The feeling of a shift in gravitational pull is something Onii’kvi will never fully get over. Stepping out of his pod, feeling his body and organs shift, readjust to the new redistribution the atmosphere is forcing upon him, he nearly stumbles. Taking a look around for his bearings doesn’t work either because even the immediate vicinity around the ship, the ground beneath Onii’kvi’s boots, it’s all virtually desolate. Black. Empty. Of course, it isn’t actually but it definitely feels that way. The density of the air, the foliage around him, and the planet’s actual distance from any type of sun or star means that nights on the surface compare to the empty voids of black holes. [How am I supposed to navigate the ground if I can’t even use my flashlight, ‘cap?] Onii leans against the ship and looks down at the gauntlet on his arm, trying to activate the lights on his suit, a headlamp, something to give him the advantage of sight. [I’m basically Kaskan food if I don’t have some kind of light.] {Ninety clicks to the signal ping, Oni.} Sai’urn’s voice comes through on the communications channel. {Use the radar, it’s the strongest light source you’re going to get. Besides, Kaskan hunt in the mountains, we’re about fifty-thousand clicks from their normal hunting grounds. Just walk towards the ping on radar, I’m meeting you there.}

For the first fifteen or so minutes of walking in complete darkness, staring at his radar hoping and praying nothing sees him at a snack, Oni faintly wishes Sai’urn were beside him already. At least then he wouldn’t be navigating this void of a jungle alone and underpreppared. After those fifteen minutes pass, and Oni begins tripping over small things–a tree root popping up from the ground, a large flower, a rock–he’s suddenly grateful for the silent, lonely treck. Gods know the Captain wouldn’t ever let him live it down if he’d have seen it happen.

After another ten minutes, the sound of his own thoughts begins to gnaw away at Oni’s sanity. [Cap, you there?] {Mmm-hm. Something wrong?} [Erm, not really… can I ask, how long have you been stationed on IRIS?] {Longer than you’ve been a pilot, or in school for it, I can promise you that.} [So… longer than six years?] {I’ve been stationed with IRIS for about ten years. Before that I jumped ship pretty often, working on some of the most physically-demanding stations we have in the GDC doing either odd-jobs or acting as extra muscle for assignments.} [Gods… Wait, so you went to Caelestis, then went into freelance work?] {Exactly. I was trying to figure out if I’d rather be stationed somewhere, or if I was ready to take on the throne, work with the Council on more civic matters, attend meetings and such.} [And?] {Well, obviously I didn’t fit in with the Council staff quite yet, nor did I think a good use of my time was to be in court settling trade agreements. I was your age, I’d just turned twenty-three, there was no way I’d sit in a court for the rest of my life, only seeing the galaxy for Royal Court business. It just… it’s not me, yet.} [I think I can understand that… not the royal council stuff but, wanting to see the galaxy on your own terms. Before I moved to Holarus everyone kept telling me it wouldn’t work out, that there was no way I’d survive the school, graduate, become any kind of a pilot or even a technician.] {Well, I think it’s safe to say that the people in your home world don’t know what they’re talking about. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever met a graduate more eager to get out and help in every sense of the word than you, Oni. You’re just so genuine in your interest in the technology, the way things work on the ship and in the world… honestly I admire it.} [Sheesh, that… really means a lot, Sai, thank you.] A comfortable silence envelopes the pair as they walk their respective paths. It honestly felt like neither one could stand to break up their peaceful moment. Eventually, though… [I’m coming up on the ship, Cap’. Three clicks out.] {Four for me, I’m walking south now, be with you in a sec.} As they come upon the ship on radar, barely visible blinking lights shine in the pitch blackness suffocating them. Oni draws his gun instinctively, catching a shimmering glare of Sai’s rifle out of the corner of his eye as the pair begin their approach. [It’s just a personal pod?] Onii’kvi observes, circling the foreign ship and the feeling of its impact on the ground, muted by his thick boot but identifiable nonetheless. [Scratch that, it’s… bigger. Lighter. ‘Left a crater in the ground on impact. Even a crash landing would’ve tore a personal pod to shreds with Ac’ai’s force of gravity.] Oni can just barely see an outline of Sai’s suit as he circles the pod the opposite direction, and lowers his rifle slightly. On the opposite side of the ship he reaches out, brushes a gloved hand over an insignia on the outside, something Oni almost recognizes. Looks… familiar, but not enough to strike a response out of him. Sai looks like he’s seen a ghost, though.

[Cap…?] No response. Oni lowers his gun completely and waves his hand in front of Sai, then turns on his flashlight to wave that instead upon reaslizing his hand wouldn’t be seen from that distance. Sai doesn’t even look up. [Captain Ne’la’c? What is it?] {Get ahold of IRIS. Now. } “That’s all he said? He didn’t give you any other information? Did you recognise the insignia he was looking at or anything at all?” Nox all but flails his arms in frustration, walking beside Oni through IRIS’s halls.

Oni throws his hands up and shrugs exaggeratedly. “Yup! That’s all I got! Nothing! First he stands there-” The pair freeze as a higher ranked officer walks by in a group of three, looking like they’re rushing towards something. It was always something. Oni quiets down before continuing with the recap. “ First he stands there like he’s seen a ghost or a note telling him the world is going to end if he gives me any information, and then he’s telling me to get ahold of IRIS, get back to my pod. ” Nox grabs Oni by the collar of his hoodie and yanks him into an empty study room nearby. “And you did it ? No questions asked?! What the fuck, Oni!” The other boy hisses, slapping his arm in offense. “Listen it wasn’t like I was going to flat-out ignore a direct order , Nox!” Oni peeks his head out to look both ways and make sure they weren’t spotted and/or followed by another crew member or worse—an officer. “I wanted him to give me answers too, hell I was the only one he brought with him to even check it out! I deserved to know! I still deserve to know, but I wasn’t about to disobey him directly. I hauled ass to my pod, contacted IRIS, and the next thing I know they’re telling me that this stays between Cap’ and I and to stay on IRIS for the next few days. No BLIPs to visit my dad, no breathing a word about ever being on Ac’ai in the first place!” Oni exhales deeply, like a weight is lifted off his chest. He all but collapses against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor against it, his knees pulled to his chest. Nox copies him, sitting beside him with his head on the other’s shoulder. The both sigh in unison. “So… what are you going to do? If they told you no BLIP’s, don’t breathe a word… shit, that has to be some heavy stuff, right? You got pulled into some serious shit… and you had the Captain right there with you.” Nox reaches for Oni’s hand, interlacing their fingers together and offering a gentle squeeze. Oni shrugs, resting his head against Nox’s in return. “I… have no idea what I’m going to do, or what’s going to happen. I saw them taking a body to medical, or a body bag at least, and the ship was going downstairs to labs.” “They’re probably running tests. Maybe the Captain saw it was a biohazard or something, wanted to get it tested as soon as possible?” Oni snorts softly, “If it was just a biohazard, they would have told me that. We’ve dealt with a hundred of those since we got stationed, Nox… This just felt different. Heavier.” For a few minutes the pair sit against the wall in the dark room, hiding from the thoughts of what could come of this assignment, what possibly could have scared their fearless leader so badly to immediately get them out of the area and essentially lock Onii’kvi on board the space station.

Footsteps approach from the South Wing hallway, the officers’ barracks. Oni and Nox quickly open the door a bit more and flick on the light, taking a seat at one of the tables so that they’d be seen casually ‘talking’ instead of sitting weirdly in the dark as they had been. Nox buries his nose in a magazine left on the table: The Art of Mecha-Link and BLIPs – Is Holarus The Answer? Thankfully for Nox he’s read the article fifty times and picks the longest page to skim. Oni pulls out his phone and props it up with a video against one of the potted plants in the middle of the table. A quick glance at the officers as they pass is all Onii’kvi needs. Sai’urn, Cayde, and Nal’eid. Shit. Oni clears his throat and stands, stuffing his phone in his hoodie pocket. “Hey, I’m going to head to the showers, try and clear my head a little bit… you’ll swing by later, right?” His eyes flick to the door, then back to Nox not-so-subtly faking his magazine interest.

Nox glances up and nods, tucking the reading material back into the rack he hastily yanked it from. “‘Course, I’ll be ‘round in a few hours. Text me and I’ll head down, okay?” He tries to clean the room up a little bit to look busy as Oni leaves, staggering their exits to look less suspicious for any passers-by.

With Nox out of the equation for the moment, Oni glances down either hallway and heads up the North Wing, towards the communications room where he saw the officers heading a few minutes earlier. With enough luck he sees Cayde’s grey tail enter the room before the door shuts. At least with it being so late in the night, there aren’t many people roaming the halls, most of them confined to their own rooms for the night or in the common areas on another floor. The only things on this floor besides the officer’s barracks and the comms rooms were a few bathrooms and some restricted-access rooms for the higher-ranking pilots to use for training.

 	With the space around him checked out and clear, Onii’kvi stands outside the locked door for a moment, trying to listen through it and see if it was about their mystery distress call they’d intercepted. After a few minutes of unintelligible mumblings through the metal door, Oni pulls out the custom-made amplifier Tick designed for him in their Academy days. He pushes the device into his ear gently and presses his head against the panel of the door once more as the voices begin to make sense.

“What do you suggest we do then, Lieutenant? Just let the corpse sit in the medical bay until he walks in and finds it?” That sounds like Cayde, ever the challenger in a serious conversation between officers.

