This is my first post here and my first horror story. I hope everyone gets chills like my friends and family did when they read it. Enjoy! When I was younger my family moved to a farmhouse in the country. Well I called it a farmhouse, it just happened to be a house next to a farm. They grew corn in those fields. I was always careful not to go into the fields, my dad would say; “that’s not our property son.” I took that to heart. It was a nice life, simple, until I turned 11. I don’t know what changed, I don’t know why things changed, but they did. Our driveway was long, it was a good five minutes from being dropped off by the bus before I got to the house, that’s when I started noticing things. The first time it was a perfectly straight path through the cornfield. It was as wide as a truck, but there were no tire marks leading from it. Next it was the pyramids of corn. They’d be perfectly dehusked and sitting in little pyramids all over the yard. My parents shrugged it off as animals piling their scraps, but these weren’t ordinary piles, they were perfect and always oriented with a corner facing the house. For the first month, this seemed normal to me, I’d never lived in the country before, how was I supposed to know any different. I didn’t even notice when the piles crept closer and closer to the house every day until one day I came home from school and there was a pile of corn in front of my window. I woke up in the middle of the night that night. I’m not sure what woke me, there was no odd sounds in the house, but I had the strangest feeling. I remember walking over to the window and being ice cold despite it being a hot early September evening. When I pulled back my curtain and peered out into the night I didn’t see anything at first, but then slowly a pair of eyes appeared in the corn field right where it met my property. Despite it being pitch black the eyes stared directly at me as if whatever creature it was knew I was there. I quickly closed my curtains and climbed back into my bed and under my blanket. The feeling went away after what felt like hours, but I knew it must have only been minutes and I fell back into a deep sleep. The next morning I woke up and told my dad about it. He brushed it off as being some sort of animal, he had seen a few deer grazing the cut field last fall, that’s probably what it was and to not worry about it. The corn pyramids stopped after that night and it was another month before I woke up in the middle of the night. This time the feeling was more intense and I didn’t so much as choose to go to the window as I was forced to be some unseen force. When I looked out the pair of eyes I had seen a month ago reappeared in the same spot. I noticed more about them this time. They were bright, despite being a new moon, and they were an odd shade of green. That night was the night I really began to worry, because not only did the original set of eyes appear, but shortly after two more pairs of eyes opened beside it. All of them looking at me as if they were peering into my soul. I wanted my parents to take me seriously so I immediately ran to their room and woke them up. “They’re out there!” I screamed as I ran into the room. My dad shot up immediately and grabbed the shotgun he kept above the bed and sprinted off out the front door while my mother held me tight trying to calm me down. A few moments later my dad returned and told us there was nothing there. He told me it was just a nightmare, trying to assuage my fears. It didn’t work. They sent me back to bed, but despite the feeling going away, I didn’t return to sleep that night. Nor did I sleep the next night, I couldn’t, I thought if I was awake the feeling wouldn’t come. I was wrong. That night I was again pulled to the window, but this time I was staring out for hours into the nothingness of the night. I couldn’t explain why and I couldn’t stop myself, the eyes weren’t there, or at least I couldn’t see them. But just as I began to let myself fall to sleep the green eyes opened one at a time until what must have been 50 pairs of eyes were staring at me. I didn’t move, I didn’t do anything. They all blinked once in unison and then a moment later they closed and disappeared. I fell asleep then. A deep sleep, my parents couldn’t even wake me for school the next day. They called in a doctor to take a look at me. He told them I was fine and was just sleeping. I slept for a full day, no sensations waking me up that night, nothing. When I awoke my parents told me how long I had slept for, but I wasn’t shocked. I felt checked out, my parents wouldn’t believe me so I thought why bother. The eyes didn’t return for some time, but the damage to my psyche had been done. I started slipping in school, lashing out at everyone around me to the point where I almost kicked my dog. Thankfully I did clue in to what I was doing before I made the kick, but I was distraught. My parents had no idea what to do, they talked to my teachers, to our doctor, they all had one answer, get me therapy. To my parents' credit they initially didn’t believe something was wrong with me, because there wasn’t anything wrong, but they kept getting pushed into it by others around them. The straw that broke the camel's back was the last night we were in that house. It was in late January and there was a fresh coating of snow on the ground. The eyes hadn’t pulled me to the window in months and I was honestly starting to feel better, but all good things must come to an end. I have no idea why it was that night, maybe they sensed my mental state returning to normal, I don’t know, but I was pulled to the window again. Even with the corn cut down I still couldn’t make out any shapes in the night, but the eyes opened as they always do, one at a time until what seemed like the whole field was lit up with green Christmas lights. Everywhere except the one spot where the original set of eyes typically was. For a split second I wondered where it had gone, but the answer came a second later and it terrified me. The original set of eyes opened, but it didn’t open on the line between our property and the field, the emerald green eyes appeared 30 feet away from my room at my swing set. Just as the original eyes appeared the others blinked. After the blink the swing set started to move ever so slightly at first and then quickly as if someone or something was swinging on it. I must have been distracted by the movement on the swings because I didn’t notice the green eyes that had been so steady leave the playset. I looked back at the field and all of the eyes had disappeared. Everything had disappeared, it was all black. Then suddenly the green eyes reappeared on a black shadowy body five feet from my window. I lost it that night. I began screaming and crying uncontrollably. My parents couldn’t calm me down when they rushed in. Nothing they were doing was working. They decided pretty quickly to load me up into the car and took me to my grandparent’s place back in the city. I never went back to that house. My parents sold it and we moved back to the city. They put me in all sorts of therapy, but I got better on my own. I never felt the pull towards my windows. Being a man now and what I would considermentally mentally ‘all there’, that experience has still made me live my life in a certain way. I haven’t been out of the city in 15 years, I don’t eat corn, my apartments have always been on the highest floors I can possibly get them on. It’s been nice I think to myself. A light tap on the glass door of my balcony that leads out from my bedroom breaks my trained sense of calm. I brush it off as nothing, but then the feeling returns, the feeling I hadn’t felt since I was 11. The dread, the anxiety, the hopelessness all returns. I begin sweating profusely and a tear rolls down my cheek. A louder tap, more of a knock now draws me out of bed. 10 stories up, it’s not possible, it’s just the wind. I tell myself lies to try and delay what’s coming. I pull back the curtain.There filling my 10th floor balcony, in the dead of night are seven foot tall shadowy figures with glowing green eyes, one of them standing directly in front of me. “We’ve found you.


It all started with that damn coffee maker. That damn — she said she *needed* it, didn’t she? I have your coffee maker! Why aren’t you here?! *Probably because she’s dead*, I reminded myself. Dead because of that damn — *shit!* It all started because… Because… “Don’t you like it?” she asked me, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips and scrunching her small nose. Time slowed as I gazed into her large, dark brown eyes. *I miss….*“We don’t need it.” I said. I watched as that spark in her eyes died. Her smile died where it stood and even the sun seemed to dim in disappointment. How had I missed it back then? How had I been so stupid! “I just thought if you could make your coffee at home….maybe you wouldn’t have to leave so early. Maybe I’d get to see you in the morning.” “Ell, I don’t have time for this,” I frowned. “You stole my credit card and bought a damn coffee maker so we can say “hi” in the morning? Give me a break! You’re thirteen now, grow up. Either figure out how to return the thing or find a way to pay me back — end of discussion.” “But—!” “End. Of. Discussion.” If I’d known the last time I was going to see my daughter was right then, with her back turned and tears falling due to my idiocracy I….I would have done *something*. I hope. I was such a screwup back then. Still am, but at least now I know it. That’s the worst part; knowing everywhere you failed to see what is so blatantly obvious now. Knowing you could have been better and dealing with the consequences of having not been. What happened after that? Well, it’s all kind of fuzzy, to be honest. The end of the world wasn’t really what anyone could have predicted. I mean, we know it was aliens so there’s that, but how they did it still remains mostly a mystery. Best anyone can tell, it was some sort of intergalactic hack. In retrospect, maybe we should have expected that our reliance on technology would have been an obvious crutch to exploit in the eyes of any alternate intelligence that might inhabit the cosmos. Everyone blamed the Russians for the wave of strange chaos propaganda and brain-washing material that flooded the web. Ironically, they along with China were amongst the few who had managed to establish a fleet of spacecraft sometime near the beginning of the apocalypse, escaping amongst the stars while the rest of us stood pointing fingers of blame at each other. When the Borgians finally made their appearance things on Earth had already reached a boiling point. All would soon be lost to nuclear fallout as warheads of every size streaked jet trails across the open sky. But with a wave of their hand, the Borgians ended the war they started — rendered every warhead dead on impact. Maybe a thousand people died from the unlucky circumstances of having been in direct line of the physical missiles when they came crashing to the Earth, otherwise, the war was of little note. The real horrors came after — during the Culling. I was at home when the missiles fell, oblivious to the world beyond me like most; too caught up with work and self to notice how absolutely disconnected from reality we were. When the television suddenly pulled a Decepticon maneuver and tore through the wall, I almost shrugged it off at first. *Almost*. I think it was the unexpected warmth of blood speckling my cheek that really tore through my demented psyche. My daughter’s blood. Back then, it was only a spark at best — a brief, easily extinguishable flame growing in my heart. But it was more than I thought I’d felt in a long time. I’d take pain over nothing, I suddenly realized. At least pain was *something*. So like a relapsing addict I seized, and that pain grew; that flame grew. As my daughter died I came to life, and I all at once knew myself to be the vampire that I was. I bore no fangs, nor fear of garlic and crosses, but I carry with me this life of undeath — an inability to live, but now surely an inability to die. I could not face her. Not yet. Not after what I’d done. I destroyed the television — it wouldn’t be the first time. It sure as hell wouldn’t be the last in this damned Hell. Life since then has been a bit of a miserable blur. A lot of fighting for my life, that sort of thing. I can’t count the number of times I thought I should have died. I can’t even count the number of people who *have* died. It’s been too many. Anymore it’s just me and this damn coffee maker. For reasons I can’t quite figure it’s the only bit of Old-Tech I’ve found that hasn’t come alive to try and kill me. I’m convinced it’s just another f-you from the Universe. Another reminder of all my mistakes. Whatever the case, I miss you Ell. I wish I could say it should be you out here, but I wouldn’t wish this fate on my worst enemy. I really do like the coffee maker, though. It hasn’t served much of its intended purpose, but the red suits me I think. I’m….I’ll be home eventually. I promise.


