One of them needed immediate surgery on her throat.

The prison guards threw Lindsay into solitary confinement based on the false accusations. Lindsay found herself in a dark isolation chamber, which was far worse than her prison cell. The young woman only had her thoughts to keep her company. Now and then she would break down in tears while sinking to the floor. The chamber had no window. It had no bed or a toilet. It was just a dark, small chamber with soundproof walls and a vault-like door made out of thick reinforced steel. Being alone in darkness drove Lindsay into a panic. She curled up on the floor, hugging her knees while sobbing. Lindsay kept thinking about her little boy. Mental images of his small dead body would flash in her mind. A torturous desire to hold her son in her arms would assault Lindsay. Lindsay was alone with her past sins, or so she thought.

Her gasping and sobbing became interrupted suddenly by a disembodied voice that echoed from across the room. It was a man’s voice, and it had a familiar, sultry baritone pitch. When Lindsay heard the whispering voice, she knew it was her husband. Lindsay jumped up with her back against the wall. Her eyes struggled to find the source of her husband’s voice. The panic set in when Lindsay thought about how she stabbed her husband to death. She couldn’t believe that she was hearing his voice.

“Dennis?” Lindsay spoke out to her husband cautiously, with her eyes searching through the darkness. Her mind told her that what spoke to her was not Dennis. There were two possibilities. Lindsay considered losing her mind as a possibility. The second possibility alerted Lindsay, telling her that the voice she heard could be the voice of a ghost. Lindsay didn’t believe in ghosts and the paranormal. She preferred to believe in the possibility that she may have lost her sanity. The disembodied voice said something else that uplifted every hair on the back of Lindsay’s neck. “Why did you stab me?” The disembodied voice sounded warm at first, but then it became cold and aloft. There was no love in the voice anymore. The inflections in the voice gave an inhuman intonation.

What scared Lindsay was how robotic the voice became within a matter of seconds. She could detect an underlying hostility in the voice.

“Why did you stab me?” The disembodied voice became gravelly and dark after it repeated the question.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” Lindsay almost lost her voice. She noticed something tall standing in the room's corner. The darkness seemed to outline the apparition. It looked like a man, but Lindsay wasn’t sure. There was a sharp object in the apparition’s hand, and Lindsay knew it was a knife from the shape of the object. Lindsay recognized the distinct muscular definition of the figure. She watched as the apparition lurched forward while dragging his left foot.

“Why did you stab me?” The apparition’s voice sounded distorted. Lindsay finally got a good look at the monster that was dragging its feet toward her in the darkness. It was the ghost of her husband. Even though the apparition looked like her husband, something was disturbing about his facial features. Blood oozed from his eyes where his wife stabbed him. Lindsay stabbed her husband multiple times in his neck, almost decapitating him. This meant that the apparition had a contorted head that hung halfway off his neck. He had one ear missing. The ghost displayed all the stab wounds that his wife afflicted on him. Wrath resurrected Lindsay’s husband and he wanted revenge.

“I didn’t mean to kill you! I’m sorry, baby!” Lindsay screamed at the apparition. She let out a frantic cry while turning around and banging her fists on the isolation chamber’s door. Lindsay knew that no one was going to save her. No one could hear her screams through the thick steel door. She kept banging her fists on the door while listening as the apparition’s sliding footsteps grew closer. “Why did you stab me?” The ghost kept repeating himself. Each time he’d ask, his voice would sound more demonic.

Lindsay whirled around, throwing her back against the door. “You cheated on me, that’s why I stabbed you! I found out you were seeing three different women, so I killed you!” Lindsay lashed out at the ghost. She swallowed hard while looking up at her dead husband who was towering over her. “I killed you and those three stupid bitches you were having sex with! All of you deserved to die!” Lindsay’s defiance shadowed her fear for a moment. Her fear quickly returned when she saw three other figures emerge from the darkness behind her dead husband. It didn’t take Lindsay long to see that the three ghostly figures were women holding knives. What sent Lindsay over the edge was when she saw a little ghostly figure emerge from behind the three female apparitions. Lindsay saw her son’s blood-stained Power Rangers tank top. She saw his small feet dragging toward her. “WHY DID YOU STAB US!!” All the apparitions shouted at Lindsay in unison. Lindsay collapsed to the floor, sobbing like a madwoman. The apparitions kept shouting at Lindsay through their lifeless, demonic voices. Lindsay covered her face when her husband, the three women, and her little boy stood over her with sharp instruments in their hands. This is how Lindsay met her end. She braced herself for impact, but something happened. “Alright, cut!” A movie director shouted. The room’s lights came on to reveal a film crew and a movie set.

“Thank you!” Lindsay giggled when the camera crew applauded her performance. The apparitions who were actors helped Lindsay to her feet. Two of the actors were Lindsay’s husband and her son.

“You did good, Mommy!” Lindsay’s son, Amari, hopped into his mother’s arms, receiving a kiss from her. “Do I look scary?” Amari whispered to his mother, causing her to giggle. “No, you don’t look scary. You’ll never look scary to me,” Lindsay told her son before kissing the tip of his nose. Lindsay put her arm around her husband and she laughed at his look of agony, which showed behind the movie makeup and prosthetics on his face. “I can’t wait to get this crap off my face,” Dennis told his wife after kissing her on the lips. After he kissed his son on the forehead, he looked around at the film director and the camera crew who were still applauding and praising him and his wife’s performance. Dennis wanted to enjoy the moment, but something wouldn’t let him. At unexpected times, Dennis would see a ghost. His eyes locked on to a mysterious figure that was standing amongst the camera crew, watching him. The figure was a young woman and she was clapping along with the crew members. Dennis’s heart rate increased when he saw the bloody dent in the woman’s head and her mangled arm. The woman had an exotic beauty, but her black eyes and grotesque injuries contaminated her beautiful features. Dennis knew he was looking at the ghost of a pedestrian who he accidentally killed a few months ago. She would always haunt him no matter where he went. She’d watch him and haunt his dreams along with his reality. The apparition refused to let Dennis forget what he did. Dennis knew that his drunk driving would punish him. He got out of his car to help the woman, but he panicked after he saw what his car did to her body. Dennis left the woman on the road to die. “Babe, are you alright?” Lindsay asked when she saw her husband staring intensely at something she couldn’t see. She saw a look of horror on her husband’s face. “Dennis, what’s the matter?” Lindsay gently tugged on her husband’s arm. She gave him a confused smile when he broke out of his trance, turning to look at her. “I’m okay, I just got lost in thought.” Dennis tried to explain his odd behavior. “Baby, I’m fine!” A nervous laugh escaped Dennis when his wife gave him a concerned look with a hint of suspicion in her eyes. Dennis looked away from his wife for a second. He turned his eyes back on where the deformed woman stood, but she vanished.

