#Welcome to the first Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to the first Micro Monday on r/Shortstories! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words. However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, a theme word, a sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. Please read the entire post before submitting.   *** #This week’s challenge: **“It was as if time itself stopped.”** This week’s challenge is to include the above sentence in your story, in some way. You may add on to it, but the original sentence should stay intact.   ***   #How It Works: - In the comments below, submit a story between 100-300 words by the following Sunday at midnight EST. Use to check your wordcount. - Each Monday, I will spotlight two deserving stories from the previous week that I think really stood out. I will take any nominations you make into consideration. You may send them to me via reddit or on the discord. But please remember, this is not a contest. - While it’s not a requirement, I encourage everyone to come back throughout the week and read the other stories on the thread. Upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some feedback. I will take all of this into consideration when making my selections each week. - We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion. - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the stickied comment on this thread.


"I feel like we won't go on vacation again this year," the woman said, standing by the stove and promptly flipping the smoky piece of toast. Her son, a little boy who appeared to be about nine years old, was poking his porridge with a spoon, nudging a piece of melting butter that glided across the sticky surface like a small edible ship. "Let's not talk about that in the morning. Okay?" the man in a white t-shirt with a telescope print said, grabbing his son's hand abruptly. "Come on, stop that. Eat faster, or you'll be late for your first lesson today." "And when are we going to talk about it then?" the woman persisted. "When am I supposed to talk about it, if we only see you in the morning? And then you're busy. Busy around the clock, Eli." "Well, stop it," he said, uttering it as if it were both a threat and a plea. "I don't want to stop," she said. "Every time you find some way to justify everything, every time I have to stop. Meanwhile, Eli, our son's doctor prescribed sea air for him. We live in a desert, Eli..." "Please, Uno, just stop," he said, slowly losing his composure, "let me have breakfast in peace. I need to get to work soon." The boy was eating his porridge, diligently plunging the spoon into the bowl, tucking his head into his shoulders, and flinching from his father's loud voice. "I promise you," Eli finally said, "I promise that I'll take a 10-day vacation on my own dime as soon as this month is over. But this month I'm busy because it's the best time to listen to the cosmos." "You'd better have listened to your father, Eli, when he offered you to continue his business," Uno accidentally blurted out, freezing as she sensed that she had crossed acceptable boundaries. Eli pushed his plate aside; he had enough patience not to throw it at her. He often had a bad temper in the mornings, and he thought she knew that better than anyone. He counted to ten and the sudden burst of anger that had flared up seemed less significant now. He counted to ten again before turning to his wife. "My little star, I know that not everything goes as we dreamed before our wedding." "Nothing goes as planned," she interrupted, but immediately fell silent, seeing the way he looked at her. "So, I'm saying that not everything goes smoothly, and it pains me. To know that I can't give my family what it deserves. At least the ability to take off and go to that damn ocean." She gazed at her husband attentively and felt a sense of guilt for what she had said. Uno was a wise and patient woman, but when it came to their son, she didn't always have the patience to stay silent. She knew Eli was a good husband and an excellent scientist, and that his project to study the distant cosmos for signs of intelligent life was the reason he turned away from his father's business, moved to the other end of the country, sacrificed his pride and principles, pounding the doors of the national scientific fund in an attempt to attract private investors. But when conversations like these arose, all that understanding magically disappeared, and she was ready to pounce on him. "My project, Uno," the man continued, "the work of my entire life, will soon bear fruit. You'll see. And when your little Eli proves to that stubborn scientific community that we're not alone in the universe, then everything will change. Oh, we'll truly live then, Uno! We'll live!" The man abruptly stood up from the table, scooped up his son, who had just finished eating, under his arms, and started to race around the kitchen with him as if the boy were a pilot with a jetpack. The boy laughed, stretched his arms out to the sides, mimicking airplane wings, and made buzzing sounds through the big gap between his front teeth. Eventually, their improvised flight on another round ended near Uno; they nearly bumped into her when they came to a stop. Eli stood just a few centimeters away from his wife, breathing heavily, a smile still on his face, and he didn't take his tender and pleading gaze off Uno. Their little son alternated between looking at his father and his mother, expecting that, as it had happened before in similar situations, his parents would kiss each other and soon forget about the unpleasant conversation. But this time, Uno took a step back, watching as the smile faded from her husband's face, and she said dryly: "We're alone, Eli. Your family is alone without you." The night sky in the bare and scorching desert always seemed to Eli as if it were tethered to the planet's surface by enormous invisible hooks, with stars so close and bright upon it. In these late hours, when deep silence filled the surroundings, one could hear the heart muscle pumping blood through the vessels, like a second hand ticking away the course of life. "And she's right," thought the scientist, sitting at the table cluttered with massive equipment. "She's more adapted to life in this world than I am. After all, I do nothing but search for it - this life, while she lives it. Not somewhere on other planets, in other star systems, but here. Here and now." Giant radio telescopes, with their heads tilted skyward, gleamed against the backdrop of dark rocks and yellow sand. They were ready to obey any command he gave. The sand, once lifted by the gusty and scorching wind, akin to the Saharan sirocco, now sparkled in the moonlight on the metallic plates of their bodies. "If they don't approve a new research grant by the end of the year, I'll have to turn to my father, and he's just waiting for the moment when I stumble." Eli loved his father and never understood at what point between them this foolish competition - who's better - had emerged. It never even crossed his mind to be the first, and even if hypothetically it did happen, he'd never boast about it to him. "I've been staring at this section of the celestial atlas for too long," the man thought. "I remember last time I wanted to change the azimuthal angle and use a different algorithm for calculations." Time after midnight always flowed slowly. The scientist managed to prepare and drink about five cups of coffee before a phone call forced him to divert his attention from diagrams and thoughts about an uninviting future. The voice on the other end of the line was dry and irritable. From the first sounds, the man immediately guessed who was calling and regretted answering a few times. "Elian," sounded through the speaker, "Elian, don't pretend you can't hear me." There was a brief pause, which Eli interrupted with the words, "Yes, Dad. I'm listening." "We spoke with your wife a couple of hours ago," his father began, "we, meaning me and your mother, if you still remember her existence." "Please, don't start," the son replied with a tinge of sadness in his voice, feeling himself sink into the back of his chair. "I'm not starting; I'm continuing," came the persistent response from the other side. "Uno told me things haven't been going well between you lately." "Damn her, this woman," Eli cursed, "found someone to call." "I'm still here, and I'm not deaf," his father commented disapprovingly. "And I was the one who called her, not the other way around. I called because you..." The man hesitated but soon continued, "Because you haven't been able to dial your mother's number for six months and simply say 'hello,' ask her how she's doing, if she's well? Tell her how her grandson is doing. How he's already playing the musical instrument wonderfully. Have you ever put yourself in her shoes? Do you know what it's like for her?" He seemed to intentionally avoid any mention of himself. "I won't be surprised, Elian," his father said, as if concluding his monologue, "if Uno takes your son and leaves you." Elian was on the verge of exploding, as he often did, which seemed to always be the cause of such swift and infrequent conversations. But at that moment, the second line rang. Without explaining what was happening and leaving his father without the long-awaited justifications, the man accepted the new call and ended the current conversation. "Redlam!" exclaimed the scientist, "you have no idea how glad I am to hear you, my friend!" "What's with the sudden enthusiasm?" the other end wondered, taken aback by this unexpected confession. "Oh, yes," he began and was about to retell the entire conversation with his father, but then fell silent and only a few seconds later dismissively said, "Never mind." "But everything is very important to me, Eli," Redlam said impatiently, adding, "And if you're standing now, you better sit down." "Don't tease me, you son of a bitch," Eli chuckled, "you always start with this long prelude instead of just getting to the point." "I want to," the voice continued, "if it's really what I think. I'd like you to..." "Yeah, are you kidding me?" the interlocutor asked angrily. "Just wait a moment!" the man snapped back, "I'm talking about the fact that I received a signal, Eli. And I'd like you to double-check it, and then we could announce this discovery together." But Eli seemed to have heard nothing more. The phrase "received a signal" worked on him like a hypnotic spell, paralyzing all muscle groups and exerting an oppressive influence on his nervous system. "Redlam," the scientist tried to maintain his composure, "what signal did you receive and from where?" And then his friend, another quirky astrophysicist just like himself, told him everything, withholding not a single detail. He told him about the unusual sequence of prime numbers. How he demodulated it and obtained it from a short radio burst from a distant galaxy X. How his limbs trembled for the first few minutes, making it difficult for him to dial the correct number from the phone book. And how the sequences repeated, and the man cried over a sheet of paper, diligently jotting down the seemingly unnecessary repetition: 123455, 123455, 123455, 123455. Then came 54532. He lovingly traced each received digit, feeling his cheeks and chin grow wet. Then came a pause, and the radio telescopes, like the eyes of a newborn blinded by darkness, fruitlessly groped the sky. Finally, the continuation followed: 545315, which transformed back into the familiar 123455. And this combination repeated, just like the first time - four times, followed by the codenotion of the number 54532. And Elian listened to the scientist, whose voice trembled in the telephone receiver, and he understood that this tremor was transmitted to him from a distance. Now he couldn't contain it within his own body, so he pressed the piece of black plastic harder against his ear and bit his lips. Eli double-checked all the data at least three times. There was no doubt that the signal was of artificial origin and had come from deep space. Its source lay beyond the nebula, in a foreign galactic realm so distant that it nearly touched the edge of the visible universe. There, where dark matter could potentially exist, and where other laws of physics might apply. To avoid the heavy hangover of a mistaken discovery, Eli immediately ruled out all sources of signals originating from his home planet. These could include amateur radio enthusiasts occasionally interfering with space listening, signals from satellites, microwave ovens, robotic vacuum cleaners, and so on. He now had to decode the data provided by Redlam using mathematical methods and understand what was encoded in the message. He returned home after three days, by which time a sour odor emanated from him, demanding a change of clothes and a bath. "Are you okay?" his wife asked, seeing how her husband forced himself to eat a small portion of porridge, just to have something other than coffee in his stomach. "I'm fine," Eli replied, but his eyes made it clear that he wasn't in the same room with her at the moment, nor even on the same planet. Elian journeyed along the edge of the universe, mentally repeating the distant flight of the radio signal. "Our son will have his first music exam soon," his wife said, and he seemed to emerge from the water, hearing only fragments of her sentences. "The teacher says he has an innate talent and a very keen sense that allows him to..." Again, Elian's head submerged beneath the surface of icy water, and his wife's voice turned into the buzz of insects, among which nothing could be distinguished. "I think he takes after his grandfather," Uno said as they resurfaced, and Elian unconsciously nodded in agreement. In the neighboring room, their son was playing a musical instrument. He played a simple melody very diligently, carefully coaxing sounds from the strings, which gently spread throughout the half-empty house. "I don't know what we've found," the scientist suddenly spoke. "What?" Uno asked in surprise, even though she had heard perfectly well. His unexpected confession caught her off guard as she had been talking to him about their son's achievements. "You didn't hear me?" Elian looked sternly at his wife and raised his voice, asking, "I said I don't know what we've found. We have prime numbers, their sequence, like a cipher, and a riddle concealed within them. But damn it, history provides so many examples where millennia were required for a simple answer." "Perhaps it's some kind of nursery rhyme," the woman suggested, which amused him. But it wasn't a kind laugh; it was the kind born from witnessing foolishness. "We know that there's a message hidden in the numbers," Eli condescended, "something like an image, a shape, or maybe the structure of DNA, a star system. Maybe it's coordinates or plain text, like, 'Hey, we're here! Hello, world!' That's our assumption. 'We,' meaning me and Redlam, try to match each number to some kind of symbol. But none of it has worked so far." The woman listened silently, understanding that in the moment of revelation, it wasn't the best time to offer any predictions or interject with her own guesses. "We haven't received anything for the past 48 hours. The signal that might have been broadcasting to us idiots for decades could have been detected by us only at its very end. We managed to catch it right at the curtain, Uno." She could see his lips trembling, like those of a child who had been punished and had their favorite toy taken away. She wanted to hug him, but she hesitated to do so. "We're late, Uno, and we don't even understand what we're late for." The door to the room opened, and a slender boy appeared on the threshold, just as thin as his peers. His dark, curly hair mischievously fell into his eyes, and his miniature nose twitched, pulling in transparent droplets of runny nose. "I can't play the notes in the right sequence," the child admitted, and teardrops sparkled in his eyes. And then, like a lightning bolt, an idea struck Elian, who rushed toward his son and lifted him high above his head. The boy, startled by the sudden movement, flinched and let out a squeal, echoed by Uno. "You're my first discoverer!" the man shouted, looking up at his son's smiling face. "My little genius! Of course, why didn't I realize it sooner?" Elian twirled the little wunderkind around the room, and Uno laughed through her tears, covering her face with her hand. "Notes!" Elian continued, his excitement uncontained, "they encoded notes into each digit! And they gave us the signal frequency to understand the pitch and duration of these notes!" Then the scientist seated the boy at the table, rushed to fetch an instrument, and ceremoniously presented it to the future maestro. He disappeared again, but this time the noise of his search emanated from the parents' bedroom. When he returned, he held a pen and a sheet of paper in his hands. His wife watched him with a mixture of triumph and reverence. In those moments, he was everything to her: a genius, a deity, a prophet. "Alright, let's assume," the scientist began, his speech quick, "we have the digit 1, and it corresponds to...," he tapped his forehead with the pen cap, as if contemplating, and then continued, "it must correspond to the sound of the note 'C'. If it's 'C', then the digit 2..." He took a deep breath, the veins on his temples bulging with the effort he was putting into this. "The digit 2 corresponds to the sound of the note 'D', and the digit 3 corresponds to the sound of the note 'E'." For half an hour, Elian hastily composed the melody of the first and then the second part of the message. With the finished piece in hand, he turned to his son. "Play this for me. Please, my dear, play this song for Daddy," he requested. The boy looked at his father's scribbles, wrinkled his nose, pressed the instrument against his shoulder, and nuzzled his cheek against the cool wooden body of the instrument. The vibrations of the strings produced a delicate melody that flowed through the room, sad and pure, like crystalline snowflakes. Elian listened to it, tears streaming down his cheeks. When they went to bed, he clung to his wife's body with the intensity of a newborn, burying his cold nose in the curve of her armpit. "This is their final requiem," the man said with difficulty, "a funeral song in the name of the demise of their entire civilization. It's like a cry for help, meant only to reveal themselves, not to save."