A gateway opens, light flashes, a portal stands before us shimmering a pearlescent white. A subtle reflection of a different reality emanates from the paper thin opening in space time. We look deep inwards, seeing this same reflection within ourselves, an emanating energy that seems to liquify reality. The particles and matter around the portal shimmering. We are shimmering with the same vibrancy that is seldom perceived, if ever. Yet now it is stark, it seems as though in the portals presence we open up from the inside and begin to dissolve into vibration, into pure energy. We reach our hand towards the portal and our hand begins to dissolve into the same vibration. Emanating from the core of us and simultaneously from this portal a subatomic reaction is occurring, like all the particles are getting excited and are breaking free from the bonds they are in, the matter dissolving into pure formless energy. This is the only way we know how to describe the sensations being perceived here now. We step towards the portal and soon enough our whole being is enveloped in the sensation of vibrancy and formlessness. An incomprehensible weight dissolved away, like all the emotions stored deep have dissolved away, a lightness of infinite magnitude has enveloped the formless form we now are. We step through. Here Now, the space is pure white. We look in every direction and see nothing except pure whiteness, every direction is the same colour, white. We look at ourselves and see nothing except pure whiteness. A subtle yet profound feeling exists here, an expansiveness, an openness, a sense of unity and oneness between all things. Even though all things seem to be imperceptible, the sensation is clear, the sense is clear. There is no separation. We realize that this space we are in is everything, yet it is everything as it manifests at the end. Once all the matter of the whole universe has collapsed back into the universal energy that lies at the centre of the black hole. We realize that this portal has taken us through time, all the way to the end of the universe as we know it. When everything has literally been united back into the oneness of a singularity, where infinite density exists in no-space. Or where infinite space exists without density. There seems to be no true way to describe this place, it can only be illustrated using terms that miss the point, terms that don't encompass the profundity and magnificence of reality as it is Here Now. We realize now that we are not alone, there is life here, yet the life seems to exist in us, or we are the life that there is. We are the life that there is and there is no life outside of us, there is no separate self. There is no-self. We are a selfless embodiment of all that is, the whole of the universe is Here Now, and it exists all on the inside. We smile, a smile-less smile, but it seems to be something of a new beginning. A universe is born. From the opening of the smile energy emerges, form begins to manifest, worlds, galaxies, super clusters all come into perception. A whole universe has bursted from us, from the smile-less smile. Unknown to us, we step into this new universe. Here we are again. Same place. Same portal. Same Being. Yet we are born anew, with the whole knowing of who we truly are. With the experience of infinity in our heart and mind. We Be Here Now. We Be Here Now.


“Ouch!” Sarah exclaimed, as she hit her head trying to sit up in a small, dark room. She looked around and tried to make out objects or shapes but couldn't see anything. She reached her hand in front of herself, and was surprised that she couldn’t even see it. Even more surprising was when she realized the room she was in was nothing more than a 4 by 4 foot box with a small door. She rolled onto her stomach and crawled to the door, which was surprisingly unlocked.

As she crawled through, she was able to see portraits on the hallway walls, which had peeling, beige floral print wallpaper. Everyone in the pictures held some kind of farming tool, whether it be a pitchfork, shovel, scythe or hoe. The ceiling was extremely tall and held an electric chandelier which was pulsating dim yellow light, casting the hall in unnatural and menacing shadows. To her right, there was an opened door through which she could see dusty and worn out kitchen appliances. To her left another door with a worn leather couch and a matching recliner. She decided to go into the kitchen, it seemed to be less dark.

As she walked through the doorway she noted the same monotonous wallpaper that had been used in the hallway and living room. She also saw a boarded up window, through which she could see only a sliver of the sky, which was a pukish yellow-red colour. In the centre of the room, there was a circular table with five chairs around it. As Sarah walked further into the kitchen, she noticed a small folded up piece of paper that looked like it was put there recently, as it didn't have a layer of dust on it like the rest of the room. She picked it up and carefully unfolded it. The note read: “Congratulations!

You have been chosen to compete in the decennial Man-Hunt!

There are four other contestants, all of whom have been put in a different room.

The rules are simple, kill or be killed.

Before the day runs out. If more than one person is alive once the sun goes down, everyone dies. If only one person remains they will be released and rewarded handsomely. Anything goes so long as you stay inside the farm house.

The second you step outside you will be terminated immediately.

Happy Hunting!

You will find weapons and shields inside the refrigerator behind you.” “This must be a joke” Sarah whispered to herself with dread as she finished reading the note. “Even so, it sounds legit. And I don't plan on dying today”

As she turned around to open the fridge she heard steps coming from the hall. She opened the door to the rusting fridge as fast as she could and her eyes bulged as she saw rifles, handguns, katanas, bulletproof vests, shields, and cases upon cases of ammunition. As the steps got closer she grabbed one of the handguns.

The person making the noises slowly came around the corner, Sarah aimed the gun and fired. She hit her target. Not really a surprise, as her dad owned multiple guns and brought her along when he went to shooting ranges. Blood poured from the downed person’s corpse, they seemed small of stature, leading Sarah to believe them female. They had lots of armour on, including a helmet obscuring their face. Sarah knelt over to remove the helmet. As she did so, she got a clear view of their face and stumbled back in shock. Staring unseeingly back at her was her best friend, Claire. What was going on here?

Quickly, she loaded three of the handguns, put on the safety and shoved them into the army backpack on top of the refrigerator. She also put in multiple cases of ammo. Grabbing a bulletproof vest, she walked past her friend and with a sorrowful glance backwards, she proceeded into the living room down the hallway.

In the room there was a trunk and a small coffee table with a note exactly like the one in the kitchen. Inside the trunk were the same weapons that were in the fridge, minus the ones that Claire had on herself. There were two other doors, each on opposite sides of the room. She started towards the one to her left, but heard a noise coming from the right door. She put on the bulletproof vest and pulled out one of the hand guns and a flashlight from her bag as she slowly walked towards the other side of the room. She turned the doorknob and cautiously opened the door. Turning on the flashlight she aimed it into the small closet-like room. It created odd shadows on the walls and ceiling. She took a step into the room but tripped on something soft. She aimed the flashlight down at her feet and couldn't contain her gasp at what she saw laying there. Another body. She knew this one too. Darien, Chloe’s ex-boyfriend. He must've made the noise she had heard as he died. She checked for his pulse but, unsurprisingly, didn't find one. She turned back around and went back to the door she had originally planned to go through.

Slowly, she pushed open the door and noted that the door led to another hallway. It was longer than the other and had three doors along each side and one at the end. Opening each door as she went along, she found that they were all nothing but empty closets. When she made it to the end of the hall, she opened up the last door. Through the door frame wasn’t a closet like all the others, but a large room with dark red walls. The red was the colour of fresh spilt blood. She took a step into the room and immediately regretted not scanning it more or having her gun up, as a searing pain tore through her lower leg. She brought her gun up and aimed it in the direction the bullet had come from. She fired as soon as she saw the slightest movement and heard a grunt of pain as the bullet hit its target. She looked down at her leg and breathed a sigh of relief once she saw the bullet had only grazed her calf and that she would be able to walk. She started to walk over to the person who had shot her when she heard a maniacal, harsh laugh reverberate throughout the room. It sounded, almost… familiar? “Sarah” said the same disembodied voice that had laughed. Now you KNEW you had heard him before. But from where? “I should've known you’d be the one to make it through. You're tougher than the rest of the lot I had brought here” “Who are you?” Sarah asked, not expecting an answer “You dont recognize my voice, Sarah? I’m disappointed. After all those late night calls I would have expected you to remember. I remembered your voice after all. Even though i haven't heard it for six long months.” Suddenly the dots connected in her head. “Sam” she said, her voice hoarse.