Lindsay put her arm back around her husband’s waist. She giggled before whispering in his ear… “You had me nervous for a minute. There was a look of terror on that handsome face of yours. It was as if you were seeing an actual ghost.”


The day has been long, too long, much longer than it needed to have been. The anger I feel towards those who have the position of “chairman”, and “head of the board”, or “CEO” is enough to fog over the usually calm mindset I have while driving. The one thing my long day has taught me is that qualification doesn’t outway the politics of modern America's business operations. All I want is to lay down of the couch with a glass of chardonnay that would be considered too full at most respectable restaurants, then slowly drift away into the calm ocean of unconsciousness after an hour of the hallmark channel, but I’m afraid though that my ocean isn’t calm, my full of rogue waves and raging winds. But I shouldn’t daydream, afternoon rush hour has been causing many accidents recently, right now I see why. I finally reach my street after navigating my way through the labyrinth of suburban New Jersey, and I'm greeted by the sight of bright red and blue light dancing on the outer walls of my apartment building. This is the second time this month the cops have been here, and I have had the unfortunate job of witnessing the last occurrence. Domestic assault is never a good sight, especially when you share it with the victim's four-month-old infant. Sometimes I wonder where he will end up after the foster homes, or if the parents will figure their differences out. I get out of my car and my landlord walks towards me with one officer, I feel something is off. My landlord never talks to me, all he does is slide the overpriced bill for my one bedroom, one bathroom apartment under my front door every month. Sometimes I see the shadow of his baggy clothing in the crack under the door, but that’s the most communication we do. As he and the officer approach me I see a sign of guilt in his eyes, but I don't know why, then the officer begins to call my name, not that he knows it, but to double-check that I’m the one he’s is looking for, the one he has to break the bad news too. I bolt up the many stairs and through the yellow ribbon blocking my path up the long flights of this palace misfortune I call home. As I reach my place my heart sinks to my heels, men in navy blue line my living room inspecting the shattered picture frames and broken decor covering the cheap off white shag carpet I got from the flea market last week. The officers leave as I enter, each avoiding eye contact with me more obviously than the last. As I walk through my living room with weak knees, I hear the snapping of glass beneath my leather boots, the texture of powdered drywall fills the empty air. My television, or what used to be my television sits on the floor, concave in the middle, the damage of somebody’s leg all that will be shown on that screen ever again, somehow my sofa is unscathed, no tears of filling anywhere. I head to the kitchen. The aftermath of a whirlwind of greed is all you can see in the place anyone should feel most comfortable. No food has been left whatsoever by the intruders, every cupboard, every spice rack, the entire fridge has been stripped clean. I search throughout my apartment and miraculously I cant seem to find a single plate that is whole, just shards of porcelain scattered throughout. I follow a breadcrumb trail of disaster to my bedroom. My linens aren’t even in the room anymore but instead, sitting on the cold dirt four stories below. My wardrobe isn’t in my wardrobe anymore instead all heaped into a pile next to the bed, with everything there besides the clothes I considered the nicest. Stressed out of my mind I head to my couch, my soft, plush couch. As I sit there in the mess I used to call home a glimmer in the corner of my eye. The reflection of the amber sky gleaming off of the glass. I head towards it and my body is filled with what little happiness it could muster. The label reads “Thousand Oaks Premium Collection”, wine has never been so needed in all of societies expansive existence. I take the whole bottle to my couch, not because I need the whole thing, but because my glass was in a hundred pieces scattered through the shag carpet. I take a break. As I sit down, slumped as much as my sore back will allow, I admire the amber light dance on my walls, uninterrupted by the curtains that used to keep it away from me. Surprisingly this is the most relaxed I’ve been all day. I expect to become even more relaxed as the night continues. I think back about that little boy that I share a bad experience with, I know that happened tonight is more fortunate than earlier this month. I’m thankful all that was stolen was objects, not anything actually important but just things. Objects are just place holders of monetary value, they’re replaceable. I realize as I look across the room at the photos of family now how much I actually have. How much that is worth more than money. But things that you buy with experience, how much cant be stolen from you. Things that bring you more than entertainment, but bring you joy and thankfulness.


