His pale, cold fingers were wrapped aimlessly around the steaming hot cup, despite the absurdity of the thought that it could warm his dead hands. The scarlet, viscous liquid frothed ferociously in the Styrofoam cup as steam poured out like noxious gas. Orville inhaled deeply, smelling the sweet scent of human blood. AB+, he thought to himself. Maybe AB-? He took another whiff. Definitely positive. He took a sip of the scalding liquid. As he lifted it to his lips, he could feel his gums stretch and move as a pair of perfectly white fangs forced their way into his mouth. After a huge gulp, Orville placed the cup back on the table, glancing up just in time to see Herk stomping across the room toward him.

Herk smashed his rocky fist down onto the table, in what was probably a gentle pat for him, and placed his drink. He squeezed his gargantuan frame into the booth across from Orville. He shifted to the left, trying desperately to find a comfortable sitting position, despite being the embodiment of a humanoid boulder.

“This seat hard as rock,” Herk grumbled with broken English. One can't truly make fun of Herk for his lacking language skills. He’s quite literally got rocks for brains.

“I don’t think it’s the seat, buddy. That might just be you,” Orville said snidely. Herk glowered at him but said nothing. Orville and Herk always had a very difficult time discussing… well, pretty much anything. Orville cherished humans, contrary to most others in their group. He found them a lesser version of himself. They were an infinite source of nourishment, and if he played his cards right, Orville could even make them into one of his own: a creature of the night, a vampire.

“Strange how humans come to places like these, buy their drinks, and just continue about their day. No one even bothers to sit and talk anymore,” Orville noted. Herk nodded and downed a gallon of hot magma from his cup in one swig. Having lived so many years, Orville found the only thing that broke up monotony was a good conversation. The thrill of hunting a human and draining them wore off after the first century. But when people like Orville tried to talk to people like Herk, it never amounted to much more than a grumpy silence. Within that grumpy silence and distaste for poor discussions, Orville found himself admiring the room.

The walls were each a different material it seemed. Some were a dark brown wood paneling, and the wall opposite them was black bricks. A wall of windows was to their right, and outside was the constant comfort of nighttime accompanied by streets alive with foot traffic, tentacle traffic, and hoof traffic alike. Dark black leaves crunched underneath them as Fall was upon everyone in town.

Much like the weather outside, an eerie fog hung over the coffee shop, but this was where most monsters felt comfortable. Orville smiled as he pondered the word ‘monster’. Most modern creatures despised the word, calling it ‘demeaning’ and desired that no one use such language to describe them. Orville, however, felt quite the opposite. When Orville was still in his formative vampiric years, he would hear the word ‘monster’ screamed in the streets as he swooped down into a dark alley, chasing a helpless woman and feasting on her blood. Orville became hungry thinking about it and took another sip. Orville heard an indistinguishable grunt: Breanna the Biter. She came staggering over to their booth, and wedged herself in next to Orville without hesitation. “What’s up, boys?” she gurgled excitedly, her voice raspy and disgusting as ever. Orville cleared his throat, an action only done around Breanna in an attempt to inadvertently get her to do the same. As brain-dead as any other of her kind, she did not pick up. She dipped her finger into her pink brain smoothie and swirled it around, then sucked her finger clean once she had pulled it out. Orville nearly gagged. Zombies are disgusting creatures , he thought. Cautiously drifting over came Howard, but everyone that knew him called him Ghostie. Ghostie was the most tolerable of the group in Orville’s opinion, but everyone else seemed to dislike him. Ghostie drifted into his seat and smiled at everyone. Breanna stared at him. “Ghostie?” she grunted. “Yeah?” he asked meekly, expecting a round of insults to be flung his way. “Why are you drinking a hot chocolate with whipped cream?”

Ghostie looked at Breanna fearfully. “Well… it’s technically an order of hot chocolate with extra whipped cream… and I ordered it because it’s on theme!” he said, raising his voice slightly in the final part of his sentence, hoping to shift some heat to other people at the table. “My hot chocolate is orange! It’s Fall themed!”

“My smoothie is cinnamon flavored,” Breanna told him with a mucousy throat. “I prefer original, though.” “Magma is spicy, like cinnamon,” Herk chimed in intelligently. “Orville’s drink is 0% Autumn themed, look at him!” Breanna gestured to Orville. “He gets the same drink every time!” “Who cares about ‘theme’, seasons happen every year. Nothing to get excited about,” Orville griped. “And besides, it’s not the same drink every time. I ordered a mystery flavor today. I live life on the edge, okay?” Everyone groaned as he said it, and Orville only smiled, having predicted such a reaction. “Anyway, it’s not like I would have expected your kind to be able to tell the difference between blood types,” Orville told Breanna. “Woah, woah!” she called, slamming her drink down on the table. “I know you didn't just say ‘you people’ to me!” “You’re right, actually. Technically, I didn't,” Orville said flatly.

“Just because I’m not some pompous blood connoisseur like you,” Breanna began. “It doesn't mean I’m dumb or stupid!”

“No, it doesn't,” Orville said. “But if you can spell either ‘pompous’ or ‘connoisseur’, I’ll stop talking.” “Ghostie, how’s the people problem?” Breanna asked with the sound of phlegm still in her throat, turning her attention to the meek transparent figure. “Nice subject change…” Orville mumbled slyly. “Not good,” Ghostie moaned. “They’re so scary! And they keep coming into my house! I’ve been living there for decades, and people keep bursting through the front door to invade my personal space! I will go downstairs, rattle picture frames, slam window shutters and knock on walls, and they’ll run away. And for one, tranquil night… I’ll feel powerful. But then, the next night, they’ll come back with their friends, as if it’s some sick game to break into a man’s house! The humans have laws against this kind of stuff, and yet no one ever stops them! No no, not when it has to do with lame old Ghostie!”

“I’m sorry babe,” Breanna growled mindlessly while taking another sip of her brain smoothie. Orville watched as Ghostie became flustered and stumbled over his words. No one ever called him babe. The saddest part, however, was that Breanna didn't even do it intentionally. She called everyone flirty names, she was just too full of herself to care. “Look what you’re doing to the poor boy,” Orville scolded. “You can’t go around calling people ‘babe’, you’re sending mixed signals.” “And you can't go around telling people what to do!” Breanna accused. “Just because you’re the oldest, doesn't mean you are the wisest.” “I’m actually a few millennia older than Orv-” Herk started to say, before he was cut off.

 “You’re so high and mighty, Bre, just because they made a bunch of stupid movies about you. You’re a fad, and just like your melty, decomposing body, it’s dying fast.” “I would rather die with dignity than die as a teenage girl’s fantasy,” Breanna insulted, punctuating her statement with a sip of her drink. Orville, known for rarely losing his temper, banged the table with a fist. “I had no part in that!” Orville shouted, but it was too late. The whole table was giggling. “Shut up, all of you!” Orville demanded. To protect his ego, Orville began demeaning his table-mates. “Bre! You and I both need humans to live, but you’re so self-centered you can't even be bothered to respect them! Ghostie! People are supposed to be afraid of you, but you’re afraid of them! And Herk! I don't even know what type of creature you are! No one cares about you!”

The booth was silent after that. Orville stared blankly into his cup of blood, rethinking what he had done.

“Hey,” someone began to say, but Orville interjected. “I’m sorry, guys. I overstepped the line there. I don't get mad a lot, but I just… I just really hate those teen vampires. I took it out on you, I’m sorry.” “That’s nice and all,” Breanna said, a smile sneaking onto her lips. “We were just gonna say that we each get one free insult to throw at you now.” Orville fidgeted uncomfortably, disliking the idea. “Fine,” he said, finally caving.

“Orville! You claim to be this invulnerable being, but you die if someone pokes you in the heart with a toothpick!” Breanna cheered in her raspy voice. “Orville!” Herk chimed in. “You have control issue,” Herk said firmly. “Orville!” Ghostie said, laughing as he did. “Is this insult redeemable at any time?” “Yeah, sure,” Breanna told him. “I’m gonna save it,” Ghostie said with a friendly grin.

“Oh, shoot. You know what, guys?” Breanna announced, looking at her watch. “I’ve actually gotta go. Super famous zombie business and stuff.” “Yeah, yeah, of course. We all believe you,” Orville remarked. “I have to go, too. It’s nighttime in the Earthworld, and I’m really hankering for some O- tonight.” “I have planet to destroy,” Herk said solemnly. Everyone laughed, unsure if he was joking or not.

“I have to go stop some idiots from breaking into my house!” Ghostie squeaked. “Well, this has been as entertaining as ever,” Orville said to the group. “I’ll see you guys next week?”

Everyone nodded their agreement and waltzed to the trash can to discard their variously sized cups and exited the coffee shop, the cool, crisp Autumn air hitting them. “God, I hate the smell of Autumn,” Breanna complained. “Because rotting corpses smell so much better,” Orville jived. They all exchanged hugs, said their goodbyes, and parted ways. Orville couldn't wait until they next saw each other.