“Bingo,” he said, stepping away from the shadows “Got it eventually there” “B-But, why? Why did you do this?” “Come on Sarah, you know why” “Wait. You're still upset that I broke up with you? Even though we had never even met? Our ‘relationship’ was a handful of phone calls and texts” “Keep telling yourself that. We both know the truth though. I loved you, Sarah. And you told me you felt the same. Until you met Liam at least” he spat liams name with venom. But had such a hurt look on his face that Sarah felt a little bad for him. He started towards her and pulled something out of his pocket. A scrap of cloth. He pulled a small, clear bottle out of his other pocket and poured a bit of the liquid in it onto the cloth. “Now you know what it feels like to have the only thing you love taken from you”

He covered her mouth and nose with the cloth, which she realised was chloroform too late, she wasn't even able to try to fight him off. The only thing she could do was drift slowly into unconsciousness. When she opened her eyes she was in the kitchen, tied up to a chair. As she looked closer, she tried to scream but realised she had a gag in her mouth. Sitting in three of four chairs were corpses. Chloe, Dairen, and Sarah’s boyfriend, Liam, who she realized with a shock, must’ve been the one she had shot in the red room. Deranged laughter came from the hallway and Sarah heard the click of a loaded gun. She looked to the door and saw Sam stride through the door. He looked directly at her with a sad smile. Aimed his gun and said

“Goodbye”

Then fired the gun directly into her head.


This is the story of M -, no I cannot say her name. Let's call her Agent M. Why 'Agent'? Because it adds a layer of intrigue to her story and scrapes off a wee bit of the sadness. Now, I met Agent M many, many moons back, when I was a young mum of two, living abroad. Coming from a culture that typifies the "it takes a village to raise a child" sentiment, having no one to fall back on was tough to take. So, when a friend recommended the services of Agent M, I hesitatingly said yes. On a blustery Friday, she arrived at my doorstep. A lady older than me by maybe a decade (maybe even less, life must have drawn deeper lines on her, surely?) or so, no more. We had no language in common, coming from different corners of the world. But she had a halting use of English and between that and a generous use of head shakes and nods and smiles, we were on our way. She would arrive every Friday afternoon and inject some much needed calm and order into my house. With minimal inclination and zero energy to clean up after an energetic toddler and a colicky baby, it didn't take long for me to look forward to Fridays. "You sit, I clean! Cha? " she would ask, miming a cuppa, without waiting for my relieved nod to furnish me with piping hot ginger tea. Even as I closed my eyes and tried to fold myself into the gingery embrace of my hot beverage (that I did not have to make!), Agent M would pin on her apron and get started. With the whirring of the old Dyson, she would zip from room to room, magically clearing the carpet of Lego blocks and stubborn chunks of Play Doh, all the while humming a haunting melody in her language. I didn't understand the words but music truly has no words, does it? The song rang of longing, of a different place far removed from the cold grey skies of England in autumn. Within the span of a few hours, she would clean my house end to end ("tub clean no?", she would beam, even as I squinted at my magically gleaming bath tub), fill my freezer with some dishes I could defrost during the week and make fresh and hot dinner for us to tuck into the minute she left our doorstep. Our initial interactions were just this - a few words, many nods and smiles, a thumbs up or two from me, coupled with a maniacal grin. I was curious how she came to be in this country, my very own Mary Poppins, bringing cheer and hot, gingery goodness to this bleak corner far removed from her own. I didn't know enough of her language (or any!) to ask and I had been too long in Blighty by then to cheerfully mine her for gossip over hot cha and pakoras. Thankfully for the two of us, proving why she managed to survive in an alien world far removed from her own, Agent M was far more adept with English. She went to no school, thanks to the patriarchal mindset that only educated the boys and bundling off the girls to be married off at a tender 15 years of age. With her amazing culinary skills, she thrived at her marital home, whipping up heavenly smelling curries for her parents-in-law, and deep-fried snacks for the kids of the family with equal flourish. If she, at 16, spent much of her day in the dark confines of the family kitchen along with her older sisters-in-law, she didn't mind much. Even when her son was born the following year, her life didn't change very much. The baby was looked after by the large extended family, while she and her sisters continued to keep them all fed and happy. Life was pretty much on an even keel, till the day her husband and his older brother went to the village 50 odd kilometres away and did not return home. "Accident? Dark, no doctor. No help!", she said sadly, rolling out wafer thin rotis for our dinner. "Then?" I asked. "No money. So I come here. Uncle help." she said, wrapping up her warm winter jacket around here. "Bye, bye. See you!" Over the course of the next few Fridays, I pieced together Agent M's sorry tale. After her husband and brother-in-law died, the family struggled to make ends meet. At first, she moved to the nearest big city and tried to earn money by cooking for a small restaurant. Though her food was a hit, it left her with barely enough time to look after her baby. And the pay left after her rent, his baby needs was barely enough to send home. That was when the "Uncle" arrived with a solution. He was a cook in a small restaurant abroad and said he could get her a job too. So, she did, leaving her son with her in-laws. Save up money, send home for son and make do, was her plan. But, Uncle had forgotten to fill her in on the finer details of international travel. He had brought her on a temporary tourist visa. After the 6 months, when she tried to travel back home to see her son, Agent M learnt the full horror of her situation. If she left now, she would be deported, never to return to the land where she easily made 10 times more money as she used to. There was no way to bring her son to live with her, as she was one of the countless illegal immigrants now. She could never go home! "How old is your son now?", I asked, looking at my own little horrors, trying to imagine a fate where I couldn't see them grow. "17! I save money for college! He come here!" My heart ached for the poor mother cheerfully cleaning my house, filling my belly with hot food, just so she could save up money for her son's education. The son she last saw as a two year old! Even ET managed to find his way home, I thought rather irreverently. I cannot get Agent M home, but maybe I can help get her son - her home - to her, I thought to myself, furiously Googling "sponsoring foreign student....."


Ryan, a park ranger, poured a cup of warmish coffee from his thermos for the young hiker woman in his station. Madelyn was the hiker’s name. She had tan skin and athletic build normally filled with youthful exuberance. Her body was closed, defensive, and insecure. Her green eyes distant as she stared out the window into the lush alpine forest. “Madelyn, here drink this, it's got creme and sugar. Don't be fooled by the beard, I'm not that manly.” jested Ryan. Madelyn turned her gaze and looked at him blankly. Ryan immediately became uncomfortable. He held the cup out further towards her, and she flinched slightly. “It's okay. You're safe here.” he said. Madelyn took the coffee, it's what you do. She gripped the steel cup with both hands as if to steady herself with it. “Okay. So you can sleep here in the ranger station tonight. I will walk you out tomorrow morning. No big deal. It's not uncommon for even the most experienced hikers to get turned around and spooked.” Ryan said, and waited for a response. When none came he gave a weak smile, and moved to get up from his seat. Madelyn cut him off, “That's not what happened.” Her voice was monotone, but weighty. “Sure.” Ryan said try not to sound condescending, “So what happened?” “Nothing and everything.” Madelyn’s voice trailed off as she stared down into the mocha colored coffee. Ryan looked at her perplexed. Perhaps she was a trail hippie and took some drugs while hiking. He has seen it before. She didn't look the type, but people are full of surprises. Madelyn’s chest heaved as she closed her eyes. “It was all fine until the… I'm not sure what you'd call it? A shrine?” She open her moistening eyes brimmed with madness to look at Ryan. He was startled by their intensity. “What do you mean a shrine?” said Ryan. Madelyn set the cup down abandoning its comforts, and pushed it away. “You know one when you see one. A place filled with purpose, emotional, and visceral.” She shaped an immaterial mound with her hands. “Sacred or profane?” Madelyn ask more to herself. She paused to assess her intangible mound before forcing herself to break away and meet Ryan’s eyes. “I was on the Bear’s Ears Trail.” Ryan interjected, “That's pretty fair from where I found you. Are you sure?” “I was on the Bear’s Ears Trail.” Madelyn asserted. “It was early, there was still morning mist. I rounded a blind turn and there it was. At first, I was disgusted. Who would do such an awful thing? You really wonder about people. There was a deer carcass with a pole going up into its neck and coming out its mouth.” Madelyn raised her chin exposing her neck to the ranger to emphasize the angle. Madelyn continued, “The lower half of the deer was just gone. You could see its ribs exposed. Rocks were piled around the base of the pole. I was freaked out. You think about the person that made something like that. You hope they are long gone. I felt watched. I know how it sounds, but I was also fascinated.” her voice lowered. “And there was a sign.” “What kind of sign?” Ryan shifting forward in his seat with cautious curiosity. As if burned into her mind Madelyn recited, “Eat of my flesh, and know Truth.” The ranger was at a loss for thoughts, but not words, “What the hell does that mean?” Madelyn shifted in her chair and looked back into the woods. Ryan sensed her discomfort, “You know the way you describe it, it has probably been up for a while. I'm sure whoever made it is long gone. I’ll clean it up after we get you home. Okay?” Madelyn nodded in affirmation, and began to quietly unpacked her sleeping bag. “Oh hey, you can sleep in my cot if you'd like.” said Ryan. “It's okay I don't come out her to be pampered.” Madelyn replied as if burden by his suggestion. “Okay well, I will be right over here if you need anything. Rest up, and we'll get you back soon.” said Ryan turning off the station lights. Madelyn laid facing away from Ryan in awkward silence. He resigned himself to his cot, and watch the sky change in the window. The stars were bright in the crisp air. The moon was waning. Ryan noticed these things when he was stationed, but not so much when home. He felt his eyelids grow heavy with boredom, and he drifted off to sleep. Ryan woke with a jolt. He was disoriented from equal parts grogginess and foreign objects in his station. Oh the girl, he remembered. He looked to the floor and saw her half out of her sleeping bag propped up on her hands and knees. He heard her retch and vomit. Her body convulsed and bowed like a cat stretching in starlight. He careful walked around her to the light switch gagging from the sight, sound, and smell. When the lights flicked on he saw her hand cupped to catch blackish brown vomit with copious amounts of fur intermixed. He stood aghast and with morbid confusion. Ryan refused to believe that Madelyn had eaten it, but the evidence contradicted rational thought. Madelyn looked upon him in equal horror, face ashen. “I tried to stop. You don't understand. I really tried. Oh God please help me! I don't want to know.” She clutched her abdomen and hissed in pain. She repeated, “I'm sorry. No more.” over and over again between spasms and dry retching. Ryan radioed for help. Placed a pillow under her head and tried giving her water. She died before help arrived. When they took her body away and finished their questions, he grabbed his gear and left for Bear's Ears Trail in search of Truth.