“You’ll never know unless you try,” a voice called out, breaking the silence of this long-forgotten treasure room. With a gasp, Sam dropped the box, letting it fall back to its hidden alcove. Only time knows how long the rusty old chest had sat there, and what was once elegant metal etchings adorning it, now show the tell-tale signs of a tarnished battle lost long ago. Sam knew a place like this would carry a curse, or perhaps at the very least, a memory, feelings so powerful and potent, unable to truly be forgotten. That’s how it always goes when hunting for treasures. With a deep, steeling sigh, Sam once more picked up the chest. The moment Sam lifted the chest there was a raspy sort of ghostly breath, and then another more lofty, feminine, and whimsical. The first spirit to manifest itself was on Sam’s left, and presumably the owner of the first voice. He appeared as an older male, but had the look about him of a rugged and grizzled wizard, with a look in his dead eyes that had seen far too much of the world. The next to appear was a younger, youthful spirit, like that of adventurous child; a spritely little thing who resonates a boundless energy even in her presumed deathly state. She looked up at Sam with eager enthusiasm in her hollow eyes. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go on and open it!” Sam looked down at her, and then at the other curiously, then back to the childlike spirit. “So it was you who said that then?”  “Yep,” she answered with cheerful vigor. “No.” the other spirit, answered, with a cold and stern response. Sam’s attention darted back and forth between the equivocating spirits. “Okay, so which is it then? Wait I’m sorry, who are the two of you? Are you the ghosts of this chest? ” Sam asked. “Yes” she answered. “No” he answered. Sam promptly sighed, at which point the older being loomed forward, closer. “We are not ghosts, not exactly. We were not alive, nor have we died. It is easier to say we are merely spirits, who watch those who would find this chest.” “Don’t be so formal you old codger!” the younger spirit shouted, before gliding over next to her counterpart. “We are spirits, but we have names, ya know? I’m Ertha! And we call this grumpy coot here Ol’ Cig!” Ertha extended a spectral hand out towards Sam. Sam reached out for it anyway, a gesture of kindness, knowing full well how intangible it was. “Hi, I’m… Sam.” “Hi Sam! Great to see you here! I love it when new people show up! Ol’ Cig and I don’t get out much these days, you know?” “Right. Now that you have gotten your introductions done, Ertha…” Ol’Cig groaned. “Oh, yes!” Ertha exclaimed, as she moved behind the chest. “Well go on then!” Sam’s hand hesitated as it lingered over the lock… It could be so easy to just do it… “What are you waiting for?” Ertha cajoled. “You are afraid,” the perceptive Ol’Cig spoke with an almost calm understanding. Ertha cocked her head towards Sam. “What is there to be afraid of? Don’t’cha think if we were gonna hurt ya, we would have?” Sam’s hands began to feel shaky. “I am not scared of you… This is not my first time with spirits and I see that you meant well…” Sam began. “See? You get it! Nothing to be scared up of. So just open up!” “I...think I am afraid of opening the chest,” Sam confessed “What? Why? Don’t be silly! It’s a treasure chest!” “You think it could be a trap.” Ol’ Cig commented. “Or it could be treasure!” “You will never know.” “Unless you try!” “Enough! Just stop for a moment!” Sam shouted, holding the box tighter, gripping it, shaking. Sam didn’t understand why this was such a struggle. The journey here was so easy, so adventurous and fun; that is what treasure hunters do right, find the shining gems amid darkness and decay? But the struggle was always the same. The meticulous and observant spirit of Ol’Cig studied Sam’s hesitations carefully. “I know you, Sam. How you are right now, I have seen it before. Some would call it cowardice, some wisdom. All I see is self-preservation; the most basic of mortal instincts. There have been a hundred adventurers before you, who were reckless and went diving after a treasure before they have all the information. But that’s not you, is it Sam? You are not reckless. You are smart. That’s why you haven’t opened the chest. And that is it, isn’t it? Unless you know, you will never try.” Sam, overwhelmed in the uncertainty, bellowed a groan of frustration, and dropped the box as they buried their face in their palms. The chest, landed in the small spectral hands before hitting the ground, and loftily floated back to its resting place. Ertha, then attempted to place her wrest Sam’s attention back. “Hey! Don’t listen to Ol’Cig, he’s nothing but bad noise. Sure, ya can play it smart, and go for self preservation, but that’s what animals do! And you are not an animal! What kind of life even is that? I bet ya didn’t become an adventurer just so you could get this far and go home empty handed, huh? Fortune favors the bold, Sam! So be the person you know you want to be! Pick up that chest and just open it. Even if it’s dangerous, then at least you will know! I don’t mean to speak for ya, but if I were in your boots, I would! Because to me, a life of never knowing is far worse than whatever trap or curse may or may not be inside. For better or for worse, you will at least have an answer to this mystery. The only way to get closure is to open. So go on Sam… Unless you try, you will never know!” Sam looked up from their hands to see the semi-opaque child-like face of Ertha making direct eye contact. The spectral aura gave off a warm and calming glow, the kind that would settle the nerves and inspire confidence. This of course, was interrupted by the chilling breeze of Ol’Cig’s cold calculations. “What do you even know about the people or the world, Ertha? Nothing. How many have been led astray by your misguided whimsy? I have lost count! You are a child, a speck among the grand scheme of the cosmos. You act on whim and speak without genuine consideration of consequences. You hope for the diamond in the rough adventurer among a sea of grave robbers. You greet and guide them all to a treasure, and recklessly expect the results to be different. My tact may be cold and brash, but I am trying to keep another adventurer from their grim fate!” Ertha turned around and stood her ground against the looming old wizardly specter, in all the hands-on-hips, matter-of-fact sass one might expect from an ancient childlike spirit of whimsy. “Hey! I may not have been around as long as you, but that doesn’t make me any less valid than you! I keep helping adventurers because people are always different! Don’t be so bitter and jaded because you lost your artifact an eon ago! This is the only one I have left, and I’m going to make sure the right hands find it! There is nothing you can say in your Old self that can stop me from trying again and again! It’s not reckless for me to keep hoping!” Ol’ Cig looked down at her, a focused gaze. Sam would never notice it, and Ol’ Cig in his stubborn self would never admit it, but the smallest of smirks tugged at the corner of his ghostly mouth. He didn’t agree with Ertha on nearly anything, but he did appreciate the fact that if he was going to be stuck with a rival for all of eternity, at least it was someone he could match wits with. “Reckless, maybe not. Foolish, certainly,” he said, a little more calmly than before. “I would rather be a happy fool, than be smart and bitter and miserable for all of eternity,” she replied sharply. Ol’ Cig nodded; he didn’t have much of a retort for that. A moment of inspiration, a revelation finally hit Sam, who had been awkwardly caught in the crossfire of these two eternally-bickering spirits, finally speaking up. “That’s it…” Ertha and Ol’ Cig, realizing how caught up in their own battle they got, turned their attention back to the adventurer who started this whole debacle. They addressed Sam in, speaking in perfect synchronicity. “You are going to open up then?” “You are going to count your losses then?” “No… Well yes, but no, that’s not what I mean… I’m talking about the box. That’s the riddle of chest isn’t it? Every great treasure has a puzzle to solve, and this is no different. Each of you are a piece of the puzzle.” Sam shuffled along and grabbed the treasure chest. Ol’Cig in his wizardly glory looked down at Sam with a curious and knowing glance. The free spirited Ertha was less, subtle, her gaze transfixed on Sam, and beaming ear to ear. “What you say, both of you is valid. Your arguments are both correct… And that makes the both of wrong… Neither of you can truly tell me what I should do. I got this far from my own wits and instincts, and, that is what I need to listen to. ” Sam’s hand moved across the old weathered lock of the chest, keeping eye contact with the spirits. Snap! Clank! A smile. “After all, I will never know unless I try."