The star assigned to Naija at birth wasn’t a particularly special star. It wasn’t one of the brightest, or attached to a fancy constellation. Her life would’ve been so much easier if she had an in with the Orion or Andromeda crowds, of course. But still, she couldn’t help but love the distant dim light of Hypellaen, the star that granted her a gentle spirit and positive attitude. She did feel lucky she had a star she could see all year, and every night she made sure to take time to look out her window and thank that sweet, faint light as it cycled across the sky. The year she turned 25, everything changed. She’d had a fun night, dinner at her favourite restaurant, and then drinks with her friends at their usual pub. Nothing fancy, but she wasn’t a fancy person. She was everything her star made her: kind, compassionate, caring, always willing to help another person out. Maybe a bit of a pushover, but she’d rather make everyone happy, and that was usually the best way. How could she be anything but grateful, as she tipped her head up to say good night to the star that had blessed her for so many years. As she looked up at Hypellaen, reciting her familiar manta of thanks, the star… brightened. It brightened so much it made the nearby Polaris look dim. She could almost feel the golden light, the rays stroking her skin, caressing her hair. It was only after several minutes, when she got out her phone, that she realized her face was wet with tears. She didn’t want to go inside, but she had to know, were other people seeing this? Opening her news app, she saw the top headline had already been updated. As she watched, another article popped up, discussing what may have happened to create such a bright flash. The forum she was on for her star-group was already popping, a new post every minute with pictures of Hypellaen for people not fortunate enough to see the beautiful phenomenon. “That’ll teach those Polaris pricks!” someone posted in reply to an amateur telescope photo of the gleaming golden light. Naija frowned and flagged the comment. You could always tell when someone was visiting from another section of the forum. No Hypellaen-lit talked like that. Sure, the Polaris-lit were proud of themselves, but they did have a lot going for them. You could hardly fault them. She skimmed the news article about nova events, explaining how sometimes stars expelled hydrogen and other molecules to create gaseous clouds in space, but she quickly closed it. She didn’t care how it happened. It happened. It happened while she was watching, on her birthday; it happened for her. She dragged her armchair to the balcony, and wrapped herself up in a thin blanket, determined to follow the star until it was blocked from view. — Naija woke slowly, a crick in her neck. She shivered, but the cool air woke her quickly. She wasn’t sure when she fell asleep, but she’d stayed up for hours, moving her chair to follow the Hypellaen’s path. Part of why she’d rented this place was the excellent view it had of the path Hypellaen was on, especially in the spring months. She stretched, still feeling the glow of her star, like her pores had soaked in the warm light. For the next few months, she spent most days like this, unable to become jaded to the glow. She also had new status at work, and was a bit uncomfortable with the extra attention. It was nice to be recognized, but she didn’t like feeling like everyone was staring at her. Her co-worker Ryan, a Regulus-lit who was on the fast track with the Leo clan, made a few comments about enjoying the (subtext: undeserved) perks before the glow faded, but she was used to his comments. And nothing could pop the bubble of her joy, knowing the she saw and was seen . Of course, the bright glow was temporary. As summer dragged on, astronomers reported the expected dimming had begun. It was hard to tell, since it was gradual, but she couldn’t help being a bit relieved. She had felt the grace of Hypellaen, and she could’ve lived in that moment forever, but the expectations of those around her were a bit exhausting. It kept dimming, and on her next birthday, and her next, it continued, and eventually returned to its normal state. But then it continued to darken. Naija had resolutely ignored the doom-singers, the astronomers who had claimed it was possible this was not a nova but a supernova. The death of a star. The odds were against it, after all. Stars lived to like a billion of years old, and she was supposed to believe this one happened to snuff out the moment she looked at it? But Hypellaen continued to dim, and the chair she’d returned to the living room was dragged out once more. She knew it was silly, but she felt like if she paid attention, it couldn’t possibly disappear. She just had to keep looking. Her girlfriend, Myra, tried pulling her away from her vigil. She’d met Myra during those first few months, when everything had been so bright. It was serious, really serious, but it was hard to humour Myra with date nights, or staying over at her place. There were too many trees around her window, and it was hard to get an eye-line to Naija’s star. It made her feel like a traitor. No amount of Myra’s chastising or astronomer’s preaching was enough to convince her. Until, one day, she could no longer convince herself she could see Hypellaen all. A long time ago, she’d looked into becoming one of the astrogenetists that could determine a person’s assigned star. It was a complicated mix of math and biology, and the massive amount of formulae to memorize had intimidated her. Hypellaen-lit weren’t great with numbers. But knowing how complicated and precise the field was made this whole incident seem all the more ludicrous. How could one of these astrogenetists who were so educated, so knowledgeable, assign someone a dying star? Maybe this was a different step of the process of making a galaxy? Maybe there was dark matter in the way? She didn’t know what dark matter was, but apparently there was a lot of it, so surely it must block the view sometimes. Right? Naija fell down a rabbit hole of conspiracy theories, potential scientific explanations, and just plain nonsense as she desperately searched for any answer that lead back to the conclusion that Hypellaen was still there. She couldn’t… not have a star. Everyone had a star. Her search for answers was complicated by the fact that everyone around her had also become, for no apparent reason, quite difficult to deal with. Her energy was drained by the people in her life, who seemed to expect they could just do what they wanted and she would go along with it. Ryan had long been promoted, but his replacement, another from the Leo clan, was driving her to distraction with his smug attitude. Finally, she had enough, and snapped at him the fortieth time he tried to shove his work onto her, expecting that she would just do it and be happy to help. Did he think she was his personal assistant? She had her own work to do. He looked shocked, but learned fast enough to drop that habit. Myra was also frustrating her. Why did they always eat what Myra liked? Why did they always go to the movies Myra wanted to see? Naija couldn’t remember the last time they’d done something just for her. When she vetoed Myra’s movie choice, and asked to see something else, Myra looked even more surprised than her coworker had. She and Myra broke up a few weeks later, both confused about why they had been dating so long in the first place. Naija knew she should feel bad, and she did, a little. But she didn’t know how she had never noticed what a bully Myra was, completely incapable of compromise. Naija was laughing at a particularly sarcastic reply to a Polaris-lit, when she suddenly remembered that comment she’d flagged a few years ago, and her thought at the time. No Hypellaen-lit talked like that . But paging through the forum now, she could see a lot of them did now. She did. Not everyone did, but there were many different voices in the forum now. It used to be a calm place, a little online sanctuary she retreated to. Now it was filled with a multitude of voices a multitude of opinions. It was still a community she treasured, but it wasn’t the place of serenity it had been. She had been avoiding any article or forum post that discussed Hypellaen like it was dead. They seemed rude and dismissive, talking about a tearing of the soul in scientific terms. But what if it really was gone? What if she saw Hypellaen’s last gasp before it exploded and curled away into a black hole or whatever? Did that mean she had no star? Everyone had a star. First, she learned if Hypellean had gone supernova, it wasn’t a black hole, it was a white dwarf. Because of the reduced size, it would be very hard to see from earth. As of yet they couldn’t tell for sure if this had happened, due to debris in the system, but soon they would confirm. No one credible seemed debating the issue, and discussed Hypellaen as a white dwarf as fact. Because Hypellaen was now so small and dim, the light from it no longer reached Earth in any meaningful way. Of course there were billions and trillions of stars, but they don’t all influence people; only the ones whose rays are strong enough to be easily visible with the naked eye. So without the light, the energy and influence Hypellaen gave was gone.

Naija leaned back from her laptop, an emptiness in her chest. Her light, her constant companion… gone. Obliterated. She almost felt as if her heart had ceased to beat, that her star was her heart, it was her. A person could no more live without a star than without a heart, surely. At first, this thought was overwhelming. It was too much. She closed her eyes, and tried to go back to her daily life, tried to make herself fit into the edges of who she once was. But it was useless, it was like wearing skin that was too tight. Eventually she went back to her research. She had to know the truth. It seemed the last time a star had gone supernova was hundreds of years ago, but back then the study of stars was so primitive: most people considered the idea that stars could influence a person to be superstition. The articles about this event in history noted an increase in unrest over the next decade or so, but things fell back to normal. No one was ever assigned that dead star anymore, the astrogenetists didn’t even consider it. What did that mean? Did she have a new star? Did she want a new star? The thought startled her. It wasn’t just loyalty keeping her from wanting a new star. She did still love Hypellaen, the kind and gentle soul of that old star. But she thought of standing up for herself at work, and with Myra. She thought of the multitude of voices on the Hypellaen-lit forum, chaotic but also energetic. Exciting. She had something new. She had something almost no one else had. She had freedom. Naija, and all the other Hypellaen-lit, could choose who they wanted to be. Hypellaen-lit didn’t even make sense anymore, they weren’t lit. The children of Hypellaen were in the dark, but it was a wonderful, mysterious dark. Terrifying, but full of potential. They didn’t have destinies paved out in front of them. She didn’t have to be gentle, she didn’t have to accept others walking over her. She’d learned she actually hated that. She did still want to help people, and something in her warmed at that. She wanted to help people, not because she was led, constrained, to be someway by distant energy and light. It was what she wanted. It was what she wanted . She could finally be who she chose to be. That night, she again walked out to her balcony to star at the familiar patch of sky she’d watched for so many years. The darkness still looked empty, like a lacking in the universe. But she felt gratitude, so much gratitude with all her heart, for the greatest gift Hypellaen had ever given her.


I stepped off the plane into the unknown land of New Orleans. I took a deep breath of polluted air and coughed out sharply. "Big mistake," I murmured under my breath, unheard through the sound of all the suitcases rolling across the bumpy tarmac. I checked my phone. It read 10:58. The plane had landed thirty two minutes ahead of schedule. My host family was expected to arrive at 11:30 too, to pick me up and bring me to my new temporary home. I waited at the baggage claim for ten minutes watching the same bags of all sorts go around on repeat until the owners eventually picked them up off of the endless cycle. Every bag that you could imagine went around in circles, all but one, mine.

I walked up to a lady working behind a desk. Her name appeared to be Jennifer as I read from the name tag that was pinned onto her shirt. She was staring down at her computer, the keys clacking ferociously as she typed incredibly quickly, her fingers a blur. I waited for her to look up and when she didn't, I cleared my throat in the most mannerly way possible. "Ahem." "What do you want?" she pestered, gum smacking loudly in her teeth. "Em, sorry to interrupt, my luggage seems to have gotten lost. I was waiting at baggage claim but I didn't see it come around." "Name?" she sighed. "Hermione Bell" I replied. The lady's long false nails tapped against the keyboard once again.

"I don't seem to have you on our flight list. Can I see your boarding pass?" she huffed. "Yes, one moment," I started to tear out all sorts of random things from my carry on bag until I eventually found the important piece of white card. I handed it to Jennifer who ripped it out of my grip. The red light of the scanner illuminated the boarding pass as it made a deafening high pitched sound. "Mmm...'kay. So it seems here that one of your suitcases got lost in the shipping process. There was only one wasn't there?" "Yes, the other one was in my overhead storage." "Yeah, okay. It should arrive in about a week because the next plane from Los Angeles to New Orleans lands here tomorrow but it will take a while for all the bags to get sorted first. We will contact you through email for you to pick it up or you could have it shipped to your accommodation. Which would suit you better?"