As soon as the water coated the inside of his esophagus, David realized his fatal mistake. It burned. Leaving a trail of excruciating pain as it slithered down toward his stomach. Maisey heard the glass shatter seconds before the screams. Horrible, wretched, wailing. Reminiscent of the ones from that PSA she had been forced to watch that morning. The mother took off her headset and left her virtual meeting. She’d eat the dock in pay from her OneCoin account — her child was more important. But as soon as she saw her baby boy, all prior thoughts of being a great parent vanished. He was on the floor, seizing — eyes rolled back — tongue ready to be chewed off. And she knew, this was her fault. The PSA had made the side effects look almost comical. She remembered terribly costumed actors worming around on the ground like fresh-caught fish. It was a spectacle; something to be amused by, which in hindsight, probably undercut the severity of the message it was trying to promote. Bean™ had concepted, produced, and placed the spot in market all within a week. It was an in-house creative effort — a quick-turn deliverable to be crushed, not crafted. Something the brand managers, and nobody else was proud of. Uninspired as it may have been, the messaging was direct and simple. The community water supply had been tainted. But Bean Watershed Utility™ (BWU) was doing everything they could to fix it. According to the company, it was an issue caused by ANTICO. The black-garbed terrorist group had apparently dumped hundreds of thousands of gallons of harsh chemicals into the water supply. Chemicals like Acetate\_3009, Polymer\_19481, and Silicone\_4444441. Which when ingested, caused an unusually horrific sensation of convulsing, vomiting, bleeding from the eyes — and then very soon after, death. According to the PSA, there were two things one could do to avoid death in this situation. The easiest, and most important, would be to purchase a subscription for Bean Water Filters™ — only 5.3786749 OneCoin a day. This was a preventative measure which didn’t help Maisey or David. The second, more costly option, would be to find a Bean Health Bureau™ (BHB), and have one of their physicians irrigate the chemicals out of the body using Bean’s™ patent-pending technology, engineered by those formerly known as German. This was Maisey’s last hope of seeing her son conscious again. The spot said that if one were to consume these chemicals, they’d have a total of 10 minutes to get treated. Maisey picked up the boy, and rushed to the garage. She loaded him into her Bean Beam Cruiser™, and attempted the mental math required to figure out how much time she had left before his demise. It had been one minute since she heard David’s glass shatter. The BHB was six minutes away, meaning she’d have three minutes to get him treated and make it in time. She took a deep breath and pressed the button to start the vehicle. God was an antiquated concept to her, but still, she prayed it would only be a fifteen second ad. The interior lit up in hues of dark green and purple — Bean’s™ brand colors. The screen on the dash powered on, and politely asked, “*Where to?”* Maisey shouted back, “*the BHB*.” And her words were instantly transcribed onto the tablet. The car responded, “*The Bean Health Bureau, You got it, Maisey.*” The vehicle self-accelerated outside the garage, and turned out of her driveway at exactly the twenty-five miles per hour. The doors locked from the inside and the screen transitioned to a non-skip advertisement for next year’s model of the Bean Beam Cruiser™. Already covered in vomit, David began bleeding from the eyes. Weeping, yet still unconscious. The ad described the history of Bean’s™ automobile division. Its vehicles were the first to be engineered using an ingenious (and semi-sustainable) chemical process that involved Acetate\_3009, Polymer\_19481, and Silicone\_4444441. Next it showed cliche footage of the vehicle in action — cruising through desert terrain, sunny city skylines, and waterfront highways. Finally, much to Maisey’s dismay, it showed her and David riding inside the newest model, laughing together, playfully nudging each other, piloting hand-planes outside the open window. It was a deepfake — a vignette from some horrible episode of deja vu Maisey never conjured. The mother held her breath, waiting for the piece of film to end. The vehicle pulled up to the BHB, but the advertisement was still playing. Maisey reached for the door handle, but knew before she pulled that it wouldn’t open. She slapped on the glass window and called out for help. Outside the BHB was desolate. Since all buildings and vehicles had been fitted to be sound-proof, noises (human or industrial) were a far and few between kind of luxury. A nurse smoked a cigarette exactly eight yards from Maisey’s cruiser. Her back was turned to the vehicle — she was ordering a carton of Bean Menthols™ from her phone. Maisey screamed and cried and slapped and punched — punched the glass window until her hand bled. The mixture of agonizing whimpers over the ad’s royalty-free track created an avant-garde melody Maisey found even more disturbing. All in all, the brand film was 9 minutes long — the Beam Cruiser™ had dipped in sales the last few years — and media-strategists thought a long form, more emotional spot would prove successful. They were right — that model would eventually top last year’s sales by 1.005%. As soon as the advertisement ended, the doors unlocked. Maisey feigned hope, with mutterings like “*Davey, you’re ok, baby*.” But deep down, she knew it was over. The media-buy-roulette had determined their fate. Maisey got out, and opened the back seat. But just as she suspected, David was gone. Covered in blood, vomit, and bruises — his skin turned a dark green and purple. She picked up the corpse, slung it over her shoulder, and carried it next door to the BCF — The Bean Crematorium Facility™.