I never expected to become a fashion icon. Does anyone? I’m the last possible candidate for such status. I never considered the potential impact of paparazzi, photo shoots, or celebrity on my simple life. There were none. My time was my own, until… But here I am, standing in the wings. (Wings – get it?) While awaiting my debut, I’m fighting off butterflies. My life transformed after that photograph went viral. Of course, Phil isn’t a mere photographer. He discovered me. He has vision. We became friends. He’s my trusted manager. And, thanks to him, I’ve released my own line of cosmetics. You must’ve heard of it. Or, have you been living under a cabbage leaf? I call it, ‘All Abuzz.’ I should begin at the beginning. I’m Dottie. As I said, no one was more surprised than me over recent events. I should explain some things about my background, before fame lit up my life… You might have guessed I’m no ordinary supermodel. Before Phil discovered me, I was your garden variety ladybug. Nothing special. Yes, a ladybug. I’m quite aware of certain anti-insect biases in human society. Though not very sociable, I assure you I’m benign. I’m a loner. And I’m told I’m also cute as hell. The day Phil and I met, I’d finished my favorite lunch and had settled on a leaf to doze in the sun. A shadow moved and Phil loomed over me. Actually, I saw his magnified eye peering at me through what looked to be the bottom of a coke bottle. Later, he explained that was the macro lens of his camera. He’d only wanted to snap a picture of the ‘cutest little bug he’d ever seen.’ But from my vantage, he was intruding on my space and taking my picture without asking permission. No introduction. Nothing. What cheek. I called out, “Hey! Hey! Hold it there, big boy. What gives you the right to take my picture? You have a signed release? I may have been around the block once or twice but I didn’t arrive spattered on the business side of a windshield.” That gave Phil pause. He leaned in. “Can you speak up? I didn’t quite catch that.” I continued. “You a stalker or what?” That’s when he said he was a nature photographer. I’d heard of them. Bumblebees were always comparing notes on the best locations. “So, why me?” I asked. Phil chuckled. “You may not know it but you are so cute. Cute as…” I did a slow burn. “Yeah, I’ve heard that. Never mind.” Longlegs, my ‘daddy,’ wore that out. But Phil had my attention. He told me about the markets for pictures; fashion, news, art, and so on… He insisted how honored he was to capture my beauty. He said, “I can help you.” “Help me what? My life is fine without your blocking the sun.” He moved out of my light. “Wait! There is something. Can you deal with all the birds? They vex me. Can’t enjoy my lunch without worrying I’ll be some bird’s lunch.” Ants have colonies. Bees have hives. But we ladybugs enjoy our solitude. A day alone is a day in good company. Phil ran into the yard waving his arms and shouting. Normally unflappable, the birds took off and didn’t look back. Panting a little, he returned wearing a huge grin. “Haven’t done that since I was a kid. Happy to help.” He seemed sincere. We found agreement. If my image got attention, he would reimburse me for my time. Basically, all the aphids I could eat. Sounded like a win/win deal. I had doubts though. I said, “Sounds great, Phil. But I’m not some moth, dazzled by bright lights. What’s the catch?” “I understand, Dottie. You don’t know me. Let me prove myself. You won’t feel like bat guano.” I told him, “Okay… Let’s try. Step by step.” A few days later, Phil found me in the garden and told me how many thousands of clicks my picture received. That’s a lot of aphids. He showed me my photo on some rectangular gizmo he held in his hand. I can’t deny my surprise. I’d never looked in a mirror. I had no idea, no concept of what a ‘photograph’ is or what I looked like. I figured my family resembled me, but vanity didn’t run in my crowd. But, to tell the truth, I could see it. I am cute! And I’m a bug. So there! But what Phil told me next, blew me away. I was so shocked, I wanted to fly away home. He said women everywhere want my ‘look,’ whatever that means. I don’t know. Who expected polka dots to be all the rage? He set up a meeting with a cosmetics firm wanting to offer a product for women seeking that ‘look.’ My look. Phil introduced me to the team. He assured me he and I were partners. He also warned me the buying public can be fickle. What’s popular this week might be passé in a month. I said, “Don’t worry about me, Phil. I’m in it for the duration. I’m not some fruit fly – here today, gone with the dawn.” The meeting went very well. I did my version of the ‘fly on the wall.’ Phil represented us well. I felt respected. Some details got into the weeds a bit. I know nothing about cosmetics. And fine print is for those who can read. Women want my look? I’m here to help. They told us we’d get our own shelf in the big outlets. And my picture would be featured on the wall above my product. Like the other supermodels. A few weeks later, Phil took me to see the display at a free-standing make-up store. I’m a bug so, of course, I’d never seen anything like it. I couldn’t believe the swarm of women wanting my makeup. The staff kept restocking the shelves. Customers did ‘selfies’ with my big picture over their shoulder. All the jostling got unnerving. Phil kept me incognito, riding on his ear, so I’d feel safe. That night, I hosted a party in. It was huge. The garden was crawling with family and friends. They couldn’t believe our good fortune. Aphids, aphids everywhere! Of course, some neighboring ladybugs took an attitude, saying they were cuter than me. Bunch of termites… They may be. I don’t care. But Phil found me! I have ‘the look.’ One man’s bug is another man’s cutie. So, that brings my story up to date. The emcee brought Phil onstage to tell my back story. I stood in the shadows, about to go out and strut my stuff. Phil told the crowd I don’t do autographs. He asked them to respect my privacy. No crowding, please. He said, “You get it. Don’t bug her.” That got a big laugh. Then Phil shouted, “Everybody! Let’s welcome Ms. Dottie Ladybug!” Music swelled. A spotlight lit the curtain that hid me. That was my cue. Applause rippled. I can’t tell you how I felt that moment. So many people came to see me. Me! Little Dottie from the garden. So strange. Beyond comprehension. But the music kept going and so did the applause. All those hands clapping. One slip and that’d be it. Oops! Squashed. Bye, bye, Dottie! What a sendoff! It was now or never. I braced myself and took flight out of the shadows and into the blinding spotlight. I almost lost my way. I’m used to trees and hedges. The hall was immense and filled with people. My image, a thousand, million times bigger than me, was projected on a screen overhead. Was that me? How could it be? But I trusted Phil. He’d helped me the whole time. I made a beeline to the podium where a silver plate lay covered by a white cloth. Cameras were aimed so everyone could see the real me, up close for the first time. Wow! When I landed, the music stopped. The applause stopped. Then, crickets. All I heard were crickets. You never know who your friends are until you become a supermodel and see who shows up to your first show. The crickets came through. They weren’t ladybugs, but our families always got along. They showed up! They spoke my language! The show was a success. I was even on television (whatever that is). I had my moment in the sun. Happy I didn’t need to speak, I did what I was best at – being cute. Yes, I’d made a splash, so to speak. But you know how fickle fashion is. Tastes change. When sales flagged, I told Phil I’d had enough. We agreed I had a good run. Phil bought a private garden for me and my family. And aphids galore! I returned to my quiet life to enjoy peace and quiet with my family and friends. We were set. Life was good. And I’m still cute.