"I guess the shipping would be better, please." "Alrighty, I just need you to fill in these documents and all shall be well." I don't know what world she was living in but all should certainly not be well. It's not exactly the ideal beginning to an adventure. Most of my clothes were in that suitcase, my favourite items.

By the time I had all the documents and papers filled in, it was 11:27. I was sweating from the stress of losing a suitcase and my stomach was still churning from the plane journey that was packed with turbulence. I decided to go down the escalator to meet my host family.

I saw families holding glittery 'Welcome Home' posters with eyes filled with an excited sparkle. I was looking around to spot a sign with my name written on it. I was imagining the creative posters that the artistically talented children might have made. There was hope in my eyes and a smile on my face as I scanned through the crowds of people being reunited with their loved ones. In the very back of the crowds, I spotted a tall man wearing black sunglasses and a black suit, he was holding a sign that said 'Hermione Bell' in bold block writing. My smile faded away as I walked towards him. "Hello, you must be Mr.Stoker?" "No, I am not. Mr.Stoker sadly couldn't make it today to collect you, so I have been sent, supposing you are Hermione Bell?" said the mysterious man in a robotic monotone voice. "Yes I am. So who exactly are you then?" I asked as we began to exit the building. "I am the Stoker family's chauffeur and Mr.Stoker's brother." he answers in the same tone as before. "Oh,"I reply, shocked at this fact. It was a long silent car ride in a black car with tinted windows so you couldn't see out. I was just beginning to nod off when the car came to a halt as it rolled over little gravel rocks that sounded as though they were scratching the black paint off the shiny car, but when I stepped outside, the car looked brand new. The entire family was standing outside the ghostly looking mansion. The parents were standing in the back with the three children lined up neatly in front. They were all wearing formal black clothes. The children looked as though they were having an argument until their mother bent down and whispered something in their ears and then they kept quiet. I walked towards them with my suitcase in hand, because it didn't roll successfully over the gravel,and Mrs. Stoker met me halfway. "Oh my dear Hermione, we are all so glad that you are finally here," she announced, enveloping me into a cold, bony hug. A shiver went down my spine, as though a spirit had entered my body. She continued to introduce me to her husband and children.

"This is my eldest daughter Clarice." Clarice stuck out her hand for a formal hand shake. When our hands touched, I felt a prick in the skin of my palm. I winced but thought that Clarice must have gotten a thorn stuck under her nail or something. "And this is my only son Barnabas, he is going to be in charge of the Stoker family when my husband passes," explained Mrs.Stoker with an odd glint in her eye. I nod slowly and smile at the boy who looks around ten or eleven years of age. "And last but not least is little baby, Belladonna," she says whilst picking up the creepy girl of about three. She had a full head of black hair and her eyes so dark brown that they looked like burnt charcoal. I found it unusual that none of the kids had said a word to me yet.

Mrs.Stoker handed Belladonna to Clarice who lifted her and swung her by one of her arms like an out of control bowler with a bowling ball. I avoided eye contact with Clarice to prevent her from giving me an evil eye stare. Mrs.Stoker then put a long fingered hand on my lower back and led me toward the large double door entrance to the scary building. "How old are you Hermione?" "Em… sixteen,"I hesitated because it said so, multiple times, on all the documents that they had to sign before I came. As soon as I stepped inside the home the doors locked suddenly,it looked like an invisible hand just slid all the metal locks shut. I began to tremble. This place was terrifying to say the least. There was a bear rug on the carpet with its eyes still in their sockets and a pool of blood below the mouth. "Ahh, I see you are looking at Barnabas' latest achievement. He went into the woods with Damien last week and shot it with his own gun." "Damien?" I question, trying to avoid the fact that an eleven year old shot an animal dead. "Yes, my husband. Barnabas made it for you, to make the home feel cosier, I hope you like it," answered Mrs.Stoker. "Yes, I do very much," I lie blatantly. Barnabas grinned. "I will show you up to your room now," whispered Clarice very quietly, taking my hand and dragging me up the creaky warped oak floors. We went up four flights of stairs before coming to a grey door. I was panting when we had finally reached the top. Clarice ripped off a necklace that was hanging around her neck and stuck a key that looked like a charm into an old keyhole. She wriggled the key around until a click was heard and the door opened slowly. "Welcome to your new home," she said, in a scary voice.

"Thanks," I whispered. I stepped inside the room and felt a cold breeze blow across my face and I noticed that the window was open. No I was wrong, there was no glass, it was just a hole in the stone wall, white lace curtains blowing. I turned around to look at Clarice, to notice that she had disappeared as silently as a grave. I gently closed my bedroom door behind me, wedging my backpack between the door and wall so as to prevent being locked in, like in the movies. There was a steel bed pushed up against a wall with a thick sticky liquid dripping down it. The mattress had one thin grey blanket folded on top and a flat pillow that looked as though it was as old as the building itself. There was an empty fireplace opposite the bed and that was it; that was my new bedroom for the entire summer. My mom had sent me to New Orleans to learn a bit of independence and to get a job and to become self-sufficient.  but personally I didn't think it was a good idea and I guess I was right. I took my cell phone out of my pocket, 14:43. The time was flying by today. I dumped my suitcase on the floor and threw my backpack on top of it whilst holding the door open. I then walked down the stairs, I kept imagining screaming faces in the small pane of glass in each of the doors that I walked past but just presumed that it was my tired eyes playing tricks on me. I walked all the way down the flights of stairs back to the entrance where I first came in. I walked as quietly as I could but there was a loud squeak each time I placed my foot on a stair. I could see light and hear voices talking coming from a room off the main entrance. I skipped towards it. “July 16th 4pm, it will be done,” said Mrs.Stoker’s voice. “No, it will be much too soon, the people will get suspicious,” replied an unfamiliar voice. “Not if they never find out,”giggled Mrs.Stoker wildly. Today was July 16th, something secretive was going to occur very soon. I knocked lightly on the wooden door and stepped inside the warmly lit kitchen. "Hello." "Oh hello dear, would you like some food? You must be hungry after your long trip," said Mrs.Stoker. The anonymous voice was matched with the body of Mr.Stoker. "Yes please,"I reply politely. She took out a large pot out of the oven with her bare hands and began to ladle out a chunky looking stew into a cracked bowl before handing it to me. "There you go love,"said Mrs.Stoker "You can eat at the dining room table," she said, pointing to a dark green picnic bench in the corner of the large airy kitchen that I hadn't noticed before. "Thank you,"I said gratefully as Mr.Stoker gave me an ivory spoon. I walked over to the bench and placed my meal on the table while I swung my legs in under the seat and ate the chunky mush and gagged before managing to swallow a spoon full and said I was full even though I was so hungry I could eat a horse. I left my bowl on the table. "Where are the children?"I asked, wanting to become acquainted with them properly. "They are probably in the play room," Mr.Stoker replies without looking at me and pointing at a room straight through the kitchen entrance. I walked out and crept towards that room. Belladonna came crawling towards me on all fours frowning in a way that I have never seen a toddler frown. I picked her up and bounced her up in my arms, I noticed Clarice and Barnabas doing something that looked very strange indeed.

"Clarice!"I yelped. "What?" she asked dully. "Stop doing whatever on earth you're doing to Barnabas!"I demand. "We're just playing, it's no big deal," replied Barnabas as he took his head out of the miniature guillotine. I ran up to my room, two stairs at a time, after I left Belladonna on the bear rug. I grabbed my phone and punched in a number. "Hello, how can I help?" asked the robotic voice,"If you would like to order a cab please press one." I stabbed in the number one very harshly. "Where would you like the cab to be sent to? Would you like to put it in manually or would you like me to send it to your current location?" "Current location," I reply in an intense voice. "A cab will arrive in approximately twenty minutes." I sighed a breath of relief. I can't stand this creepy place any longer! It was currently 15:35 I screamed a little inside. Something bad was going to happen in twenty five minutes. If the cab came in time I could make it out safely. I started throwing all the little items that I had taken out of my small bag and began to put them back in. I sat on the edge of my bag waiting for the time to slowly tick past. I had my bag on my back and my suitcase in hand. The second the minute turned to 15:55 I ran down the stairs and crept along the ground floor slowly so as to not make much noise so nobody would notice my disappearing act until when I was already on a flight home. I tried to unlatch all the locks silently and it was on the last lock that I heard a voice behind me. "Where do you think you're going?" screeched Mrs.Stoker in a horrible voice. I slowly turned around on my heel, a look of terror on my face. "Em..I was just...em...getting a breath of air..." "With your bags?" "Yes...um...I-" "You what, dear?" she said, coming closer, her breath on mine. I gently managed to get the door open and I made a run for it. I could hear multiple pairs of feet chasing after me, snapping twigs and crunching leaves on the autumnal ground. A yellow cab pulled up in the driveway. I jumped in.

"Go! Step on the gas!" I panted, out of air, my lungs felt as though they were burning. Roughly, five minutes later when I was able to breathe normally again I realised something.

"Hi, sorry, I never actually told you where to go, where are you taking me?..."I questioned, fear creeping up on me again. The cab driver didn't say anything. I took out my phone to pretend to do something when I saw a text from three minutes ago. Your cab has arrived to pick you up, please come outside. I started to freak out… "Who are you?" I asked, breaking out in a cold sweat. The driver didn't reply. "Can you let me out?" I ask. Still no answer. I grab at the door handles when I hear a click. He locked them. "Let me out!" I scream. The driver eventually turned around and I couldn't believe it when I saw...