Jenn immediately regretted her decision.

The contractor’s garbage bag was wedged three quarters of the way into the clothing drop-off bin, and there it rested awkwardly. With cartoonish effort, she crouched beneath the dangling portion and pushed feebly upward, hoping it would somehow slide forward ending the whole ordeal. Nothing. She realized that she had actually been holding her breath and it came out in a defeated puff as she shrunk down to the blacktop.

The hazard lights of the Kia blinked and the signal ding ding dinged while Jenn sat there pathetically hoping no one else pulled into the back of the lot this late at night. She had watched too many true crime shows to know how this must look. The scene was prime for Keith Morrison’s iconic narration:

But what, or rather, WHO was hiding in that black bag that Jenn so desperately wanted to make disappear that cold night in January? There’s no dead body in there, Keith. Only dead clothes. “So we’re just going to live with this now, right?”

Earlier, Dom’s voice had had that bear-baiting edge in it. He was making a choice. “You asked me to bag it up, and I did that,” Jenn said without taking her eyes off the phone’s screen. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Scroll, scroll. No response.

“As usual, everything is half-assed with you.” He kicked the bag for good measure before skulking into the hall bathroom.

That’s all it took. Not to be outdone, Jenn leapt up and swept the bag up in one red swell of anger-induced adrenaline. But without an audience this wouldn’t land, so instead of carrying it down the stairs, she heaved it over the banister. If the thwack of the plastic hitting the foyer tile didn’t reach Dom’s ears, then her feet thundering down the steps would. But if he came out to investigate, Jenn didn't know because she was already peeling out of the driveway.

She kept telling herself she would stop leaving the house during a fight, but this was different: she was dropping the clothes off merely to get Dom to shut up. Nothing more than an important errand… that absolutely needed to be done at 11:00 at night.

The SUV drove along the winding, dark roads. Where was a clothing drop when you actually needed one? Any other time, they popped up like eyesore dandelions in random lots, but tonight? Nothing. The Presbyterian Church in Howard Falls had a pretty big box, but it would mean driving an extra 20 minutes in the opposite direction, likely worrying Dom.

Fuck it.

Dom didn’t get it because he hadn’t actually gone to therapy. He wasn’t putting in the work: sitting in Dr. Palmer’s small office that smelled a little off, the walls adorned with random photographs his wife took on their world travels. When she wanted to keep from crying, she would fixate on the framed shot of a vibrant toucan above Dr. Palmer’s head while he wrote out a refill for Ativan.

The blogs and message boards also validated Jenn’s process. Even fucking Hamlet reinforced the message: grief is not a set amount of time for everyone. Shakespeare knew it in 1599, and nothing’s changed.

The church and its grounds looked so different at night under the street lamps. A brand new swing set had been constructed earlier that spring. It was made of that good composite wood and surrounded by safety turf. For a moment, she thought about walking over to sit down on one of the shiny red swings. Jenn’s legs started to get tingly from sitting on the ground. She stood up, wobbling slightly, reaching up to the lopsided sack to help steady her feet. It wasn’t going to move, so the only thing to do now would be to open the bag and throw the individual articles in the bin until the bag became manageable.

Come to think of it, the bag hadn’t even been in the hallway that long—maybe a month? Had it been since before Thanksgiving? That wasn’t the point. The point was that the clothes were in the bag–out of sight. Just taking the jackets and shirts off their hangers, emptying the chest of drawers, was progress in its own right. She knew it, she had read all the steps, it was something, a big step in the right direction. What's more, she wasn’t even given credit for how quickly she got the clothes cleared out. It wasn’t like all the other times she had been organizing her closet or purging seasonal items. Jenn would not allow herself to get distracted, because she knew that’s what everyone would expect. Open the door and you’ll see Jenn falling to pieces in the center of the room, clutching a random item of significance. No way, each piece came down and disappeared into the bag’s black hole without a second glance. There were no sentimental pauses, or recollections, no sniffing for traces of— Suddenly, the bag was open and the number 38 looked up at her. White satin stitched onto the pale blue jersey. There was still a stubborn grass stain from when he dove in centerfield to catch the final out. Jenn attacked it with every chemical under the sink, but the streaks remained. Beneath the jersey were the camp t-shirts: obnoxious neon shades, easily spotted on field trips to the water park or planetarium. Lime green in 2014, orange for 2015, purple in 2016. So many summers, breezing through play dates and recreation sign-ups, birthday parties, and trips down the shore. Even when one faded with the last streaks of sunset during a Labor Day barbecue, there was always the promise of rebirth next Memorial Day.

Until there wasn’t.

They were spread out now in a semi-circle on the ground, articles of clothing from an 11-year-old boy who would never see 12. The once bulging donation bag was dwarfed now, about half the size from earlier. Jenn pushed it easily down the chute and the hatch sprung back into place with a satisfying click. She picked up each remaining piece, gave it a good look, and in turn, sent them into the box.

The jersey was last, of course. Jenn hesitated reaching for the handle. Instead, she draped it around her shoulders like a cape. As she walked over to the swings, the car’s headlights lit the way.