(Set your story in a small town where everyone is suspicious of newcomers.) (This story is edited and additional content has been added) Ah yes, Monday! Monday’s are universally thought of with negative feelings as the weekend is over and a workweek begins. But here in Syndrig, everyday is a workday, if in fact you would define what we do as work. Here in my village I’m known as Pipsey, that is short for Pip Squeek which is what me old father, rest his soul, used to call me. I am short in stature, but many of my countrymen are, so I’m not clear how I got singled out for the name.

But getting back to the story, yes today is Monday. I pulled me calendar down from the shelf as I ate my porridge to remind meself what my duties are for this day. So for this Monday, the wooden chair on the roadside next to the petrol station. That is the place I would spend my day. Me job? Me job was to point down the road to the north saying….”yes, really great fishing just down the road, fifteen minutes or so to the north, you will love it!” Or I might have to say…”A hotel? Yes a lovely clean place with rooms overlooking the ocean, fifteen minutes or so to the north, you will love it!” That’s it really, me job, just direct passing visitors out of town, to the north no matter what they are looking for, it is north out of town...not here, NEVER HERE!

Everyone of us, the villagers, has a job and our job is keeping strangers away. We want no one coming in and poking about for fishing or hiking or exploring. We are closed to the public except for those stationed along the highway that cuts through a tiny edge of our town and their job is to push the stoppers on to the north, or to the south but away from us. Our village has been here as long as memory and legend allows. What we know of our village is not just simple stories, we have the iron work to prove it all. For millennia, ironworking has been the only activity in our village except for food production to feed us and working at the other necessities of life. The ironworking, the making of the objects that keep them out and us safe inside. Tall metal frameworks of every sort that line the highway prevent anyone without keys to panels and gates to access the waterfront or the town proper. The panels have only one thing in common, they must be strong and tall. Some resemble trellises with profusely growing roses, while others are like fences or gates, some have arches with curved or rounded tops, some are extremely ornate while others are very plain but they are all meant to keep folks from going where we don’t want them to go. Once installed they are dedicated with a small ceremony by an elder that leaves a residual slight hum. Along the highway, a few shops, petrol and sundries, and ALWAYS a few of our folks to point down the road to the next town or village. Stopping for their needs is acceptable, on the one road, but then keep moving, away from here. From a high point at the edge of town one can look back and get a bird’s eye view of the village of Syndrig….(look that up, it is the essence of this story). The village is pie shaped, the widest part being the road along the coast and then from both north and south edges of the village it continually tapers inward to a vertex at the base of the mountains. Is it peculiar or just an amazing and impressive sight to see the steel and iron work enclose the village in its entirety? Along all sides the lifelong labors of generations of us working to build or repair or reinforce the steel that keeps out strangers. And so that is me job for today, another villager will be sitting somewhere down the line on the other side of the road keeping those going south, going south. We have strategically placed houses built into the steel wall panels on all sides of our village and the job of those folks is to monitor their section of wall for intruders. It is what we do! Nothing more, we repel the unwanted! If you had been born here, you would have grown up with the stories, our oral history from the outset, so you would understand our deep need for privacy and seclusion. At each stage of a man’s development he is shown more and more of the mystery of our beginnings and by old age he is finally aware of the magnitude of our secret. I would love to tell you what I know but as we have all seen on the telly, “If I told you I’d have to kill you!” And of course we don’t hold with killings here. We haven’t had to resort to that..yet, but as the general population of the area gets more bold, the future could be very different. My actual home, my house, that I share with me best half, Rosie, is very near the vertex. I spend many hours in that area and am very aware of the humming of the earth, the glow at night, the shafts we have dug downward, the stuff we have extracted from the pit. Our understanding is minimal. Somewhere in our oral history, instructions have been given, what we can do AND what we must never do. Only a few here really know but each generation is instructed by the elders so we know only that we must keep this place safe and if you are worthy, you may know more but that almost never comes until old age. I’m not ready to “know” yet and I breathe a sigh of relief to understand I have years of pleasure before the weight of knowing. If it sounds to you that I am telling a folkloric story that is generally wildly exaggerated for the amusement of the listener, then you are wholly and totally incorrect. This place exists and what comes out of “the pit” benefits mankind.