Shielding his glazed and fatigued eyes from the glare that spilled through the cracks in the sinuous, sanguine, velvet curtains, he gently arose from her bed, tenderly planting the soles of his naked feet on the icy marble floor of her apartment. With a feline tread he swiftly crept around the unfamiliar apartment, dancing his calloused hands over the countertops and stylish wooden stools, taking a moment to appreciate every subtle change in texture. Acknowledging his strangely pleasant mood, despite the drone of a dreadful headache and a parched mouth serving as echoes of the previous night, he couldn't help but strike a brash grin, and ambled again back towards the master bedroom after realising the pointless exercise in his endeavors of exploration. Blissfully ignorant, she remained cocooned in the vast, stained, white duvet, mumbling innocently in her sleep, and as he began to slowly dress he regretfully came to the disappointing realisation that this was yet another trophy he would not be able to proudly display. However, this was just a passing thought that had developed no resonance, it had become far too routine, and his mind turned towards executing a swift act of disappearance. Grabbing his exorbitantly priced branded silk shirt and stumbling into the Levi's that had both been crudely sprawled across the floor, he drifted towards the en-suite, and soon let out a sigh of relief as he watched the waterfall of fluid glisten off the clean walls of the ceramic bowl and tumble elegantly into the sterile, translucent lake below. Whilst reaching towards his fly he turned to his left, blushed and smirked in pathetic admiration as he gazed into the mirror hanging equitably on her bathroom wall in order to fashion his receding hair before he departed; the man who stared back at him was the consummate portrait of a bachelor...


'Here I am' I think to myself. Heaven. I stood outside the pearly gates. It took nearly 80 years to get here, and here I finally am. My life as a believer has finally paid off. I look down to see that I am draped in a white robe, similar to that of a hospital patient. My thoughts were quickly silenced as the gates loosely swung open. Like a hinge has broken. Beyond the gate is nothing but white behind it. I stepped through it. I found myself in a complex of white and gold buildings, like a suburb. The houses are all single floored and have a garden space in the front and back. I think to myself how perfect this is. I suddenly realise something. There are no people here. To confirm my suspicions, I look in all the houses on the street. Nothing. In the corner, I notice a map held onto place on the wooden board by some pins. The houses are towards the south of the map, all in neat rows. Towards the North is a building shown by an arrow pointing towards it. The arrow reads 'House of God'. I instantly start the walk North towards this place. Who wouldn't want to meet their creator? The house is about 30 minutes away, and I finally arrive there. The first thing I notice is how closely it resembles a chapel, but on a large scale. I look up to see the bell hanging in place by a rope. My eyes follow down the structure and I see people. Hundreds upon thousands of people. They all scream something at the building, but I can't quite make it out. I notice that more and more people are walking towards the building, all screaming different things, but hinting at the same thing... "KILL US!" "I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS!" "TWO THOUSAND YEARS OF THE SAME THING! END IT!" Shocked, I realise what has happened. These people have been here for a long time. All trying to move on. But are instead trapped with nothing to live for. Leaning against a house is an old man, his beard growing down to his knees and his face stained with tears. I walk over to him and ask "What is happening?" He turns his head to me and mutters "God has died. They are here. We can't die, we have to wait..." His bony hand extends to his right. The opposite direction in which I came. Legions of creatures wait behind an invisible barrier, battering at them. Flying above them all is an 18 foot tall monster. It's four wings span 8 feet wide and its flesh badly burned. It's four faces look deviously at each and every person in the vicinity. As its eyes trace over me, I freeze. The blood in my veins feel as if it has turned to dust. I lose all power in my body until it looks away. That's when I know what this creature is. Satan, Lucifer, the Devil. A crack forms on the invisible barrier. After hundreds of thousands of years the Devil has finally made its way into Heaven. We have lost. I send this to Earth in an effort to warn you. There is no hope. Only the pain and suffering which I am soon to face. I can only ask one thing of you all. Don't die.


Bah! My phone is dead, and this car is packed; well, more than usual anyway. There are only three seats left, and one is covered in trash and the other one’s gotta briefcase on it. I hate trash. And hate briefcases even more. The one next to the old lady doesn’t seem too terrible. I guess I’ll get by if I pop my headphones in, even with my dead battery. Can’t have grandma there thinking it’s ok to talk to me or something. “This is the train to Weaverville. Stopping at Roosevelt, Ringlwald, Forestgate, Greenville …” Typical, itchy cloth seat. When will they get with the times and make the upgrade to sterile plastic coverings? Seriously, it’s disgusting. And it turns out grandma smells like a grandma, has already passed out for a train nap, and is starting to snore. I wish my headphones were playing something for real. At least I’m out of school for the day. My third week of missing 4 th period gym class and no one has yet to notice. Or at least not notified my parents about it. Not like they’d care much anyway. They pay too much for me to go to school; so much that I’ll never really get into trouble for much. Plus, my grades are not half bad. Could be better, but again, school’s no big deal. Not to me anyway. “This is Roosevelt Station. ” Bah, someone is eating dead rats, I’m sure of it because I can smell it. I mean, I’m sure it’s leftover Chinese food or leftover something, but it smells like dead something. Doesn’t everyone know not to eat crappy food in a train car? We all suffer. I can’t see who it is because the car is full; could be anyone really. Aside from sleeping grandma here and the dude across the aisle from me. He’s too busy chatting away on his phone, another train car faux pas if you ask me. All this would be fine, or at least tolerable, if my phone was alright and functioning. But seriously, snoring grannie, dead rat leftovers and loud phone talker here are too much for me to take. It’s why I need to get out of school, and out of the city in the first place. It’s all too much for me. The place I’m heading now is this cool spot I heard about from my buddy who gets out of the city on weekends with his dad to camp. Unlike the rest of us restricted city kids, he has actually experienced time in the real outdoors, and gets to almost every weekend. The only thing the rest of us ever do is herd in masses for 4+ hour car-rides every Friday to the coast. It’s all the same people, and all the same dramas, but our parents love it and consider it vacation – justified solely because we’re beachside. Kills me really. But like I said, my buddy goes to this spot instead, and had told me it was awesome. So, two weeks ago, when I knew 4 th period gym class was going to be more useless weight lifting and whatnot, I decided to ditch it and check out the spot instead. It’s about a two-hour train journey from the city, but who cares? And even if the train ride is long, doesn’t matter. It’s worth it. The spot rocks. And that’s why I’m heading there again. If it were up to me, I’d stay there and never come back. “This is Ringwald Station .” Oh God please just let everyone get off now, or at least the big offenders... Leftover dude? Phone guy? No? Bah, seriously!? Can’t I just get a break? “Stand clear of the closing doors.” Whatever. At least grandma’s not bothered, but her snoring is still bothering me. The Travel India Now ad behind her head looks enticing. I’ve heard a lot about India from an exchange student in my history class, Vasavi or something. She’s always going on and on about India, the people and the land and all.  She makes it sound really busy, like a lot of people everywhere all the time, but she also talks about the land like it’s got its own soul, or something zany like that. She did this report and went on and on about this special Buddhist temple or something, and how when she went there, she could feel peaceful energy coming from the Earth. But when she’s here, she feels like that energy is trapped underneath the concrete – and all that energy is apparently too much for trapping – so we all feel it in our souls instead and run around like crazy rats all day. I find this fascinatingly ridiculous, but she would talk about it with such confidence, like it was gravity or the Earth being round or something factual like that. “This is Forestgate Station. ” Grandma’s not budging. Maybe I should wake her up. I hope she’s not getting off at my stop. I bet she would just want to talk, or worse, have me join her to keep her from being lonely. She looks lonely. Well, really, she looks tired. But I wonder if she has anyone in her life aside from fellow train-riders like me. And that dude is still yelling into his phone. I wonder if he works for my mom’s firm. He’s yelling into the phone like she does. I wonder what will happen when mom and dad find out that I’ve been bunking gym for the great outdoors? I bet they won’t understand. Who am I kidding? I know they won’t understand. They’re already pissed about me not caring about grades, or the city, or for not being overjoyed like they are for our fake weekend getaways. They’re pricy and all, and flashy and all that, but to me it’s no different from everyday life. So, what makes it a getaway? At least on this train I’m heading somewhere different. “This is Greenville Station ”. Bah, yes! Phone dude is getting up! Thank you thank you, and see you, eh, never again. And… Oh wow, hi there, pretty lady, who’s been sitting quietly this whole time, overshadowed by loud phone guy. What’s a pretty girl like you doing on a train mid-day, mid-week? Oh, you could say the same to me, you say? Well, wouldn’t you like to know? In fact, would you like to know? Would you like to come with me, to my most favorite place that I just discovered only 2 weeks ago? It’s our state’s biggest secret, and I’d be happy to show you if… “This is Westerville Station. ” Bah, this is your stop. Alright then. Had you traveled just a bit further, I might have gathered enough courage to actually talk to you… Quick smile then? Eye contact, maybe? No? Alright then, your loss. And honestly, you’re probably too old for me, anyway. But then again, I’m a mature guy. 14 going on 40 my cool gramps says. He thinks I’m wise, despite my grades and my parents’ opinions. He’s the only one that gets me. It’s ok though, because I’m the only one who gets him. And anyway, my stop is next. Thank god, as the dead-rat-smell-grandma-snore combo is really getting to me. I wonder if I should let grandma here know, in case she has to get off and all. “This is Rockwall Station. ” Sweet freedom, thank you Jesus. Smelly food guy is getting up too. Well, doesn’t matter now, now does it? At least grandma won’t suffer any more. I wonder if she smells while she snores. “Stand clear of the closing doors.” Bah, alright, alright, tricky train doors, I’m out already. This is such a second-rate station. No wonder stinky food man lives in this junky town. I wonder if he even knows what’s beyond those walls like I do. There’s an official entrance to this state park, but you need a car to get there. So, I asked my buddy about it, and he told me if I get off at this station, I can just jump the wall on the other side of the parking lot, and I’ve got a free ticket to the world. That’s what he said, a free ticket to the world. And he’s right, to me anyway. The first time I took the trail up I knew what he meant. It’s like you can see all of Earth from the top. I tried telling my dad once that downtown in the city is weird because it’s so vertical. “You can’t see the sky, ever.” I told him. He told me to look up but I said it’s not the same, because when I look up, I only get a rectangle cutout of the sky. But when I get to the top of the hike here, I feel like I’m standing in the center of a snow-globe, but like with no snow. So much horizon; I never knew it existed. Well, I’d notice it sometimes out on the shore, but here I’m on top of the world. So close to the atmosphere. The ocean is alright too I guess, but this is different. Better, I think. Out here I can listen. I really can, because it’s quiet enough to hear things. I mean, right now I can still hear the crappy traffic and trains from town and such, but this far out its all muffled, like background noise to my tramping feet. And soon the bugs and bees buzzing will be even louder than phone guy, believe it or not. I never listen in the city. There is just too much sound all the time, too much of everything all the time really, so what’s there to hear? My parents freak out about nature. They worry about getting dirty and getting lost and bears and bugs and whatnot. But when I ask about scary stuff in the city like murderers or terrorist attacks or stress killing your heart from working too much, they don’t seem troubled by these things at all. Now here’s where the hike gets intense. Like, really intense. It’s almost a vertical climb. I can’t hear nature as much as I hear my own huffing and struggling. I thought I was in pretty good shape until I came out here. Maybe I should start skipping math instead of gym. I could train my legs and one day run up this mountain. But not today. It’s alright though. The feeling I have when I get to the top is worth any challenge. Even smelly dead rat food… Oh man, here it is. So ridiculous that such a perfect place exists. Third time up and the view still gets me. Probably will forever. It only takes me about a half hour to hike up here, but today I’m going to stay long. Maybe forever. It’s not a cloudy day, and for the first time I can see it all. I thought I had before. But I was wrong. Today’s the day. There’s not too much shade up here, but there’s one spot I found where a few trees are starting to grow back leaves, and last week I saw – yep, here they are – blackberries starting to grow. And they are here today, blooming I bet to celebrate my city jailbreak. My dad was telling me at dinner once, how he was helping with some research work over at the big deal university and all. He said they were isolating some compound in blackberries that might help with Alzheimer’s in mice or whatever. I asked him, “Why do they have to isolate anything? Isn’t the whole blackberry important?” He sneered and told me, “Son, you would know this if you paid attention in school. The scientific method is imperative to…”. Blah blah blah. I know all about the method, but still, it’s a joke. As if you could ever control enough of everything else to create true isolation. My dad would think this was isolation, being up here all by myself. But I disagree, as I always do with him. I don’t even know how we are related. And in any case, it’s not being here by myself that feels isolating. It’s in the city where I feel so alone. With all the noise, I can’t listen. With all the lights, I can’t see. And in the city, even with all the people, I can’t connect. At all. Isolation. Bah! If there’s anywhere to be isolated, it’s in the city. A whole blackberry is the only thing that makes sense to me. Being here, on top of the whole world, is the only thing that makes sense to me. I wonder what the girl from the train would think of this place? I wonder what Vasavi would think of this place? I don’t even know if I have a soul or whatever, but if she is right about her crazy, “the land has soul” theory, then I would guess this place is pulsing for sure.