A rook, a bishop, and a knight walk into a bar. Each of them takes a seat as a pawn bartender moves in to take their drink order. "Can I get you something?" The pawn bartender inquires. "Just a beer for me," says the rook. "I'll take a whiskey, neat," the knight says quietly. The bishop surveys the bottles behind the bar, unable to make a decision. "We have a wide choice of vodkas," the Pawn bartender says, attempting to assist. "Oh, I'm not sure. I'm in the mood for something sweet right now. Do you know how to prepare a strawberry daiquiri?" The bishop inquires, eliciting a puzzled expression from the rook and knight. "I suppose I could give it a shot," the pawn bartender admits grudgingly. "You're a lifesaver; I've had myself a day," the fatigued bishop exclaims. The pawn moves about making the drinks, and the knight turns to the other two. "Let's get started; I was walking about in an L pattern, like I usually do, when I spotted something weird. The adversary is moving forward on the right side," the knight elaborates. "Oh my God, I'm going insane. All I can see is what's directly in front of me; I've been staring at a pawn's ass for as long as I can remember," the rook adds, a little uncomfortably. "Calm down, hear me out; I believe we should try to switch sides; we're waging a losing battle," the knight says. "Switch sides? Everything looks fine from my perspective," the bishop says. "Yeah, but you're cross-eyed, you ever noticed that you only move diagonally," the knight says. "It's never been done before; you can't simply switch sides. Don't you have any allegiance to the white king and queen?" The bishop inquires. "I did, but there used to be a second knight, and then I witnessed it, the sacrifice, simply to save the queen after she made a foolish decision. Then it hit me: we don't matter to the monarchy; everything is set up to protect them; what about our lives?" The knight snarls. "We're at war," the bishop continues, "and if the white king and queen prevail, we all win." "I'm not sure about that; there was another rook as well. Then one night, the king approaches him and requests to trade positions, mentioning something about castling. He mistook it for a sexual advance, but he was found dead the next morning," the rook elaborates. "That's what I've been saying, the king could have advanced in any direction, but instead, he put his rook in jeopardy," the knight asserts confidently. "All right, I'll consider this stupid concept for a minute; how do we switch to the other side, genius?" asks the bishop. The knight was about to respond when the pawn bartender returned with their drinks, forcing him to swallow his remarks. "Okay, the rook gets a beer, the knight gets a whiskey, and the bishop wins a daiquiri. Is there anything else I can get you?" The pawn bartender inquires. "Oh God, a dose of insulin for this sweet drink," laments the bishop as he takes a sip from his daiquiri. "Please accept my apologies; that was the first time that drink was ordered here," the pawn bartender acknowledges. "It's alright; evidently, the kingdom will be short of sugar for a while because it's all in my drink," the bishop complains. With a shake of his head, the pawn bartender walks away. The knight checks around to make sure no one is listening in on their conversation before leaning in to discuss it with the bishop and rook. "Okay, you know how we wear white, and the enemy wears black?" The knight inquires. "Don't remind me, bishops around the world get lavish and fancy robes; I'm stuck with this white potato sack," the bishop complains. "Yeah, well, the other day, while on patrol, I killed a bishop and stole his black robe. And shortly before I arrived, I killed a black knight and stole his black uniform. Once we've betrayed our side, we simply start wearing black to show the black side; we're with them now," the knight explains. "So, instead of carrying out our oath, we simply betray our kingdom?" The bishop inquires. "I've seen enough of these conflicts to know that we're going to lose; I knew as soon as I saw pawns sacrificed like candy early on. A king who has no regard for pawns has no regard for anyone but himself," says the knight. "This is making sense; we could be the heroes. We would be regarded as warrior gods if we won the fight for the black side!" The rook says. "All right, I don't want to lose this war as much as you don't; you've persuaded me," the bishop adds. "This is great; when are we going to get the black rook uniform for me?" The rook inquires. The knight gives an uneasy grin. "Here's the thing, we need someone to be sacrificed, so the king and queen don't see it coming," explains the knight. "So, who will be sacrificed?" The rook inquires. "You, you idiot, you're the only one without a black uniform," the bishop says. "Look at it this way," the knight adds, "you'll be recognized as a hero, historians will write books about you, tales will emerge about your sacrifice." "I suppose that would be sort of cool, but how do we go about doing it?" The rook inquires. "We'll begin with the queen. When the black side attacks, I know exactly where the white queen will be. You'll sacrifice yourself, and when the queen believes she's rescued, we'll dress in black and murder the white queen. When the king comes down to see what's going on, we kill him as well," the knight explains. "I like that; everyone knows that queen bish is more powerful than the king anyway," says the bishop, laughing. They finish their drinks and exit the bar. As the black queen enters the white queen's chamber to begin her attack, the rook moves into position directly in front of her. The white rook goes courageously to the right and then forward. The black queen kills the rook in no time at all. Then, the black queen turns her gaze to the white queen, who is terrified since she has no way out; she has been cornered. Suddenly, the white knight and bishop appear and take their places in front of the black queen. The white queen smiles because she knows the knight and bishop will make a sacrifice for her. However, it is at this point that the white knight and bishop don their black clothes and attack the white queen. The black queen looks on, perplexed. The white knight and bishop kill the white queen at the same time. They then bow in front of the black queen. "We are now your devoted servants, my black queen," the white knight declares reverently. The black queen is perplexed and kills the white knight and bishop immediately. The white knight and bishop are instantly transported to a ledge perched high above a chessboard. They notice the white rook. "Hey fellas, how did that go?" the rook inquires as the knight and bishop look on, unhappy. "You said betray the king and queen, you said switch sides, you said we'd be legends," the bishop quips cynically. "Shut up; how long am I going to have to suffer in this hell? This game is taking an eternity!" The knight grumbles as the three remain together in chess purgatory until the war is over.


Once upon a time, in a land where light ruled all that was dark, there lived a little girl. She was a curious little girl. So curious in fact, that one day she decided to break one of the most important rules set by the Elders of the land. She decided to cross the border into the land where darkness ruled over all that was light. As she stepped into the Realm of Twilight, her heart began to fill with fear. She wanted to turn back but she could not, for the Shadows of the land had already begun playing tricks on her. Never had anyone felt more lost. After wandering the dark, forsaken wastelands for three days, she found herself defeated by the Shadows and dropped down to the ground. It was then that she heard a Shadow speak. ‘Are you alone, little girl?’ ‘Who’s there?!’ the little girl cried. ‘Will you help me find my way back to the Land of Light?’ The Shadow spoke again. ‘Are you alone?’ She wanted to say yes but could not. How could she, knowing there was someone out there. The thought made the voice grow quiet. Convinced she was no longer alone, she decided to get up. She stumbled through the darkness, falling down every nine steps along the way but she was determined. It had started to rain and large thunderbolts lit up the sky. They revealed razor-sharp rocks and many a dead tree. Not far from her, she could see a cave. Longing for a sense of security, she dragged herself to the entrance of her new-found shelter, but before she reached it, a tall dead tree standing close to her was struck by lightning and caught fire. So, it was that she decided to build a fire inside the cave. The Shadows were lured to this fire and started to dance around it. At first, the little girl kept her distance but soon after she started to play with them and although the light had stolen away their voices, they kept her company. She started to feel somewhat lighter and with this the fire seemed to glow more intense making the Shadows grow stronger. An alliance between light and dark was formed that night and the Shadows promised to take her back to her homeland. When they arrived at the border the next day, the little girl invited the Shadows into her lands. They gratefully accepted and found themselves greater and more powerful than ever before. It was then they decided to stay. They found welcoming homes as they made people feel less alone. The alliance grew so strong that there was no more light possible without the dark. They became as one. Truth was, no one could ever wish for a better companion than their own Shadow. It never judged, nor did it ever tell a lie. It soon became so that to love one’s Shadow was to love one self and there would never be a single reason to feel alone again. And should you ever find yourself in dark places, then listen carefully; for your Shadow will regain its voice again to remind you of this.