I’m really a nice guy. I am a husband and father of two little girls and a boy. I love my family dearly and am a good provider. My friends and family know this, but most people do not. For I am a professional wrestling villain. You know me as “Man.” Not “The Man.” Not “Mountain Man.” Not “The Big Man.” Just “Man.” I wouldn’t have it any other way. Of course, like everyone I have a birth name. It’s Marvin. Marvin Manley. A good name and I like it. But it’s not a good ring name for a villain. I did not ask to be a villain. It was simply the way things worked out. The boss took one look at me when I walked into his office and said, “Man." That’s who you are. "Man." You’ll be one of the greatest heels of all time.” And that’s how my ring name became Man. It’s an apt name, I think. I’m six foot seven inches tall. I weigh anywhere from 340 to 350 pounds. My head is shaven, and I have tattoos up and down my arms. Though not built like an Adonis I am a big man. I have the voice to be a villain too. Not too deep. Not too soft. One of those that carry so that everyone can hear it no matter where they are. My voice goes over very well inside the ring and out in interviews. Fans can hear me from the last row when I growl or scream. When I speak into a microphone the people tell me to shut up while listening to every word I say. I find it quite amazing how I can do a complete 180 degree turn from being the nicest guy in the world to a total pain. I leave my home as Marvin. I kiss my wife, hug my kids then head out the door. Wherever I may be going, I will be away for a while and really do miss them. The time away is a strain on all of us and one of the things I least like about my job. On the plane flight to whatever city my performance is, I am quiet and reserved. I try not to be recognized, but that’s not easy at my size. I get looks from the other passengers. Some stop by to speak. Others, just look and move on. Some give me looks that if they could kill, I’d be dead. It’s all part of the show I know. Once I arrive in a city, I usually must go straight to the arena. There is a van that waits for us so that we all arrive on time and each man’s opponent is present. We talk a little. Laugh a little. Share our experiences on the road. Catch up on family. We’re a tight-knit group. We don’t all get along, but we are civil to each other for the most part. At the arena we go into the locker room and prepare for the show. This is when Marvin starts to become “Man.” The time in which I enter the ring depends on how important my match is. If it’s a grudge match or non-title fight, I’m in the middle of the card. If I’m fighting for a title or am the marquee matchup, I’m at the end. This dictates how long it takes to change my persona. Once I know when I’m on, I begin to change into my black wrestling one piece and began to become mean. I’m still reserved, but now in a different way. This reserved is a “Get out of my face,” persona. One that says. “I’m here to seek and destroy. To break my opponent and all his loyal follower’s hearts. And I dare anyone to stop me.” I’m on a mission. A mission to wreak havoc. I start to slowly pace the room. Slapping myself on the arms. Saying bad things about my opponent. Shutting out the rest of the world. I have a job to do. I must become “Man.” Then the moment, I’ve been waiting for. The call to the ring. I make my way down the tunnel toward the aisle. I can hear the crowd as they know I’m coming. Music starts to play, and the booing and hollering begin. I’m prepared for anything. I know I will be called names, spit on, have drinks thrown on me. Signs directed at my weight and intelligence. Dummies of me hung in effigy. Sometimes, if it gets too crazy, the police must escort me into and out of the ring. I’m hated that much. But the hatred fuels my adrenaline. There is nothing like causing a crowd reaction. Especially when it’s a packed house. Whether it’s cheering or booing, it doesn’t matter. It causes a rush that no drug can match. When the stakes are at their highest and you’re the main attraction, the title match, it can be almost overwhelming. Those who experience it can tell you they will never find anything outside of the arena to match it. I get to the top of the aisle. The crowd sees me and goes ballistic. I can see the hatred in their faces. And I give it back. I raise my hands to the sky and yell as loud as I can, “I AM…..MANNN!!” This ticks them off big time. I do not rush down the aisle. I take it all in. The yelling. The name calling. The wads of paper that hit me from time to time. I brush it all off. What do the fans know? They wouldn’t know a championship wrestler if they were picked up and body slammed by one. I get to the ring and step through the ropes. The crowd is in a full frenzy. They have come to see me leave with my head on a platter. To them, I represent everything that makes them angry. The boss who won’t give them a raise. The politician who they didn’t vote for but got elected. The policeman who gave them a ticket when everyone else was speeding too. The man or woman who stole their girlfriend or boyfriend. I am the enemy. Pure and simple. I eat it up. “Come on! Bring it! Is that all you got?” I bellow. I run at them in a fake charge, and they give it to me even more. This goes on for a few minutes and then my opponent comes out. Immediately to my dismay the attention turns to him. He is the golden boy of the moment. The man who is going to destroy me and right every wrong. The “real” man of the ring. As he makes his way down to the cheers of the crowd, my opponent hams it up. I don’t blame him one bit. There are few places where a person can find so many people in one place cheering for them. I would say at least ninety percent of the people in the world never do. So, when those moments happen, I don’t begrudge anyone for playing it to the hilt. My opponent steps into the ring and I glare at him. Of course, we know how the entire routine will work, but it still must be done. And it must be done in a way that people feel it. People get into it. People believe it. We are introduced to the crowd. Depending on who is the bigger name, I may be introduced first or second. It doesn’t matter as the crowd reaction is always the same. Total hatred. I put my hand to my ear to hear it. I wave to the crowd to bring it on. When my opponent is introduced, I completely ignore it, or feign indifference. Let him have his time. I’m going to put a world of hurt on him. The seconds and emcee leave the ring, and it is only my opponent, the referee and myself. Three men in the squared circle. Millions waiting inside and outside the ring for the match to start. The moment has arrived. It’s time to put on a show. And I do. I bring the crowd to the edge of their seats with the dastardly things I do. Gauging eyes. Kicking. Throwing my opponent through the ropes. Then stepping through them myself to wreak more havoc. I grab my opponent and slam his head into the ring post. A padded ring post I may add. I love to see the look on the fan’s faces as they see their golden boy in trouble. Looks of absolute horror from some, distain from others. I throw my opponent back into the ring. I have the upper hand for most of these matches. Then the tide turns, and my opponent gets his second wind. He starts to get his licks in. Throws me off the ring ropes and I get the clothesline right below the neck. I’m dazed and shaken, and he dropkicks me to the mat. While I’m down I get an elbow or “soup bone” as we call it to the head. Then he stands me up and gives a good strong karate chop across the chest. I’m the one hurt now. I’m the one in trouble. The fans eat it up. This is what they came to see. They would love it if I didn’t walk out of the ring. If the golden boy put me out for good. If he chopped “Man” down to size. This back and forth goes on until either one of us wins by pin, which doesn’t happen until we’ve made enough money on the circuit for everyone, or someone is disqualified. If there is a disqualification, the feud continues to the next city. Either way, all involved whether in or outside the ring are totally exhausted when the match is over. When it is, I head back to the locker room defiant. Always defiant. There is no other way to be as a wrestling villain. If I’ve done something illegal, I don’t know what it is. If my opponent has beaten me and I’m taking the walk of shame, I think that there is no way it could have happened and vow revenge. If I’ve won, I shove it into the faces of all who are there. Time back in the locker room is spent coming down from the high of a fifteen to thirty-minute adrenaline rush. My opponent and I shake hands and congratulate each other on a good show. I get some fluids into my system. Maybe eat something then take a shower. Then it’s back into the van and off to a hotel or an airport to fly home or to the next city to fight again. But my wrestling world does not end there. Things get a little interesting outside of the arena as well. When people recognize me, it is usually okay, but not always. I can remember a little old lady seeing me in a grocery store. She came up to me eyes blazing swinging her cane. “How could you do that to that poor Ryan Rogers?!” she yelled. “You out to be ashamed of yourself you big moose! You’re no man you’re just a big bully and coward! Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?!” She whacked me at least twice before the manager and her son could restrain her. Believe me, I have respect for that woman. She had guts to stand up to a man as big as me. And she packed a wallop with that cane. I’ve had people pull up, see me in my car and flip me the bird. Been yelled at in malls. I stopped going to the movies, because of the booing I get. Guys get pretty brave with their tongues when the lights go out and you can’t see them. I didn’t want to subject my wife to that anymore. In restaurants, people look at me as if I’m some animal in the zoo. They seem surprised that I can actually think and say a complete sentence. That I’m human. That I have a nice side. Some of the letters I used to get before social media were downright mean. How they wished my opponent would break my legs. How I am a disgrace to the sport. Many questioned my IQ and ancestry. Some said that if they were to meet me on the street, they’d tear me limb from limb, which I found very funny. The really brave ones signed their names and actually put a return address on the envelope. Now, people post their thoughts on social media under display names so all can see. Some make videos or post some of my matches online for viewing and commenting. The show has really grown with the advancements in technology. It’s good in that we get more publicity, but bad in that our lives are even less our own. It’s also bad in that I could hide the letters from my family, but social media is accessible to all. My family may not see it, but eventually will hear about it.