If Pipsey and the folks of Syndrig can keep the work pure and isolated from outside forces, mankind will benefit. This small place has been given special access, knowledge and understanding….from where you might ask? From the Gods, the old and the new! Or from Aliens? Or from? I am sure you have all heard of ogres and the tiny folk, gnomes and the English faerie, meaning "realm of the fays ". Those things too may be real or they could never have withstood the telling over time but this is different. This is somehow very important, bordering on crucial. And being Monday, I must be getting along to the chair by the road. So I will say Ta Ta for now! ~~~~~ Pipsey was in his chair next to the petrol station on his job to move strangers north when the woman approached him, a woman stranger, a female outsider. Her car has misbehaved at the petrol station and they are making a repair. She is stranded for the day.

After she tells of her bad luck, of needing a repair, Pipsey seeks the guidance of an elder. Should someone drive her to the next town while the repair is accomplished? Or will they assign a local Syndrigian to keep her out of trouble for the day and what would that involve?

It was decided that since Pipsey was already conversing with her, he should find ways of keeping her busy along the road that goes through the town. Pipsey finds her devilishly attractive and interesting so it is with some nervousness that he offers her a stroll to a shop down the highway for a bit of lunch, while she waits. Pipsey has a wife, it’s true, but it is tantalizing to imagine real time with any stranger and this female stranger seems to have a hypnotic effect on him. During his day with the outsider, she awakened his curiosity about the outside world. They share questions he had never considered before. She asks him why they never venture out and what the community is really about, and then she makes him feel foolish for not really knowing anything, really, just that life is about faith, have faith and all will be revealed to you. And she thought it outrageous he would be willing to wait until old age to find out the things that only the old ones know and understand.

She is so very different from any of the community. The community is at peace with life and the parts they are all asked to play each day. But this outsider, this female stranger seems agitated or the unrest that surrounds her is almost visible, like a cloud. Her name is Angelique, but friends call her Angel. He is about to tell her his name is Pipsey but at the last second, he knows he wants her to know his given name not the familiar used by family and community folk. My name is David, he says, slightly embarrassed. He has never said his real name out loud. He has seen it written but to hear it out loud and from his own mouth, it is very strange, but she has a strange effect on him, he knows this, he feels it. They sit in the shade of a grove of trees near the edge of town. Angelique is so curious about every detail she can glean from Pipsey. Sometimes he feels she presses too hard or asks too much. He feels uncomfortable almost to the point of wondering if the elders would really approve. It is getting late in the day, they will be walking back soon to retrieve her car and she will be on her way. The afternoon sun makes everything look warm and gives life a golden look. Pipsey closely watches Angelique almost as if trying to burn her into his memory, into his mind, a way to keep part of her after she has gone. He knows he has somehow lost a modicum of his peaceful existence. How can an afternoon with a stranger have such an effect on his whole being. He wonders if she were here for a longer time if he might be tempted to take her into the community, to show her where he lives, to let her see the happy peaceful community.

Pipsey feels deep sadness. It is an emotion he has never felt before. It is something he can never share with his wife or the community. Why would he? He would never want any of them to feel this sadness. Arriving back to the petrol station, Angelique touches Pipsey’s arm and says, “David I am so grateful for this day we have spent together.”

A deep shiver passes through Pipsey to hear his given name spoken so softly, and yet aloud by this stranger. So much of him, his real thoughts or feelings have never been explored. This overwhelming feeling of peace. Is it a blessing? Is it a controlling factor why the community so tightly conforms and holds to the old ways? In his own mind he will be David now, maybe he is moving to a new level of understanding, maybe this new questioning is part of the transition to becoming an elder but David is certain that it is more likely the Angelique influence.

As he walks away from the petrol station, the image of Angelique is strong in his mind, he will not soon forget her but also in his mind, new thoughts, new questions, a new thirst to know more. He wonders if he will miss the peaceful feelings that keeps the community humming along in harmony. He knows he is different now. He is David and David is full of questions and speculation. Maybe the secret is that only the old ones know that what is in the pit and how to retrieve it is not the real secret.

Maybe the true secret is the small time of exposure to the pit, the time necessary to retrieve the element for mankind kills you!

So old Syndrigians are going to die anyway and they only need small amounts of the element to benefit mankind, so the elders are expendable and more importantly , they are willing participants.

The powers who revealed the pit are surprised and amazed, they have always been surprised and amazed, that this community had the control and discipline to go for the ages selflessly keeping the world safe. David sits in the last light of this fateful day, he wonders if the powers know he has changed! Will he be punished? He knows he must not influence the community! In the midst of all of this soul searching he clearly sees Angelique in his mind.

Peace returns but somehow it is different.