Seven o’clock. The morning automation for the downtown Spellnorth building kicked in. The main floor doors unlocked, the common area lights came on, the air conditioner brought the temperature up from the freezing night to a more comfortable twenty-one degrees. There’s an electronic hum throughout the building, transforming the dark, cold skyscraper into a more human-friendly environment. All except the thirteenth floor. The ceiling lights never come on there. The air conditioning only works manually. Even the door to the floor requires a key to open in the morning. An old, notched metal rectangle, inserted in a lock and turned for three full rotations. In fact, all these adjustments are part of Theodore’s job. He arrives at eight every day to open the door, since he’s the only one with a key. “Good morning, Theo.” Theo watched Ben entering the office and turning on his desk lamps. “You’re in a good mood today,” he replied, in an inquiring tone. “I literally just said good morning.” “Okay, no need to get upset. You know I’m the Happiness Manager for the team.” “You’re the happiness manager for the office. Not the manager for everyone’s personal happiness. Will we be having this conversation every day?” “Don’t stress out Ben, we need the happiness points. How about I tell you a joke?” Ben was panicking inside. His body was still not fully awake to deal with this kind of menace, but luckily help was just arriving. “Good morning, guys,” Mason said loudly from the door, followed by a similar greeting from Amelia: “Good morning, team”. “Hi, Mason, Amelia,” Ben replied. “Good morning, boss,” Theo said as he stood up and headed straight for Amelia, ignoring Mason. He followed the Director into the corner office. “Need anything, Theodore?” Amelia asked as she settled behind her desk, trying to pay him as little attention as possible. “Yes. Have you considered my application for Office and Team Happiness Manager? I know I could make something of myself if I only had enough authority. And the team would also improve, of course. I guess productivity would increase. Studies show happiness directly influences productivity. It’s a fact.” “Theo, you know I only added ‘Happiness’ to your title because you wouldn’t agree to open the office in the morning, right? Your job is still just ‘Office Manager’.” “If you could just think about it,” Theo said as he left the room, walking backwards, as he had read a long time ago in the ‘Management Showdown Guide’ to always face your goals head-on. Meanwhile, Sylvia had just arrived and was talking to Mason. “So, today’s the day,” she said. “It is.” “Do you think she'll have it finished before lunch?” “It’s hard to say. But she never has.” “Maybe she’s learning.” “You’re the one who should be there,” Ben added, joining the conversation. “No, I can’t. I’m not certified to work in the cloud,” Sylvia replied. “I’m pretty sure online Excel works much the same as the desktop one, Sylvia.” “Of course you would think that, Ben. You’re not a certified IT expert, like me.” “I just don’t understand why everyone else is able to work with the cloud, but our IT expert isn’t.” “Oh, I’m perfectly able,” Sylvia assured. “In fact, if anything, I’m too able. I’m a cloudy master. It’s like a Karate Sensei. Any one of us can peacefully enter a bar fight, but a Karate Sensei can’t. That’s how deadly my cloudy competencies are. Sensei level. That’s why I need a special certification to touch the cloud in the office, but they never sent me one.” “They never sent it, or you never checked your email?” Ben insisted. “I can’t. Gmail is in the cloud.” “She just seems to be pressing random keys,” Mason said, looking over at Amelia’s office. “Does she understand we get paid from that spreadsheet?” Harper asked, joining the conversation straight from the doorway. “Oh, hi Harper!” Ben said, approaching her for a hug and a passionate kiss. “Yes, I reminded her again yesterday. Although I’m not sure she understands the concept of wages. She commented on how weird this lottery is, where everyone gets a prize,” Mason said, turning his back to Ben and Harper who were already half lying down on his desk. “We should really go in there and explain,” Harper said, getting out from under Ben’s embrace and standing up to join the group staring at Amelia, who was typing oddly at the keyboard, with her index finger pointing up and then down to press the keys. “We tried. Remember when we took her to the supermarket, to show how we used our money to buy food?” Ben said. “Yeah. She was so confused to have to looks for things herself, and not being allowed to open anything until after paying,” Mason added. Amelia suddenly raised her head and they all scattered to their desks. Mid-morning, Amelia came out of her office, looking for Mason, and as she didn’t find him, she decided to go into the kitchen, to make herself some tea. “Oh!” she gasped as she entered and saw Ben’s shirt up and Harper kissing her boyfriend's chest with her hands below his clothes. “Oh, don’t mind me, carry on as you were,” Amelia said, blushing and pretending to cover her eyes with her hand, although her fingers were too far apart to hide the scene she was only too eager to observe. She picked up the kettle and took it with her, empty and cold. “Hi, Amelia, were you looking for me?” Mason asked, stepping in front of Amelia and almost getting knocked down by her. “Oh! Yes! I need some tea! But announce yourself before going in the kitchen. Ben's in there pretending to be in love. He just can’t get over me, the poor man. He’s making a fool of himself, with all that Mexican- novela kissing when it’s perfectly obvious he’s only trying to get to me and make me jealous. I wish he would just accept our time together has ended.” “O.K.,” Mason said, pronouncing each letter carefully and smirking. “Anybody in here?” he asked before entering the kitchen, allowing Ben and Harper to quickly straighten up their clothes. “Oh, hi Mason,” Ben said as he finished tucking his shirt in. “Amelia warned me you were trying to make her jealous.” Harper laughed. “Seems she can’t get over you, Ben…” “There’s nothing to get over. It was a single date. It wasn’t even a date; it was late and we went to grab a bite at the Kebab place around the corner.” “Well, something happened,” Harper insisted, ironically. “Yes, I heard a mention of flowers,” Mason added. “Flowers? There were no flowers! Oh, wait… maybe there were flowers on the table, but just those plastic ones. Every table had those.” “And that you offered to pay…” Mason continued. “She said she’d forgotten her wallet! Wait, how do you know all of this?” “Well, the next day she couldn’t stop talking about the amazing date she’d had with this amazing man.” “It wasn’t a date!” “Maybe you’re just too irresistible for your own good,” Harper said and reached out to rest her hand on Ben's shoulder. “I’m still here,” Mason noted, but the hot couple weren’t hearing him anymore. So he just finished making Amelia’s tea, no sugar, and went to deliver it. A little later, when Ben was able to leave the kitchen, he asked for everyone’s attention. “I have big news, people! I have a meeting here with a lead this afternoon! If it all works out, I’ll make a huge sale!” “I don’t understand,” said Mason. “What is there to understand?” “I don’t understand either. Why is a client coming here?” Theo asked. “Exactly. In all the years we worked together, I never once saw you bring a client here. You just call and ask if they want our services. They say no, you hang up. End of story,” Mason said. “Well, it’s this new thing I’m trying out. It’s called ‘making my first sale’! Guys, you should be happy! This is a potential client!” Ben was excited for all of them, so he just continued: “Mason, I need your help since you’re the oldest on the team.” “Well, I should also be in this meeting too. I have to manage the entire office, and that includes all the meetings that take place in the office,” Theo said. “I can help if you need me, Ben,” Harper offered. “Yes!... I mean maybe. I mean. please come, but stay behind me, so I don’t get distracted when I’m talking to the lead,” Ben said. Sylvia tried to excuse herself. “Well, you certainly don’t need me, so–” “Yes, I do! Emily, the lead, specifically asked to have our IT personnel in the meeting.” “She did? Why?” “I didn’t ask. I thought it was something I should know. Don’t you know?” “No,” Sylvia said. “Just be there.” “Okay.” “Any news on the spreadsheet?” Ben asked, turning to Mason. “She’s still typing,” he answered. They all went out to lunch, so that Theo could lock the door and open it again for them when they returned. Emily arrived shortly after. “Why is everything so dark?” “Sorry about that,” Ben replied. “We had a small technical issue with the ceiling lights. The conference room is this way.” “Well, we've had an issue for years, ever since we moved to this floor,” Theo said, getting a glaring look from Ben in return. “What? Honesty is the best policy when dealing with clients,” Theo whispered. And then added only to himself “And I’ll be adding that to the new Client Office Rules Manual.” “Yes, this thirteenth floor is also peculiar,” Emily carried on. “Luckily, you gave me good directions or I would’ve been stuck in the elevator looking for the button.” “There’s no button,” Theo said. “We have to get out on the twel–” “Yes, I know,” Emily interrupted him. “I just went up to fourteen and came down.” Theo and Ben froze. Going up and then down? They’d been climbing that last flight of stairs for years. They shared a look and Theo said, in a low-pitched voice, just for Ben: “It’s different for us. We come to work. It’s better to go up to a job than to go down to a job.” Ben nodded. He wasn’t going to be that dumb. Ben introduced Harper, Sylvia and Mason to Emily, and she began the meeting: “I like to get straight to the point. How many copiers do you need? I see you brought your whole IT team, so I guess this is a big investment for you.” “Copiers? We already have a copier…” Ben said, hesitantly. “And how many more do you want?” Ben shrugged and looked at the rest of his team. “What do you mean?” “I thought you set up this meeting to decide on how many copiers you want to buy?” “No,” Ben replied, his forehead starting to sweat and all his muscles twitching as his anxiety broke loose. “This meeting was to fool you… I mean to sell you customer support services for the Spellnorth products.” “What products?” “Well… all of them. We support all Spellnorth products.” “I never heard of that.” They all stared silently at each other, in the dim light provided by the floor lamps, and finally, Emily stood up, said her goodbyes, and left. “Are you alright Ben?” Harper asked after Emily had left. “Yes, of course. I just need a moment alone.” As everyone else left, Theo asked Mason if there was any news about the spreadsheet. “It’s almost five o’clock. The banks are closing and we’re going to get our paycheck late. Again.” “You should go and ask if she needs help, Mason,” Harper added. “She said she needed to practice, otherwise she’d forget everything she learned on the course. So, she forbade me to help her.” “We can all go!” Harper replied. “Like good employees, to check if the boss needs anything.” “That’s a great idea,” Theo agreed. And so they all gathered outside Amelia’s corner office, looking in, until finally Theo knocked on the glass door, turned the handle, and asked in his sweetest voice: “Hi Amelia, we were just wondering if you needed anything. Like tea, a sandwich, another lamp, someone to send the payment spreadsheet to HR?...” “Ah, funny you should ask. I’m having some problems with this Excel.” They took the opportunity and rushed behind her desk, but all they saw on the computer screen was an empty spreadsheet. “The cell is locked,” Amelia said. “What?” Mason asked, confused. “We talked about this during my course. Excel just locks a cell and you need a special key to get out.” “A cell, like in jail?” Theo asked. “No. Each square in a spreadsheet is called a cell,” Sylvia explained. “I think I’ve heard of this. It’s a Prison Cell. It locks the entire Spreadsheet.” “It’s all finished and ready to send. You just don’t see the values, because it’s locked,” Amelia assured them. “But I’ve been trying every key on the keyboard since this morning and I can’t remember how to unlock it.” Ben had snuck up behind them. “So, you’re telling me that my life… I mean our livelihood is locked in that spreadsheet?” he asked, startling them. “Sylvia, can’t you fix it?” “Well, I could, of course. But she’s using Excel online. I don’t have credentials–” “To work in the cloud, we know. Can’t we just press all the keys?” Ben insisted. “I did that a couple of times in my class, and my teacher was very upset, he said–” While Amelia spoke, Ben just reached out and pressed the Escape key, in the upper left corner of the keyboard. The central cell on the screen blinked a few times. “Oh no, Ben! What have you done?!” Theo asked in an accusatory tone. “Look! It’s alive!” Suddenly the screen started filling up with random letters and gibberish. And then the letters moved, filling several cells. It was as if all the keys Amelia had been pressing all day long were waiting there, hidden, and had just been released, bursting onto the screen. After a couple of seconds, it all stopped and at the end, there was a cursor blinking. Amelia clicked around with the mouse. “You fixed it, Ben! Nice work! Let me just click here… Sent. All done.” She looked at all of them and just concluded. “Well, that’s it for me today. See you tomorrow.” They started leaving the room, heading for their desks, but before Ben could sit down, Mason called him: there was a phone call from Emily. “Maybe she wants to buy something, after all,” Theo suggested madly. “Hi, Ben. Sorry for the misunderstanding this afternoon. I’m calling because I’ve misplaced my phone. Maybe I left it there?” “Hang on. I’ll take a look,” Ben asked Harper to check the conference room. “Sorry, Emily. My colleague from Marketing just went and checked. No phone.” “Oh. I was hoping it would be there. Wait, Marketing? I thought you were a customer support department. Why do you need Marketing? Oh, never mind. I’ll have to buy a new phone. Thanks, anyway.” Ben hung up and went to sit down in the kitchen. It didn’t take long for Harper to join him and start kissing him, but he sat her down on the chair next to him. “Something wrong?” she asked. “Nothing. It’s just … we never talk about your work.” “What’s there to talk about? It’s work.” “Yes, but everybody knows what I do. I call potential clients, try to sell them our services… What about you? What do you do?” “You know. Marketing stuff.” “Like what?” “Like stuff… What is this, an audit?” “Oh! She was right!” “Who was right?” “Emily. She asked me why we had a Marketing person on our team. And we shouldn’t have. We’re a customer support team. You don’t have any work! You just sit there all day…” Harper tried to kiss Ben, but he avoided her. “No. No. You don’t work. Why do you come here every day?” “You’re upset about this? Really?” “Of course. You… you don’t work.” “Do any of us work?” “I do! Mason does!” “Do you? Really?” “Yes!” Ben answered, starting to sound desperate. “How many clients do we have?” “I … I don’t know.” “You say we’re a customer support team. Have we ever got a call from a client?” “Of course not. Our product works really well.” “Really? Never? Don’t you think it’s weird we don’t have light? That no one ever comes in here from other departments?” Harper was on a rant. “That we don’t know anybody in the elevator although it’s all the same company.” “I mean … I don’t think I ever thought about that. What are you saying?” “We’re on the thirteenth floor. The elevator doesn’t have a button with a thirteen. We weren’t even supposed to be here.” “What do you mean?” “Well, when they told us to move, I took the paper with our new floor to Amelia. I thought it would be more fun to work on the thirteenth than on the eleventh, so I … you know … adjusted the numbers.” “Oh my God! They don’t know we still work here!” “Well, someone knows, because we still get paid.” As Harper said that, she finally embraced Ben again and started kissing him. He soon forgot all about his work dilemmas.