But I know that this all goes with the territory. It’s all part of the show. However, not everyone is against me. The people who feel like they are villains in life cheer for me. They want to see the bad guy win every once in a while as Billy Preston famously sang. Especially if it’s against a pretty boy wrestler they don’t like. I’ve had my share of cheers too. Not many, but some. I remember a young black man with one of the biggest afros I’ve ever seen coming up to me one day. He was dressed dapper and smoking a cigar. “You that wrestler they call “Man,” he said. “I saw you at the Civic Center the other night. Man, you put on a show. And I’m glad you put a hurting on that guy Billy Ray Stone. I can’t stand that dude. I like your style. Keep it up brotha.”

It was one of the coolest moments of my career. I’ve seen little boys wearing T-shirts with my picture and name on them. Which I always like, because unfortunately many of the little ones are scared off by my size. Fans have brought signs to the arena with my likeness and words for me to do bodily harm to my opponent. I’ve been quoted in movies by bad guys! How cool is that? Yes, I am “Man” in and outside the ring to most people. My wrestling persona is that of a mean and nasty villain.

But I am a nice guy. Really, I am. Marvin Manley is one of the nicest men you’ll ever meet. However, “Man” is one of the meanest. In my book he IS the meanest. There is no greater villain in all of wrestling than “Man.” And I wouldn't have it any other way.


We just spoke last week, my friend and I.

It had been quite a while since we had spoken on the phone, though we frequently texted and sent voice messages.

She talked about her life and career, her new girlfriend and being stuck inside still.

I talked about problems at my work, comically awful dates I had been on, and the hobbies I had.

We had also talked about that place, the one where we had met.

It comes up in every conversation - even if it seemingly has nothing to do with our current lives.

The memories of that place are so strong that they affect us even still.

We talk about people who have met who remind us horribly of the ones in that place.

We joke about how we want to run away or smack these strangers who vaguely resemble them.

Laughing has become our way of keeping back the terror that we still feel towards even vague reminders of that place.

For beneath our mundane conversation, the effects of that place surface still.

I am afraid of making new friends, still scarred by the ones I knew, and so stay at home away from it all.

I tell her how I am looking for a new job.

Although I say it is because of coworkers now, the hours, etc., I realise deep down that it is because of that place.

The job where I work is similar to the one I had; the career I had always wanted to do has become stained with the tragedy of what once was.

Doing the same tasks reminds me of the ones I did before.

Sitting at my desk working on a similar document brings back memories of time spent at a different desk, feeling as if I could not breathe for hours on end.

She is one of the few people I can speak to about this, and yet, I can’t imagine that we would have met or even been friends in a different life, one where that place never existed.

I had already been in hell for a year before she came.

Even writing this, it is still hard to talk about that place.

Perhaps this is cathartic, to write out these repressed memories I had tried so very hard to forget.

That I still try to forget.

I often try to let them flow out in small amounts, at certain times, in order to let the poison that has taken root in my veins be free.

It is odd in a way, because talking about hell to people who have never been sounds delusional or insane.

How do you explain how you looked into the eyes of someone in the guise of a human, and saw that they enjoyed your pain. How do you explain a person who manipulates others so delicately, that you don’t even realise until it is too late.

How do you explain someone who makes you and those around you believe the worst of yourself.

How do you explain when you sit at your job and feel so nauseous that you go into your bathroom and shake and shake until you feel like you can’t breathe. It is something that is too cruel for good people.

It is something that is too abstract to explain - no, it’s not a death, no, it wasn’t an illness, no, no, not those.

Nothing you could see and everything you could feel. I watched as we all aged inside and out.

As the light that had been in us went slowly out.

As people I had considered friends tore me down to push themselves up.

People who I had considered friends that believed the worst that was said about me, about others.

It is a sad, cruel thing the way people are.

Perhaps this is why those who had light in them stood out that much more.

She only came in the second half of my second year, and we were not friends at the beginning.

We had different interests and wildly dissimilar personalities.

She was outgoing, always dating someone new, and became friends with everyone she met.

I was quiet and nerdy (and happily so) and madly in love with a boy I knew.

It wasn’t until a few months later that we became close, when her own personal tragedy brought us together.

She needed someone and I wanted to help.

Yet, as tediously cliché as it sounds, she did end up helping me much more.

Having someone with whom I could escape, through late-night talks in the park, drinks downtown, and exploring the city, made that the best part of those two years.

We would sit and talk for hours about anything and everything - religion, politics, economics, the boy I loved, the men and women she loved.

Odd looking back how much we ended up having in common after all.

Even though we loved different people and held different beliefs, we both cared about others at our core.

We both respected each other enough to listen, even if we did not agree.  That in itself is rare - finding someone who can listen to ideas they do not believe.

That bit of hope at the end of it all helped me recover as I knew that despite the frighteningly blatant darkness that I had seen - there was someone who was good.

I have only seen them briefly since then.

I went home for several months, to cry and sleep for hours and days and to repress what happened.

It is not until now, almost two years later, that I can begin to talk about it - and then only sparingly.

There are few people in my life that I trust now but her, I would trust with my life.

After you have been through something like that you know exactly the kind of person they are.

Monsters in books beget either heroes or villains, but at that place I found that it is not always so clear.

There are things I did that I am ashamed of, things they did that I hated.

Yet, both of us found the hero in ourselves and stood firm against the monster, in our own way, in our own time.

To have someone who knows.

Who went to hell and back with you; that is worth more than can be said.


The dial-tone captured the sound of my heartbeat flatlining. I dialed Evelyn’s number. The zipping and clicking noises of the rotary dial resuscitated it. I released my finger from the last number, then slammed the receiver down. Now my heart was racing. I didn’t know what to say.

I had obsessive thoughts of how to say goodbye. That’s it. I am going to her house. I rushed down stairs, and grabbed my jacket. As I opened the front door, my mother walked out of the kitchen. She said, “Jonathan where are you going?” Where was I going, “I am going to Rob’s house to watch the football game.”

“It is only 11 am. Why would you go over there so early?” Asked my mother. “We are going to throw the ball around first.” “Have fun dear.” As the door closed behind me, my mother added “Wait a second. Rob’s mother left her glass baking pan here last week. She brought a casserole in it. If I forget to give it to her, it will be here forever. Give me a second.” She walked back into the kitchen. My mother continued talking through the clattering noise of pulling pans out of the cupboard, “Your father will be back soon. He could drive you to Rob’s house.” “I will just take my bike,” trying to shout over the noise. “Why would you ride your bike and carry a glass pan? Wait, your father will be back any minute.” It would be better if Dad drove me over to Rob’s. If I rode my bike to Evelyn’s, she might remember how we use to ride to the park and eat ice cream.

“Here is the pan, and your father just pulled in. Run to the car and tell him. Once he is in the house, he will be upset that I am sending him back out.”

I opened the front door as my dad got out the car. Then I heard, “Hey Jon,” I turned around to see Steve walking out of his house. He waved to me and asked, “Can you help move my bedroom downstairs? My parents are letting me have the basement.” “Sure” “Could you do it this evening?” I looked at my watch, “Say around 7 o’clock when I get home. I am going to watch the game with Rob. Do you want to join us? “ “No and thanks. I appreciate it” Steve turned around and went back into his house. My father was about to walk through the front door when I said, “Dad can you take me over to Rob’s, I am going to watch the game.” I showed him the pan, “Mom wants me to return this to his mother.” Dad looked up at the sky then nodded his head down. “Ok get in the car. Let’s go before I argue with your mother. Then she will make me feel guilty when I want to watch the game.” We pulled out of the driveway. “So what are your plans for the summer, did you think about getting a job? Working downtown at the hardware store would be great. I could even use your discount to buy a new lawnmower.” “I was thinking of working at the bookstore.” “The bookstore. You can already get free books at the library. Son one day you will have a house. There are valuable lessons to be learned working at the hardware store.” “I will think about it Dad,” as I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Whenever Dad lectured me in the car I imagined my feet were still dangling off the seat.