“I’m not suggesting we leave the corpse in the med-bay, Cayde, OR tell him the truth, Sai’urn. The boy wouldn’t be able to handle something of this… caliber. I’m not sure any of us could handle it in his position.” Were they talking about Onii’kvi? They had to be, right? And what did Sai mean by ‘telling him the truth?’ What did Sai find that Oni was connected to but couldn’t know about? Sai’urn’s loud, defiant groan filters through the door. “Yes, Captain Ne’la’c? Would you like to add something to this conversation besides your inane suggestions to tell the boy everything?” “Why are you two afraid of him knowing the truth? He’s MY responsibility, you’ve already said so before. I’ve vouched for his abilities on assignments despite your doubts and I’m the one that authorized his medical treatment while he’s on board IRIS and living on Holarus when not on the station. I’m aware this is not my jurisdiction as it is not my solar system we’re residing in, but I do still hold some pull in situations like this. He deserves to know the truth and you don’t deserve to pass judgement on whether or not he’s able to handle something.” Sai groans. “You care for the boy, clearly, but this isn’t entirely your decision either. This is a matter of GDC security and to be frank the personal ties here are none of the agency’s concern, and they shouldn’t be your concern either. Care for the pilots and crew, yes, but don’t stick your neck out for them when it is not your issue to begin with. Know where to draw the line with the people in your care, Sai’urn.” Harsh, but that sounds pretty accurate for Nal’eid. The Rules above anything personal, the Code upheld. Sums up his entire personality.

Sai’urn goes silent for a few minutes while Cayde and Nal’eid conference call other officials from a few different stations. One of them being Kepni, Onii’kvi’s home planet, from before he attended Caelestis Academy, before he became a pilot, before he was diagnosed. The group of officers talk about the incident, and as they go over Sai’urn’s official report, it settles it in stone. They were talking about the assignment, the distress ping and whatever Sai saw there that shook him so badly.

“Have you talked to the boy, gotten his side of the story? Does he know what you found out there?” One of the people on the speaker asks, a little harder to hear than the rest. Nal’eid clears his throat. “No, ma’am, we haven’t spoken to him, but Captain Ne’la’c is certain he didn’t see anything on the ship, or at least didn’t recognize anything.” “Seeing something and recognizing it are not so different. If he saw what was written on the ship, the insignia, it’s very possible he’s already looked it up and found out what happened on Ac’ai many moons ago during the Xhi’ka Conflict. Captain Ne’la’c. Can you positively tell me he didn’t see anything on that ship?”  There’s a long pause, and Onii’kvi has the briefest white-hot flash of fear running down his spine. He never thought about if Sai’urn had noticed him that entire time. Sure, he didn’t respond or look directly at him, but he was very spacially aware. It’s entirely possible that he’s aware Oni saw the insignia. What happens if Sai’urn tells them? Is he going to get kicked off of IRIS? Is he going to get thrown in some kind of max-security prison for what he saw? Blackmailed to never pilot another ship again? “I can say with absolute confidence that Pilot Onii’kvi did not see any defining marks on the fighter ship, nor did he recognize it as being one of the GDC’s.” What?! It was one of theirs?! It didn’t look anything like their ships! From what Oni saw it was really old and rusted and the materials they use for the ships now are used primarily so they don’t rust or crush completely flat upon emergency impact. There’s no way that ship was one of their models! One of the officials on the phone clears his head and makes an acknowledging hum, clearly believing his captain’s testimony–whether or not he was lying to their faces. He might not have actually seen anything.

“Mhm… what about the pilot? Were we able to figure if they were DOA?” Sai'urn sighs heavily, one of the office chairs creaking slightly as he sits down. “First Officer Shaii’kvi died on impact due to engine failure in the pod. We suspect she was seeking refuge on station RELLE that was taken down a decade ago, sir.” Wait. Mom?


Moving to England from Old New Jersey wasn't the worst thing in the world for Tom Rhodes. He was in the fourth grade, about to be in dreaded fifth, and he wasn't exactly Mr. Popular amongst his classmates. He thought that they thought he was a weirdo - and what was wrong with that? Everything, apparently. More likely, they just never thought about him at all. England could be a fresh start for Tom. His brother and sisters did not agree. "I hate it here already!" said Elle, the youngest sibling at six years old. "Me too. There's no beach, mom!" said Susan. "I was supposed to lifeguard this summer." "Sigh," said Peter, followed by a literal but quite exaggerated sigh. "You were never gonna be allowed to lifeguard, Sus." Susan and Peter were twins, just over two years older than Tom. Susan arrived a full half hour before Peter, which she often reminded Peter of. Their mother, Abby Rhodes (her parents had a bit of a thing for The Beatles and couldn't help themselves), glanced back at her kids from the rear-view mirror. Her stiff-upper lip, as the Brits would say, was curled into her forever crooked smile, thanks to a field hockey accident in college. "Give it a chance, everyone. We're almost there. I think you're gonna like the house." Their mini-van scratched against the bushes on the skinny country road. "Maybe I should drive, Mom," said Peter. "You're not used to driving with the steering wheel on the right side." "And you are?" asked Abby. "Yes, actually," said Peter. "I've played every single racing video game in the world, and I'm fully prepared to drive this car." "Over my dead body," said Susan. Peter was about to say something, but the lane cleared into a long expansive yard, at the end of which stood a massive stone house. "Woah," said Tom. "It's a castle," said Susan. "And that's where we're gonna live," said Abby. "You know how English houses all have special names? Well, ours is called Coldfast." "Cool," said Peter. "*Coldfast*. I dig it." "Is it really ours?" asked Elle. "Well, we're technically renting it for the summer," said Abby. "But, if we like it -- and my job here works out -- then maybe we can buy it." "Yay!" said Elle. Tom's stomach turned, the way it did when he tried reading in the car. "Can we get out, Mom?" he asked. "I was going to drive up a little closer, but why not?" She stopped the car, and unlocked the sliding doors. The kids pushed out and flew across the grounds towards the house. "There's a stream back here! It's like a little river!" "Look at this climbing tree!" "I think there's 5 floors!" "Kids! Can you come here and help me carry in our bags?" "Yes, mom!" they all replied. There were enough bedrooms in Coldfast that none of them had to share a room, and there wasn't even much fighting over who got which one. Tom's choice must have once been an old library or a study, because it was filled with wall-to-wall bookshelves, which were now mostly bare, except for a complete set of the Encyclopedia Britannica. Tom pulled out the "T" and skimmed ahead to the find the section on turtles when an old-fashioned bell rang from somewhere downstairs "I'm gonna have to figure out how to call you all, and this bell seems pretty good," said Abby. "A little different from our house in Old New Jersey, huh?" "Yeah, Mom," said Susan. "I love it here," said Elle. "Good," said Abby. "Now I have to drive into town to get situated at work. They want me to start at Bletchley Park tomorrow, and I've got to get my ID card and whatnot set up today. So, Susan and Peter, you're in charge. Stick together, and have fun. I'll bring home something English for dinner. Ok?" Everyone nodded. They stood at the large doorway to Coldfast and waved at their mother's minivan crunch away on the gravel driveway. "So, we're splitting up, right?" said Peter. "Obviously," said Susan. "We've gotta explore this place, and I want to do it my way." "Me too!" said Elle. Tom pulled on Susan's arm. "But didn't Mom say we were supposed to stick together." Susan patted Tom's head. "Don't worry. I'm in charge now." "No, I'm in charge," said Peter. "We'll meet back here in an hour and report back on our findings." "Ugh, okay," said Tom. "I'm going outside then." Something about the house creeped him out. "Elle and I will explore inside," said Peter. "Susan you should try outside, too." "I will, but not cause you said it." Tom and Susan went outside and set off in different directions, Susan towards the stream and the rolling hills beyond the western side of the building, and he towards the pine trees on the east. He'd always loved the smell of Christmas, and pine trees were as close as you could get during the rest of the year. It wasn't long before Tom had lost sight of Coldfast. He kicked up tufts of fallen pine needles as he walked, like little yellow fireworks for potato bugs. He wondered if potato bugs lived in England. Or if they had some other kind of rolly-polly bug. He spotted a particularly gigantic pinecone and kicked it. The pinecone bounced and tumbled before rolling into a hollow at the base of a large oak tree. The oak seemed rather out of place in the pine woods. Tom approached the tree and crawled down to try to snag the pinecone. He felt a warm breeze coming from the hollow, and reached inside for the pinecone. He couldn't quite reach it, so he crawled his head inside. The warm feeling grew. Soon Tom was fully inside the hollow, still crawling forward. Maybe this was a cave, he thought. This would be something cool to report back to his siblings. His head bumped into something. He reached forward. It felt like a door. It was wooden and smooth, with those boxy groves that doors sometimes have for styling purposes. Tom's hand found a cool round handle in the center of the door. He twisted it and the door opened into a sunny afternoon in a completely different forest from the pine trees where he'd been. Something snuffled nearby. Tom flinched, worried it might be a raccoon or something with rabies. "HALLOOF!" Tom turned towards the sound. Something fuzzy with two legs was sticking out of a rabbit hole. "HALPF!" Tom was pretty sure it was trying to say "Help!" so he grabbed onto its legs and tugged. And tugged, until finally the thing got unstuck and the two of them rolled backwards into the meadow grasses. "Oh, thank you, Christopher Ro -- wait a second, you're not him." It was a talking teddy bear. *Yes*, Tom said to himself, *A teddy bear is standing up and talking to me. I must be unconscious or something.* "Well, I always do say, a Stranger is just a Friend you haven't met yet. I'm Edward Bear, but my Friends call me Winnie. The Pooh." Tom nodded blankly, because at this moment, behind Edward the Pooh, were three more stuffed animals: a piglet, a tiger, and a baby kangaroo. "Pooh! Oh, Pooh!" cried the piglet. "There you are!" "Ho-hoo," said the tiger. "And a-who do we have a-here?" "Are you coming on our Expodition to the South Pole?" asked the baby kangaroo. "Because we could use someone Strong and Brave." "I..." stammered Tom. "I don't know..." "You either Know something or you Don't," said the bear. "But you can never Don't Know something. That's like saying honey isn't sweet and sticky and delicious." "A pa-pa-paradox," said the tiger, hopping on his rather coiled tail. Tom had enough. He was clearly losing his mind. He began crab-walking backwards towards towards the door, and grabbed its handle. "Are you leaving us before the Expodition?" asked the kangaroo. "Yy-up," said Tom, opening the door, scrambling inside, and pulling it shut. He crawled through the dark back into the pines, and then ran back to Coldfast as fast as he could. He opened the front door and found his siblings arguing in the foyer. "Well, where have you been?" snapped Peter. Tom could barely catch his breath. "I... I found something." "Yeah, we all did," said Susan. "No, no, no," said Tom. "I found this tree, with a hole in it, and I crawled through it, into this whole other forest, and there was a talking teddy bear, and a talking piglet, and a tiger that bounced on its tail, and this baby kangaroo, and they were all going to the South Pole." "Uh-huh..." said Peter. "Sure, you did." "No, I'm serious!" said Tom. "You have to see it. I can show you!" "I found winter," said Elle. "Your cheeks," said Tom. "They're freezing. Did you find a cellar or something?" "She was just about to tell us, Tom, before you interrupted everyone," said Susan. "Not a cellar, but a wardrobe, in another bedroom," said Elle. "I opened it up, and it was filled with these heavy coats, perfect for snowstorms, and I tried to take one off the hanger, and then I just felt more coats hanging behind them. So I climbed into the wardrobe and kept walking. I couldn't find the back of it. And it kept getting colder. Until I looked down and saw that I was walking through snow, and then I looked up and I found a lamppost, and I was standing in a forest covered in snow." "Your shirt," said Tom. "Are those snowflakes on it?" "Yes," said Elle. "But then I saw this goat-man walking towards me, and I screamed and I ran back here." "I don't believe you guys," said Susan. "I saw something *real*, though. It was a huge battle of these rabbits on the hills beside the house. There were almost a hundred of them. One of them had a big funny tuft of hair, and another had a broken eye, and then there was this big bird helping one of the two sides. It was like watching a real war, I don't even know who won, because suddenly a bunch of the rabbits climbed onto wooden rafts and floated down the stream." None of this would have seemed possible to Tom, if he hadn't had his own experience with the talking stuffed animals. Something was happening here in Coldfast. "That all sounds great, team," said Peter. "But I've found something even better." The other three stared at him. "They have a regular Nintendo here." "What?" said Tom. "A regular Nintendo. The old kind. It's in the den." "Do they have Duck Hunt?" asked Susan. "Yep! It's the one combined with Mario Bros." "What's Mario Bros?" asked Elle. "Oh, you'll see, because I found something else. Something amazing. I was playing one of the levels and then I hit this block as Big Mario and then somehow Mario got sucked into the bricks and then I was at this warp pipe, and it was a new level, one of those awful water levels, but the level name was World -1." Tom had played a lot of Mario in his life and he'd never heard of World -1. "What does that even mean, Peter?" "It's a secret world, obviously," said Peter.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! **Important Notes: To make nominations, we will now be using a form! You can find it listed under ‘Reminders’ as well as on our Discord. Also please note this feature has feedback requirements! Please read the entire post before submitting.** To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join.   *** #This week's theme is ‘Underdog’! This week, we’re going to explore the theme of ‘underdog’. C’mon, let’s face it, we all root for the underdog time and time again. The unsung hero. The little guy that rises to the challenge and shocks everyone. Who is that in your story? Is it a new character or one previously overlooked by the other characters? Maybe one of your main characters is already an underdog, climbing through the obstacles. What’s their story? Who is their challenger, the one they will ultimately go head to head with? How does your underdog feel about the coming days? Who’s in their corner; who pushes them forward? How would the world change if they were unable to rise to the challenge? These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. |   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I release the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even have a say in upcoming themes! Join us on the discord - we vote on a theme every Sunday. (You can also send suggestions to me via DM on Discord or Reddit!) * February 20 - Underdog (this week) * February 27 - Optimism * March 6 - Gossip   *** **Previous Themes:** | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 6pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Please make sure to read *all* of the rules before posting!   *** #The Rules: * **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme (not using the theme is a disqualifier).** Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt/post is not allowed. * **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. **You may include a *brief* recap at the top of your post each week if you like, and it will not count against the wordcount.** * **Stories must be posted by Saturday 6pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. * **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread (on two different stories, not two on one) to qualify for rankings every week.** The feedback should be actionable and **must** include at least one *detail* about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. (Verbal feedback does not count towards this requirement.) **Missing your feedback two consecutive weeks will exclude you from campfire readings and rankings the following week.** You have until the following Sunday at 1pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements each week. * **Keep the content “vaguely family friendly”.** While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of family friendly for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask! * **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalog. Please note: You **must** use the exact same name each week. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   *** #Reminders: * **If you are continuing an in-progress serial, please include links to the prior installments on reddit.** * **Saturdays I host a Serial Campfire in our Discord’s Main Voice Lounge.** Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * **Nominations will now be submitted . After the submission deadline each week, the form will be updated with that week’s authors, as well as the next theme options. The form will close at 1pm EST each week. You do not have to participate to make nominations!** * **Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, will be allowed to read their edited serials in their entirety aloud in the discord’s “Main Voice Lounge”.** This is to celebrate your wonderful accomplishment and hopefully provide some extra motivation to cross that finish line. Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules) Visit us on the Discord for more information. * There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news!   *** #Ranking System The weekly rankings work on a point-based system! Note that you must use the theme each week to qualify for points! Here is the current breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 60 points - Second place - 50 points - Third place - 40 points - Fourth place - 30 points - Fifth place - 20 points - Sixth place - 10 points **Feedback:** - Written feedback (on the thread) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap) *Note: In order to be eligible for feedback points, you must complete your 2 required feedback comments. These are included in the max point value above.Your feedback must be **actionable**, listing at least one thing the author did well, to receive points. (“I liked it, great chapter” comments will not earn you points or credit.)* **Nominating Other Stories:** - Submitting nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total)   *** #Rankings - - by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - - by u/stickfist   - - by u/bantamnerd   - - by u/ispotts   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