I remember the first time I killed it. You're probably wondering what it is. It is more of a thing really. It's a parasite. A fucking spiritual draining parasite. And not a quick drain, more like a slow and gradual mental and spiritual decline. That's what happened to me… I used to be different then I am now. I used to laugh and have a sense of humor, a real sense of direction, and now… I'm just a body existing through life instead of living. I moved into my three bedroom house with my daughter in July 2019. There were immediate signs. My daughter began to have nightmares, horrifically vivid nightmares. She would describe them to me and the hairs on my entire body would stand at attention. A few weeks passed and a friend I would often confide in recommended having a priest pray over and bless my house. I thought he was full of shit but what could it hurt? I mean my daughter was literally suffering every night and was terrified to go to sleep. Reluctantly, I called the priest from my friend's church. He came to my house and blessed it by spraying holy water in every room and burning sage throughout my entire residence. Her nightmares only grew worse and I began to have a strong feeling I was being watched when I was at home. This felt like whatever it was was angry. I could feel its rage. It grew stronger with each passing day. It didn't take long till it manifested itself in the form of something hideous, something physical. I trapped it and stabbed it repeatedly, killing it, or at least I thought I did. I buried it in my backyard just to find an empty hole in the morning. We moved out of our house and hit the road for Colorado to stay with my brother. It followed us all the way to his house. It killed my brother and ate his entire body. It likes people. It feasts on them. And so I used that to its disadvantage. I set a trap using my daughter as bait. I didn't tie her up or anything crazy like that. She sat in a chair in the middle of our living room and cried. It loves tears. Especially those that belong to a weeping child. It came and tried to eat my daughter but I killed it… again. That was a few years ago. I know it's not dead. It's out there, waiting to come back. It's waiting for me to settle down somewhere. Somewhere it can hide. It has nestled itself into every place we've moved to, so we've stopped settling and have remained on the road, scraping by to live. I still don't sleep most nights. I sit up and watch over my daughter as she sleeps. She rarely gets nightmares anymore. However, I'm still uncomfortable most days and feel this impending dread. Plus, being on the road nonstop and running is exhausting. I wish we could settle down. But I know if I settle it will come back. It always comes back.