“Great, I will give Bob at the hardware store a call, and let him know you are interested. Have fun watching the game.” “Bye Dad,” I rushed out of the car and rang the doorbell to Rob’s house. No one answered. Of course they are not home. They are still at church. Now what am I going to do. I can’t leave the pan here. Rob’s mother will call my mine asking why her pan is on the front step. I decided to walk to Evelyn’s house. I was in the middle of the neighbor’s driveway. Then I heard a loud engine idling and a Vroom Vroom Vroooooom. I dashed out of the way. A car was backing out. The breaks squealed. The car stopped suddenly before it reached the road. “What the hell are you doing Dave? You didn’t even see me” I shouted trying to be heard over his car’s engine. I was seconds away from throwing the pan at his car.

“Relax. I saw you,” said Dave. “No, you didn’t even look.” “You’re in still in one piece. Hey what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I’ll be seeing you. I’m late.” As Dave drove away Rob and his parents arrived. Rob’s mother rolled down the window. “Are you ok what happened?” “Dave backed out of the driveway really fast. He was not even looking,” I said. She looked at Rob’s father. “You need to have a talk with Dave’s father. That boy just got his license and he is already a menace on the roads. He is going to hit somebody.” “Sure thing, now can we go inside,” replied Rob’s father. We walked into to the house. Once we were sitting around the kitchen table Rob’s father asked me. “Where will you be working this summer Jonathan?” “My father wants to me to work at the hardware store,” I replied. “Rob will be working for his uncle painting houses this summer. You could work with him,” said Rob’s father. The thought of working for Evelyn’s father was the last job that I wanted. I shifted my eyes back and forth around the room. I focused on anything other than what Rob’s father had to say. At that moment the phone rang. Rob’s mother picked up the phone from the wall. She walked back to the counter with the telephone cord unraveling as she stretched it halfway across the kitchen. She said, “Hello Jacque” and nodded a few times. Then responded with ”of course I have a baking pan, it was just returned to me. I will send it right over”. Rob’s mother hung up the phone and looked at his father with her hand on her hips. “Jacque dropped and shattered her casserole pan. She needs one for dinner tonight. Could you drop it off?” Rob looked at me with a grin on his face. He said, “We would be happy to drop it off at Evelyn’s house.” “Oh thank you dear,” said his mother. Rob picked up the pan and handed it to me. If his eyes could laugh they would have been cackling uncontrollably. We walked toward Evelyn’s house. Rob said “Evelyn will be gone all summer. You and this town are going to be the furthest thing from her mind.”

“I know, she will be back by the end of the summer though,” I thought about what I had just said. That was my response. That was the best I could come up with. I had nothing better to say other than she would be forced to come back.

We arrived at Evelyn’s house. Her father was packing the car with luggage. I felt my heart beating faster. She really was going away for the whole summer. Even though I looked calm, I was gasping for air.

“Hey Uncle William we are here to drop off the pan that Aunt Jacque asked for,” said Rob. “Do me a favor and take it into the house,” Rob took the pan away from me, and ran into the house. “So you are taking Evelyn to camp today?” I said while crossing my arms. “We are leaving around 3 o’clock to drop her off. She will be there the whole summer. It’s a camp for the performing arts or something. There is lot of singing and dancing I’m told. You probably already know this though.” Evelyn’s father said.

“Yeah she kind of mentioned it to me,” I was staring across the street. A boy was riding a tricycle on the sidewalk. I was thinking that I had the same bike. I looked back at her father and asked, “Will you visit her at all?” “No, she doesn’t want us coming up. You know how easy you kids get embarrassed.” “Yeah.”

Rob walked out. He looked at me and said, “Let’s go back to my house.” “Oh wait I was going to say goodbye too Evelyn.” Her father said, “She went to the mall 10 minutes ago with her friends. They are buying new bathing suits for the summer. ” “I wanted to see her in that,” I said not believing what came out of my mouth. “I meant that I wanted to see her in, in the house before that. Before she left to go to the mall that is,” Rob smirked as I failed at correcting myself. Her father hesitated for a second before he responded “She should be back later. I can not keep up with everybody and their stories.” We said goodbye to her father and walked back to Rob’s house. He asked “What are your plans now? How are you going to say goodbye.” I scratched my elbow and replied, “I have no idea. Who knows when she is coming back home. Her father said they were leaving around 3 o’clock. That leaves me a few hours. What excuse would I have to say goodbye?” Rob’s eyes veered toward me. He stopped walking and said “Maybe to actually say goodbye,” as he knocked on my forehead. “Sooner or later you are going to have to tell her how you feel.” “I know I know. I just don’t know how all this happened. I don’t know when I started feeling like this toward her.” “It will probably pass. At some point you will get over it. Let’s throw the ball around before the game starts.”

We looked for the football in Rob’s yard but could not find it. I thought that we would find it in Dave’s yard. I remember seeing a football after Dave almost ran me over. We walked into Dave's yard and found Rob's football. We went back Rob’s yard and threw the football to each other. Then we ran offensive plays from our favorite team. Rob pretended to be the quarterback. He threw the winning touchdown to me for the last play of the game.

At that moment his mother called us in for lunch. We walked into the kitchen. My mouth was dry and we were hot from running around. She gave us both a glass of lemonade. Rob and I sat at the kitchen table where we discussed the game we were going to watch. Rob’s mother cooked hamburgers. We ate them while watching the game. His mother picked up the phone to make a call. I heard the zipping and clicking noises from the rotary wheel. My heart rate increased. After I heard the 7th number, I looked at the clock. It was almost 3:00. I rose from the kitchen table. I told Rob and his mother that I had to leave. I walked briskly out of the kitchen and left the house. When I reached the sidewalk I began to run toward Evelyn’s house. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know what I was going to say. I just left.

I was a block from Evelyn’s house and I saw Mr. Cooper walking his dog. He waved to me. I slowed down. I bent over to catch my breath and then I hear “Honk Honnnnnk Heyyyyyyy Johnny!”, Then Mr. Cooper’s St. Bernard jumped on me. I was on my back with a large dog on my chest. I lifted my head off the sidewalk, and I saw the rear bumper of Dave’s car driving away. He was still honking his horn. The dog was licking my face. “I’m sorry he was just startled by the car horn. Tubbs sit boy heel,“ as Mr. Cooper snapped his finger multiple times. Tubbs finished licking my face and moved off me. “Your dad called and said you were interested in applying for a position down at the store. Now I wouldn’t normally consider someone your age, but in your case I would make an exception.” I stood on my feet trying to wipe my face. I smelled like a kennel. “Thanks Mr. Cooper, but I am trying to see a friend, before she leaves, for the summer, “ I said with my eyes wide opened.

“Ohhh, of course,” he waved toward me. “Go on. I was young once.” Not the, I was young once line. “I will come down to the store tomorrow, to finish our conversation sir,” and I continued running down the sidewalk.

I arrived at Evelyn’s driveway. I could see that she was trying to pull something out of the car her father packed earlier. “Hello, Evelyn I just wanted to say,” she stood up and turned around to face me with a bright smile. “I just wanted to say…” I was then interrupted by a familiar voice coming out of the car.

“Hey babe I told you I could pull your bag out from this side.” Steve stood up from the other side of the car. He said, “Hey Jonathan how’s it going?” At that moment my heart was tethered to a lead weight that was pulling my soul into an abysmal darkness. Babe. He called her Babe. The darkness was now consuming my vision. I could have fallen into that abyss and would have never known if the ground had broken my fall. “Steve, how’s it going?” I said in a monotone voice trying to stay on my feet.

“I was just helping Evelyn before she left. Going to miss her this summer. I will go up to the camp to visit her. Do you want to come?” Evelyn looked at me with a smile. I said, “No, I will be busy working all summer.” “Jon, I’m going home now do you want a ride?” “Sure that will be great,” I said with all the conviction of wanting to sing Kumbaya in the cafeteria naked with the lunch lady in front of the whole school. Steve walked around the car. Evelyn had a different smile for him. Their eyes were locked on each others. She raised her arms around his shoulders. He put his hands on her hips. They kissed. Then he said. “I’ll miss you.” “Not if I miss you first,” she replied. I could not imagine a worst taste in my mouth than what was physically evoked from watching them. Steve walked across the street to his car. I followed. He turned around one more time to wave goodbye. She blew him a kiss. We got into the car and he drove us home. On the way he said “First we are going to have take my bed apart. I think we can move my desk downstairs without dismantling it. The books can be…” Each word after that was like a bomb going off in my head. At this point I realized I never said goodbye.