Detective Tina Monroe saw the rose sitting on the dead woman’s chest. The musky scent of the killer’s cologne fermented the air. It seemed morbid, but Tina admired how the killer painted the prostitute’s body with her own blood. The delicate rose that he laid between her bare boobs was the finishing touch. Tina could tell that the killer used a switchblade to carve into the prostitute’s torso. They were clean and precise incisions. “So what are we looking at?” Police Chief Danny White asked Tina. He kneeled over the dead woman with a lit cigarette penetrating his lips. “We’re looking at a dead prostitute. I just found out that me and her share the same name,” Tina stated. She turned her head, glancing down at her police chief, causing her silver earrings to dangle against her neck.

“Whoever this guy is, he loves roses.” The police chief chuckled. He examined the prostitute’s body before slowly rising back to his feet. The big man stroked his silver goatee before placing his hard, Arctic steel eyes on Tina. The chief could see suppressed anxiety on Tina’s pale and delicately pretty face. He knew her thoughts since this was the third woman she discovered that shared her name. Tina tried to hide her fear. She fixed her lips to say something, but her superior interrupted with his words of comfort. “Don’t worry, darling. I know this is unnerving, but it probably means nothing,” Chief Danny’s rugged voice had an unsuspecting essence of tranquility.

“How can it mean nothing?” Tina took a deep breath behind her question while placing her hands on her hips. Her hand accidentally bumped into her gun holster, which remained locked around her curvaceous waistline. “This is the third woman we’ve found, slaughtered. And she shares my name just like the other two women. Someone is trying to send a message. They’re killing women who share my name so they can torture me first,” Tina stated her theory. She felt concerned for the safety of her husband and her 4-year-old son. Tracking down a killer was bad enough. What do you do if a killer is tracking you? Tina asked herself that question. It was a question she tried to avoid. Chief Danny shook his head while releasing a rumbling sigh. “Don’t worry. We’re going to find the killer and my men will protect you and your family.” Chief Danny wanted to be a comfort to Tina.

Tina’s mind would not find peace until she captured the killer. She needed to see him in a prison jumpsuit wearing wrist and ankle chains. This would put her mind at ease. Tina shifted through her thoughts, trying to figure out if she pissed off anyone during her years as a cop. She even thought about her past flames. Tina only had a few ex-boyfriends, but that didn’t stop her from wondering if any of them wanted her dead. These mysterious deaths of the women who shared Tina’s name began when Tina reluctantly indulged her mother in a seance.

A seance is an attempt to communicate with the dead. Tina and her mother, Nora, found a ouija board app on Google Play. Tina’s mother downloaded it. A few nights ago, she talked Tina into joining her in a seance and using the digital ouija board to see if they could communicate with a dead loved one. The dead loved one was Tina’s dad. Tina got drunk and wild with her mom that night. The mother and daughter lit up the night like two drunken party girls.

Tina and her mom didn’t see the danger in playing with a ouija board app. They just played with the Devil’s toy while sharing a bottle of Crown Royal. Tina missed her father, Peter. He died when she was 21 years old. Her last memory of him involved holding his hand during his last hours in the hospital. To stop herself from crying about her father’s death, Tina thought about the happier moments she shared with her father. She thought about when he taught her how to drive, and how he kept making her laugh by doing an impersonation of Tony Montana from the gangster movie Scarface , which was Tina’s favorite film.

Every memory of her father seemed vivid. Tina would always see herself at the local fair, sitting on her father’s shoulders again, holding a pillow of cotton candy on a stick. Tina felt like her 6-year-old self, coasting her fingers through her dad’s thin snow-white hair. She could see the ends of her long white spring dress cascading over her father’s broad shoulders. The smell of popcorn and hotdogs serenaded the air.

Tina never lost the memories of going to the local fair with her dad. Those memories were never distant. They helped Tina forget about her father’s sickness and his death. Would an unhappy daughter engage her mother in a seance so that she could bring back her father? Would she get drunk with her mother to hide her depression? In Tina’s case, yes.

Tina thought her mother’s ouija board app would help her reconnect with her father, but what she got was a series of murders. A killer was sending Tina a message by murdering prostitutes who shared her name. A game of death haunted Tina, and she didn’t know how the game would end.

*** Tina laid in the bed beside her husband. Tossing and turning for hours made Tina long for the sunrise so she could escape her restlessness. She turned over on her husband, putting her delicate fingers through his dreadlocks. Tina wanted to kiss her husband, but she didn’t want to wake him.

She decided to kiss him. While kissing her husband, Jamal, she tried to figure out a way to cure her insomnia. Tina knew that kissing on her husband’s lips and waking him up wouldn’t help her sleep, but it felt good at the moment. Jamal groaned and smiled a little when he felt his wife’s lips tickle his face. He knew his wife couldn’t sleep again. This was her pattern. After 6 years of marriage, Jamal became accustomed to his wife’s make love if you can’t go to sleep strategy. Jamal also knew that his wife loved touching him in bed. “I’m sorry, baby. I know you were sleeping,” Tina whispered guiltily with her lips lingering over her husband’s bearded face.

“It’s okay, Sugar Plum. I know you’re having a hard time sleeping,” Jamal whispered up to his wife. He lifted his large and sturdy hand, casting a soft touch against Tina’s face. His smile morphed into a full-blown grin when Tina kissed the palm of his hand.

Tina loved it when her husband would call her Sugar Plum . She knew Jamal could sense her troubled spirit.

Lovemaking wouldn’t completely eradicate Tina’s anxiety. With her lips locked to her husband’s handsome face, she eased her way on top of him, sliding her fingers down his bare muscular chest. Tina loved how the heavenly moonlight coming through the bedroom window revealed the tattoo of a Siberian tiger’s maw on her husband’s chest. She also loved how the moonlight accentuated her husband’s flawless Nubian black skin.

Tina straddled her husband. She leaned down to give him a more sumptuous kiss while resting her prominent cleavage on his tattooed chest. Her ocean-blue satin negligee draped over her husband’s tall body. Tina was on an island of ecstasy, spreading her thighs farther apart and allowing her husband’s manhood to bloom further within her vagina.

Nothing could go wrong now. Once Tina felt penetration, she couldn’t turn back. Maybe falling into an erotic embrace with her husband might help her sleep afterward. Tina faced some guilt for feeling like a woman who was treating her husband like a sex toy. The guilt nagged Tina, and she tried to put it on the back burner.

Tina wanted nothing to interrupt the intimate moment with her husband.

After ten long minutes of pleasure, something happened. Tina had her hand resting on her husband’s chest. Her lips melted with her husband’s kiss. When Tina’s fingers breezed across what felt like a gaping bullet hole in her husband’s chest, her lips froze. First came a gasp, then a loss of breath. Tina disconnected the kiss with her husband. Her eyes zeroed in on the hole in Jamal’s chest. There was blood on her fingertips.

“Baby, there’s a hole in your chest!” Tina released a breathless shriek. She leaped up, flicking on the bedroom light while still sitting on her husband’s abdomen.

“What’s wrong?” Jamal asked. He sat up in the bed, watching as his wife frantically rubbed her fingers across his chest. There was no bullet wound. Jamal flinched when he felt his wife’s glossy fingernails pinch the skin around his nipple. “Ouch! Baby, that hurts!” Jamal grabbed his wife’s wrist, gently taking her slender hand away from his chest.

“I’m sorry, I thought there was a—” Tina stopped herself, not wanting her husband to think that she had lost her mind. She examined her husband’s chest again with the help of the bedroom lamp’s artificial light and saw nothing but smooth skin and the edge of a tiger tattoo.

“You thought there was what?” Jamal wanted his wife to finish her sentence. He had to know what disturbed her to the point of losing her breath. “Come on, you can tell me anything. I know you’re stressed out about a few things.” Jamal caressed his wife’s cheekbone with the back of his fingers.