The day was young. The sky was dim and overcast, much like an old antenna TV that couldn't find a signal. The snow begins to let down, accumulating pretty quick. Ryan was on his way home from college for winter break. He was so excited, he'd just managed to get this new game his brother Luke had been dying to play, for him. With Christmas coming, gifts in his back seat he was ready to go home and forget school for winter break. As many have learned, sometimes events don't pan out quite how we expect, and this is no different for Ryan. The snow kept coming, changing to icy hail. Ryan's car wasn't exactly the safest on the road and was pretty well… 'used'. And like any other day with it, something went wrong. Only this time it wasn't a check engine light that stalled his car, it wasn't the heat stopped working. No, this time his wiper malfunctioned. Snow piling up fast, he starts to slow down. Perhaps this would have worked if he had only replaced his breaks last month as he intended. His speed declines but in not with any haste . Banging on the windshield trying to get the wipers moving again, he finally has success, if only it had happened half a second sooner. The wipers move only to reveal a tree branch piercing his windshield. A large crash is heard throughout the streets. Ryan's airbags deploy, forcing him back into his seat . The neighbors come rushing out to the scene, Each one of them dialing 911. It wasn't long before an ambulance and fire truck showed up tearing the car apart to free him. Ryan flowing in and out of consciousness only remembers glimpses of the event. He gets put on a gurney and rushed to the nearest hospital. By the time he reached the hospital Ryan was out cold. He doesn't remember much after that, just that whatever they did felt like they poured ice into his veins, all to almost immediately feel like he's been sent through the gates burning gates of hell. Maybe it was PTSD that caused Ryan to change, maybe some brain damage, but the next thing Ryan remembers is being surrounded by family and friends. He mostly kept to himself, and wouldn't utter a word to anyone. Not to mention that after the accident he couldn't move without help. It was seldom that Ryan would leave the living room, and only went places when his family absolutely forced him to go. Really though he was quite content doing nothing sitting in the living room, just knowing he was surrounded by family. Even if he didn't show it. After a few weeks of him being home the contents of the car came back. The Christmas gifts seemed in perfect condition, and Ryan hoped so much these would put a smile on his family's face. Ever since his accident the house seemed kind of glum. First his mother; A pair of earrings in the shape of a snowman. It doesn't seem like much but his mother had always been obsessed with winter. She loved the crisp and cold air, and coming inside for hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. It was all around her favorite season. Before she even knew it she put them on, looked at her boy and said "Thank you Ryan. I love them" her eyes mist over as her boy remains emotionless. His father was next; a new fishing pole. During the summer the two of them would go out to the lake on a small boat, and go fishing. Those were some of Ryan's fondest memories. He absolutely loved the serenity the lake brought. His father started to tear up. "Your mother and I were talking about going up to the lake this year. We thought you'd like it. We thought.... I don't know. We just thought you might enjoy going out to the lake again." To which again Ryan showed no change. Maybe the next gift, the one he was so excited to give would change that. Ryan and Luke were really close before he left for college and this was his attempt to rekindle that. The game he was so excited to share, it had been sold out everywhere. There was a note inside the wrapping 'Hey, I know we havent gamed much since I left but I got 2 copies! Just shoot me a message and we can play!' Luke started to laugh and cry all at the same time and looks right at Ryan. "Yeah we gonna play this now? You havent moved in weeks! Go ahead and pick up a controller!" Luke scoffs storming out of the room. The weather begins to turn from what his mother used to consider a winter paradise to a more tepid heat. Perfect fishing weather. Sure it's a little brisk but that never stopped Ryan and his father from going fishing before why should it now? Ryan's mother makes a nice little picnic set up, his father grabs his new pole that his son got for him, and Luke helps Ryan into the car. Not much chatter on the way there, but they did listen to the new CD Luke got for his brother for Christmas. . The lake was quiet, serene and oh what a view. The sunrise perfectly reflected on the lake front showcasing it's beautiful orange sky. The mother puts out some sandwiches that she made earlier and the father casts his line out, just like the old days. For the first time in a while you could see the family actually enjoying themselves. Spending a day out together was definitely something they needed. But like a days even this one must come to an end. The sun had begin to set. The family all gathered round and hugged each other. "Guess this is where we say goodbye huh.." Luke says in tears "I'm really gonna miss you bro" his father opens the receptical containing Ryan's ashes. "Goodbye son" his parents barely manage to says as his father allows the ashes to float away in the wind.