The spring winds rush down the streets of New York City, blowing up dirt and sand everywhere. I hold my head down to keep the dust out of my eyes while trying not to walk into other people doing the same. I reach my favorite breakfast spot and pull hard against the door. I struggle inside as the owner laughs, “Windy enough for ya, Mr. McGee?”  I dust my shoulders and the front of my jacket as I sit at the counter. The rotating stool screeches in protest. The owner Benny removes a dirty plate and wipes the counter clean. “What will it be, Mr. McGee?” I smile at him. “I’ll have a cup of coffee, and a grilled English muffin, thanks.”                           “Sure thing,” he says. He grabs a napkin and spoon and places a small bowl of creamers.  He sets down a diner-style coffee cup, the real heavy kind, and pours the coffee. I watch him walk down to the grill, cut a muffin in half, slather it with butter and place it face down on the grill. It sizzles with eggs and bacon, filling the diner with the smell of breakfast cooking. In no time at all, he returns. “ Say, is there something on your mind, Mr. McGee? Cause that’s like the sixth spoonful of sugar you put in there.” “Huh? What? I hadn’t noticed,” I mumble. Well, Benny, I guess there is.  See, I’m leaving a job I’ve worked for fifteen years, and I’m going to apply for a new one.” “Ya, don’t say, but why are you so nervous?” “Well, it’s the way they do things these days. First, I look for a job on the computer until I find one that sounds good.  Send in my resume.  Wait for what feels like forever and figure they’re not going to answer.  Finally, I receive an e-mail asking for a phone interview. I’ve had two phone interviews so far, and they’ve asked me to come for a face-to-face. Tell me, Benny, whatever happened to walking in and talking to the personal manager and getting the job? At fifty-three, I’m getting too old for this crap.” “I wouldn’t know anything about it, Mr. McGee. I’ve worked here since I was a kid. Took it over when my old man died.”

Someone yells, “Hey, Benny! Where are my eggs?” “Ya wanted them hard-boiled, right? Well, they still got three more minutes.” He turns back to me, “Sheesh!” I take a sip of my coffee and make a face; too sweet!   I hear the little bell on the door tinkling like mad and turn to look. I see this young girl dressed in a business suit hanging onto the door with one hand while trying to hold down her shirt with the other. I hop off of my stool and race to hold the door open for her. She slips past me. “Wow! What’s with the wind? Thanks for your help.” She tries to fix her hair as she looks for a place to sit, but every booth is taken. I smile, “If you don’t mind the counter, there’s a stool next to me.” “No, that will be fine,” she says while slipping a brown leather portfolio off her arm and placing it in front of the stool. Quickly, Benny appears, places a napkin with a spoon, and asks what she would like. “Oh, what he’s having looks good.” “You got it!” Benny then produces a coffee cup and fills it. He pushes the sugar container to her, “I hope there’s enough left after Mr. Sweettooth here has had at it.” She lifts her eyebrows as I glance away, “Guilty as charged.”

She looks to be in her late twenties, perhaps early thirties. Her hair is cut in a stylish bob and still a little messed up from the wind. It looks cute anyways, and so does she. I nod to the portfolio, “On your way to work, no doubt?” “No, I’m on my way to a job interview.”

I smile and chuckle, “ What a coincidence, so am I! I was just telling Benny that I’m a little nervous because this is the first interview I’ve been to in fifteen years.” As we begin to talk, all the little noises of the diner, the ringing of the cash register, the sizzling grill, and the murmur of conversations all fade away. “My goodness, that is quite the leap.” She then offers her hand, “I’m Megan, by the way.” Shaking her hand, I introduce myself, “John.” Benny stops by briefly, “Get you anything else, Mr. McGee?”