“You know I’m stressed out about a few things? Is it that obvious?” Tina felt embarrassed while gazing into her husband’s chestnut brown eyes. She told herself that she would never bring the problems from her job back home. “I’ve been trying to hide my troubles from you. Being a nightclub security guard is stressful enough. You don't need to have a crazy wife too.” A giggle escaped from Tina. She thought about how her husband had to deal with the stress of being an African-American man. Tina thought about how her family treated Jamal when she first introduced him as a boyfriend. Tina never forgot how her mother read an article that talked about the problems that interracial couples face. Her mother read the article off her phone right in front of her and Jamal. Tina’s mother even had the nerve to bring up Prince Harry and his wife Meghan Markle, and the troubles they faced.

Tina's mother made Jamal feel uncomfortable at the dinner table because of the exotically beautiful melanin in his skin. For the first time, Tina saw the insidiousness of racism in her family. Tina’s father was more accepting of her new boyfriend. At least that’s how Tina perceived it. “This is going to sound crazy, but I thought I felt a bullet hole in your chest,” Tina’s words eased from between her lips. She brought her full lips close to her husband’s face again. On the inside, she wanted to kick herself for telling her husband what she imagined.

“You felt a bullet hole in my chest? Goddamn, I told you not to smoke that weed. It'll make you crazy,” Jamal said jokingly, causing Tina to crack up. Tina muffled her laugh with both her hands, not wanting to wake their son in the next room. “Yeah, you’re right, baby. Your wife is one crazy bitch,” Tina whispered in her husband’s face through her laughter. She leaned forward to kiss her husband but stopped midway when she heard distant whimpering. “You hear that?” Tina pulled back while scooping her long lava red curls behind her ears.

Jamal leaned forward when he heard a child crying softly. “Is that Omar crying?”

A wave of panic followed behind Jamal’s question. He bolted out of bed and so did his wife when they both realized that it was their son crying.

“Omar! What’s a matter, sweetheart?” Tina rushed into her child’s bedroom to see the little boy curled up into a ball while sitting on the floor in a corner, away from his bedroom window. “Baby, what happened?” Tina almost lost it when she saw her child in an extremely distressed state. Omar had his blondish, curly afro buried in his little palms. He used his knees to hide his divinely adorable face, which was drenched in sweat.

The child saw someone or something. Omar woke up suddenly to see a shadowy, hooded man standing outside his window. The man waved at Omar. The child’s breath became trapped in his throat when he realized that the man had to be on the roof to peer into his bedroom window. Omar couldn’t scream. Only soft whimpering escaped his throat.

Jamal felt his heart sinking when he saw his little boy curled up in the corner of his room. The father reached down to scoop the child into his arms, but his wife beat him to the punch.

“What’s wrong, my Little Prince? You all right?” Jamal put his fingers through his son’s afro. He watched as Omar shook his head, letting his father know he was not all right. “I saw him,” Omar spoke those few words to his mother and father. The little boy buried his face into his mother’s shoulder after wrapping his bare, pint-sized arms around his mother’s neck. “You saw who, baby?” Tina asked through a half-whisper after kissing the side of her son’s face. She cradled her son’s body securely in her arms, trying to stop him from trembling. Tina looked around at her husband with an unnerved haze in her eyes. Her mind immediately directed her thoughts toward the serial killer and the three dead prostitutes. Did he find my house? Is he coming for my family? Those thoughts hijacked Tina’s mind. Tina held her son’s face against her cheek, doing her best to comfort him. When she turned around, she noticed a small wet spot soaking through her son’s bedsheet. Her anxiety went into overdrive when she discovered that something disturbed her little boy so bad that he wet his bed.

“I saw a man in a black robe standing outside my window. He waved at me,” Omar whispered into his mother’s ear after gathering himself. Soon after the child told his mom what he saw, a loud crash, followed by a thud, radiated from the master bedroom.

“Shit!” Tina surrendered to her panic. Without thinking, she ran toward the doorway, slamming her son’s bedroom door and locking it. “Tina, what’s going on?” Jamal couldn’t believe what was happening.

“He’s in the house! The killer!” Tina shouted. She needed her gun, but she always kept her gun locked away in her car. There was nothing Tina could do now. She stood beside her husband while holding her son, in shock over the fact that someone was attempting to knock down her son's bedroom door. It didn’t take long for a burly man in a black robe to knock the door off its hinges.

“Jamal!! Honey don’t! He’ll kill you!” Tina screamed at her husband when he sprung into action, defending his wife and son. Jamal tackled the robed man. He threw a few punches into the man’s torso, but the intruder remained on his feet, unmoved. Tina watched as the robed man waved his hand across her husband’s face, causing him to fall into a deep sleep. Jamal collapsed to the floor like a tall building with no foundation. “What did you do to my husband?!” Tina roared at the robed man. “Your husband will be okay,” A soothing and familiar deep voice emerged from beneath the man’s black hood.

Tina recognized the voice. “Dad?” She uttered, trying to see the man’s face.

“Your mother is the killer,” The robed man spoke again. “She killed the three women who shared your name. She also killed an innocent black man. Your mother’s racism drove her into insanity. She hated your husband so much that she shot an innocent black man to death. She wanted to murder your husband and you, but she took her murderous impulses elsewhere. It gave your mother pleasure to kill women who shared your name and to kill a black man. Your mother still loves you, so she couldn’t bring herself to kill you and your husband,” The robed man spoke gently.

Tina edged closer toward the man while still cradling her son. When she reached up attempting to remove the man’s hood, that’s when her world changed. *** Before Tina could comprehend what happened, she found herself back at the crime scene, standing over the prostitute’s body.

“So what are we looking at?” Tina heard Chief Danny’s question. She turned to see her boss kneeling over the prostitute again. Tina couldn’t speak. She wasn’t sure if she was losing her mind or if some mysterious entity was playing tricks on her. Tina looked down to see the same red rose sitting between the prostitute’s breasts. The memories of holding her son while standing in his bedroom were still fresh. She still had the memories of kissing her husband in bed. She remembered the man in the black robe breaking into her house. Was he real or was it a dream? Pieces came together when Tina pulled out her phone to see a text from her mother. The message said ( Hi Honey, I’m sorry about getting you drunk that night. I’m at your house right now, sitting at the dining room table with your beautiful husband. Jamal loves the bouquet of roses I gave him for Father’s Day. He told me that my grandbaby is upstairs sleeping. Omar looks so much like his daddy. I just wanted to let you know that I’m at your house. So hurry home, because I have a delightful surprise waiting for you .) Tina knew she had to get home immediately after reading her mother’s text. All she could think about was making it home in time so she could protect her husband and her baby. A voice inside her head told her she might not like her mother’s delightful surprise. The man in the black robe told Tina that her mother was a racist murderer. Tina had to find out the truth. She needed to know if her mother was the killer, or did the Devil play a trick on her?


The Johansson shipbreaking yards in orbit of and on the surface of Mars' smaller moon, Deimos, was a near constant flurry of activity at all times. Johansson shipbreaking was not the only facility of its type, but it was certainly the largest. The entire surface of the moon was a massive graveyard for space faring vessels of all kinds. Every ship from RMC freight haulers to UN Destroyers to CMF mobile foundries all found themselves at Deimos at the end of their life. Their first stop was in orbit, where UN observers watched as any weapon systems and the ship's interstellar drive, if installed, was carefully removed. These systems were then packed and loaded onto UN military vessels for transportation to military shipyards. Once the ship was decommissioned it became the property of the Johansson shipbreaking company and was scheduled for deconstruction. The first group of shipbreakers aboard were always bulk fluid specialists, or waterboys, as they were commonly known, their dark blue EP suits were easy to spot against the surface. Once they arrived in orbit they drained and purged all ship systems of any liquids, from the potable water in the mess halls, to the nitrogen in the fire suppression systems, to the hydrogen isotopes in the reactor. Once extracted all the fluids are shipped back down to Deimos, where it is stored and eventually resold. Times needed to hit on time bonuses for the waterboys ranged anywhere from one standard day to four standard weeks, depending on the ship's class and tonnage. Up next were general shipbreakers, who were not granted a nickname until they became a specialist. They wore standard issue fluorescent orange EP suits. They simply and quickly cut the reactor out of the ship's hull using plasma cutters and tethers. There were no on time bonuses for this task as it could be completed by a crew of four in less than six standard hours. It was generally considered a shit job that nobody wanted to do. Once removed the reactor was classified and resold to shipyards. The third group of shipbreakers were the electrical systems specialists, clad in yellow EP suits and known as narrowbacks. This group would squeeze into the space inbetween the ships hulls and under a ships grated floors and remove as much of the electrical wiring and batteries they could find in four standard weeks. This group’s bonus was not based on time, but rather by how much electrical cabling they could remove during a four week period. Each meter removed would give the group $1. The group of four could usually pull out $1000 worth of cable if they were good and working on a large enough ship. Smaller ships only had a few hundred meters of cabling, but the larger ships would have upwards of several kilometers of cable. The current record is held by Electrical Systems Specialist Shipbreaker Crew 17, who in early 2282 managed to pull $4721 worth of cable out of the UNS Mavis Grind, humanity's first ever highliner. Their picture still hangs on the wall in the crew cafeteria. After the narrowbacks finish the ship is handed off to the computer systems specialists, who walk around Deimos wearing purple EP suits, feeling better than everyone else. Nobody knows if you have to be an asshole to become a slycer, or if becoming a slycer makes you an asshole, but there is fierce debate any time a purple EP suit walks into the crew cafeteria. The team of four remove all of the ship's computer hardware, and AI systems. Their on time bonus is based on the ship's class, but is generally never more than a week long. The computers, circuit cards, AI cores and computer chips are all cataloged and sorted on the surface by general shipbreakers, who return any proprietary software and AI back to their company of manufacture as required by law. UN fines are no joke. 17 years ago Grey Star Shipbreaking in the Proxima Centauri system was fined 90% of their yearly profits for not returning a proprietary AI system. Everything not proprietary is reduced to component parts and sold back to manufacturers as raw materials, unless special orders are placed with the companies for specific parts. An unknown buyer from Yost had recently placed an order for an exceedingly rare and old AS400 micrologic controller and was willing to pay up to $37,500 for it. Computer Systems Specialist Shipbreaker Crew 199 found one aboard the TNC Clear Waters, and were paid a bonus of $1000. The next group into orbit are the engine systems specialists, wearing red and calling themselves ASE’s. Why and when they started doing this has been lost to years of telling and retelling of drunken stories. Nobody knows what it stands for anymore. The group of four carefully cut and remove the ship's engine or engines, depending on the ship's class. Once fully removed it is loaded onto a transportation ship and shuttled back to the surface, where it is classified, cataloged and put up for sale by the company. If a group of ASE’s can remove a ship's engine in one week they’ll get their on time bonus. Almost none of them do. Once everything valuable has been removed from the ship it will be tethered to the moon and then crashed into the surface, where ground crews of general shipbreakers will spend their days cutting apart what remains. For every 100kg of ship that is pulled out of the graveyard and brought to the recycling facility on the surface of Deimos a shipbreaker is paid $3.50. Once brought back to the recycling facility the final speciality class of shipbreakers, process men, will go to work. Clad in verdant green they analyze the material composition of the ship pieces, further separate metals and then smelt them down into liquid. If a process man can produce 100kg of a single liquid metal in ten standard hours they will have hit their bonus requirement. The liquid metals are then loaded into specialized containers which keep their liquid state and are sold to shipyards as is. 1kg of liquid aluminum was currently trading for $4.75. 1kg of liquid titanium could easily net the company $19.50 in profit. In total, after all expenses are accounted for, each ship brought into the Johanssen shipbreaking yards obtained for the company anywhere from $400,000- $82,000,000. Depending greatly on the prices of the metals pulled out of the graveyard and how many of the shipbreaking crews hit their bonuses. It wasn’t easy work, but the shipbreakers union had some of the highest paid workers across the entire system.