My name is Doctor Elizabeth Hayes. I’m a psychotherapist who specializes in the unlocking of repressed memories. A repressed memory for those of you who may not know is a rare psychological phenomenon in which memories of traumatic events may be stored in the unconscious mind and blocked from normal conscious recall. In simple terms the human mind can sometimes hide away memories of trauma or abuse, giving them the illusion as if the event never happened. Some theorists claim this is a defense mechanism developed in the cases of young children who could probably not be able to mentally cope with the trauma from the experience. At first glance, this may not seem to be much of a concern, what you can't remember can't hurt you, right? For some people, this may be the case, but in others they find themselves responding to mental triggers, smells, sounds or phrases with no prior knowledge as to why they are having these experiences. For others, they may unknowingly stumble across the memory in their sleep. Have you ever had a dream that seemed so vivid and real yet upon awakening you think back to it, unable to recall when in your life the scenario happened? What you simply dismissed as a strange dream could have very well been a repressed memory unwittingly stumbled upon in your subconscious. It's weird, I know but bear with me. I find the phenomenon fascinating. Which is why I choose to specialize in this area of psychology in my studies and practices. Periodically from time to time, I am visited by patients from all over the country who believe they have experienced this phenomenon. After being referred to me by their therapist who suspects their patents may have repressed memories from their childhood. It is then up to me to “unlock” these memories. Only after using social cues and making notes on their reactions to certain smells, sounds, and pictures can I estimate wherein their lifetime the repressed memory takes place. This is a slow process that can take up to a year before we even identify the timeframe of this memory. Once the right time frame of the repressed memory is discovered, commonly between the ages of 4 to 12. I bring in what I call the “Dream Screen”. A device invented by the National Center for Neural Applications lent to me by the University of Illinois. The appropriately nicknamed “Dream Screen” is a device that measures brain activity while you sleep. This data can be plugged into an algorithm that reconstructs your memory so that it can be played back in a recording. Subjects are first put into a stage of sleep called Hyponagoia. This is a semi-lucid stage of sleep that takes place at the moment between sleep and wakefulness so that I can communicate with them as I watch their memory unfold on the screen, live as if I, myself were living the memory. While walking the subject through the memory for the first time it is up to me to coax the subject through the entire memory, asking the right questions, pointing out the hidden details all while making a conscious effort into not leading the subject too much as to incidentally plant false memories into their subconscious. This is an incredibly delicate procedure and requires absolute concentration on my behalf. Something I have only been able to achieve after years of experience and practice. This entire process can take up to an entire month to complete, but the results are always worth it. Some patients were able to recover memories they lost years ago and finally be able to come to terms with the past and put years of not knowing to rest. Other times missing evidence from crimes and horrific injustices such as rape, torture and child abuse were able to be reported in the court of law so that the victim could finally get the justice they deserved. It is for moments like these that I continue to do what I do. was only after viewing my most recent subjects results that I ended up having more questions than answers. Questions I’d never imagine asking myself. Questions, in hindsight even I would much rather be left unanswered. The subject, Hugo was a 26-year-old male from Eden, New York. He was initially referred to me by his family therapist after identifying gaps in his memories and recalling a strange reoccurring dream he had no memories of in his childhood. The subject appeared healthy both mentally and psychically. Aside from the obvious signs of sleep depravation he was in great shape for someone of his age. During our initial interviews, he was able to recall memories from as far back as 1995, when the subject was only 2 years old. These memories were recorded and replayed to his living relatives and confirmed as being legit memories. This is very impressive and gave me high hopes for this being a quick and easy case. All there was left to do was find the key. I asked the subject if he could recall any forms of abuse during his childhood years either from the hands of a family member, friend or stranger. “No, nothing like that”. He replied with a forced smile on his face. “Do you recall ever witnessing a traumatic event such as a traumatic accident, or a murder take place’? I asked him curiously. “Nothing as long as watching reality TV doesn’t count”. He remarked comically. I forced a smile at the bad joke and continued. “Tell me about those dreams you have been having”? I asked him with genuine curiosity. His smile was quickly replaced by a look of concern as he unconsciously stole a glance over his shoulder then back to me. “Well… Uh,” He stuttered. “It started happening last year.” He said as he took a casual sip of water from his table as he continued. I noticed a slight tremor in his hand as he placed the glass back onto the table. “I’ve been having this dream I’m in a field at the old family farm”. “How do you know it was that particular location”? I asked. “According to your file, you moved several times during your childhood”. “I would recognize those blue skies and open farmland anywhere.” He said. “My mother would complain all the time about wanting to move back to the city, but my father claimed that the open country air would do us kids some good”. “What else do you remember”? I asked patiently. “I remember standing in an open field walking toward something.” “Go on” I coaxed him. He sat there for a moment in silence, becoming visibly tense. “Then things get weird”. He said nervously “I’m all of a sudden in a dark room I’ve never seen before, and someone else is there”. “Do you remember who this person is”? I asked him. “No, no I don’t,” He said. “If I can be one hundred percent honest, I don’t remember anything else that happened”. He leaned back in his chair closing his eyes as if trying hard to remember. “How old were you when you lived on that family farm,” I asked him. “nine to ten years old” He replied more confidently. I lived with my grandparents at the time, it was only for about a year or so.” “Anything else you can remember about your time there that you think could be related to this dream,” I asked “I don’t know”, the patient admitted. “That’s where my memory begins to get a little foggy. All I know is that hours, even days after having the dream, I just can't shake this feeling of dread. No matter how much I try I just can’t calm my nerves after that dream”. I took a few notes and stood to my feet. Well, I guess the only way we are going to find out is through phase two. I moved the cart over to where the patient was sitting and began to prep the “Dream Screen”. After leaning the subject’s seat back into a prone position, I administered the sedative to ease him into his semi-lucid state. After placing the electrodes to his temple and forehead I slipped on a pair of headphones onto the patient so that I could communicate with him from the observation room. After guiding the patient through verbal cues and building the scenario I began to see the first sign of images on the screen. The memory started dark at first, but what began to look like an open wheat field came into view. I began to take in the sights. Blue skies, white clouds, the sway of the golden wheat blowing in the wind and what appeared to be a small country home in the distance. “OK, now tell me. Where are you standing right now”? I asked the subject. “The Farm” The subject mumbled, “The one I grew up on”. As he spoke I took in the surroundings as they began to become clearer as the subject began to remember. “Now tell me who else was with you”? I prodded. “My… my friend… no …. cousin… Kaity”. The subject said. “Good, you’re doing great”! I said encouragingly as a figure appeared walking next to the subject in his memory. “Now describe your cousin, what did she look like”? “Dirty blond hair, brown eyes, freckles on her nose.” The subject said confidently as Kaity came into view, exactly how he described her. She looked to be around 8 years old. “Come on Huey,” Kate said excitedly! “Can you see it? The old farmhouse, we are almost there!” “Can you tell me about this old farmhouse”? I asked the subject? “Yeah. It was an old abandoned house built on my grandfather’s property. It was built before my family bought the property, we lived just a few acres away from it” He mumbled quietly. “Kate and I wanted to check it out, we were planning on making it into a new clubhouse” I spotted a small smile on the subjects face from the window of the observation room as he began to remember. “We had a backpack full of stuff, action figures, comic books, a couple of snickers bars.” He said quietly. “We were driven out of our old clubhouse in the hayloft after a family of raccoons moved in”. Now describe the old farmhouse to me. “I asked him as the blurry image of the house began to come into contrast. “Two stories, peeling dark blue paint, thatched roof, an old tire swing in the tree out front.” He told me. The image now became clear as the farmhouse came fully into view. Down to every detail he described it in. “Come on Huey” Kate beckoned “Let’s see what’s inside. As she walked to the front door the subject’s eyes darted to a window on the top floor. A figure quickly moved out of view that appeared to be watching them. “Wait, I blurted. “Who was that”? The subject’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t remember, he said after a long pause”. I let it go and let the subject continue. “Ok now, what happened after you went inside of the farmhouse? What did you find inside”? I asked. “Umm… Nothing”. The subject said slowly. “It was cleaned out. No people, no furniture, not even a single scrap of litter.” The dream suddenly grew darker as the subject now appeared in a small dimly lit room. Light pooled out from the creases in between the boarded-up windows. “Isn’t this great”? Kate said excitedly. “We can have campouts, we can have picnics, we can even invite our friends over and-” Her voice was cut off as a low creak sounded from upstairs. “What? What was that”? Kate said nervously. “Probably another family of raccoons. I heard Kate say as the subject’s eyes trailed to the top of the stairs”. “Wait, I remember now,” the subject said shakily”. “Who was it”? I asked cautiously. “No, not who.” The subject said with genuine fear in his voice. “Oh god, It… It was...” His voice trailed off as a figure appeared from the top of the stairs. I leaned in close trying my best to make out the figure standing at the top of the stairs. “Stay with me” I coaxed the subject. “Describe what you saw inside of that farmhouse.” The subject didn’t say anything, his facial features remained taunt but his lips quivered. My eyes went back to the screen as the humanoid figure began to walk down the stairs. “Huey?” Kates soft voice said nervously. “Who is-“? The figure suddenly dropped onto all fours and dashed down the stairs with alarming speed. “Teeth” the subject shouted “White-eyes, pale skin”. The figure suddenly stopped, inches away from the subject’s face. My heart began to race as the image cleared up, as the subject began to remember. Most of what I could make out of the face of the figure was only what was visible in the small slivers of light from the boarded-up windows. Pale skin, gleaming white teeth, and brown receded gums from a mouth who’s lips were pulled so far back they almost appeared to not exist. Its eyes were also rolled so far back that the pupils and irises were not even visible, showing only the whites of its eyes. Its nose was nothing but two slits as it breathed heavily only inches away from the little boy's face. The being wore no clothes and appeared to be human, yet showed no discernible signs of gender. For a long time, I watched in complete shock as the figure appeared unmoving, the slits where the nose should have been flaring with every breath. Its teeth began to click as if in curiosity as movement was spotted from behind the being. “Katie, no!” The subject screamed in unison with the child in the dream. Kate stood behind the figure and swung a two by four at the being’s head. The creature spun around with lightning speed catching the little girl’s wrist in his hands and lashed out with the other slicing a clean cut into the child's stomach with its clawed hand. Kate fell onto her back, hands covering the open wound and began to whimper terrified subdued sobs as the creature slowly crawled on top of her, its face now inches from hers. “Leave her alone”, the subject screamed once again in unison with his younger self as he made his way forward, arms outstretched as if to push the creature off his cousin. The creature once again moved with blinding speed knocking the young boy across the room with a mule kick to land roughly against the opposite wall. The creature once again drew its attention back to the young girl lying beneath it. It slowly leaned forward, its mouth only inches away from the young girl’s ear. It then stopped and a hissing whisper could be heard from the creature’s mouth. Kate looked up in confusion as the creature then broke into a sprint, dashing out the open door faster than any living creature I’ve seen anything move in my entire life. The screen went dark as an alarm went off in the observation room. The subject began to shake violently as if in a seizure. I ran forward and quickly shut down the machine and removed the electrodes from the subject’s head. “Kaity no, leave her alone”. The subject cried as the trashing became less violent and he slowly drifted into unconsciousness. I will be honest with you, this was not the first time I have seen this creature while using the dream screen. The first time I dismissed it as simply a pseudo-memory. Sometimes a subject subconscious would replace the person who caused the trauma with a childhood fear, like the monster in their closet, or a creature from a horror movie that scared them as a kid creating a pseudo memory. The second time I saw it, I knew It was so more than that. Several times before I have seen this thing locked deep into a subject’s locked memories as if its appearance itself was so horrifying that the human brain automatically retracted the memory into the deepest parts of the subject’s memories as to keep them from going insane. Each subject completely different, unrelated with no discernable trends or patterns in physical appearance, mental health or age. I do not know who or what this thing is but, but I have dedicated my entire career to finding out what this creature is. Every case only leads to dead ends but this case was different. Never in any of my past subjects’ memories have I heard this creature speak. Even in my most recent report, I could not make out what exactly was said. Earlier this month, I have contacted the most recent subjects’ cousin from his memory, Kate. After much convincing on my behalf I talked her into visiting my office in Washington DC, to have her memories examined. The now fully grown Kate was also experiencing similar dreams as the most previous subject prior to our first meeting. Her resulting memory once unlocked ran parallel to that of her cousins. She also bore an old scar on her stomach in the same place the creature scratched her in the memory, proving its legitimacy. The only difference between that of Kate's memory was the creature's voice was now clear as day. I will never forget the words I heard from Kate's memory. The sound of the creatures hissing voice still fresh in my mind what I heard what it say to that little girl almost 17 years ago. “Stop searching for me, Doctor Hayes.