The sun was beating relentlessly on the old cobblestone streets of the city when the stray cat appeared out of the shadows. It was a small, scruffy feline, its fur dyed a dull gray. Its eyes were a deep yellow, and they seemed to be dancing in the fading light that surrounded it. It stared at the girl for a few seconds and then continued on its way. She followed the cat, winding through the narrow alleys and passages of the old part of the city. There was something about that animal that urged her to go after it and she did so without even considering any other possibility. The cat meowed softly, looking back from time to time, as if it wanted to make sure that she was chasing it. The girl looked around, not knowing what to do. Despite the fear and confusion that was starting to rise within her, she felt a strange kind of excitement that urged her to continue on the trail marked by her peculiar companion. The cat led the girl through winding streets and alleyways, and soon they were in a completely unfamiliar part of the town. She felt a shiver run up and down her spine, but she didn't flinch. Instead, she kept her gaze focused on the cat's tail, which swayed slightly as they walked. Concentrating on it helped her not to get carried away by her thoughts. The cat eventually stopped in front of an old abandoned building, and the girl felt her heart skip a beat. She looked up at the roof, which seemed to tear the sky. The walls were on the verge of crumbling and were shrouded in a gloom that gave her great apprehension. She approached the door slowly, full of intrigue, then she stretched her small hand towards the doorknob, and then withdrew it. She had no idea what was on the other side, but she knew it was something important. So, she took a deep breath, reached out again and opened the door. The cat meowed softly and stepped back, as if to encourage her to follow. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped forward, to enter a large room, decorated with intricate tapestries and filled with empty bookshelves and furniture covered with sheets. She shifted her gaze across the mysterious and wondrous objects that filled the room. In the center was a large table, with a single chair, just opposite the entrance. The cat meowed softly and the girl felt a sense of anticipation as she sat in the chair. The room was filled with an almost palpable sense of magic, it was as if she was on the threshold of something wonderful. She waited with bated breath, unsure of what would come next. The cat meowed again and ran to a large, ornate mirror resting in the corner. The girl followed it, curiously, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. The cat stared at the mirror, as if it wanted to tell the girl something. She stood next to it and saw her own reflection, her long, black hair, her green eyes, and her pale skin. She saw something else besides: in the mirror, there was ancient furniture and bookshelves full of books. She saw that she was sitting at a large table, with a chair opposite the entrance, just as she had been a few minutes before. She saw the cat approaching and staring at her, inside the mirror, meowing softly. She gasped and put her hand over her mouth. It could not be... At that moment, another figure appeared in the mirror, only slightly distorted. It was her, but with different clothes. "Hello," said the girl, with a shiver. "Who are you?" "Hello," the girl in the mirror replied. Her voice was soft and soothing, and her eyes were cold, her gaze was stern. "Am I... dead?" asked the girl, uncertainly. From within the reflection, a large woman appeared, wearing a long lace black dress, with a red gem in the middle of her forehead. She had black hair and piercing green eyes. Her skin was pale, almost transparent, and her lips were so red they seemed to be bleeding. "No, not yet" the woman spoke in a husky, alto voice. "But you soon will be." "My name is..." the girl paused, unsure how she should introduce herself. "I mean, my name is..." "I know what your name is, Karen, I can see your reflection in my mirror" the woman said, with a thin smile. The girl wanted to scream, to run away, but she couldn't. She was paralyzed with fear, frozen in place, her eyes were open wide, her mouth was open like a gaping hole. "You have a gift, child" spoke the woman with a wicked smile that twisted her lips. "You have a power that is rare, even amongst our kind." The girl in the mirror blushed and looked down. "It's silly, really." "Oh no!" the woman said, with a hiss. "It does not seem silly to me. In fact, it is quite interesting. Especially since you are reflected in my mirror. I must admit, I am intrigued." "What is this power?" asked the girl, curious. The woman's smile widened and she walked around the table, approaching the girl. "You have a gift, child," she repeated "and I am going to teach you how to use it." The woman leaned over and whispered into the girl's ear. The girl closed her eyes and breathed in, her heart racing. She felt something strange, as if something had stuck to her skin. "Do you understand?" asked the woman. The girl nodded, still holding her breath. "Good. Now, open your eyes." She did as she was told and saw her own reflection in the mirror. It was her, but it was not. Her face was pale, whiter than it had ever been, and her eyes were black, as if she were dead. Her hands were covered in blood and her clothes were torn. She moved one of her hands and felt a strand of her long, black hair fall across her face. She raised her hand to brush it off and the motion of her hand made it seem as if she was about to touch herself. "What did you do to me?" she asked, terrified. "I showed you how to become one of us," the woman replied. "I taught you to use your gift." "One of you?" asked the girl. The woman nodded. "Yes. You have a rare gift, child. You can step in and out of mirrors, and what you see there is not exactly what is real..." "What do you mean?" the girl asked, her voice trembling. "Well, let me put it this way: you can go into the mirror, and you can come out of this mirror, but what is on the other side of the mirror might not be exactly what you see here." The girl nodded, her eyes wide, her hand on her mouth. "Why?" she whispered. "Why did you do this to me?" The cat leapt with agility, landing on the girl's frail shoulder where it pressed its sleek body against her neck. The woman's gaze hardened, and the light in her eyes sent a ripple across the mirror, causing her reflection to crawl back into the deepest corner of the room as if it were afraid of her. "I gave you a gift," she said, with a low hiss. "I gave you the power to become invisible, to hide in the shadows, to hear the secrets of people and use them in your favor. I gave you the power to be more than you could ever be in life. That is why I brought you here. To show you the way." "I don't want" said the girl, a pleading look in her eyes. "You don't have a choice," replied the woman, sharply. "This is what you are. You are a being of the night, of the shadows. You are a being of magic, of mystery and power." "I don't want" repeated the girl. The woman growled and grabbed her tightly by the throat and pressed her nails into her skin. The girl let out a scream, a high-pitched, tense scream, which rattled the walls. The cat bristled on her shoulders and leapt at the woman, smashing through the mirror and knocking her to the floor. As she fell, the cat jumped up and ran to the corner where the girl's reflection was and, meowing softly, lay in her lap. The mirror glass shattered into a thousand pieces, cracking the girl's skin at some points while the blood from the woman's forehead dripped down the rest of the glass, covering it with a thick red layer. The girl stood up, her face pale and her hands trembling. She felt pain but did not know what it was. She heard a moan but did not know where it came from. He was breathing, but he did not know why. She felt something in her chest, something throbbing, something shifting and moving, and something calling to her. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she was back in the room with the mirror. In front of her, the scattered panes of glass from the mirror crackled on the floor and there was no trace of the dark woman left. Then, she felt a faint meow. She turned her head and, next to the door, found the cat, who was quietly watching her, then turned and walked out the door. Again, she followed its steps. The sun had disappeared, and a full moon illuminated the dark roads. The cat was not there. It was raining.


Hyperopia was a term that, in childhood, seemed to make sense to Mia. While the technicalities of the term didn’t interest her wandering imagination, the repercussions of the condition certainly did. After complaining that she could only see things far in the distance with any kind of focus, her mother took her to an optician who quickly put a name to the issue and handed her a pretty pair of golden framed glasses.              “You have a condition that means you can see much better when things are far away,” he told her, gentle voiced and kind in the way that only years of dealing with young children could forge. “With glasses, your shorter sight should improve, but you need to keep them on. How do they feel?”              They felt odd, and she told him so. She could see the letters he pointed to on a distant rectangular board, could read them out one by one, but her vision felt much the same. He squeezed her shoulder and reassured her mother that it would take a number of days for things to improve, but improve they would. There was no doubt of that.              And yet that night, disquiet in the frustration of an ever-blurry vision, Mia sat in bed and stared at her glasses, facing her in their case on her pink dresser. Why should she wear them? They hurt the bridge of her nose. Next door, she could hear the neighbours arguing again. The father – George, he was called, and the mother Lydia. They were nice people, always happy to see Mia at their door asking if Grace could come out to play when the weather was pleasant. They didn’t sound so nice when they were arguing, but that wasn’t their fault. George’s mother was dying, and through the quiet, still air of the evening, Mia could hear their anguish through the barrier of their separate windows.              The volume rose, and so did Mia’s anxiety. Should she knock on her parents’ bedroom door? She felt too old for that, too stubborn to admit her own vulnerability. Ten years old was close to adulthood, too close to the ever-nearing period of independence she yearned for. If she went to her mother now, so close to her teenage years, would it prevent her from successfully arguing for a later bedtime? Would it impact her mission to go to Emily’s birthday party without an adult supervisor? Would it mean that when the time came, she wouldn’t be trusted to drive a car? It seemed to risky, but despite her resolution to weather the storm on her own, her fear still lingered at the edges of her mind like shadows in the corners of her room.              As a last attempt, when the shouting rose to a new, horrifying pitch, she scrambled out of bed and ran for her glasses, slipping them onto her face as if to stave off what she knew was coming.              As she blinked behind the lenses, her vision came sharply into focus, and for a brief moment relief washed through her.              Things began to blur, and she knew that her hyperopia hadn’t been quelled.              Beyond her glasses she saw an elderly woman, white hair perfectly placed against the pillow, makeup flawless, clothes neat. She was dignified even in the hospital bed, tubes winding into each arm like leeches, sucking and regurgitating horrifying fluids into her veins. The woman didn’t seem to care about the leeches, but she cared about Mia. She turned to her, only slightly, as much as her weakening strength would allow, and smiled. The clock on the wall near her head was old, cream at one time, but now a dirty grey. It was four o’clock, and the sky outside of the window was dark and endless. “Time to go,” the woman whispered, and Mia blinked herself back into her own time, her own place, her own room.              Back to the echoes of arguments not her business, arguments about the life of a woman destined to die at four o’clock.              Mia took off her glasses and put them back into their case, then climbed into bed.              ‘ Hyperopia is a common vision condition in which you can see distant objects clearly, but objects nearby may be blurry.’              How common could this be, Mia wondered. How many others could see what was to come, with absolutely no clue as to what was happening in front of their eyes.