I hated that ancient pair of shoes. Supporting a wife and child meant I had to make them last. The backs had fallen apart and the metal cut into my heels with every goddamn step I took. They had been digging the same holes into my feet all week but, as I walked to my car after a long day of work, it was especially intolerable. Maybe that was why I was so short with that girl when she approached me. My eyes were on the ground as I walked through the outdoor parking lot. I couldn't wait to be home. I took solace in the fact that my wife and daughter would be asleep. I could sneak in and clean the cut on my forehead and stop the bleeding from my knuckles before they saw me. Behind me, I heard someone call out, "Hey, Mister." Knowing my city, the odds were high that anybody approaching me in a parking lot at night was about to stab me and take my wallet. I snapped to attention, swiveling my head around and balling my hands into fists. I flinched in pain as I remembered my hurt knuckles. To my relief, there was only a hooker behind me. She held her hands together and shook as if she was cold. But I knew why she was actually shaking. "No thanks," I said as I turned and started to walk back to my car. "Actually, I, uh, I was wondering if you were, you know, carrying," she said, teetering up behind me on her high heels. "No." "Oh. Well, you know, I'm really in need of a fix, Mister." "Sorry to hear that," I lied. "Well... can I at least suck your dick, Mister? I need some money." "Don't say that," I said without turning around. "Who are you, my dad?" "No, just don't say what service you're offering. If I were a cop I'd be able to arrest you. Just tell guys that you want to party." "Oh. Sorry, Sir." Her accent was gone but manners like those didn't come from the city. She still had her Southern charm. "Well, actually, mister, maybe you could give me a ride." "No." "Oh, please. It's only a few blocks. I really need a fix. Really bad." "I have to get home," I said as I spotted my car. Justa few more steps in those goddamn awful shoes. "It's a dangerous walk, Mister. Please, Mister. Please." "It's even more dangerous to get in a car with a stranger, you dumb bitch!" I snapped as I turned to face her. "You don't know a goddamn thing about me but you're still trying to climb into a car with me!" "You have a kind face, Mister," she said meekly. I turned to walk to my car, laughing. "Really? You think so? Well you're a shitty judge of character." I was infuriated when I could still hear her steps behind me. As I reached my car, I faced her again. She was sobbing. Underneath the running makeup I saw her face for the first time. Her lifestyle made her age twice as fast, but I could see her youthful eyes glistening with tears. She couldn't have been out of her early-twenties. Her eyes reminded me of my daughter's. That unsettled me. "Can you please take me home, Sir?" she sobbed. "The bus station isn't far from here. I just wanna go home to my daddy. I never wanna see this city again." "You have a father and a home?" I asked in disbelief. "Then why the hell did you leave them for this shithole of a city?" "Please, Mister. Don't make me walk over there at this time of night. The bus station is just a few blocks away." The bus station was on the other side of town and I had no interest in staying out any later than I had to. "Can't you see that I have blood pouring out of my head and my knuckles! I'm a violent person! I make a living through violence, for God's sake! And you're trying to jump into a car with me because you think I have a kind face? I hope my daughter grows up to be a better judge of character than you." I froze when I realized the implications of what I had just said. I was a violent man. The kind that I wouldn't want my daughter anywhere near. I was hypnotized by my realization when I felt the girl put her hand on my shoulder. I did not know how to respond to affection. So I responded with violence. I backhanded her across the face. I swore as I remembered my injured knuckle and held my hand to fight the pain. The hooker backpedaled, holding her face. She looked back to me one last time and yelled, "That's why! That's why I left my father for this shithole of a city!" Then she stormed off into the darkness. At last, I sat in my car. I didn't start the engine, though. I looked at myself in the rear-view mirror. I studied myself, trying to see why anybody would think I had a kind face. To this day, I still can't see what that hooker saw in my face. Maybe it was because I saw what became of that girl from the South. Maybe it was because of the violence in my job. Maybe it was because I wanted to get a new pair of fucking shoes. Whatever the reason, I didn't go home that night. I never saw my daughter again.


(Content Warning: Fantasy Violence, Brief Language.) “Are you there, God? It’s me…” Jake said, falling to his knees. The gargoyles attacked Sapphire City without warning and left nothing but utter destruction in their wake. No one knew where the stone creatures came from or why they attacked, but one thing was certain, they didn’t come from Heaven. How could they? Heaven is supposed to be a place of peaceful tranquility and harmony, right? At least that’s what Jake thought, staring at the wreckage around him. He saw broken pictures of happy memories buried beneath mounds of broken lumber and glass that used to be his home. Elk street was utterly devastated. There were no cries for help nor soft whimpers for things lost because everyone was dead. Jake believed God worked in mysterious ways and that everything happened for a reason, but what good could come from this carnage? He placed his hands on his face and wept once more. Why did the gargoyles take his wife? What purpose would that serve? Wallowing in self-pity, madness seeped into Jake’s wounds like poisonous venom. The cuts on his arms and legs stung as the night air licked his skin, but that was the least of his worries. He needed salvation from his savior. He needed something to believe in. He needed hope. “Oh, God. I know it’s been a while since you heard my voice, but I beg you, hear it now.” Jake lifted his watery eyes to the stars above and prayed, “Please give me the strength to find my wife, Barbara. She was taken by foul demons with wings.” He paused for a moment, but only a moment, and took a deep breath. “Give me the strength to carry on. Give me the conviction to face my horrors. Please God… give me the courage to kill every last one of those bastards!”

Jake waited for a response, but none came. Perhaps silence was the sign he needed because in the stillness of the night, the sound of flapping wings swooped by like a roaring hurricane. Looking towards the fiery horizon, Jake spotted a lone gargoyle soaring above, observing the wreckage his friends had left behind. Following the winged creature was the only way to find Barbara, and although it might lead to a gruesome end, Jake decided to take the risk. Without his beloved wife, life would be meaningless. He waited for the stone beast to fly by and swiftly followed. Jake’s heart pounded in his chest, and he wondered if fear would betray his pursuit. I hope these monsters don’t have super hearing! Luckily for Jake, the gargoyle didn’t fly very fast, allowing him to keep up relatively well, considering the obliterated landscape. Whether this was by choice or freaky happenstance, Jake didn’t care. Maybe the creature injured itself in the attack.

The gargoyle buzzed around like a pesky bee before disappearing down a sinkhole. Jake peered over the ledge and wished he had wings. “Damn! How can I get down there?” he yelled, chastising himself. I knew I should have brought some rope with me!

“Just jump in, my dear fellow!” Jake’s senses tingled, igniting an already lit fuse. The low voice was unexpected but most welcome in the present circumstances. Jake saw an old man with a long white beard dangling down to his knees. His bushy eyebrows flowed down his forehead like twin waterfalls, and his eyes were bathed in light. He wore tattered clothes stained with dirt, which was to be expected, and walked along with a long oak stick. This was a pale comparison to Jake’s blue jeans and flannel shirt. “I can’t jump in there,” Jake mumbled. “I will surely fall to my death!” The old man wobbled over for a closer look and rubbed his beard. “Now, now, have a little faith. It doesn’t look that deep!”

Jake bent over and grabbed a broken brick. “Let’s test that theory, shall we?” He tossed the heavy chunk down the abyss and waited for the sound of impact. After a few minutes, Jake scrunched his lips and lifted his brow. “It appears that this pit is deeper than I thought.”

“Nonsense!” fired the old man. “Listen, I know you probably mean well, but I have to get down there. Those things took my wife, and I plan on saving her.” “Hmmm… This reminds me of the time when I went on a blind date,” the old man scoffed. “The woman was nice and all, but she wasn’t very bright.” He paused to rub his beard again and continued, “I was completely dumbfounded when she told me that after three weeks of taking fish oil supplements, she still couldn’t breathe underwater!”

Jake narrowed his eyes and grimaced. “How does that story relate to this situation? Who are you anyway?”

“My name is Henry, and my point is this, stop being so afraid and ignorant and go after her!”

“I will trust me! I just wish I had some rope or something… My name’s Jake, by the way.”

Henry made his way to Jake and extended his hand for the customary handshake, and Jake thought it rude to ignore the kind gesture. “Nice to meet you, Henry.”

In a hasty Gotcha’ Moment , Henry placed his palm on Jake’s chest and pushed him over the edge. He chuckled, hearing Jake scream for his life as he fell further and further down the hole. “It’s nice to meet you too, ha, ha!!”