David tapped on the door with the back of his hand. Doorbells were so impersonal. They also left fingerprints For a moment he wasn’t sure if anyone had heard. He inspected his ID tag briefly. He considered knocking again and toyed with the idea of moving on. Then inside, he noticed a shape shifting in and out of focus through the textured glass of the door panel. David straightened himself and put on his most sincere smile. The door cautiously opened an inch or two. A pair of horn-rimmed spectacles attached to the face of a woman with long hair the colour of curb side snow peered around the doorframe. She wasn’t as old as he’d expected. Or at least he didn’t think she was. There were the deep etchings of age, certainly, but they seemed somehow out of place, without the porcelain transparency of ageing skin. Her face was pointed, not sagging, sharp even, with a prominent chin. And her eyes. David made a point of paying attention to eyes: they were often the first warning sign. In his experience with the elderly, age seemed to fog eyes and make their owners peer out as if looking through a frosted window. But hers were, deep brilliant green. It reminded him of someone, but he couldn't place who. He continued with expertly learned poise. “ Good afternoon-“ started David, “I’m from –“ “Max?” Said the woman. David paused for a second. He didn’t like being interrupted, especially by an old woman who should know better. A careful observer, skilled at these sorts of things would have seen a flash of anger dart across his face, quick and transitory as the shadow of a dragonfly crossing a tranquil pond. “Sorry, Madam, I’m here on behalf of Open Broadband. We hear you’re having trouble with your connection.” She looked at him and blinked briefly. David checked his clipboard. Had he got her details correct? That was the trouble with the dark web: you couldn’t trust anyone. “It’s Mrs Higginson, isn’t it?” It actually said ‘Miss’ on his notes. She didn’t correct him. Her eyes appeared to change focus slightly. “Of course. Silly me. I know why you’re here. Yes that’s it. ” “May I come in?” “Yes, yes.” She opened the door fully and he strolled across the threshold.  Just like that. “Your router…er, your telephone line. Could you show me-?” “In the living room.” She said, kindly, and indicated a door on the right. He briefly looked at his surroundings before he went in. The house was even bigger on the inside than he had expected. It had quite an old fashioned, crumpled feel to it, though, he noted, it was well looked after. Unlike many of those he visited, this one obviously still had the wherewithal to clean and tidy. Even a place as big as this. Something to bear in mind, he thought. She opened a door and indicated he should go through. He went in and turned round to tell her she didn’t need to wait for him only to discover she had already gone. He paused and looked around. The room was fairly light, the furnishings weren’t modern, but didn’t feel old fashioned. There were a few pictures on the wall, all of a woman – women? -- in various locations, in decades, some long gone. Her mother, maybe even grandmother some of them, they all had that striking face though the photos portrayed them in colour, black and white and sepia. Ancient monuments that he recognised from various aspirational lifestyle magazines stood in the background, and a myriad of what appeared to be manservants or butlers, by their appearance and demeanour. No partner though, which said a lot about the relationship her parents --grandparents? – must have had “What you want?” The deep male voice would have been enough to visibly startle David several years ago, but today’s David was one of considerable experience. He turned with an expectant smile on his face. David was nothing if not charming. “Hi, I’m David. You must be –“ In the beat of the hyphen David deconstructed the person in front of him: ·        thin build ·        Tall ·        Grey, cropped, balding. ·        Smartly dressed, loose fit, old suit. ·        Accent: Polish? Romanian? ·        Age: difficult. Possibly sixties. ·        Eyes…unusual. ·        No wedding ring Miss Higginson was single, with no dependents. The accent ruled out siblings or offspring. Without marriage the surname ruled out extended family from Eastern Europe. David played it safe. “-neighbour?” The man stared at David. “Get out.” It sounded strangely unlike a threat, David thought. Not even an instruction. David smiled even harder and was about to reply when his pocket buzzed. He took out his mobile. The girl from the previous evening. Samantha? -Are we still on for later? x.  He quickly rapped off a reply. -Wouldn’t miss it for the world. :) Which was mostly true. Not bad looking, he supposed. Not much in the conversation stakes, but he could save money if he found a free bed for the night in this new town. The text had also given him valuable thinking time. “Caleb!”  Miss Higginson’s voice was stern, unforgiving.

“Leave Max alone.” Caleb continued to stare at David, a look that David could not discern on his face. David noticed how Caleb’s eyes never quite seemed to focus on him as if he was struggling to see through an alcoholic stupor. “Caleb. Now.”

Caleb didn’t move. “Do you want dinner or not?” Caleb turned sluggishly to look at her. His eyes seemed to focus for just a split second. David was good at reading faces and the previously unfathomable features of Caleb, in a matter of milliseconds, went through three distinct stages: hatred, resolve, defeat. Miss Higginson, for her part, remained as hard, cold and unmoved as an anvil. Caleb turned and left. Miss Higginson turned to David. In the process her face shifted to one of friendly welcoming. “It’s chicken tonight, Max. Your favourite.” David paused for a second. Was she offering him… well, Max, dinner? This was an unfamiliar situation. Not to mention a possibly hazardous: it was unwise to spend any more time than he needed here.  But it would guarantee him a few undisturbed minutes while she was in the kitchen. And he never turned down a free lunch. “Sounds lovely” He said. She smiled once more and left the room. He hadn’t even needed to explain he couldn’t find her router. He counted to five under his breath. His smile melted away and he went looking around the room. He liked to challenge himself by seeing if he could spot exactly the right spot straightaway. After so many years, it helped keep the job interesting. An old darkwood bureau seemed to call to him. Second drawer from the top, he thought; high enough to avoid too much bending, but not the most frequently accessed. He opened it. And frowned. Some important documents, but not enough on their own. He rummaged around, his fingers doing much of the searching. There was the familiar feel of a passport. He took his phone out and snapped the ID page before returning it to the drawer and continuing. His fingers hit a plastic card. He fished it out. A driving licence. With Caleb’s photo on it. It bore the flag of Poland in one corner and he understood none of the writing, but one thing that struck him was that nothing on it said ‘Caleb’ or a name that could conceivably be its origin. Why the hell did she have his driving licence anyway? There was a date on it, presumably his date of birth, but it made him a lot younger than he looked. A hard life had evidently aged him. The photo showed a slightly threatening, stocky face that did not seem a warm home for a smile to reside. The old man who had told him to leave was wiry, gaunt even, and the threat in the eyes had been replaced by a muddled apathy. He looked again in the drawer. This time he found an ID badge in English. It had that same photo of a Polish bruiser, but the name was now easily identifiable: Pawel. He checked the driving licence. That name appeared nowhere on there. The ID was around fifteen years old: it bore the previous incarnation of the British Gas logo on it. David found it unlikely that it was legitimate. He liked to think of himself as an expert on these things. David heard a floorboard just beyond the door creak. He calmly replaced the items and shut the drawer purposefully; if you do something as if you’re meant to be doing it, everyone seems to think it’s your business. “Max? Are you coming through or not?” The smell hit him a second later. The warm, greasy embrace of roast potatoes first. Chicken. Butter. Bacon, crisp, with just an edge of charcoal. A subtle kiss of sage, thyme, rosemary. His phone buzzed in his pocket again - When & where? “Er yes, sorry.” -8? Ladies choice. Miss Higginson had left the room already. The home was big (how did she manage to keep it clean?) but he could follow his nose.

He went through a long corridor, rooms leading off, and through a pale wooden door at the end. The table was laid for what appeared to be a meal excessive for two. A chicken, whole, skin shimmering and golden, flecked with charred herbs and stuffed with half a singed lemon. A bowl of roast potatoes stood honour guard next to it, the deep brown ridges leading to fluffed ochre sides. Fresh garden, peas glistened with butter and interspersed with blackened, crisp small chunks of bacon. Carrots, parsnips and onion roasted to the point where their skins had turned to darker hue. “Oh please don’t stand on account of me, dear.” David slipped without thinking into his seat. She stood over him and purposefully spooned the peas onto his plate steam still rising from them. He could see a small amount of melting butter between creeping down the shoulders of the newly-formed green mound. This was followed by four potatoes carefully plucked from the bowl, delicately thunking on the porcelain and a generous helping of the charred vegetables in their caramel glow. She picked up the knife and began to slice the chicken. It’s skin made a soft, satisfying crack as the knife broke through, clear juice rolling down the blade.

It was then that he noticed Caleb through the arch of the doorway. He was staring intently at the feast, on edge like a semi-trained dog that been told to sit while a squirrel played in the distance. “ I hope you’re not thinking about taking any of this” She said without looking from her work. There was not a gram of affection in her voice. “Done the floors.” He said. Indeed, there was a dripping mop in his hand. “And the washing?” She inquired with the air of primary school headmistress. He nodded. She stopped and for the first time looked at him. “Very well. Here.” He half shuffled, half stumbled towards her and stood right next to David. Only then did he notice, how emaciated he looked. He stood in front of her swaying slightly. “Very well.” She said. She cut a thin slice of the meat, thin enough that you could almost see the light through it and placed it carefully on a small side plate. This was followed by a piece of potato. And half a carrot.  He paused. Looked at David for a second with eyes that conveyed a message he couldn’t quite read. Then he got down on his knees, there was no chair, and using his hands, nibbled slowly on the chicken, eyes closed. The tiny serving of potato and carrot followed in similar fashion. It must have taken him a full five minutes to consume what David could have easily done in two mouthfuls. With little ceremony she popped a sliver of chicken in his mouth. He waited. “What?” He looked at her. “That’s it for now.” For a moment he continued to stare at her. Then, as if his eyes could not bear looking into a bright light any longer, he bowed his head. He stood up, the effort almost seemed beyond him. Caleb looked once more at David. Then left. David’s gaze lingered on the door as it closed behind Caleb. When he turned back, Miss Higginson had already sat down and there was a glass of white wine next to his plate with condensation around the bowl. “Please.” She motioned. David had learned long ago that the best way to handle an awkward situation was to pretend it wasn’t happening, so he politely picked up his knife and fork and put a piece of chicken in his mouth. The world seemed to fall away. For the briefest of moments he was in his grandmother’s small kitchen: the light blue cupboards fronted by red gingham curtains, the worktops freckled grey plastic covered fibreboard, the tiles with poorly painted fruit and vegetable bowls. His grandmother’s face was smiling as she turned to slide him his plate and he tucked into his special weekend treat: leftover chicken and stuffing sandwiches in thick white crusty bread. He realised he would do anything to stay in that moment forever. Then he was back in the dining room. But for the first time in his adult life he felt … full. His phone buzzed -Hello ?x He paused for a second. The phone seemed out of place. For a moment he couldn’t remember what it was for. “Max? Phone away please.” “Sorry.” He continued to eat. Every mouthful was a tragedy because it had to end, but he lightened his mood with the wine: clean, crisp, citrus. The second glass made him more conversational. “You keep this house very clean.” He ventured. “Thank you. But cleaning’s not my thing. Man’s work, if you ask me.” “So-?“ “ Caleb, yes. Cooking’s really my gift. You know what they say about the way to a man’s heart.” She winked at him. “Still. He’s getting on a bit. I’ll have to replace him soon.” She smiled at him. Too soon his plate was empty. She looked at him. “Tell you what, Max. You clear away these dishes and wash up and I’ll get you some dessert.” David didn’t easily do the washing up for himself, let alone for … but he did want dessert. “Sure.” He said. In the kitchen he would have noticed that all the cupboards had a combination lock, but his mind was somewhere else. He was sure he was supposed to be doing something. When he came back, the dessert was somehow waiting for him. It was smaller than he’d hoped: chocolate fudge cake. After one taste he realised that if he could make that the last thing that ever passed his lips, he would. “Right. Well, I’d better…” “Really, Max?” She smiled at him again. He was sure that there was something- “But your room’s all ready.” Mrs Higginson continued. “And there’s breakfast tomorrow.” Breakfast? “And if you could see your way to doing one or two things for me as well..” “Well, I really should be…” Breakfast. “Where…where’s the room?” “Where it’s always been, Max: upstairs first on the left.” She smiled… sweetly? Of course it was. David wandered out and ambled upstairs, though he wasn’t sure why. He went into the first room on the left and closed the door behind him Miss Higginson heard the door upstairs click and then behind her another one open. She sighed and turned. Caleb was in the doorway again, looking almost hurt. “ Oh don’t take it personally Caleb.” Some softness entered her voice for the first time. “You all have to be replaced some time.” Upstairs, David lay on an old single bed, a slight smile smeared loosely on his face. Some part of his brain echoed in the background, a shout just out of earshot. His phone buzzed. In the stupor of semi sleep, he looked at the screen. -Are you OK, David? X But for Max, the words carried as much meaning as overheard whispers in a foreign country. He switched it off.  Max slowly drifted into sleep. And he dreamed of the next meal.


June 12, 2024, This isn’t the norm for me. Keeping a journal was Cathelyne’s idea, bless her heart that Miss Abernathy. But, she says it’ll be good for me, and maybe it will be. Who am I to deny my housemaid’s demands? I kid, all in good humor. I have nothing but the utmost respect for that young lady. She’s a sweet girl, and a hard worker. She’s also excellent company. Though, I guess I’m not writing about her. Not today, anyway. Today’s entry is about the strangest dream I had last night. One that haunts me now well after breakfast as I sit in my study recollecting the dream, detail by painful detail (I suppose my latest novel will have to wait). In the dream I was standing at the kitchen sink washing up a roasting pan. I specifically remember scrubbing at a particular stubborn spot when movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I turned, as one does, to investigate. What I saw froze me to my core. Standing there at the edge of the center island was a completely naked man (or what I assumed to be a man). He stood with his back to me, but most appalling was the growths covering his body. From his neck down to his naked buttocks, tumor-like growths bulged beneath his skin. His arms were hanging down by his sides, and his body was shaking. There wasn’t a single hair on him apart from his hairy ass-crack (still not amusing as I look back on it) and a few limp tufts of hair clinging to his nearly bald scalp. His skin had a yellowish hue, like he was suffering from jaundice. Rolls of tumor infected loose skin hung from his body. He looked like a cancer sufferer that had lost a great deal of weight. I shook away the shock, concern for the poor fellow now growing from the original fear. “Hello?” I said, “Are you alright, sir?” I was aware of two things: My Georgia draw seemed to surprise me, which I don’t understand why, and my voice quavered. I guess I was more scared than I thought. The man stopped shaking instantly, suddenly still as a statue. I waited for a long, painful moment that could have only been a few seconds but felt like an eternity. He began to turn, narrow feet shuffling slowly in my direction. My breath caught in my throat. What I saw could not have been any living man on God’s green Earth. This man, thing, whatever it was, had one long hanging breast riddled with more tumorous bulges, while the other was gone, a neat horizontal scar running along the side. It reminded me of my mother, before that horrible breast cancer took her. His gut was swollen and distended, and I realized then the loose skin only stopped at his sides. Even his genitals were awful. One testicle swollen and reddened despite the jaundiced skin, the other gone. Just like the breasts. His arms and legs were bone thin, like all the flesh had been lipo-ed out and it was just skin and tendons. Worst of all was his face though. Good Lord in heaven, that face… It was as smooth as a baby’s bottom. Not a blemish to be seen, and pale like a clothing store mannequin. His veiny bulbous eyes bulged from their sockets. There were no eyelids, just those staring, unwavering globs. And the smile…That thing was smiling, a lipless grin that stretched from ear to ear in the most literal sense of the phrase. The maw was filled with large, flat teeth. They were stained yellow like that of a heavy smoker, dark brown plaque between each. The gums seemed to be retreating from the horrid teeth. I couldn’t move. I was frozen in fear. And the thing didn’t move either. It just stood there, staring, smiling. Its eyes never left my face and that smile never wavered. But then it moved, a hitching motion like a puppet being lunged forward by its strings. It moved toward me, and I screamed. I had screamed myself awake, and poor Cathelyne came rushing to my room, still dressed in her nightgown. “Mr. Beauregard, are you alright?” she exclaimed, her breasts rising and falling with panic and no doubt from her sudden rush to my room. My eyes darted to every corner of the room, checking for the horrible thing from my dream. With a heavy sigh I wiped the sweat from my brow and nodded. “I’m alright, just had a nightmare. Nothing to fuss about.” I tried to sound as reassuring as possible, but my racing heart made me a liar. That dream had unnerved me, and writing it down seems to have only made it worse. On top of it all, the damned headache is back with a vengeance. If it doesn’t ease up soon, I’m afraid I might have to suck it up and go to the doctor. I’ve got to go now, Cathelyne is calling me down for lunch.


Tony So, Tony. What can I say? I've tried a thousand times. The engineer in me says "list attributes," so I'm going to start with that. Which is another lie. On June 19, 1980 (that's fake, made up for narrative purposes, but pretty close, I think), somewhere around noonish, Tony rode his bike up the alley and skidded into my driveway. We were both 12 years old. I was out there banging a whiffle ball around the yard, really busy. "I'm headed to the beach to meet Hanner and Schadler (change these names to fake ones, this all really happened), wanna come?" We were 12, and young guys called everyone by their last names. Except Tony, we all called Tony... Tony. Geographical note: My old hometown sits about 250 feet atop a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan. For anyone in the town, the Lake is sorta omnipresent. From most places in town it was just there, a giant patch of blue stretching to the horizon. If you couldn't actually see it, you still knew it was there. The beat of its waves on the shoreline came through the rock into your feet. I learned Cardinal directions that way... the Lake is always West, just look, there it is. Downtown is North of it, and South Shore Bowling Alley is South (they had a cool video arcade). East is the other one. Also, it was not at all uncommon in my town for pretty much anyone over 8 years old or so to head to the beach for a dip or to fish for perch off the piers. It was like... what we did. "Nah. I'm busy." "But the waves are coming up!" And they were. I had the TV on that morning like everyone else. It was sunny and warm, but storms were coming over from Chicago. And that could be super fun. "Nah." Tony was, in my memory, crestfallen. But he pedaled away. And I continued banging the whiffle ball around the yard. And as the rules of any dramatic narrative dictate (even a truthful one), Tony never returned as a living person. What am I to do with that? That was a big "Nah." That was a butterfly's wings, my friend. So context: (I think this is the list of attributes I promised myself and you earlier. Maybe.) Tony was.. Tony. Kid was the classic 85 pound weakling. Tiny, thin, pale. But he was also a talker. Like, a LOT of talking. He would talk for minutes which felt like hours about kinda, anything. To put it in the term of the day, he was a spaz. Like a complete and utter spaz. I'm not being untruthful if I say that everyone hated Tony. He was bullied on the playground, he was pushed over in the halls of the school just for laughs, he was a target for all of our monkey tribal anxieties. He was what we did not want to be. Who was "we?" Still trying to figure that one out. Tony did Scouting. So many badges, hand sewn into the lapel. Uniform hung proudly on his bedroom door. He could focus that spaz energy given a task. I respected that. He collected bugs. Like '50s style... meticulously and respectfully pinned on foamboard. He collected baseball cards with a vengeance. You did not want to trade with Tony... He knew Robert's Rules of Order (I remember that specifically, because he said it a lot) and he'd win your best card and get the gum. He was completely unafraid to try anything. He was immune to all social cues flying like bricks at his head... "calm down, Tony." Nope. Tony was 4,000 RPMs, 24/7. He had an aquarium. And that was the real thing. You see, for a little while, I also tried to have an aquarium. That's where it all started. Columbia Aquariums... It was on... Columbia Avenue. That place no longer exists. I'd ride my bike up there and wander the aisles looking at fish. And they had frogs, like exotic ones. The light was low-key. The aquariums glowed. It was warm and magical and smelly. One day Tony was there. That kid took me from tank to tank and explained more than I ever wanted to know about every fish in the building. And I listened. He was compelling. He knew his shit. Tony started coming to my house to check on my aquarium. He'd just roll up on his bike and let himself in. He didn't like it much. I was not a good aquarium-ist, apparently. I was doing it wrong. (Turns out he was right about that too). I cannot say what happened or how, but Tony and I became brothers. We were the same age, but I felt like he was... vulnerable? He needed help. I absolutely do not think he saw it that way. I think he was showing me the way to live life, not vice-versa. But the kids, myself included (we're being honest here, right?), they were mean to Tony. Like really mean. And I didn't like that. But if I can be informal, Tony was a HUGE pain in the ass! "Nah." That's what I said that morning. Why didn't I ride down with him to the Lake shore that afternoon? I rode down there hundreds of times for fun. But not that day. There's a question for y'all. You know those times when you're grouped up, and someone isn't there, and kids start talking shit? It's a normal thing, and we all do it. Even you, reader, have had shit talked about you, and have talked shit yourself, promise. But I found myself defending Tony now and then. Like, "ah, he's a good guy, just a little weird," and whatnot. And it scored me no points, socially. But I felt something important. Tony was 12 and a spaz, and I was 12 as well with some spaz to me, and neither one of us knew at the time what we were supposed to be. Young men (the only experience I can speak to) spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure that question out, "what AM I?" Hell, I'm 51 years old as I write this, and I'm not sure I've worked out that answer. His mom asked our coach if Tony could join our baseball team. She asked because she knew my mom, and I was on the team. Moms of weird kids notice potential friendships very very quickly. Coach tried him out and said no. The fuck am I supposed to do with that? I mean, we were all terribly untalented. So June 19, 1980, noonish. He skids into my driveway. Invites me to the beach. And I didn't just say no. I kinda without words said, "fuck off." Or that's how I see it in my mind. And he said 'Hanner and Schadler'... which for me was just a hard no. Older kids, trouble. Not good. And thus I was "busy." And he pedaled off. Perhaps a trivial exchange. There was whiffle ball to be played. The storm did in fact come. But with Lake Michigan, the Thing arrives well before you see the storm. It can often be sunny and warm with some building waves. That's the trick. That's why we watch the news. That's why, even as tots we're taught to respect the water. And that's why Tony was found 2 weeks later floating near a breakwater 12 miles north of the beach. What do I say about that? All of this, I guess. I still don't know, and I feel like I've done a poor job of it. Like, overdramatic, or something. Whatever. They say in writing classes, don't tell, show... I say fuck that. I'm telling. Those were not good days in my life. I learned more about life than I wanted to, like quickly. Some guys and I rode down to the beach that night as the news spread, when Tony was "missing." Jonathon, David, Kevin, Allen and I (remember to fake these names). Neighborhood kids. And there were lights on the beach, and rain, and they had boats dragging the shallows. But we knew he was already long gone from there. Later we sat on his mother's porch steps in the dark and told jokes. Tony jokes. Like a lot of them, spinning 'em up like improv. Remembering? We laughed. I mean like the hard laugh that hurts your guts. I'm still angry. Decades have passed. Still angry. At who? I don't know what any of this means. Or why I'm writing it down. Asking you to read it. His mom called mine again, just the one last time before they moved away. And for some reason I was invited to lift and carry the casket. I had to wear a church suit. Hanner and Schadler bore the pall as well, offensively, in my opinion to this day. And his younger brother. I guess regardless of their culpability, or mine, it was appropriate. Or something. It does not sit well. Any of it. So, list of attributes.. engineer brain again. I promised. Tony was a good person. So good it was not exactly in keeping with the way the world works. So good it was annoying. That kid could piss you off with his goodness, and he seemed to delight in doing so. Which pissed you off even more. He was scared. A lot. He told me that once, before he drowned and was swept away. We were in my living room together, watching MTV. Still alive, he said, "I think people don't like me." He couldn't throw, catch or hit a baseball. That's just fact. I saw that as fast as coach did. He was careful. He took care of his fish by the book, he took care of his neighbors' lawns and he was maybe ironically over-concerned with safety. Watching him prep a mower was to see an artist at work. He could pedal. He was just so weird. He loved that bike. I don't think I mentioned this earlier. He rode a tandem. An old, really long 2 seater bike. By himself. All over town. Bookstore, library, Columbia Aquariums. There'd be Tony with his long bike. To my house, skidding into my driveway on the day. Tony rock 'n' rolled on that bike. He often oiled the double chain. Sometimes, even now, while I try not to think too closely about the other thing where he... died, I wonder what he musta felt like riding that bike all day. I rode it once myself, and it had a satisfying momentum. And I have an idea. I almost think I get it. It might have felt like a big truck on a big road going really fast to some place none of us could see or didn't want to Obviously he never got the chance to figure it all out either. But it was a really cool bike, in its way. Despite year after year of thinking and dreaming about it, I still sometimes wonder what was riding in that empty back seat.


At first, I hated them. Including him. They moved in, their stuff piled in boxes, dust floating and swirling in the light that streamed through the living room windows. The father was tall, his body bulky, his stomach protruding out, with a layer of fat built on top of muscle. He had a square face, with thick brows, and a monster of a mustache growing over his thin lips. The mother was small, yet her personality made her seem tall. A subtle, yet powerful “Here.” would make either of the men put down whatever they were carrying in the spot where she indicated with her painted fingernails. Her noticeable curves swayed perfectly with her high heeled feet. Her short, curly blonde hair brought out her eyes that seemed to have photographed an unearthly ocean. The son was something of a sight. He stood at a height between the two parents, yet he was almost the height of his father. Clearly a young man, the boy was most likely done with his height. His round cheeks were accented by a strong bearded jaw. Freckles scattered across his face like the stars in a white galaxy. His blonde hair shimmered in the sunlight, as in his beard seemed to be aflame with strawberry red. His eyes glowed with blue as flecks of brown seemed to circle his pupil. He had a thick neck, and a square body. He too had a similar build as his father, yet the soft, beautiful features of his mother. With a pat on the back from his father, the three started to unpack their lives in the shell of the house that I used to call home. It was worrisome, to see such beautiful people take up the space that I took up. The parents took up the master bedroom on the first floor, near the kitchen and the dining room. The son took up on the second floor, on the opposite side of the house, accompanied by the living room. Each floor had its own bathroom, along with the master bathroom that was connected to the parents bedroom. It was something of a sight, to see two people make love. The father, Steven, always started with slightly bringing down one of the mother's, Kara's, straps from her nightgown. She would always giggle, as he would slip down the other and let the pretty pink silk fall swiftly to the wooden floor of their bedroom. It was always romantic and full of pure lust. His deep earthly growls seemed to ground her heavenly moans as they paced to the rhythms of their breathing. My father was never in the picture, my mother always alone in the bed herself. Why would no man ever want to make love to a woman such as she? I wished someone would've held her the way this man did his wife. I wished it everyday to be able to have a father in the life of my mother and I. The boy sat alone, and quietly did his own things in his own part of the house. Aside from college schoolwork or football practices, he would just sit and listen to the most beautiful music. Granted, I hated the music. It was something he enjoyed, therefore I had to hate it. Sad melodies cried out along the electrical beat of synthesizers as he lie in his bed, sometimes tears slowly falling from his lakeside eyes. Overtime, his tears began to mean something to me. As one began to glisten down his face, I had the sensation to cry myself. I'd never had that before. There was a girl once. She visited for dinner, spaghetti with breadsticks (Italian night), and swiftly left the table with the boy to go up to his room. After small talk, they began to kiss. As it prolonged, they started to become restless. The boy, Kendall, started to run his hands through her hair and she began to unbuckle his pants. My heart began to… My heart… His computer seemed to light up with light as the sensation of crying pulsed through me, his sad songs blaring through the speakers. The two pulled away, and with one glance, the girl had a confused look on her face as she looked at the bearded young man. “I-I think I should go…” she said as she jumped up, and grabbed her bag. Kendall… he sat there, and stared at his computer. Tears were started to dry on his cheeks as he took in a deep breath. “T-thank you, God.” He whispered through shakey breaths. I could feel it, the heart that he had hidden underneath the flesh and blood that surrounded his soul. It seemed to beat frantically, but not in the way of love, but out of regret and misery. Naked pictures of men flew through the reflection of Kendall's mind as he let his eyes flutter shut. That night I sat in his thoughts, and experienced everything he lusted for. As he kissed me, I felt his hands glide over my skin. Up over my torso, down my back, and then… With a simple push, I felt pure bliss. He growled softly as I let out a gasp of pleasuring pain. As we made love to the rhythm of his heartbeat, it felt like blood seemed to rush through my veins. My heartbeat picked up its dead weight, and began to race along his. I opened my eyes, and looked straight into his. Our world seemed to slow down, our pleasure euphoric; our utopia indestructible. I knew he'd see the physical body of a young man exactly his age, his light skin covered in patches of dark hair. Slightly shorter and smaller in body size, I still had a decent amount of weight. Our bodies were nothing close to perfect, yet it was something that felt perfect to me. My green eyes seemed to glow in his, and my black hair seemed a shaggy mess. I knew that in his eyes, I was beautiful. That's all that mattered to me. Weeks turned into months, and months soon became a year. It was something we held special to each other, those nights in his dreams. Imagine, the dead in love with the living. A year became two years, and then to four. Slowly he made his way out of our house, and it was something that I grew to hate and admire. He was someone I loved, yet life compelled him to move forward. I never wanted him to stay longer than he had to, or even worse, stay as long as forever with me. The idea was full of toxic longing, yet seeing him move on was something more beautiful than anything I had ever witnessed. I loved him. For who he was, and will continue to still love him, for who he will be.


"The Trail" As he left his vehicle and approached the Trail, he let out a deep sigh of relief. Relief from deadlines, burdens, and technology. Relief from artificiality and society's expectations. On the Trail, he experienced freedom. Gone were the ringing phones, text messages, and emails. On the Trail, he was able to achieve total solitude, bliss, nirvana. As he ran along the stream, he listened to the gentle sound of the clear water passing through the rocks, playing an impossibly serene symphony to accompany his journey. He passed by boulders blanketed in thick emerald moss. Their enormity dwarfed him. He climbed a long slope, and his thighs began to burn. His legs had sat stagnant all week, their only purpose keeping him upright in his chair. His heart began to beat faster and harder, and his lungs began to suck more air. His feet moved swiftly and with grace over the roots, rocks, and trunks of fallen trees which littered the Trail. As the ascent became steeper, he lifted his knees and dug his toes into the Trail. He swung his arms and maintained a steady pace as his eyes focused on the summit. Twenty more feet. His mind turned back to all the pressures in his life. The daily obligations that kept him feeling like he was in a constant state of drowning. Ten more feet. Finally, he reached his destination. His lungs burned and his legs ached. His eyes began to fill with tears as he looked out on the horizon. He felt absolute bliss. He was home.


The coastal elite controls the national news, so when the midwest was taken over and turned into a kingdom, it took about three months for the news outlets to notice.  "What states were it again?... Kansas, Missouri, AND Nebraska?! ... is that a lot? Oof... We've got forty-something more of them left, right?" the president said. His oval office staff traded concerned glances.  The following weeks brought news of the King, who began a campaign of conquest that saw the Midwestern kingdom annex Mississippi and Iowa. All under the eye of an astonished president.  "Can he do this?" What is happening?!" the president's advisors shuffled papers as they struggled to tell him that as the president, he has to decide how to handle the King. "This is America! Land of the free-- home of all fifty states and the schmucks that voted for me!" The day presided without a plan in place.  The Kingdom launched giant pumpkins via trebuchets against the military forces blockading the former states. Ranch hands sent cattle herds stampeding against the infantry. Water balloons full of sour milk and eggs peppered the remainders.  The US army troops refused to shoot at the non-lethal enemy combatants, and instead began defecting after hearing about the kingdoms inclusive medical plans-- they included dental and visual! A couple of brace-face cadets started the journey over, but the rest joined when they heard about the four day work week (modeled after Finland's ambitious plan).  The guns the troops took with them were melted down and reforged into community centers. The gun power they extracted from the bullets created the fireworks for the first annual independence festival. It took place on July third- unofficially named "Independence day 2.0."  What had started as an initial domestic oversight turned into an international catastrophe as support from foreign nations for the young Kingdom grew. While the title "The King" was used- in truth, shadows were surrounding the figure that guided the growing nation. However, the data emerging from the residents placed it at the top of the happiness index, pipping perennial winner, Denmark, and with it, garnered further support and envy for its actions.  Years soon passed without the reveal of the King on the throne. The world had no face to attribute the incredible rise of a near-utopia within the belly of the American beast.  Year five finally marked the curtain crashing down- exposing a puppet ruler. A literal puppet sat on the throne- behind a velvet curtain. Journalists discovered a coalition of former film students ran the Kingdom. Their sovereign rise born out of a thesis project taken far too serious.  They had intended to parody a split from the United States and unintentionally succeeded when crowd participants didn't see the cameras and assumed it was a legal separation. The coalition used film craft to keep the oppositions, spies, from piercing the veil. They also happily accepted all who defected- especially after escaping severe repercussions from the US armed services.  Puppy Spring served as a vital cog in the defection victory. The remaining soldiers not sold on the promise of healthcare and sustainable work weeks were wrought low by the unbearable cuteness of the puppy horde unleashed upon them. Thankfully the success of Puppy Spring meant plan "Kitten Puffs" wasn't employed. Small studies showed that while adorable and soft, kittens get agitated at great heights and scratch those who pull them from their mini air balloons. An innovative aerial tactic, but a classic case of "cute, but not worth it."  Exceptions for defection did exist, and celebrities and billionaires took the majority of cases. The Kingdom ordered those who possessed immoral amounts of wealth to renounce their assets. The old rules of cut-throat capitalism did not belong in the new nation.  As the Kingdom annexed more states-- it left North Dakota for those who didn't want to join the nation. A rumor circulated through the Kingdom that the Koch brothers fought each other over the last functional oil well in the lone state.  The Kingdom had repurposed Colorado into a solar farm, which Elon Musk applauded from afar in his new role as an orchard owner. He praised the achievement while insisting people stopped calling him "Johnny Appleseed."  The final victory came with the arrival of the former president of the United States. He admitted that the job he took on held too much stress, and wanted to try out the four day work week. Especially since a three day weekend gave him a chance to finally read "Life of Pi" and expand his whittling collection.  The Kingdom made a collective "huh" to feign interest and moved on. Within the decade, the whole of the former union bore allegiance to the Kingdom. While the fledgling nation didn't have the same military might as their predecessor, they did possess personal security and self-worth, and with it came ungodly amounts of cowbell and yoga.


The beautiful white dress was hung on the door. Makeup was being applied and hair was being done. The room smelled of lavender and hairspray. Bridesmaids giggled as they also prepped for the big day. The dress was ready to be put on. Everyone was gathered for more pictures. Bouquet in hand and- “Professor Davis, are we free to leave after the exam is complete?” A student waved her hand through the air.

Erin was brought back to reality by the student in her last lecture of the day. She caught herself admiring her engagement ring that Costas had given to her in October.

“Yes, bring the exam to my desk and you may leave.” Erin said this with a smile. She felt guilty because many of the students stood up and walked towards her, exams in hand.

Erin is a psychology professor at University of Michigan. She graduated from the university too and it's where she met her fiance, Costas. Costas is a kinesiology professor at Michigan State University. He had finished his education at UofM and eventually moved on to teach at his rival school. The two had been together for 5 years, Costas finally proposed on Halloween of last year and they were to be married next month.

Professor Davis’s class was nearing the end as 1-2 students were still taking the exam for the end of the semester. One student finished his exam and left and 5 minutes after the next one followed.

As Erin left the classroom, she twisted her ring with her index finger with a slight grin on her face. She walked to her office that was down the hall, grabbed the rest of the exams from her drawer and headed to the elevator. Her next stop would be the Chinese food place across the street from her house and then home.

“Honey, I’m home.”

No answer followed. Erin went to the living room, which stood empty all except the furniture. She made her way to the kitchen and set down her bags, the kitchen stood empty also.

“Costas, I got dinner. Your favorite, Chinese Food.” Erin frowned, there was no answer. Erin took a plate, spoon, and wine glass from the cupboard. She grabbed a bottle of wine from the wine rack and then scooped the food onto her plate. The door knob rattled and opened with a creak. Erin’s attention snapped to the door and excitement filled her. “Erin, are you home yet?” Costas peeked his head in the doorway. “Yes, babe. I’m in the kitchen. I went to the Chinese place and got your favorite.” Costas entered the house and walked into the kitchen. He kissed Erin and went to grab a plate and a beer from the fridge.

“How was your day, babe?” Erin said this shyly. “It was great, terrific.” Costas said this with sarcasm and a sly grin. Erin put her head down and finished eating her meal in silence. The relationship had been rocky since they got engaged. Costas had been distant and mostly absent from the home. Erin was ready to be a bride and had attended her many wedding events with her mother and with Costas’s mother. They had together picked the flowers, church and banquet hall, and the cake. Costas had been busy with conferences and interviews with major basketball and baseball teams for the position of athletic trainer.

Erin had finished her meal and went to the sink to put her dishes down. She walked over to her bag, took the stack of exams and papers, and sat down. She proceeded to pour another glass of wine. “Would you like another beer, dear?” Erin asked “No, God Erin can’t you just leave me alone. I work hard all day to teach these stupid students and then I have to come home and be interrogated by you. Just leave me alone. I would like a little peace and quiet now and then you know.”

Erin proceeded to sit down across from her husband almost on the verge of tears, she grabbed the exams and started to grade the exams.

She loved her fiance dearly and wanted to do whatever had to be done to keep him happy and nonviolent. She loved the old him, the Costas who bought her flowers and chocolates, and took her to Greece for her birthday when she turned 30. Costas had saved her from her past. The past involved being beaten by the person who was supposed to be her unspoken savior, her father. Her father had beaten her until she was 10 years old and her mother had known. She spent most of her childhood hiding her bruises and her adolescence was filled with flashbacks, depression, and anxiety.

She had grown up in a toxic home environment and now she was being put in the same situation with the person she loved the most in the world. Costas had hit her a handful of times, but she had told no one of this.

“Erin, have you packed my bag for my next interview.”

Costas said this with irritation in his voice. “No honey, I’m sorry. I’ll get on it as soon as I can.” Erin put her head down and proceeded to grading the exams.

“Did you not hear me? I said to go pack my bag for the next interview.” Costas said this with rage in his voice.

“Okay dear, I’ll get to it after I look over some of these exams.”

“I said go pack my bag. NOW BITCH!!” Costas said this with fury in his voice and smacked Erin in the face.

Whimpering she said, “Okay I’m sorry, I’ll go upstairs and get to it.” Erin had tears in her eyes and started going to the stairs that climbed up into the second floor. She proceeded to the bedroom, went to the vanity and looked at her reflection. She saw tears streaming down her face and an almost purple bruise forming on her cheek. She put her head down and began to cry. She didn’t want this life, the life of a battered wife. She wanted happiness and family but not with a man that was going to be violent with her and maybe their children to come. She thought to herself, How do I get out of this? How can I end this without getting hurt again? She heard steps coming up the stairs and quickly ran to the closet to look for ties, dress shirts, and dress pants. She scurried around for the items as she heard steps in the bedroom now. Costas poked his head around the corner with remorse on his face. She could see it now from where she stood. Erin began to walk to the hall closet to get the small suitcase. She was stopped by a hand on her shoulder, she flinched but turned around to face Costas. He guided her to bed and they both sat down. “Erin, I’m so sorry I hit you and yelled at you. I didn’t mean it. I just have all this anger and work is stressful. I need a change of scenery, I’m hoping these athletic trainer jobs will come through and we can go somewhere new and start over again just like the old times.” Costas said this with his head down.

“I don’t think you're sorry because you keep doing it. You keep hitting me and you know what happened between my parents and what happened to me. I’m not your punching bag, you need help. We don’t need to get a change of scenery, you need to straighten this problem out. I love you so much but you decide to hurt me when something doesn’t go your way and I am not okay with that.” Erin was choking back tears. Costas kissed Erin at first on the lips and then on the forehead. She smiled at this with tears still streaming down her face. Costas looked at Erin and her pain and his face turned down. He wiped her tears with his sleeve.

“I’m going to go to an interview in Los Angeles this weekend. Going to be interviewing for the Dodgers and the Lakers. When I come home we will talk again and I will look into anger management.” Costas said this with his head down. Erin finished packing Costas’ bag and went back to her place at the kitchen table. She grabbed her wine glass and refilled it until it was almost to the top, and then went to the stack of exam’s in front of her. She heard steps coming down the stairs and she straightened herself and took a swig from her wine glass. Costas had made his way down the stairs and back into the kitchen. “Honey, I’m going to be leaving for the airport in a bit. Would you like to see me off?”

“I have all these papers to grade. Exams and I have to do all of them for eight different classes.” Erin motioned toward the pile of papers. Costas put his head down and grabbed another beer from the fridge. He stood silent and made his way back up to the bedroom. He was ashamed for what he did to his wife and felt regret deeply. He finished packing everything else that he would need. He picked up his phone, car keys, and his luggage and descended upon the stairs.

“Erin, I’m leaving for the airport.” Costas called from his position by the stairs. “I’ll see you when you get back.” Erin stood from her seat and crossed the living room. They embraced and gave each other a slight kiss.

Costas left and Erin was once again in the still, silent house by herself. She finished the bottle of wine and got through one class of exams before retiring to the couch for her alone time. During this alone time that she had she would watch television, go on social media, or invite friends and family over to drink. Today she brought her laptop with her and decided she would write her wedding vows. She had written a rough copy when Costas had proposed but she wanted to change them now. She began typing: “Costas, When I met you, you were a blessing in disguise. As many know, my childhood was not the most pleasant. Costas you saved me, you grabbed my hand, put it in yours and you guided me from the dark to the light. You showed me what love is and that I deserve as much as I can get. Flowers and Chocolates were a plus. Just being you was a gift.” Erin began to cry again. She had begun to picture herself standing at the altar, ready to give herself to Costas. She could picture his smile and the tears that would fall from his eyes as she said these words but also her recovering tears from the vows he would have just recited. She felt bad for the news she was going to maneuver into her vows. She was going to break her silence of being a battered fiance and how Costas had been hurting her for months. It would not only hurt his feelings but also the pockets of those who would make the day beautiful for her. She would be hurting her friends and family but she needed this for herself. She needed her peace and had to face the fact that Costas wasn’t the man for her. She continued: “Our tiny life that we built in a matter of years was more than I could ever ask for. In Greece you told me that you wished paradise was forever and when I’m with you it is at least for a little while. Since our engagement that man ceases to exist. You have made me, my younger self. I thought you were a different man, I thought you were my guardian angel sent to me from the heavens. You have changed, and if I had a part to play in that I deeply apologize. Costas, I will not marry you today or any other day. Just a few weeks before we stand here you hit me and I decided that the life I want and the life you want are two different ideas. I can’t be with a man who chooses over and over again to be abusive and demeaning to a woman or their soon to be fiance. I am sorry Costas but I don’t love you anymore and I deserve more.” Erin’s eyes were now puffy and the words on her screen a blur. The keyboard and mouse was littered with drops of water that fell from her eyes. She closed the laptop shut and began sobbing. She sobbed until her tears halted and all she could do was sit wide-eyed staring at the ceiling. She could feel her world coming apart. She wanted Costas to be the man that she fell in love with but unfortunately she knew he would never be that man. She soon would recover from her sobbing and turn on the television to find endless romantic comedy movies and reruns of Criminal Minds.

Weeks had passed since that day, Costas had begun to fly back and forth to California for the job as Athletic Trainer for the Los Angeles Lakers. He was excited to meet some big time players and be alongside some of the best in his field. He hadn’t seeked help in his situation and had still been violent with Erin. She had developed bruises along her torso and arms, she would hide them with long sleeves and makeup on those that would show. Their wedding was now days away. This life would be gone for the two of them and they would be able to develop new separate lives.

Days had now passed and their wedding was here. Erin’s mom had been crying most of the day. Bridesmaids had been in and out of her house all day. They had been hungover most of the time they were getting ready. They wore pastel green bridesmaids dresses and everyone’s hair was the same. It was everything Erin had dreamed of but it wasn’t her wedding today, today was the day she would lose everything. She would practically be disowned by the people who spent money for her and would lose the once love of her life. The day commenced and it was finally time to walk down the aisle. She was ready with a bouquet in hand. Her mother smiled through tears as she put the crown atop her head and gave her a kiss on her cheek. Erin was ready, she joined her uncle Henry at the double doors that lead to the entrance of the church. They both walked arm-in-arm down the aisle, Costas stood at the altar in a black suit. Erin began to get nervous and tried looking back at the people in the pews with smiles and tears in their eyes. She kept her eyes front and attempted to focus on the task at hand. The priest had finished his sermon and it was time for the vows. Costas had gone first and Erin was up, she took a breath and recited her vows. By the time she was done she was afraid to look up at Costas. She did and she started crying. Costas stood shocked and Erin’s mom and Uncle Henry had anger on their faces and had risen from their seats. Erin turned to her bridesmaids, and apologized, giving each of them a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She walked to her mother and did the same. Uncle Henry and Erin’s mom had followed her back down the aisle. Years had now passed, Costas had moved to California and Erin moved to Maryland. Costas was a successful athletic trainer with the Lakers and had found another woman, her name was Penelope. She never found out the reality about how the relationship between Erin and Costas had ended. She too had become a battered woman and Costas took no mercy, he never got the help he needed. Years would pass before he ever would. Erin had gotten her doctorate in Michigan and found a job helping veterans at Walter Reed medical center. She had found a new friend group and along with them she found a nice man. His name was Xander and they had been living peacefully. He had proposed at a Baltimore Ravens football game and knowing her history the engagement lasted for two years and they finally married in April. They were both happy together. Erin had found peace and love with Xander and the two were expecting their first born. Erin was comfortable and happy with her new life and was thankful for her bravery to leave her threatening relationship.


Hi guys! I wanted to ask this question in the Roundtable. But I'm not an admin or anything. Anywho, I think it's an interesting question which could really help a lot of us. I have maybe five or six short stories that I really love. I love the stories and the characters and the idea at the bottom. BUT, great writing comes from rewriting. And as much as I love my stories, they still read a lot like amateurish first drafts. What are some things I could do upon rewriting, which could lift the stories further once the actual story is in place? I have the A-B-C all mapped out. This happens, then this, then this. I can distill it down to the necessities. Not bothering the reader with superfluous details and so forth. But what are some things I can do to enhance the skeleton of that story? For example: let's say the story is about a characters sexual shame. Let's say a woman meets a man at a club. They go home together, it's her first time and she likes it. She feels shameful because she's a Christian. Kills him the next day to hide the fact that she had sex outside of marriage. Obviously she has a screw loose, but just to have an example.


By Wendy Kaminski Staff Writer First settled in the 1780s, the town of New Madrid, Missouri, appears charming but otherwise unremarkable. It’s a relatively small town of approximately 2,800 residents, a few shops, a small school and a boardwalk, all nestled atop an Omega-shaped bend in the mighty Mississippi River.

Located in the “bootheel” region of the Show Me State, this part of the US gets all four seasons, and though there’s no enticement here for investors nor industry, the residents are genuine, friendly and helpful. They are the perfect blend of Midwestern practicality and Midsouthern hospitality. However, there is one noteworthy thing in particular about this town: in 1811, New Madrid was the site of the largest-ever seismic event in the United States. The region is still seismically active, and if such an event were to repeat, it would cause the greatest financial disaster the US has ever known.

It would also cause something much worse, and for that reason, two dozen locals comprise the membership of a secret order which has volunteered its sacrifice for over 200 years in fighting a horror that few even realize lurks below.                                                                       ### In the dead of winter, 1811-1812, hundreds of earthquakes hit this part of the Missouri Territory. Most catastrophically, a magnitude 7.0+ earthquake centered on New Madrid completely destroyed the town and devastated surrounding areas for hundreds of miles. That same quake also caused lower-level damage across two-thirds of the US and aftershocks which lasted for months. It was so strong that it forced the Mississippi River from its bed: the event was described as unearthly sounds and visions from hell, the unholy damnation unleashed such that the entire river roiled backwards for several days and actually formed a new lake before the chaotic waters receded.

McInnery* was a boy at the time of that winter cataclysm, living a mile upriver on his family’s homestead, which was among the dozens catastrophically destroyed. While he and his sister both swore that they saw fearsome creatures of immense size thrashing within those waves as it was happening, this event was only a century removed from the Salem Witch Trials, and McInnery’s parents put a stop to such fantastic talk immediately.

He and his sister kept silent as instructed, but as he grew into adulthood, McInnery took on the mantle of chronicler, delving into other accounts of that same event, seeking confirmation of the truth -- and find it, he did. Researching local legends, trapper lore, and personal correspondence as far back as the 1500s, McInnery also found that great upheavals in the New Madrid region happened with alarming frequency, always between October and February, and one thing was certain: the earth was birthing monsters. These were winter beasts, and their sightings were legion.

At least one extreme giant was even enshrined in the broader national conscience: Pepie, the Mississippi River monster of Lake Pepin, Minnesota. Pepie first appeared to the north several months after the 1811 event, miles upstream from New Madrid. Few made the connection, but McInnery was well aware of it and of what that might mean for another event. Though Pepie was not formally recognized and reported until 1871 at Lake Pepin, McInnery remained convinced of its New Madrid origin decades prior.** Pepie would not be the only giant creature unleashed: indigenous tradition reports huge river monsters centuries ago, and more contemporary reports exist as well, always in conjunction with similar earth-shaking events in New Madrid. McInnery was joined in his efforts at first only by a couple of trusted friends, but later by more, as a growing community began to understand and embrace the duty thrust upon them: a duty to combat this terror and ensure the continued safety of mankind. Thus arose the original society calling themselves “The Exhort.” As often happens, there was a split early-on: while some focused on McInnery’s cryptid research and chased information about the existing creatures, the core members and their successors focused their efforts on defense against future events. Antediluvian texts detail numerous epic creatures, and this branch of the order currently uses those data in simulation programs, analyzing what countermeasures might work against titans from earth and sea.

In discussing their history and strategies with me for this story, one Exhort advisor points to the USGS statistic that shows a 40% likelihood of a 6.0+ earthquake within the next 50 years at New Madrid. As a result of their decades of research, The Exhort believe that only a 5.0 or greater event is required to spawn a Pepie-sized creature: a 6.0 or greater event could spawn a creature 10 times more terrifying, should it occur. How does one battle these creatures, then? And would it be only one, or would we be plagued by numerous monsters, if another Big One hit? Smaller quakes up to 3.0 are regularly striking the site to this day – are those spawning smaller beasts? On these points, as well as on the finer points of defense, The Exhort members remain tight-lipped. While many have sought them out over the years to join their ranks, The Exhort tend to reject outsiders, who are often merely thrill-seeking: “We study more than we hunt, and we just prefer to choose our own company,” one member said, in response to my inquiry as to whether they might be interested in additional members. However, another cautioned, don’t let fear deter you from visiting their beautiful town, nor fret you while you’re there: “If you think you hear ominous sounds on the water, it’s not the creatures – it’s probably just the wind. These things, if you ever heard one, you’d know it, and as long as we’re on guard, you are never going to know that sound.” Rest assured, The Exhort is on the job, and I think I speak for us all when I say, “Thank you for that!”. —-------------------------------------------------------------- * Founder’s name was changed at the request of The Exhort to protect anonymity. ** There remains a $50,000 bounty on Pepie’s head to this day.