It wasn’t always death.              Sometimes she blinked and found herself in strange places where nothing seemed real, nothing familiar or grounding, like she was in the scene of a novel she had yet to read. In the distance she would see a wave, monumental in size, humbling, scarring, horrifying as it demolished the land in its path. Then she would blink, back in her own body, and her mother would call her down for dinner. She would go downstairs, eat, and talk to her parents. To her mother about Grace, Beth, her closest friends. To her father about homework, science that she hated, art that she loved. Eventually, maybe days later, or weeks, she would forget the wave. She would forget until it appeared again, this time on the television screen, from the phones of horrified onlookers as another natural disaster destroyed the part of the world that they called home. She grew into a subdued adolescent, not insecure but disillusioned. She felt incredibly small, powerless in a world full of decisions she could do nothing but watch.              A budgie would spit out its food, and hours later her grandfather would call to complain that his birds were being fussy with food again, that he missed her visits, that she should walk over for a cup of tea and a cookie.              She’d daydream about a boy in school, think about holding his hand, twining their fingers together as they walked and laughed. Then she’d blink down at her essay and see him blushing at something, another girl, his hands linked together as he clenched his fingers in a nervous gesture. She’d hang back. why even try when she knows that in a matter of weeks, he’ll be infatuated with someone else? Why attempt to do something if you know you can’t change what’s going to happen? It’s a lesson she learned young.              Why wear glasses if her vision stayed the same?

Of course, she didn’t see everything. That would be ridiculous. Impossible. No, she only saw things she couldn’t change.              If whatever forces were at work let her pick her sight, she would have seen the young woman hurrying along before she ran into her, spilling coffee over them both.              But she didn’t, and the coffee was so hot it left their skin red and prickling from the pain.              “Sorry!” the woman said, pulling Mia’s university books from the floor and passing them back. She was pretty, in a messy, chaotic kind of way. Her glasses were crooked on her long nose. “I’m so clumsy sometimes!”              “It was my fault,” Mia said, looking down. She should have raised her head from her feet, a lesson her mother had been trying to teach her for the past two decades. It had yet to sink in. the coffee burned almost as much as the curious gaze of the young woman.              “I’m Aleena,” she said. With one hand she brushed her dark curls away from her face and smiled brightly with wonderfully crooked teeth. “What’s your name?”              “Mia,” she replied, somewhat lost.              “Would you like me to buy you a new coffee, Mia?” Aleena asked, still smiling. Her eyes were as dark as her hair, as beautiful as her deep skin, as beguiling as the rest of her.              “I thought you were in a rush,” Mia said. She could feel a blush spreading from the burn on her chest, up to her neck and cheeks.              “Some things can afford to be postponed, and I’d like to go for coffee with you. What do you say?”              Mia didn’t know where this was going. She always knew where things would end up, whether she wanted to or not. In this unnamed hesitation, uncertain vulnerability that felt larger than a stranger on the street and the cooling of fresh coffee on her shirt, she was as blind as everyone else, and that scared her even more than the gift of knowing.              She never took risks. What was the point? Things were fated to happen whether she tried to intervene or not, and she’d known that since the first time she’d blinked and found herself somewhere distant. But Aleena was a stranger with a beguiling smile, and no matter how many times Mia blinked as they both waited for her to find the courage of her voice, her sight didn’t send her any clues. This future was locked behind an impenetrable door, unknown to her.              “It’s just coffee,” Aleena said, softer now. Gentler, as if speaking to a spooked animal. Calmer, despite her wild appearance and the flurry in which she moved. “It doesn’t have to be anything more or less than coffee. One thing at a time, Mia.”

One thing at a time.              She’d never dealt with one thing at a time, it was a constant stream of everything at every time, all mixed and distorted into one inky blur of distant vision.               But coffee sounded nice.              Just coffee sounded very nice.              “Okay,” she said, surprising herself. It felt like a risk, like a victory.              Aleena’s answering smile felt like a reward.

How useful it would have been to know the significance of that coffee.              How useful it would have been to know that they would spend hours talking, laughing, and only a handful of meetings later would share their first kiss outside of the doors of that same coffee shop. Mia wished she’d known what was coming, not because she would have changed it, but because she could have stopped worrying about her feelings being reciprocated, felt the ease of carelessness for longer than a fleeting moment.              In a matter of weeks she found herself resenting her sight once more, not for her vision, but her lack of. Why in this one area couldn’t she see what was going to happen? People fell in and out of love all the time, uncertain but excited. Relationships began and end, people came and went as they always did.              Mia found herself lost not in her hyperopia, but instead a haze of myopia. When she saw Aleena, she could see nothing past her. No distance, no future, just the present, the close, the heavy, significant now of it all. The way their hands linked together and matched so well, one pale and one tanned, one bare but for freckles, the other adorned in rings. The way Aleena always held open the door for Mia, the way Mia found herself enjoying hiding chocolate in Aleena’s belongings to cheer her up when stress bogged her down. The way they curled together in the cold, Aleena’s nose against her forehead, breath cloudy in front of her eyes. The way Aleena’s glasses steamed as she drank warm coffee, the way she smelt of lavender, always, because she used the oil for everything from sleep to dry skin. The way they read in silence together, danced together, lay together, smiled together. The way they seemed to be falling together, not separate or alone. Mia’s vision couldn’t stretch past the now of it all, taking in each detail one at a time until all that she saw was the present.

“I have hyperopia,” she admitted one late night. Aleena’s head was heavy against her shoulder, a pleasant, familiar weight.              Aleena hummed. “That means you’re farsighted, right?”              “Yeah.”              “Well, I’m short-sighted. I think the technical term is myopia. People always say opposites attract, right? Maybe it was fate that we met.”              Mia laughed at that. “I don’t think that whoever ‘ they’ are meant that opposing vision conditions are the recipe for true love.”              “My vision is terrible if I’m not up close to the object I’m looking at. When I bumped into you, I could barely feel the coffee. All I could focus on was you.”              Mia swallowed. Such painful honesty was still foreign to her, but she was slowly learning the benefits of being open. “I… I’ve always struggled to stay in the present. I struggle to focus on what’s close. It’s easier to look into the distance than examine the truth of the closer details.”              Aleena pressed a kiss to Mia’s neck. “Together we either have an astigmatism or perfect vision. Unfortunately, seeing into the future isn’t a task our humble, faulty eyes can perform, so only time will tell.”              “If it were?” Mia asked, suddenly unreasonably tense. “If it were possible, would you look? Would you want to know?”              Aleena laughed. “Of course not! If you’re always looking at the future, how can you enjoy the present? There’s something magical about only caring about the moment you’re living.”              “You think so?”              “I do.” Aleena sat up so that they were facing one another on Aleena’s old, sinking couch. The glow from the energy saving lightbulbs was dim, the sky outside of the window a deep unidentifiable dark. Aleena’s skin looked golden, burnished by a godly light from somewhere within her. She was the brightest thing in the room, her eyes the darkest, warm and deep. “Can’t you feel this, Mia? This moment now? What could possibly matter right now other than what we feel, what we see, hear, touch? The world outside of this room is endless. There will always be problems to be solved and troubles to be cured, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy your moments. You deserve that – everyone does.”              “I wish it were that simple,” she whispered. If only it were, if only she had the control she yearned for. If she couldn’t see where this life with Aleena would lead, why could she see the suffering of strangers? The mundane romance of the elderly? The simple life of wild birds, the laughter yet to come from a small, struggling baby – why could she see it? Why her?              Aleena touched Mia’s hand. “Life isn’t about curing all ailments; it’s just about making the best of what you have. The future will always loom, lingering on the horizon, but darling, if you spend the present worrying about it then one day, you’ll have nothing to look forward to, only back. You’ll look behind at the miles you’ve walked, the years you’ve wasted in your fear, and you’ll wish you had allowed yourself those moments of quiet. Even if they come to an end and reality finds you, the future knocks at your door, you still need to allow yourself to enjoy your moments. Allow yourself a moment of myopia.”              It felt possible while Aleena was touching her hand, absorbing her focus. Mia stared, and for the first time, felt her vision begin to narrow. Allow yourself those moments of quiet .              ‘ Myopia is a common vision condition in which you can see objects near to you clearly, but objects further away appear blurry .’              Whether Aleena or someone else, or a favourite book, a beautiful sunny day, a moment in windbreak when the air seems to still, silent for a breath, and everything has paused – whether focusing on something close to you or merely yourself, a moment of myopia might be all that is needed to find peace.              “I think you might be magic,” Mia whispered to Aleena.              Aleena smiled. “I think we both know that I’m not the magic one here, darling, but doesn’t it feel wonderful to see so clearly when the two of us are looking together?”              Myopia, hyperopia, astigmatism – they were terms that in childhood, seemed to make sense to Mia. She didn’t care for them now, however. What did labels matter? There was nothing that could fix her vision, but she had found a pair of glasses that seemed to fit her wonderfully. A new perspective and a new focus. Her hyperopia would remain, but so would her new glasses, the new lens in which to see the world.