Every single strand of hair on Jake’s body stood erect as he fell. After a while, he stopped yelling because his throat was parched, and his vocal cords were sore. The gust of wind gushing around Jake became thicker like a thousand fluffy clouds, and his momentum slowed to a screeching halt as his feet gently kissed the ground. Somehow Jake was alive, and standing behind him laughing like a wild hyena was the old man, Henry. “Ha, ha, ha! I told you to have a little faith!” Jake scowled and clenched his fists. “Are you crazy?! That could have killed me! How is this possible anyway?!” “That is not for us to question, my dear fellow,” chuckled Henry. “This reminds me of the time I saw a sign in my favorite restaurant that read: No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service . So, you know what I did?” “I don’t care, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me anyway,” Jake said, shaking his head. “I wore my best shoes, a brand-new fancy shirt, and strolled into that eatery with my butt cheeks flappin’ in the wind. The sign didn’t say No Pants , so I didn’t think I needed to wear any!”

“What does that have to do with anything!” Jake yelled. Henry brushed his beard and whispered, “My point is, you should never take things at face value. Just because a sign tells you something doesn’t mean it’s the whole truth.” He paused and placed his old wrinkly hand on Jake’s shoulder. “It’s called faith… Now let’s go find your wife!”

Jake looked around the cavern and hugged the whispering winds that blew around them. A tunnel with a fourteen-foot girth penetrated the subterranean underworld and was lit with a thousand torches. It looked like it went on for miles. Jake couldn’t believe that they lived above this unknown passage without anyone knowing about it. “Well, my dear fellow,” began Henry, “what are we waiting for?” Caught off guard, Jake replied, “Oh, I’m just surprised that you would help me. What’s in it for you?” Henry recoiled and ruffled his face. “Why does someone have to do something in order to get? I never understood that notion. Sometimes people do things because they want to!” He stabbed the earth with his oak stick and trudged forward. “Come along, we better get a move on. Besides, I don’t have anything else to do now that my house lies in ruins.” Jake followed the old man through the musty tunnel and mulled over what he said. Doing something because you wanted to and not wanting anything in return never entered his mind before. That was the way of the world. You scratch my back, and I’ll stab yours. A simple yet barbaric way of life where one person gets lifted high while the other gets cut down. Thoughts of Barbara flooded Jake’s mind giving him a welcome reprieve from the transactional dealings from the world above. He wondered if his beloved wife was still alive.

Casting the tangled cobwebs of bewilderment aside, a subtle flapping sound echoed further down the tunnel. Henry and Jake halted their steps and listened more intently. “Do you hear that, Henry?” “I might be old, but I’m not deaf! Of course, I heard that.”

Henry pointed forward and quietly moved ahead. If that noise was the sound of terror coming for them, they would face it head-on. “Quickly now!” whispered Henry. “We must move like shadows in the night!”

“What if I can’t?” Henry turned and saw the trepidation on Jake’s face. Taking a deep breath, Henry warned, “Do not give in to fear. You must believe in yourself and remember the steadfast desire that drove you down here in the first place.”

Jake nodded and took the lead. The flapping sound grew louder as they ventured further through the shaft. Turning the bend, Jake came face to face with the gargoyle that led him to this place. The stone beast was obliviously hurt from the battle above and was lying on the cold soil, desperately fluttering its wings trying to take flight. Upon closer examination, Jake noticed black ichor gushing from its neck. Jake knelt ready to choke the creature with trembling hands but quickly withdrew as it snarled at him like a cornered possum playing dead. Shuffling backward, Jake fell to the ground and shielded his face expecting the monster to rip him apart. Whack! Henry bashed the gargoyle’s head with only moments to spare before it had the chance to land a killing blow. “Hah! That will show you, demon!”

Jake uncovered his eyes and saw the stone monster quiver and die with a final gasp. “Wow, that was amazing! What did you do?” Old man Henry lifted his chin and defiantly roared, “I squashed this insect like the bug he was!” Jake reached for Henry’s hand and was lifted to his feet. “Jake, you must hear me now if you want to save your wife.” “What is it, Henry?” Henry narrowed his eyes and held his beard like a precious loved one. “You must never hesitate against evil, for they will show you no mercy. Strike with powerful devotion and thrive against the horrors of this world!” Jake tucked his lips into a thin line and nodded. “Say you understand,” Henry ordered.” “I do.” “SAY IT!” Erupting with emotion, Jake yelled, “I will thrive against this evil and save my wife! I will!!”

Henry scrunched his lips and gave Jake a reassuring pat on the back. “That’s what I want to hear. Come along now. We have much more traveling to endure.” The road ahead was surprisingly unburdened. Jake and Henry expected to find more opposition along the way, but they knew the unspeakable horrors of this underground passage would soon be upon them. Ever vigilant, they marched forward. As they journeyed further, they came to a narrow shaft where water flowed down both sides of the wall. The crystal-clear liquid was a bastion of salvation for Jake, who was tired and thirsty. He cupped his hands and filled them full. Kissing his lips together, he dipped his head for a drink.

Before his lips could taste the water, Henry snapped his oak staff across Jake’s hands, spilling the water. “What are you doing? I’m thirsty!” “Do not drink that water!” Henry growled. “For all we know, it might be liquid poison!” Jake shrugged. “Don’t be silly, Henry. I think your old age is catching up with you.” Henry amplified his voice to a thunderous level, not caring if anything else would hear him. “Drink that water, and you will die! We must not let this world fool us!” Silence gripped Jake’s neck, and no words could escape. “One time,” Henry exclaimed, “I talked to a man who drank the sea. He told me about the time he peed for several months, causing a great flood that lasted one hundred and fifty days. I had to venture deep within his soul to close the windows of firmament to abate the rising waters.”

“That’s absurd! Old age has indeed gotten the better of you!” fired Jake. “Come, let us continue our journey.” Jake felt terrible about leaving the water behind but found solace when he finally laid eyes on an open cavern bathed in dancing shadows. Tied to a pole in the center of the room was Jake’s wife, Barbara. She was gagged with a white cloth and couldn’t speak. Her clothes were shredded, and black mascara stained her cheeks. From the reaction of her eyes, Jake knew she was happy to see him. “Hang on, I’ll get you free!” Jake shouted. “No, you fool!” Henry scolded. He tried to grab Jake, but it was too late. Stepping away from the darkness was a giant thirty-foot gargoyle monster with golden wings and black staple-like fur. A silver crown adorned with red rubies rested upon the demon's head. The mammoth creature had razor-sharp tusks and fingernails, which it used to swing at Jake. The hollow chamber shook as the King Gargoyle stomped the ground, trying to squash the unwanted intruder. Jake ducked and weaved while Henry amplified his voice once more, distracting the enormous monstrosity away from his friend. With a little breathing room, Jake quickly made his way to his wife and untied her. Barbara collapsed into her husband’s arms but still had enough strength to wobble along with him. This did not go unnoticed. The King growled a fearsome howl, spread his mighty winds, and flapped them wildly. The rush of wind knocked Henry, Jake, and Barbara to the floor. Laughing as only a monster could, the King lunged forward with his maw wide open ready to devour the reunited lovers. Making a lunge of his own, Henry dashed in front of Jake and Barbara and was snatched up in the gargoyle's mouth. The King rose, trying to mash his mouth closed, but Henry stood within holding his magnificent oak staff against the upper and lower parts of the monster's jaw. The power of this beast was too much, and Henry watched his spear bow and splinter. It would only be a few seconds before his saving grace would break. Jake looked at his friend confined in the gargoyles mullet and screamed, “Henry, no!!”

Old man Henry smiled, knowing the end would soon be upon him. He looked at Jake and Barbara and smiled, knowing they had accomplished what they set out to do. “Remember to thrive !”

Crunch! The King chomped down, snapping Henry’s oak staff like a toothpick. As the monster chewed on the old man’s bones, a sharp jagged piece of the spear flew through the air towards Jake. Henry’s last words echoed through his mind…. Thrive! Remember to thrive! Without rational thought, Jake exploded into the air, grabbed the soaring spear that was once Henry’s staff, and threw it straight and true at the King’s heart. “Thrive on this, you bastard!” The spear stabbed deeply. The King squealed horribly and breathed his last breath. Like a mountain, he fell to his death, and the chamber began to collapse. Suddenly, a thousand yellow eyes blinked in the darkness and emerged. It was an army horde of gargoyles, and they were angry. Jake scooped Barbara up and ran as fast as he could. Sprinting down the crumpling passageway with flapping wings and destruction hot on their heels, Jake prayed to his sacred God. “Are you there, God? It’s me… Please hear my prayers, for we need you now! Please deliver us from this evil!”

By some miracle, Jake felt a surge of energy and ran faster. Rounding the bend, a bright light shined down from the world above. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew salvation was just moments away. The gargoyle army was only inches away from snatching the loving couple but missed their chance. When Jake and Barbara entered the light, they were instantly transported back to the top from whence they came. The few unlucky gargoyles who ventured into the light were vaporized, and the others were crushed in the collapsing tunnel. The sinkhole closed, and the evil born from it was no more. Jake hugged Barbara as tight as he could, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw next. Old man Henry emerged from the golden light and smiled. “How can this be?” Jake asked. “Do you not know who I really am?” “Are you, G-God?” Jake stuttered. “Ah… now you see!” Henry boasted. “Is that what you really look like?” “I can take any form I wish,” Henry confessed. He placed his warm hands on Jake’s shoulder and continued, “I want you to remember something for me. The greatest gift I have given to all living things is free will. I cannot control everything in this universe; that’s why I work in mysterious ways. When I saw this evil rise, I knew I had to help, but I couldn’t do it alone. Thank you for your help, Jake. Promise me that you will forever thrive no matter what I throw at you. Your species is strong yet flawed in your magnificent ways!”

“I will. I promise!” Jake said. Jake turned to Barbra, who was speechless and kissed her. When his gaze returned to Henry, he was gone, and the destruction left behind from the gargoyles was erased like it never happened. Evil never thrives in the presence of good.

The End Daniel R. Hayes