“Yes, thank you. How about more coffee and another muffin.” “I’ll have another muffin, too, please.” Megan pipes in.  “So, are you leaving a job, or is this something new?” I query. “OH, yeah, I’m leaving where I work. I need a change. Where I work now is so old fashion that it drives me crazy.” She thanks Benny when he returns with a fresh pot of coffee. “What line of work are you in, if I may ask.” “Advertising,” she says while sipping her coffee. Again my eyes light up, “I can’t believe this! So am I!” Megan studies the smiling face beside her, “Sure, he’s fifteen years older than I am, and gray hair is frosting his hairline, but he has a warm and friendly face. I like him.” she thinks. The bell rings as some construction men file in, allowing the wind to blow in with them. Unfortunately, it is strong enough to blow over the portfolio, and some of her work topples out. Scurrying to help her pick up the papers, I can’t help but notice her work. Handing them back to her, I comment, “This is good, very good. Have you always wanted to be in advertising?”                     Megan turns back to her coffee and muffin. “No. I originally wanted to do fashion design, but that field is just too competitive. So I landed a job in advertising and found out I like it. So tell me, John, why are you leaving a job you’ve had for fifteen years?” “I’m afraid it is the opposite of you. A dot com outfit has taken over the place where I work. They’re young and do things so differently than I do that it’s hard for me to adjust.” Megan’s eyes start to dance in wonder, “What did you say the outfit’s name was?” “Ads World Wide,” I reply when it dawns on me. “Don’t tell me that’s who your interview is with?” Megan covers her mouth with one hand while taking my wrist. Then, she giggles, “Yes! And I think you are probably taking my job at Johnson and Barly on 55 th street, correct?” I signal Benny for the check. “This is so unbelievable. We’re like two ships…Megan finishes the phrase, “passing in the night.”  When Benny arrives, he asks,   “Everything okay?’ I give him my credit card and tell him I’d like to pay for the young lady’s as well. As we both stand, Megan says, “Oh, John, you don’t have to do that.” “No, I want to, and I also wish you the best of luck with your new job. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.” “Thanks. I pretty sure you’ll like Johnson and Barly too.” I hold open the door, and she turns left while I go right. She turns back to me and calls my name. Megan walks up to me, stands on tiptoes, gives me a pick on the cheek, and hurries away. Time stops for a second as I feel the warm spot on my cheek. I smile and cover it with my hand so it won’t blow away.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join.   *** *** #Announcing a Brand New Feature for Completed Serials on Serial Sunday! I can’t express how delighted and honored I am to watch each of you grow and meet the challenges every week. Let’s face it, it’s quite a feat to create a world from scratch and write a serial! And finishing a serial is an amazing accomplishment. Over the last year, we’ve had quite a few writers cross that finish line. It’s something that the writers should be incredibly proud of—those still working on them and those who have already completed them. I started thinking about those finished serials and all the ones to come; I realized that a congratulatory post just wasn’t enough. I want to give you the chance to show off your hard work! And so I present to you...SerialWorm! *** ###What is a SerialWorm? Writers who finish their serials (with at least 12 installments) will be allowed to read their *edited* serials in their entirety aloud in the discord’s Voice Chat. This is to celebrate your accomplishments, see how it reads once it’s altogether, as well as provide some additional motivation to cross the finish line. After the final chapter is read, there will be a Q & A with the author. Questions can be submitted/asked at this time. *** ###Serial Worm Rules: * **A minimum of 12 installments will be required to read.** Serials will need to be broken up into multiple sessions, as with any Discord Bookworm. * **Only one bookworm event will be held at a time (including non-serial Bookworms).** You may still submit your finished serial to get on the list. * **You need to be available to read your own serial.** Readers will not be provided. * **Your serial must have gone through significant, final edits after its completion. All ‘SerialWorms’ must be approved.** SerialWorm is not for live feedback or edits, but to share your accomplishment with others and read your finished product aloud. * **Completed and edited serials may have a maximum word count of 1150 per installment, with no more than 2 additional installments (not posted to Serial Sunday weekly threads).** * **Serials must comply with r/ShortStories content rules. No exceptions.** * **Authors must have met the rules of the weekly post.** This includes two feedback comments every week, as well as meeting the deadline. Those who miss more than 2 weeks of feedback in a 12-installment period will be ineligible for SerialWorm. This is a privilege, not a right. * **SerialWorm authors must be Certified on the discord.** You must be given final approval by Bay and a new role—SerialWorm. *** ###SerialWorm Q & A To add a little something extra to make it different from the weekly campfire readings, there will be a discussion portion. *This is not for feedback on the writing*, but more an elaboration/extension on the basic questions I pose to every author in the Completed Serial Modpost, with a few extras. This is the time to ask about their writing journey, challenges they faced during their Serial, etc. The discussion portion of the SerialWorm will be after the final chapter is read. Questions can be submitted to Bay over the course of the SerialWorm or asked on the day-of. ***If you have any questions, feel free to send a modmail or DM me on our Discord!***   *** *** #This week's theme is Vitality! This week we’re going to explore the theme of ‘vitality’. Vitality is all about strength, energy, and growth; having an exuberance for life and living. Characters full of vitality come alive on the page. They’re ones that love life for what it is and appreciate each day, living it to the fullest. This could be a good time for a brand new character to enter the picture, challenging everyone and how they view life. How are these characters received? How do they approach the various obstacles and troubles that arise? What about their opposites, the characters who allow each bump in the road to sour their appreciation for life and the future? How do these characters interact with one another? What happens when they bump heads? Maybe this vitality spreads throughout the world and its inhabitants. What does the future look like through their eyes? These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. |   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I release the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even have a say in upcoming themes! Join us on the discord - we vote on a theme every Sunday. (You can also send suggestions to me via DM on Discord or Reddit!) * December 5 - Vitality (this week) * December 12 - Speculation * December 19 - Advice   *** **Previous Themes:** | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 6pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Please make sure to read *all* of the rules before posting!   *** #The Rules: * **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme (not using the theme is a disqualifier).** Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt/post is not allowed. * **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. **You may include a *brief* recap at the top of your post each week if you like, and it will not count against the wordcount.** * **Stories must be posted by Saturday 6pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. * **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread (on two different stories, not two on one) to qualify for rankings every week.** The feedback should be actionable and **must** include at least one *detail* about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. (Verbal feedback does not count towards this requirement.) **Missing your feedback two consecutive weeks will exclude you from campfire readings and rankings the following week.** You have until the following Sunday at 12pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements each week. * **Keep the content “vaguely family friendly”.** While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of family friendly for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask! * **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalogue. Please note: You **must** use the exact same name each week. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   *** #Reminders: * **If you are continuing an in-progress serial, please include links to the prior installments on reddit.** * **Saturdays I host a Serial Campfire on the discord main voice lounge**. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * **You can nominate your favorite stories each week**. Send me a message on discord or reddit and let me know by 12pm EST the following Sunday. You do not have to attend the campfire, or have read all of the stories, to make nominations. Making nominations awards both parties points (see point breakdown). * Authors who successfully finish a serial with at least 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the subreddit. Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). * There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news!   *** #Last Week’s Rankings Lovely job this week (as always). And u/OneSidedDice for scoring the most points ever earned in a single week of SerialSunday! - - by u/OneSidedDice   - - by u/Zetakh   - - by u/ReverendWrites   - - by u/stickfist   *** #Ranking System There is a new point system! Note that you must use the theme each week to qualify for points! Here is the current breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 60 points - Second place - 50 points - Third place - 40 points - Fourth place - 30 points - Fifth place - 20 points - Sixth place - 10 points **Feedback:** - Written feedback (on the thread) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap) *Note: In order to be eligible for feedback points, you must complete your 2 required feedback comments. These are included in the max point value above.Your feedback must be **actionable**, listing at least one thing the author did well, to receive points. (“I liked it, great chapter” comments will not earn you points or credit.)* **Nominating Other Stories:** - Sending nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total)   *** ###Subreddit News - Our sister subreddit, r/WritingPrompts now has a ! - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday. Check out to learn more! - Sharpen your micro-fic skills by participating in our brand new feature, - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts.