First of all, I have to state this short story started as an inside joke but became complex way more than I expected as I wrote it therefore expect nothing much from it as I just wrote it for a friend of mine and then I thought "why not share it on reddit", so, here it's: It was raining... raining after a month of silence in this night that seems never-ending. Clouds couldn't keep their vow of silence anymore. It was raining as if clouds are crying for all the unfortunate events happening throughout the world. Too bad rain can't wash away all the dirtiness of this world... A young woman looking outside from behind of her small town house's bedroom window watching the rain with eyes that wished to watch a sunny day instead but unfortunately nothing in this world goes the way you want just because you want it. She kept watching the rain as if watching the rain would make the rain shy away from her and stop raining in defeat but nature is stubborn as always. She remembered one of her favourite poem "Be not Defeated by the Rain" by Kenji Miyazawa. After a sigh of surrender, she thought "I apologize, Miyazawa-san". The life she had taught her when is the right time to give up. Life is always the best teacher... It was only a few minutes when she returned to her home where she lives only with her cat Simba from a job interview that they hired her after a couple of questions and the moment she stepped inside of her house the rain started. "What are the odds?" she was thinking while looking out of the window. She realized the rain today is a great sign of the fall finally came. "Today is November the 5th 2020 after all" she thought, then suddenly remembered the famous quote "Remember, remember the 5th of November" and chuckled a little. She felt better. She also felt lucky today so she didn't let the rain drown her with sadness. She decided to celebrate today in her favourite way: Watching her favourite movie "Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain" under her warm comfy blanket while drinking a cup of coffee and eating Doritos. "But alone celebration feels lonely" she thought therefore she decided to look for Simba first. Simba, for a red cat, has a similar appearance like its namesake Simba from her favourite Disney movie The Lion King. She was glad her Simba is a cat on the contrary to its namesake anymore. Once, when she was 8 years old, she asked her father to get a baby lion as a pet while watching The Lion King with her father but her father, like he always loved to, explained to her why she can't have a pet lion by saying "nature is their home therefore you shouldn't take wild animals away from nature". Back then she really didn't get what he actually meant and what he avoided telling her but she was kind therefore she felt guilty for wanting a pet lion enough to make her cry. Her father was kind too therefore he proposed to get a pet cat instead. To her, cats didn't have much difference anyway so she was glad she can have a cat instead. The day she got Simba, she never stopped hugging Simba even when they were sleeping together while hugging each other like they were frozen in time of a happy memory... She found Simba in the living room sitting on all fours on the couch facing its face towards to wall like the wall shows Simba a dimension only it can see. "Oh, there you are. I'm the one organizing this celebration but you arrived at the spot before me as if you read my mind. Sometimes I wonder what's happening inside of your head, Simba. Too bad we don't speak the same language. I'm sure you would be nice to chat with about deep stuff and all because you sit all day and seem like you deeply thinking about everything and all like a philosopher... Okay, keep waiting for me there. I'll be right back, okay?" she asked and waited for a reply as if Simba will say something intelligible. Simba heard its favourite human therefore turned its head slowly like a robot without changing its body's posture to look at her legs to understand if she will just make a noise or she will bother her by hugging and whatnot again. Simba was quite comfortable now therefore didn't want to change its posture now, otherwise Simba liked getting hugged by her because then she makes Simba warm. Simba was aware she tried to say something to it like she always does but as always it didn't understand her therefore when she was done making noise and kept standing there, Simba turned its condescending gaze towards its favourite human's eye to mean "Don't you get it? I never will understand you!". "Meow?" said Simba doubtfully and turned back its face towards the wall. Satisfied with the answer, she prepared anything necessary for her celebration and brought them to the living room. She confirmed "Am I under my comfy blanket?: Check. Coffee and Doritos ready?: Check. Movie ready?: Check... Well, everything seems to be in order!". "Okay Simba, let's begin the celebration!!!" cheered she and started the movie.... but then she realized she forgot to confirm the location of Simba. She looked where Simba was before with hoping eyes for the possibility of Simba didn't leave her, and, as she hoped, she found Simba in the same spot watching the wall as before. "Simba: Check." she confirmed and she started to get lost in the movie... ... She fell into sleep and started to dream without even realizing it. She was remembering her past. The dream started with the memory of her best day ever. That best day ever, she and her father went to Disneyland together for the first time when she was 9 and it was summer. Then the dream changed. Now she was remembering the first time she learned her mother suicided seemingly for no reason when she was 14. Then she remembered the first time she learned her father died from a traffic accident when she was 22. That accident was no one's fault but she always blamed herself for it anyway because she always believed somehow she could prevent it. She couldn't stop her mother from leaving her but she promised it won't happen again. She couldn't keep her promise. Her father was a veterinarian therefore she became a veterinarian by following in his footsteps. If he was alive he would be proud of her now since she got the job today therefore finally she can be a veterinarian in a real sense. Then she remembered how she sold her parent's house, the house she grew in, the house that was home for all these happy and sad memories and almost everything in it and left that city she grew up in a week ago. She just couldn't live there. She decided to live in a small peaceful town therefore she moved into this small townhouse that had everything she needed for a new life already except what she brought back with her. She wanted a new page in her life but unfortunately your past follows you no matter what like a tail. Peace was all she needed but the dream god Morpheus wasn't kind to her today... ... She woke up suddenly to the sound of Simba's scream like meowing which wasn't unusual at all per se. She noticed the power went off. "Good. The power company cut the power in the right time for me this time." she thought and chuckled a little because of this thought and wanted to get back into sleep again by wishing for Morpheus to be kind to her this time. She closed her eyes preparing for the worst. The rain got worst while she was chatting with Morpheus, worse enough to make it rain lightning too. A thunder made her eyes open suddenly in shock. She didn't notice lightning at all, but soon after, as if it came because it's called, lightning struck somewhere very close and it lit the entire room for a moment. This latest lightning was like an exclamation mark that pointed out something wrong going on in this room that she noticed and she immediately wished it was not the case. As she heard the thunder, she noticed and started to look at that tall wide thing standing there where she was before when she was talking with Simba before the celebration. She felt like she didn't have time to think about what is that exactly therefore she assumed it's a prank of a man who broke into her house. "What the fuck?" she yelled and stood up. As she wanted to see it better, as if the lighting is her genie, the lightning struck to somewhere close and lit the room once again. This time she understood what is that thing... it was her bed standing there. Her bed had a mouth anymore and Simba's tail was coming out of its mouth. She couldn't decide why she should scream, for the fact that her bed standing there and it ate her cat or for the fact that her cat Simba died... perhaps both, no care for a reason she screamed anyway. The bed seemed to be bothered by her scream, therefore, as if to shut her up, it spat the Simba's tail to her face. It indeed worked because she shut up in shock. Satisfied by the fact that she doesn't scream anymore, the bed started to get closer to her almost as if mimicking a human's walking by turning itself side by side. She realized she will be eaten too therefore she grabbed a chair and attacked her bed. There was no way for her to escape. The only exit was behind her bed that her bed blocks. Couldn't escape from a window either because windows had iron bars preventing anyone from getting inside of the house from outside and going outside from inside of the house. Attacking was the only best choice she could think of. The bed realized she will hit her bed with the chair, the bed started to open its mouth enough to take the chair inside of itself as the chair was about to hit the bed. The bed ate the chair as a successful defence. Not knowing what to do in panic, she started to scream and cry while sitting on the ground in surrender. She grabbed Simba's tail and found her eyes kept looking at Simba's tail in her shaking hands as the bed was coming to eat her. Suddenly she remembered her best day she had when she was having fun in Disneyland with her father in that lovely summer day. She realized there will be no summer anymore for her. She started to have regrets and became sorry about how she couldn't prevent the deaths of her both parents... and now Simba is dead too... "I'm good for nothing." she thought. The bed didn't care at all, it also ate her too with Simba's tail she was holding tight. After it was done completing its mission, it got back where it should keep fooling people that it's just an ordinary bed while waiting for its new victim(s). ... Finally, the morning came. The town folks at first didn't notice something wrong but soon after they noticed she wasn't going out therefore they called the local police. Local police broke the door in expectation she perhaps needs help as soon as possible. Local police searched every inch of the house but they couldn't find any clue about the whereabouts of the young woman and her cat. "Damn, it's the second missing case regarding this house. Just what the fuck is happening here? Something... something wrong with the house I tell you... No one... no one should live in this house anymore. We should burn this fucking house!" protested the old cop. "It's weird I know but perhaps, I don't know, it's just a coincidence? Because, before and after the first missing case regarding this house, a lot of families lived here just fine, I see no reason why there is a problem with the house. Even anything inside of the house still there since the first family lived in this house and these are in perfect condition. It would be a shame to get rid of this house. And how do we explain this to folks here? They will ask questions about why the house got burned all of a sudden especially after the woman has gone missing. People will have a bad opinion of this town therefore we will lose tourists. We can't just do something THAT extreme." calmly explained the young cop. "Yeah, okay, fine... yeah... you are right..." said the old cop. "I know how to cheer you up. How about drinking a lovely cup of coffee in Mendy's Diner?" proposed the young cop. "Hell yeah, nothing like Mendy's coffee. Her coffee is like coffee from heaven!" smiled the old cop. And then both cops got inside of their car and drove through to the Mendy's Diner.


This is a story I started on r/WritingPrompts and some readers wanted me to continue it so I'm moving it here. This is part 1 so if anyone is interested in continuing to read keep an eye on the subreddit because this is where I'll be posting it for now on. I'll post the prompt first so everyone can see where the story is coming from.  **\[WP\] Your alarm went off this morning like always. You got up, got around and went to work. When you arrive, you see your friend Ed. He staring at you like you’re a ghost. He says, where have you been. No one has seen you in over three years.**  “Yeah, right,” Billy said to Ed who was staring at Billy with wide eyes. Billy went to grab his turnout gear from his locker but when he picked it up, he noticed there was a different name on the back. “Smith? Isn’t that the new guy?” Smith’s name was stickered across the top of Billy’s locker too where his own used to be. “Very funny,” Billy said with a sarcastic and annoyed tone to his voice. “Where’s my gear at?” “Dude, we cleared out your locker three years ago when you disappeared. Now you just walk in here like nothing ever happened? I’m surprised that your key card still works.” Billy could tell by the look on Ed’s face that Ed was serious. His own face changed to an expression of confusion. “Where have you been?” Not knowing how to answer, Billy started to feel very sick to his stomach. This had to be a joke. There was no way that it could be anything else. He had gone to bed the night before like always. Nine o’clock. That’s what time he made sure he was laying down by on work nights. No, Ed was lying, and he knew it. It was impossible for him to have been gone for three years. Who was paying his rent? Why hadn’t his car been towed? None of this made any sense. Peter walked into the locker room and his jaw dropped. “Billy?” Coffee in hand and a blank stare on his face, Peter was both confused and happy to see his old co-worker and friend. “Is that really you?” “This is a joke, right?” Billy asked Peter. “You guys got together and decided to pull a good one on me, didn’t you?” “You’ve been gone for three years, man!” Peter said nearly shouting. “I was just here three days ago like always,” Billy argued back. “We had that car fire on the interstate and pulled that lady out before she burned…” Billy stopped talking and suddenly was lost in memory. “That lady.” Trying to get Billy’s attention, Ed held his phone in front of Billy’s face. When Billy finally came back out of his thought he focused on the screen and saw a Facebook group dedicated to finding him. Ed scrolled through the posts of people wishing him to be found and even a few possible sightings. Billy snatched the phone out of Ed’s hand when he saw a picture of a blonde lady with a red shirt and gold necklace. Sherry Berkheimer. She had posted multiple times, but Billy only recognized her as the woman they pulled out of that car that was, to him, only three days ago. “That’s her,” Billy said. There was something about her that Billy couldn’t put his finger on. Then he remembered something she did after Billy dragged her away from the burning mess that was her car on the side of the busy interstate. She had grabbed his arm and whispered something, but he couldn't make out what it was. Through his mask and the sound of his breathing, like Darth Vader, it was too loud to hear her. The traffic speeding by with no care for the first responders safety didn’t help with the noise either. She was the key to figuring this out. Still confused and not totally accepting of what was happening, Billy knew he had to find her and couldn’t explain it either. He just knew that’s what he had to do. There was just one problem. When Billy clicked on her picture and looked through her profile he realized, by the posts made on her wall, that she was now missing too.  \ Sherry Berkheimer woke up sweating profusely in the middle of the night. Her sheets were soaked through to the mattress. The night sweats had been going on for a couple of weeks now, but they were getting worse. So were the nightmares that accompanied them. It was so bad that she had to strip down from her wet clothes and towel dry. There was no use trying to go back to bed. She knew she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again, knowing this from all the previous nights she had woken up in a swampy mess. Putting on fresh night clothes before wadding her sheets in a ball, she washed her sheets once again and put on some fresh coffee. Three fourteen A.M. Right in the middle of the witching hour. That’s what the clock said when she threw her tired self onto the couch and turned on the television. She was trying to forget the nightmares, but she couldn’t. Getting drunk before bed was the only thing that had made them stop (can’t dream when you’re passed out) but even that had stopped working. Each night they became more vivid, always starting out the same way. A blazing ball of fire that threatened to burn her up then a young man pulling her to safety. If that’s where it had ended, then everything would have been fine but that’s not how it worked out. Standing behind the young man was a shadowy figure and Sherry knew that’s what was responsible for setting the fire that was meant to kill her. As punishment for foiling its plans, the shadow took the young man instead of her, dragging him into some dark, black abyss. Like a black hole in the middle of space, it spun and swallowed the man up, the shadow going with him. That’s usually where she woke up but not tonight. This time the dream went on. She followed the man into the abyss, screaming and yelling at the shadow to let him go. She wouldn’t let the shadow take him, he had saved her and now it was her turn to save him. When eight o’clock came around Sherry was ready to head to work. Her make up was on but nothing could hide the tired bags under her eyes. She filled her silver travel mug to the brim with more coffee and she was off. In her black Toyota Camry, she exited her neighborhood, drove through town, and hit the interstate. The first half of the drive was normal enough, except for the exhaustion she felt from a lack of sleep, but that changed when she felt a loud thump on her driver’s side door. Reacting quickly to the car that had just side swiped her, Sherry jerked her wheel to the right causing her car to spin before flipping several times and coming to a stop on the median of the interstate, right past the guard rail. She had landed right side up and for this she felt lucky, but her door wouldn’t open. She felt a gash on her head from where she had hit the steering wheel and knew she was hurt bad. “My phone,” she said with panic in her voice. “Where’s my phone.” No one was stopping and somewhere during the summersaults her phone was tossed out of her reach and now she couldn’t find it. To make matters worse, a small cloud of black smoke was now rising from engine compartment right in front of her eyes. Then the flames shot up from under the hood. Frantically, Sherry jiggled the car door, but it was no use. She was stuck, feeling too weak and hurt to crawl out any other way. Slowly the flames made their way towards the cab of her car. Sirens blared from far away. “Please be coming for me. Please be coming for me. Oh, please God let them be coming for me,” Sherry pleaded out loud. Lucky for her, they were. Someone who had witnessed the accident had called nine-one-one and multiple passer-bys after that reported that the car was now one fire. But no one stopped. “Dispatch to Engine Six, we have reports that the vehicle is now on fire with possible entrapment.” “Ten-four. Vehicle on fire with possible entrapment,” the lieutenant answered back over the radio before telling the engineer to step on it. It was a redundant statement though. They were already going as fast as the engine would take them. Flames were now right on top of Sherry, and she screamed as they fought to engulf her. Then she realized, this was it! This was her dream! The sirens were now right behind her, but the smoke was closer, and she began to choke on the soot filled air, reeking of burning plastics and chemicals. It smelled like cancer. Just in time, her window shattered, and a gloved hand reached in to grab her. It hurt being dragged through the glass shards and Sherry screamed but she was grateful. The man who had grabbed her was covered from head to toe but when he stopped to make sure she was breathing, Sherry could see his eyes clearly through his face piece. They belonged to the young man in her dream and standing behind him was the shadow. “He’s right behind you,” Sherry said to the firefighter, but he couldn’t understand her. “It’s ok, ma’am. You’re safe now. The ambulance is pulling up right now,” said the firefighter. That’s when Sherry passed out from her injuries.


Me, My Mum and I I’ve never had a very good memory. Not really. People always say things like “do you remember when…?” And I always say: “No? When was that?” It’s not embarrassing or anything. Just a pain. It’s just like a blank. I mean – God, I cant even remember where I was when I remembered this…but I'm pretty sure its my first memory. I don’t even know what I was doing. Maybe having coffee, or watching TV but it struck me – like I just got winded…Yeah…it was just like that…just like ‘doof.’ Wait, now I remember. I was on a bus coming home from the supermarket. There was this little boy who got on. He had this big bag on and her was wearing this puffy jacket. He was also wearing this beanie that was miles too big for his head. It was funny how it kept falling over his eyes. He waded up the aisle as the bus rocked from side to side. He was all by himself, and I thought I bet his mum gave him heaps of instructions for the ride… ‘sit at the front,’ ‘say thank you’ ‘remember to get off at the pools’, and then, there she was, my mum, just like doof. At first I remembered, well had this image of my toes, teeny and tiny, and how I could only see peaks of the hard wood floor underneath. It was varnished and had all these holes from people wearing heels at dinner parties and stuff. Mum, well I'm not sure ok? But in my head, my Mum was wearing these violet blue heels. They were her favorite pair. They had this big thick heel with like a silver broach thing on at the front. My feet were so soft and pudgy and I always remember thinking that her feet, in those heels, looked old, ugly and thin. I was looking down because she was above me, giving me instructions on how to get to the diary. “You go down…Grace, are you paying attention?” She paused and coughed into her fist. She had her eyes closed and when she opened them again, catching her breathe, she continued. “See this shape, this L – that your hand makes when you hold it up like this?” She grabbed my hand in her cold thin one and traced the lines from the tip of my small index finger to the end of my thumb. I looked at my hand, they same way I stared at the glass wind chime that hung from our doorway or bugs in the dirt…I had no idea what she was talking about. “You see this L?” She asked. “That’s left; you take a big L, a big left, at the end of the street. Then you just keep going to you see the place with the big ice cream on top. You know, the diary?” Of course I knew. Its where I use to get pies with dad on Sundays, its where I got lollies with Joan. It was the place I stared at from the car window as we drove past. That big plastic Ice Cream cone on top was so cool. Sometimes it lit up at night, it glowed like the moon. I use to stare at for hours. “Take this money and get me some milk please and if you want you can get a mix while there. We can share the lollies ok?” I smiled. “I’m not going to share any with you.” She put her hands on her hips and stuck her tongue out at me. I copied her and then we both laughed. I can see myself. Brown eyes, hair pulled back in a loose plait, two strands falling over my face. But I can see her more clearly. She stood tall over me, with her peach dress. It looked like the smell of peach lollies, or maybe, peach lollies reminded me of the dress. Both are sweet I guess. She was always in that dress. If I think about it, I doubt she was wearing that peach dress with those violet heels that would’ve been ghastly. But as I say, in my head that’s what she was wearing. She wore her hair like mine, hazel brown, loose plait. Except her eyes were cloudy blue. She had thin lips and small teeth. She was my Mum and despite her hands and feet, I though she was pretty. I remember walking out the door and I knew that the world was too big for me. Not consciously, like I didn’t think that, but I knew that the world was too big – it was way too far to go. But Mum was sick, even then and that was greater than the size of the world. I squinted down the street. I was determined to get that milk. It was a really hot day. The kind of hot you only remember when your little, like when you stare mesmerized, by the heat waves radiating off the cars or you have to lick your hand cause there’s melted ice cream all over it. It was that hot, cicadas blasting away hot, old men fanning their faces with their hats hot. I wiped my brow with the back of my arm and walked out, trying to remember what Mum said. I kept holding up my hands up in front of the sky, but they both made L’s if you turned them around, and I suppose I confused myself. By the time I reached the end of our street, I had no clue where to go. Fuck it was scary, I stood on the street for ages looking both ways, my little ponytail wiping back and fourth and I needed to pee so bad. I was getting so worried. I kept imaging mum in her peach dress coughing over the sink or on her knees leaning over the toilet. My lips began to tremble. Luckily this old guy in a hat ended up coming along. He had a moustache that reminded me of polar bears and snow. He was real nice. He asked me where I wanted to go then walked me to the store. When we arrived at the store he let go of my hand and asked if I was going to be ok. I pulled at my dress and looked around the store, it looked huge. Even if I stood on tiptoes I couldn’t reach the shelves and everything was so bright and confusing. “Um yup I think so.” I said. He smiled at me, and then I remembered, “thank you for helping me.” “You’re welcome little lady” and then off he went, out of the doorway. I never saw him again, I never found out who he was. Inside it was cool, all the drinks were so colorful in the fridge, they glistened behind the glass. I couldn’t see above the counter, but I could feel Eric’s (that’s the guy who owned the dairy), I could feel his eyes on me. I tried to act all grown up so I walked past all the lollies and junk, pushing my hair out of my eyes and went straight to the milk. The big bottles where up top and they were really hard to reach. “Do you want a hand?” Eric called out “No thanks” I called back and I grabbed the biggest one I could. It was so slippery, I remember it just falling to the ground and plopping open. Milk went everywhere. Eric came over and I was just standing there watching the milk move slowly across the floor, like it was invading the shop. I looked up at Eric with my mouth open, my eyes big like circles. He said, “Now what has happened here?” It was then, that I burst into tears. Eric must have come over mopping up the white milk as it seeped into the store, but I can’t remember any of that. The next thing I remember was Mum. She was there in her peach dress. She stood flushed in the face. She looked round the store then down at me, and gave me the best smile in the world. For most of the journey home, I had my face buried in her shoulder. I could smell her skin. It smelt just like powdered peaches. “Ssssshhhhh” she said. “ssssh sssssh its ok, its ok, Mummy’s here now, everything’s going to be ok, I promise” Her words tickled my ear, they were soft and flawless. I raised my head, wiped at my eyes with my fist, and licked the ice cream she bought me, before it melted all onto my hand. The last thing I remember about that day, was that her promise came true and everything was ok. * Later, I remembered, I was holding her much older, much thinner and much more spotty hand. She lay on her side and breathed in slowly, they spaces in between filled only with my heartbeat. She stared at me with her big blue cloudy eyes. I looked back; my brown eyes were red and wet. Mum was waiting to die. Her mouth was open and she had no more of her little pretty teeth. Just a black hole. Her long hazel hair had turned white and curly. She continued to breathe slowly…slowly, slowly. She never blinked. She never took her eyes off me. There was no one else in that room. Just me and Mum. Outside, everything carried on as usual but inside my Mum was dying and there was nothing I could do. I squeezed her hand and said to her “Mum, its ok, I'm here now, you can go, don’t be scared, everything is going to be ok” She looked back at me until something inside disappeared. My mum had continued to breathe, until she stopped. Her old, thin, spotty hand, cold already, grew colder. I realized I was no longer holding a hand. Now it just felt like a cold thing. She no longer moved. Not even a flutter. The little that was left behind those blue eyes had gone. I continued to stare at her only now there was no one looking back. I breathed in as my eyes grew wet and said, “Its ok, its ok, you’re alright now mum, I promise, everything’s going to be alright now.” And as I breathed out, I hoped that it was.


*They say we are not alone.* *We all live just this side of madness, after all.* \*\*\* Phenomena that people don’t understand are easily dismissed. UFO sightings are explained away, ghosts are medicalized into auditory hallucinations, and on and on it goes until little by little we’ve stripped all of the magic out of the world. We even know the time and circumstances surrounding the birth of the universe. But some mysteries persist. Many ancient creation myths posit so-called *ex nihilo* creation -- something from nothing. Even the modern creation myth -- the dogma of science -- is silent on the question of why there is something rather than nothing. \*\*\* A phenomenon often occurs at the moment before death in which the subject experiences an intense and inexplicable euphoria. Neuroscience tells us that this is merely the inevitable result of cascading neurotransmitters and global neuronal firing. \*\*\* The clearest footage of the assassination of John F. Kennedy has come to be known as the Zapruder Film, and in it Kennedy can be seen at the moment of his death being struck in the head by gunfire, supposedly by a single sniper’s bullet: that which was fired by Lee Harvey Oswald. However, many amateur conspiracy theorists have noted that Kennedy falls in the wrong direction, fueling speculation that Oswald was either not the shooter, or that a second shooter fired a shot from the infamous “grassy knoll” which was in front of Kennedy at that time. Were he to have been struck by Oswald’s bullet alone, which was supposedly fired from the Book Depository behind him, the force of the bullet should have propelled him forwards, not backwards. What these well-intentioned skeptics fail to note, however, is that a bullet entering the brain causes an electrical signal to be sent from the central nervous system to every major muscle group in the body, causing them all to contract simultaneously. The pectoral muscles are far stronger than those in the abdomen, and at maximum force will overwhelm the influence of the latter. Thus the subject throws their upper body backwards instead of merely acquiescing to the force imparted by the bullet itself. \*\*\* The phenomenology of near-death experiences provides some of the best evidence we can find on the door at the edge of the universe. It’s not clear why some people report vivid visual, auditory and tactile hallucinations after suffering clinical death, or why some of these involve so-called “out of body experiences” while others undergo some of the more familiar religious rigamarole. I knew a man, years ago, who killed his son across a brutal span of three years. It made the news, but everyone outside of his immediate family has forgotten the boy’s name, and it is spoken no more outside of courtrooms and lawyers’ offices. He was sentenced to death, and eventually his appeals were exhausted, and then, as Banksy once lamented, the boy’s name touched a man’s lips for the last time. These were the early days of the pharmaceutical protest against state-sponsored capital punishment, when the drugs required for lethal injection were in short supply -- the days before civil rights groups pointed out that improperly administering these drugs can potentially lead to a slow, conscious death by paralysis rather than the intended immediate and painless variety. To spare you some of the more technical details, why don’t I just skip to the part where my acquaintance ended up frothing at the mouth and convulsing on the medical table, fully conscious and very much alive? Reflecting on the experience, he explained to me that in what he thought would be his final moments he saw the door, and it was rather strange to describe, for it was not like any ordinary door. The door at the edge of the universe is not a wooden gateway at all, but merely a darker patch of space, or such was how our murderer described it. Things watched him from the other side, he said, and, indeed, watch us all. \*\*\* World War II was what you might call a “high pressure” time; at least so it went for a while. Until the battles of Stalingrad and Midway, the existential pressure, so to speak, must have been quite high. Doors are sometimes open and sometimes closed. Anybody who lives in a windy area can tell you that these two states of being produce very different results viz a viz air pressure in a room. Much has been made, theodically speaking, of the atrocities which occurred during this high-pressure period. Mass deaths happened under God’s nose and prompted many to ask why He did nothing to stop them. It might be of more benefit, to these people, to ask why it was that He couldn’t *see* them. \*\*\* Schizophrenics often complain of the effects of radiation, from cell phone towers, from solar bombardment, and so on. These are, of course, actually real but too weak to do any actual damage. I worked in a psych ward for a time, and I can tell you that there are many different types of people who come for treatment there. Addicts are common. The suicidal make up a large chunk of the population. But then there are the delusional. These are always the most difficult to handle. Delusional people are very hard to put on talk therapy and so the doctors will pump them full of drugs first, and as much as they will deny it a large part of the reason is simply to make them compliant to these demands. It just makes the job easier. But drugs are a lot like people: different strokes for different folks. There’s a classic distinction between “uppers” and “downers,” but that’s much too simplistic. The real difference between drugs is their ability to open you up or shut you down. Really delusional people have a very hard time filtering things out, and that’s the source of their paranoia most of the time. These patients are like cheap radios, mostly picking up useless noise, but occasionally tuning in to something you might want to hear. Ben was the first one to tell me about the door. He actually fell into two categories of mental illness: he was both delusional and suicidal. He had survived an attempt brought on by the stress of constantly looking over his shoulder for CIA kidnappers. For a survivor of MKUltra this is almost certainly forgivable. He told me of a dark patch in space, far out beyond the reaches of the galaxy, a nightmarish thing he had seen in that liminal space between life and death -- a gateway beyond which all he could see was the void, all he could hear was silence and all he could feel was .


One thing no one is scared of on Halloween, but should be, is drugs. Typically, kids will shoot up their alcohol and smoke their Quaaludes on Halloween and go around playing their hip hop music super loud. If you think goblins are scary, try walking the streets of New York on Halloween and seeing a gang of Vicodin fiends bearing down on you. That's why, if you want to really scare someone this Halloween, ask them for drugs. "Got any drugs?" "Yeah, here you go." "Cool." Then go smoke your drugs and pretend that you were just trying to scare people when in fact you were trying to get high. Joke's on them! *Goblins* Goblins are little monsters that hang outside of supermarkets around March and try to sell you cookies. You'll be walking in to buy a Tostino's pizza and there will be two at the front doors of the supermarket. You'll walk to the other entrance and they'll be more. So, then you kinda try to walk behind someone into the supermarket and you think you made it. You buy your pizza and then come back out, forgetting about the goblins, and they will assault you with cookies to buy. And you're always scared out of your mind by the goblins, so you buy those crappy caramel and coconut ones and be totally pissed. I hate Goblins. *Ghosts* Ghosts are probably the most popular things to scare humans on Halloween. It's like ghosts, venereal disease, and calling Comcast. Those are the three most popular Halloween costumes according to Forbes. And it's no wonder - a ghost is a dead person that comes back from the land of the dead simply to fuck with you. Most ghosts, in fact all ghosts, in real life (the ones reported) rarely kill anyone. They just kinda turn your lights off and on and make noises. Hardly scary. I really think we need to give venereal disease more PR on Halloween. That's actually scary. Especially the ax wielding venereal disease - that shit is spooky. *Meteors* A lot of people get comets and meteors mixed up, but they are totally different: comets will incinerate everyone before crashing into the Earth and ejecting most of the Earth out into space as everyone dies in lava and fire, BUT then its inner core will blow dry ice all over the place and everything will look frozen and cool but no one will be alive to see it; meteors don't do the last part. I don't even know if comets do the last part. Or the first part. But I'm pretty sure everyone dies either way. What would be cool is if a meteor hit a comet that was about to hit Earth and then everyone is like "The meteor saved Earth!" And then everyone feels bad that they kept thinking a meteor would eventually kill Earth. The meteor just wanted to help Earth. Then the meteor starts thinking about it and gets mad and turns around and hits Earth. *Volcanoes* K, so you're looking - go look at a mountain. Then think about it just going tits up. Like the entire side of it blows out and fires its lava and mountain parts all over the place. Then think about the children. Then think about your mother. Then think about how they are all in flames and have pieces of mountain hitting them in the face. They try to run away from the fire, but they are getting hit right and left by topsoil and squirrels and granola bar wrappers and those park signs that tell you about the flora and fauna...that's a volcano. *Nuclear War* There is nothing scarier than nuclear war. Basically, what happens in a nuclear war is Russia and the United States fire nuclear missiles at each other until everyone in the world dies. It sounds funny when you actually write it out, but that is the basic premise. When you really think about it, it's about two nations that just kinda say "The hell with this!" and then blow up the world. Which, I understand. Everyone has a bad day, but everyone doesn't have a bunch of nuclear weapons laying around. Like, this one time I got in a fight with a coworker and was totally mad all day and wanted to kill the entire world - luckily for everyone in the entire world, I didn't have a bunch of nuclear weapons. But if I did, I would have called up Russia and said "Let's do this." That's why I'm not President. That and the math part. I think you need some basic algebra. *Aliens* K, so it's like years later and Ripley is on Earth and this big company talks her into going back to where the alien came from and she goes back with the marines and the dude from Weird Science and they all get killed except for Ripley and the girl and the robot and that one dude from Terminator. But the girl and the robot end up dying later on. Also, Ripley. OK, this movie is basically pointless. Everyone dies. Yet, they made like nine more. *Dirty Bombs* I don't know a lot about nuclear stuff, but I do know that dirty bombs are bad. You basically take a bunch of nuclear waste and you fling it at someone, and then you yell "Dirty Bombs, Ahoy!" *ISIS* When was the first time we heard about ISIS? Was it a couple of years ago? Months? No. Back in the 90s. ISIS, Baby was a hit song by Gangster Rapper, Vanilla Ice. His thick riffs on urban life and street hustling spawned a religious cult that can be seen today enjoying the beauty and everlasting wealth of Iraq and Syria. Look at the high top fades on those militia men - that's pure Ice. They just want fat beats and fatter butts, I don't know what the fuss is about. Anyway, Vanilla Ice also killed Ice Cube and projected his spirit into him. Oh, plus Ice T is a deep cover businessman from an Ad Firm that gave way to the docudrama, Mad Men. MC Hammer was the inspiration for the song Purple Rain. Also, EPMD stands for Every Person Must Die. LL Cool J was actually a dinosaur. The list goes on. Point is - the entire rap industry is a conspiracy. *Ebola* For years, the government has been preparing the public for this disease with zombie movies. Think about it. I mean, really, think about it: zombie movies. Anyway, the time has come and the dead are walking the Earth and flying around on airplanes and so forth. It doesn't take a dead nurse to let you know that you probably have Ebola right now. Like you're sitting there and thinking you're just fine, but meanwhile, you feel an itch in your eye and you draw blood. Then you eat your neighbor. But it turns out you were just on drugs the whole time. So, like I said, Drugs are totally underrated when it comes to Halloween. Oh, and isn't it weird that that dude in Aliens ended up getting saved by a robot, considering he was totally trying to kill robots in Terminator? That in itself should speak volumes to the rap conspiracy. Plus I need to learn Algebra.


When I was little, we lived in the apartment right above my grandfather’s shop. He was a tailor who, according to Dad, used to do quite well back in the day. Before fines forced him to shut down. Something to do with the IRS and unaccounted revenue. My poor grandfather was beside himself. I overheard Dad telling Uncle Eddie that their father was just too old to keep up with the place, and too stubborn to give it up. Now, the once thriving staple of their childhood sat fully stocked and lifeless. Dad was forced to find other work, running through a string of jobs before settling for a sales position at some insurance company downtown. He hated it. And so did Mom. She became miserable over our new lifestyle. She started drinking a lot, something even my young mind had picked up on. Then Dad caught her cheating and, rather than trying to save the family, she decided to run off with the new guy. It was strange how fast everything had changed. One night Mom was singing me to sleep, and the next, I was all alone. Dad did what he could, but he, too, was in pain and unable to truly explain to his six year old daughter what was going on. That was when the night terrors started. I’d wake to the sound of someone screaming, this bone chilling screech that would pierce through my own shrieks from under the blankets where I’d hide. Sometimes I’d catch a glimpse of a woman standing in the corner of my bedroom, staring at me from behind a curtain of long, dark hair, mouth agape. It sent me into hysterics. My dad’s hurried arrival would soon become a tired routine, his frustration less subtle each time he listened to me rant on about the Screamy Lady. He tried assuring me that my mind was making me see and hear things that weren’t there, all because I missed Mommy so much. He said that sometimes the things that make us sad on the inside had a way of coming out. This, of course, did nothing to make the Screamy Lady go away. She’d show up again and again, just as I was falling asleep. The neighbors must’ve hated me, and for a while I worried that my dad might too. Between the shop closing, my mother leaving, my grandfather’s steady decline, and the struggle to make ends meet, my dad was already going through enough. I didn’t want to add to it, and I knew that I was. Dad wasn’t sure what to do with me, nor was Uncle Eddie, who was kind enough to babysit from time to time so his brother could work the second job he so desperately needed. Therapy was too expensive. We tried changing my diet, changing my bed time, leaving the lights on. None of it worked. The screams continued to wake me. Knowing they were coming but not knowing when, I stopped sleeping altogether, which then began to affect the rest of my life. My behavior slipped, my grades plummeted. Teachers were calling home in shock, wondering what had happened to me. My dad explained it away with the divorce, but he knew this problem wasn’t going away. So he got creative. He made me a doll. One that loosely resembled my mother. It was shoddily made with scraps of old fabric that had long been sitting in the back room of the shop, but Dad assured me that the doll was special and would watch over me as I slept. I wasn’t receptive at first. Part of me was afraid of waking up in the middle of the night to find the thing screaming at me as I held it close to my face. I was pleasantly surprised when, on our very first try, I woke to a brightening pink sky. I’d made it to morning without any screams, peering into the dark corner to find nothing there. I hugged that doll so tight and never let go, going on to sleep with it for far longer into my childhood than I probably should have. My dad, of course, was elated. We were both finally sleeping again. It didn’t bother him that the doll needed its own dinner plate, or that it had to be buckled into the backseat, or that I’d spend all day speaking to it as though I was the mother and the doll was me. Dad would sometimes pretend to not know which one was me and which one was the doll, a gag I thoroughly enjoyed. I teased back that the Lilah doll was always wearing the same outfit! So he brought up more fabric for me to look through, smiling as he sewed to the sounds of my excitement. When I asked Dad if he could also get the Lilah doll a backpack and shoes, he laughed. But then a light went off in his head. He thought about turning this into something big. A fully customizable doll, with an array of attachable accessories. Fun enough to play with during the day, but soft enough to be held tight through the night. He pitched the idea to Uncle Eddie who was immediately on board and probably desperate for a reason to get out from behind the supermarket cash registers. With my little Lilah doll tucked under my arms, I’d creep out of bed some nights to find them tirelessly sewing or debating business plans far above my head. They made deals with local retailers and even went door-to-door, selling whatever they could in hopes of one day bringing the corpse of their father’s shop back to life. It wasn’t long before we were changing the modest, black sign from *Vinny’s Tailor Shop* to a loud pink and blue that read *The Lilah Door Store*. It was crazy how quickly our lives changed. Lilah Dolls sold faster than we could make them, and before we knew it, we were opening up a second store in the South Shore Mall. Dad moved us into a much nicer place, a house overlooking the hills of our downtown, the lights of the city shining into my bedroom window. I’d never seen him so happy, certainly not since my mother had left. When I asked if this meant she would come back, he got very stern and said no, a sharp and definitive refutal. I thought I’d done something wrong, and he must’ve felt bad because he softened his tone and apologized, telling me about how his mother had left him too, and that he knew how difficult it was growing up without a mommy. It would be okay, he said, because now he had me. I smiled as he tucked me in and kissed me goodnight, trying my best to swallow how deeply I missed my mother. When Grandpa passed later that year, I held my breath at the thought of her attending the funeral. It felt wrong anticipating such a thing at that time, as Dad was more upset than I’d ever seen him. Many people (most of whom I did not know) were stopping by the house for lengthy visits, distant family or friends of my grandfather. Even some loyal customers of years past who’d grown to care for him, telling tails of the work Grandpa had done to save their weddings and such. Dad accepted their sympathies as warmly as he could, as well as the never-ending onslaught of food he’d tasked Uncle Eddie with stuffing into our fridge somewhere. Uncle Eddie had been staying with us during that time and was trying to remain busy to keep his mind off this new reality of his. It was hard seeing my ever-jolly uncle so lost and empty. With so many people showing up over the course of that week, no one batted an eye when we received knocks on our door late one night. But the concern in Uncle Eddie’s voice when he called up to Dad got me out of bed and peeking from around the wall atop the staircase, my Lilah Doll laying limp in my hand. It was my mother. She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed and a knowing smirk plastered upon her face. I gasped and dropped the doll, my Dad snapping back at the sound and ordering Uncle Eddie to take me back to my room. I cried out for my mother as Uncle Eddie marched up the stairs and carried me away. She wouldn’t look at me. Just kept her eyes on Dad who was ushering her outside. I hurried to the window while Uncle Eddie stood awkwardly by, unsure whether or not to stop me. I could hear their muffled voices spitting back and forth at one another. She was demanding something, putting my dad on the defensive, but about what I wasn’t sure. He told her to leave and then slammed the door in her face. I watched her turn around and head back into the night, crying out for her still even as she disappeared down the driveway and out of sight. When Dad came to check on me, I shouted at him for the very first time. I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t let me see her. All he could say was that he was sorry, which wasn’t enough for me. I continued to shout, when he suddenly snapped. The look on his face, I’d never seen it before. Even Uncle Eddie looked down at his feet. Dad spat that Mom was poison, and that seeing her would only cause me harm. That one day I’d understand. He then ordered me to bed, and that was that. But I couldn’t sleep. Not that night, or the next. I’d stare out my window, waiting for Mom to come back. And when she didn’t, I started to slip again. I started hearing the screams. Dad was frantic. All the progress we’d made, lost. I remember him taking me into the shop early one morning, holding my hand as he showed me around the back room where countless boxes of accessories sat waiting to be put on display. He told me I could pick one for my Lilah Doll, anything I wanted. It was like Christmas! I wanted all of them! When I couldn’t decide, he allayed my stress by promising me that I could choose one new accessory every time another shipment came in. Within weeks my Lilah Doll was a whole new girl, dawning sunglasses and a bright yellow shirt, with a pretty little bow on top. I pressed each new accessory onto her like the bandaids they were. As I got older, the power of the doll faded, but my need for her remained. She sat on the shelf and watched as I snuck booze into my bedroom, my new remedy for nightmare-driven insomnia, one that, fortunately, would not last very long. The mere thought of vomiting into my toilet one more time was enough to make me sick. I knew I had to change, to find some other way to feel okay. My best friend knew it too. She dragged me with her to the animal shelter where she volunteered. It was there that I finally found some semblance of peace. I couldn’t believe how much of an immediate impact it had had on me. I started volunteering on my own most days after school. Still, Lilah Dolls remained a big part of my life. At 15, I got my first job working weekends at both stores, filling in whenever I was needed. Kids at school would make fun of me. They all knew I was the “doll girl”. It didn’t bother me. I took pride in my ability to run the store, and in my knowledge of the products we sold. As graduation drew nearer, Dad gifted me a managerial opportunity for the shop. I didn’t know how to tell him I didn’t want it, or that I’d applied to a university several states away, with dreams of working in wildlife conservation. All that he had done for me, it hurt me to hurt him, to turn him down and abandon the empire he’d built for me. I cried when I finally told him. But he wasn’t mad, or even upset. He lifted my chin so I could see his smile and then pulled me in for a hug. As we rocked gently back and forth, he whispered to me that it was okay to chase the thing that silenced my demons. He let go but kept his hands on my shoulders, gazing at the young woman I now was. There was something else in his eye, an understanding of what I was going through, of everything I had been keeping from him. It all tempered with that one look. When I left for school, my Lilah Doll stayed behind, because I didn’t need her anymore. The next few years were like a dream. I loved my classes, my friends, the view from my dorm of the mountains I hiked every weekend. I even met a guy. Caleb. His friends called him Texas, something you understood the moment he spoke. He sat next to me in an ecology class but spent more time studying me than he did the material. He laughed when I told him I was practically famous, so I told him to look up Lilah Dolls. He was stunned. From that moment, he began calling me Lilah-doll (something I pretended to hate), and we were dating not long after. Everything seemed to be falling into place for me, and for the first time in my life I was happy. And then I got the call. Dad was sick. Cancer. It was awful how fast it took him. How rapidly he’d deteriorated before my eyes. I’d dropped out of school to take care of him, and within months he was gone. I could hardly look at him in the end. One of the last conversations we’d had, he’d taken my hand from the hospital bed in which he was bound, begging me to remember the man I knew him to be. I promised I would. My savior. The day he passed, I sat in my old room, waiting for him to come comfort me like he always did. It was just me now, and my Lilah Doll up on the shelf where I’d left her. She looked so different now than when I first got her, adorned in the very many accessories I’d collected over the years, the sunglasses still fixed upon hr face, her bright yellow shirt now torn and faded. I held her close like I used to, curling into a ball at the foot of my bed. It was the closest I could get to my dad being there. I never finished school. Dad left me his share of Lilah Doll and, with just four semesters left, I decided to run the stores instead. Caleb was supportive throughout the whole thing, as was Uncle Eddie who, of course, knew a whole lot more about how to run the business than I did. I picked up on it quick. The hardest part was being enveloped around a permanent and painful reminder of my dad, and wasn’t any easier when that pain went away. I didn’t even notice it had happened. I just woke up one day and went to work, carrying on with my new routine. Paid the bills, watched TV, ordered takeout. Laughed without remorse, and cried about other things. Things really took off after Caleb moved in. Within a year, we were engaged, married, and announcing our pregnancy to a room full of what was almost entirely Caleb’s loved ones. He could sense the hurt I was holding inside but was too kind to challenge me on my weak assurances. I’d sometimes catch his eye from across the room, gauging my demeanor. So I’d bury the pain deeper. None of it would matter after one cold, February morning. Sophia Grace was born healthy, beautiful, perfect. It took some time for me and Caleb to adjust to our new lives as parents. I loved being a mom, but it was exhausting, even with all the help from my amazing husband. Not only was he running around for me and the baby, he was also looking after the stores in my absence. It was a lot. He’d try so hard to pitch in when he got home but was almost always the first to fall asleep. I couldn’t fault him. I was used to functioning on limited sleep. Most nights I’d stare down into my little girl’s crib, studying her unconscious twitches until I was finally ready drift off, myself. Caleb caught me one time just as the sun was beginning to come up. I lied and said I had just woken up. He continued not to push, instead retrieving my old Lilah Doll and placing into the crib beside Sophia. The sunglasses were stuck permanently askew and the faded yellow shirt was becoming unstitched. Caleb joined me in admiring our daughter, wrapping his arms around me and assuring me we were safe. He then smacked me on the butt and said I should get some sleep. I wasn’t out long before I heard it. A shrill, violent scream. It shot me awake and sent me into the kind of frenzy I hadn’t experienced since I was a child. Caleb came rushing back into the room in a panic, checking first on Sophia, who was now awake and crying. Shaking, I asked Caleb if he heard the screams. He looked at me bewildered and said only the baby’s, and mine. This was his first experience with my night terrors, and I think it frightened him more than it did me. I had no idea why they were happening again, I just knew it was finally time to open up to Caleb about my long history with the Screamy Lady. He put Sophia down and held me close, rubbing my back as I sobbed and poured it all out. Once I was settled, he told me he knew what I needed to do: I needed to confront my mother. I had no idea where she was and hadn’t seen her since that night she showed up to our door. Neither had Uncle Eddie. Caleb dropped it for a while and continued to support me as best he could, trying to hide how much he, too, was plagued by the situation. A disposition I knew all too well. I worried it might tear us apart when, much like Dad had almost twenty years prior (and in the very same room, in fact), Caleb turned to me with excitement, the light bulb in his head shining brightly upon his face. He suggested I submit my DNA to an ancestry website to track down traces of my mother’s existence. There was a part of me that rejected the idea, this little pocket of fear that didn’t want to get my hopes up. But Caleb insisted, because he is the most wonderful man I know. And because my bouts of screaming in the middle of the night were scaring him more than he would admit. I was told I could expect my results in no less than eight weeks. When they finally arrived, I was afraid to look at them. Caleb came home and found me in the living room feeding Sophia, the envelope on the table before me. I’d run out of nails to bite. He opened it for me, my stomach sinking as I watched his eyes dance along the pages, when he suddenly stopped and grinned: I had a half-sister. Rachael and I messaged back and forth on the website before agreeing to meet in person. She actually lived nearby. I wondered how often we might have passed each other without realizing it. She invited me over for coffee and was very excited to meet, waving at me from her doorstep before I even stepped out of the car. She, too, was married, with three kids, as was evident from the state of her home, something I found endearing. Sophia was still only an infant and I was already thinking about having more. It was strange noting the familiarities in Rachael’s face as she spoke. Our eyes were especially similar. She told me that she’d always suspected Mom was hiding something, and that she was not at all surprised to learn exactly who I was, given that Mom would never allow her have a Lilah Doll. Rachael described Mom as conniving and manipulative, her father having filed for divorce after years of unhappiness. Now, Mom only came around when she needed something. Rachael was happy to give me her address but cautioned me not to expect very much from her. If only she’d known the scenario I’d played out in my head over and over. It flashed in my mind as I pulled up to Mom’s trailer later that very same afternoon. I sat frozen in my car for a while, anchored by the weight of this moment. There were people sitting in lawn chairs in front of the neighboring trailers, staring in my direction, increasing my nerves. I tried not to look at them as I marched up to my mother’s door and gave two crisp knocks. My hands grew numb as I waited. The door opened and my mother was standing there with a cigarette in her mouth, looking just as sour as she did the last time I’d seen her, only this time I was close enough to see the work she’d had done to her face. It was not appealing. She blew smoke out her nose and asked who I was, and when I told her it was Lilah, she continued to stare through me. Her daughter, I reminded her. She asked what I was doing here, and I wasn’t sure how to reply. It felt stupid having to say out loud that I was just looking to see her after all these years, that I was hoping she’d want to see me too. She hardly reacted. Just took another drag of her cigarette. I informed her that she had a new grandchild, taking out a photo for her to see. She glanced at it and scoffed, mumbling about how my dad must have been proud. When I told her that he died, she said she was sorry to hear it, and didn’t even try to sound sincere. I could feel the soul being ripped out of me. I politely apologized for showing up like this and assured her that I wasn’t trying to be a burden. But I meant so little to her, I was less than a burden. I was an annoyance. An inconvenience taking her away from the daytime television that was blaring in the background. When I ran out of things to say, we stood in momentary silence. She broke it with a groan and wondered if I was going to give her the money or not. I had no idea what she was talking about. She said it was the least I could do given how successful the business was. That she deserved some credit for giving me my name. I suddenly understood why she showed up in the middle of the night all those years ago, and why my dad never wanted me to see her. It was to shield me from the pain I felt in that moment. As spring rolled around, Caleb and I decided to throw a party. We both needed it, and there was still some family that had yet to meet Sophia. It was nice being able to turn our brains off while other people watched our kid. If anyone needed a drink, it was Caleb. I was more than happy to just sit back and bask in the glow of my new family, watching them take turns with my sweet little girl, her attentive eyes gazing out at all the love she did not yet know she had. It had suddenly hit me how much I missed my dad. It really sneaks up on you in those moments. Caleb must’ve noticed, because after hurrying upstairs he returned with my Lilah Doll in hand. I watched him wave it in front of Sophia’s face, making it dance and playing peekaboo with the sunglasses. My mother-in-law stood by looking bemused; all of the brand new toys we’d been gifted, and he went with the ragged, old doll with the very noticeable stain. But it made Sophia smile, which made me break down. A hush fell over the room as I was instantly consoled by those around me, Caleb’s sisters each rubbing my back while Uncle Eddie fetched me tissues. I always hated others’ sympathy, but this time was different. This time was okay. The moment was interrupted by loud knocks on the door. Everyone looked around at each other as though trying to figure out which relative wasn’t already present. Caleb announced that the door was open, but the knocks rang a second time, loud and impatient. The playful confusion had quickly turned into concern. We all listened as Caleb answered the door, trying to figure out whose voice was speaking to him from the other side. His curious cousins peeking from around the kitchen doorway suddenly parted, and my husband returned looking pale and serious. He said it was the FBI, and that they needed to speak with me about something. I could hear guests panicking in the background as I nervously escorted the two agents into the living room. They placed a folder onto the glass table and spread its contents across it. Crime scene photos. Reports. They were disturbing, something I’d wished they had prepared me for first. But they were very direct. They told me that they believed Dad was a serial killer. One that they’d been hunting for nearly two decades. I was more than confused. I told them they were mistaken. Dad was a doll-maker, and a great father. They said that when I submitted my DNA to the ancestry website, they were alerted to matches on over a dozen unsolved murders in the area. My arms were tingling. I couldn’t speak. They went on to describe their struggle in putting together a profile of who they’d long called The South Shore Strangler, explaining how he’d chosen his victims seemingly at random. I reluctantly gazed upon the photos once more. All women. There was something familiar about them. One was wearing sun glasses. Another, a yellow shirt. Caleb appeared in the doorway with Sophia in one arm and my Lilah Doll in the other. When I figured it out, I screamed.


Tommy's birthday was on February 29. He's turning eleven this year and his mom said that he could either celebrate on the 28 th or on the 1 st . He liked that he was given a choice, honestly, he didn't really care when he would celebrate as long as his friends could come over and eat cake with him. But the idea of deciding when his birthday would be appealed greatly to him, he could exercise his free will unlike others whose birthdays were fixed and predestined. He felt special. He decided to tell his mother that they would celebrate on March 1. They celebrated his last few birthdays on the same date so it's fine by him. It's not like he could conduct a party on midnight, but hey, that's a great idea. If his friends could come over on the night of the 28 th and they stay up late until 12 midnight, they could celebrate his birthday accurately . But it would be way past their bedtime. His internal debate was interrupted by his seatmate, Linda, who was leaning towards him. "Hey Tommy, what're you thinking about?" she whispered with a knowing smirk on her face. Linda is very talkative and extremely nosy. "Just my birthday," he answered. Tommy found out in the beginning of the school year that the best way of dealing with Linda is to just answer her first question, then after a few follow-ups, she'll lose interest if you answered fast enough. The more you tried to hide something from her; she'll get more persistent and will not leave you alone until you unwillingly spit it out. So he braced himself with the follow-up question. But Linda just shrugged and returned her attention to their math teacher. Tommy was shocked by the sudden indifference. Linda never passes up the opportunity to ask follow-up questions. Even when there is a teacher in front of the class, she never restrains herself. But Tommy guessed whatever Mr. Graves was discussing in front was more important and interesting than his birthday. After class, his friends Jeremy, Dan and Bryce, approached his desk. They've been classmates since kindergarten and Tommy never had other friends except for the three of them. Jeremy, the noisy one, appointed himself their leader the day he broke off the fight between Tommy and Bryce back in first grade. It was not Tommy's fault, he just reprimanded Bryce for littering in the classroom and Bryce got angry. All of that was behind them now, Bryce is their friend and then there's Dan, who almost never talks. Linda could never get anything from Dan, Tommy chuckled. "What's so funny Tommy?" Jeremy asked. Bryce has an arm slung around him while Dan hovered behind them. "Nothing. Let's go to your house later, Dan." Tommy turned to Dan, who nodded. Bryce whooped and thumped him on the back. "Great idea bro!" They all loved going to Dan's house. Dan's an only child and has rich parents. His bedroom has the coolest video games, which makes it a perfect hang-out place for them, plus their housekeeper is really pretty. Her name's Esther and she made them all the snacks they need while they're playing Call of Duty or Minecraft. "When do you think should I celebrate my birthday, on the 28 th or on the 1 st ?" Tommy finally asked his three friends. "Well if you're asking me, I say we celebrate it on February 28. So we get over it by March." Jeremy said proudly. "But we always celebrate it on March 1 st ." Bryce whined. He hates changes just as Tommy hates breaking rules. "His birthday is February 29, so it's only fair that we celebrate on the month of February not March, you dummy." Jeremy's getting agitated, he hates to lose arguments just as Dan hates carrots. Bryce was about to protest that he's not an idiot when Dan suddenly spoke. "Technically, Tommy doesn't have a birthday to celebrate this year so this argument is pointless." he said seriously. "You mean, I should not celebrate my birthday? No cake, no way!" Tommy protested. He loves cakes and his birthday was just an excuse to binge-eat. It's February 28. Tommy went to school and was listening to Mr. Graves' lecture for a change. "Hey Tommy, are you celebrating your birthday today?" Linda whispered to him. "I'm going to celebrate tomorrow, March 1 st ." he said to Linda. "But what if you die today and you never had the chance to celebrate your eleventh birthday?" Linda morbidly asked. Tommy frowned. "I promise you I won't die, would it help if I invite you over?" "But your other friends are going to be there and Bryce is such a slob.... "Tommy hoped she'd say no, he didn't want to entertain Linda and her questions on his birthday. "You're my friend Tommy, so I'll be there. I'll bring you a gift, look forward to it!" she said excitedly and Tommy sighed. He guessed his mother's cake is the only thing he'll be genuinely looking forward to on his birthday. After school, Tommy walked in silence with Dan. Bryce was picked up by his mom at school and Jeremy took the bus. Dan stopped and asked him. "Your party's tomorrow, right?" "Yeah" Tommy answered. Dan seemed to ponder this for a minute then unexpectedly asks him another random question. "Do you ever think about your dad?" His mom never liked it when he asks about his dad. She'll only answer vaguely and Tommy also hated asking because it makes her upset but he just had to know. All he knew was his dad "went off and died" when he was four. Tommy only have fuzzy memories of him, like his smile, when they were walking hand-in-hand and when he would hum while he was working in their old shed. Tommy knew in his heart that his father was a good person. Unfortunately, good people always had to go first. He's not saying that his mom is bad or evil; she's just uptight and aloof. But he loves her nonetheless. "Of course I do, but it just makes me wonder why he's gone so I stopped thinking about him like always." Tommy answered and waved to Dan when he reached his street. This is where they separate ways. "Just be careful, okay?" with that, Dan tapped his shoulder and continued walking. They could not go to his house today because his mom has visitors coming over and Dan has to be a good boy and help them entertain the guests. Tommy entered the house. "Mom, I'm home!" He called out and realized that his mom's not in the house. He walked towards the fridge and saw a note from his mom explaining to him that she has to go to a last minute business trip and she was really sorry to miss his birthday. She said she'll make it up to him on the weekend and they'll celebrate for two days. His mom also said to take care of himself until tomorrow and to frequently check his phone because she left Tommy a message. Sure enough, his mom did leave him a message and he always forgets to listen to them. So now he's alone in the house, it's almost his birthday and he remembered Dan's words. He can't believe he tortured himself for nothing when his mom could easily make the decision for him. After listening to his mother's frantic messages, Tommy calmly ordered pizza and watched the TV. He couldn't sleep after getting tired of the shows so he decided to wait for midnight to come and wish himself a Happy Birthday. He locked himself in his room and sat by the window looking at the yellow moon. It looks sinister to him. Maybe it was just his imagination but he saw someone dart from the trees outside. There was no sound, just the eerie moonlight shining from above, darkening his thoughts. Suddenly, he was floating and he looked at his hand. It was fading and only a quaint outline remained. Tommy felt his head swimming and wondered if he was drunk from the can of beer he erroneously drank earlier. No wonder adults are always light-headed, they always drink beer. But no, he is really floating. He was now out the window, light as a feather then he glanced back at his body which was slumped on his desk by the window. Did I just die? Tommy tried to think of the probable cause of his death while invisible and levitating on their backyard. The pizza delivery guy! He poisoned me. Or is it Linda? Was that a threat during math period? Am I really gonna die without celebrating my eleventh birthday? Tommy then tried to think of the pizza delivery guy's or Linda's reason to kill him. And when he thought of Linda, he was teleported to her bedroom. Teleported, apparated or sucked into nothingness then spat out into a place-whatever it is, Tommy still felt lightheaded and slightly nauseous when he floated beside his friend's bed. Her room was covered in pink wallpaper; there was a full-length mirror on the corner and the usual desk and drawers. Linda clutched her pink blanket during sleep. Her dark, curly hair was fanned around her face on the pillow and her mouth was half-opened. Her hands then flew to her neck, as if trying to prevent someone from choking her. Tommy looked around the room and he can't see anyone or anything that might be hurting her. Linda's legs started flailing and Tommy panicked. I have to help her . The moment he touched Linda's wrists he was sucked in a spiral again. Spinning, invisible and disoriented, what has become of him? Tommy found himself in a hazy meadow, acres of pastel-colored tulips surrounding him. Is this the Netherlands? Tommy looked to his right and there was a big windmill attached to a barn. At the foot of the windmill was Linda, screaming for help. She was being attacked by something that looks like a man. Tommy crept towards the two of them and upon closer inspection; he saw that Linda's assailant is a man who has horns on his head. He had to help her or else the demon is going to kill her! Tommy concentrated and looked down on his hand. It materialized and he was holding something that looked like a bow. It is made of shimmering gold and becoming heavier every minute that he's slowly becoming un-invisible. The bow was as long as his arm and the string looks sturdy and delicate at the same time. He automatically reached around his back and found arrows nested in what felt like a quiver. He took one arrow and strung it on the bow. The movement felt natural to him, as if he'd been practicing it all along in his life. He aimed at the head of the creature attacking Linda, pulled and released the arrow. It whooshed on his cheek and when he touched it, his hand was smeared red-he had cut himself. But Tommy went to check on Linda first, the demon lay sprawled on her feet with the gold arrow buried on his forehead and was slowly disintegrating into dust. "Tommy! You saved me!" Linda was wearing a beautiful, emerald green dress in this dimension and on her head was a glittering tiara. Tommy held out his other hand to help her up. "This is just a dream, right? I'm trespassing in your dreams Linda." Linda is touching her neck tentatively, feeling for wounds. Her neck was red but there was no blood, her dress was rumpled and dirty from her struggle with the demon. "Well, you could say that. But my dreams are my parallel world." She straightened her dress and checked her charm bracelet. Tommy was bewildered. "What do you mean?" "I mean, I live in two worlds: the one where you are my seatmate and this one where I am a princess hunted by demons." Linda removed a charm from my bracelet and handed Tommy a silver crescent moon charm. "So this is real? Why am I here?" Tommy's bow and quiver of arrows disappeared and the moon charm glowed. Linda shrugged, she pointed to the far horizon where the spires of a castle was visible from where they are standing. "Well, you're not the only one from the other world who managed to enter here. Some were unable to return to the other world. Most of them were living in the castle; your dad was among them." Tommy did not know whether to believe this dream version of Linda or run towards the castle at full speed. "I-I don't believe you. This is just a dream!" Tommy took a step back from a worried-looking Linda. "I don't blame you for not believing. I would love to bring you to the castle so you could talk to everybody but you have to go. You may not be able to return to your mother if you stayed here further." Linda grabbed his hand and led her inside the barn, where she reached inside an old, full-length mirror. Tommy was still absorbing everything in his mind and when the mirror glowed violet and seemed to swallow Linda and then him. He felt the same spinning sensation he felt upon entering Linda's dream world. They stepped in her room and she was wearing her pajamas again, Tommy was slowly fading and becoming invisible again. Linda faced him, placed her hands on his disappearing shoulder and then she spoke seriously: "Remember, everything is real. Keep the charm and you'll be able to go back on your next birthday. Next year's a leap-year, right?" Tommy tried to nod, but decided to speak when he remembered he's slowly turning invisible. "But, I have so many questions. You have to answer them." They heard footsteps coming to Linda's room. She jumped into her bed and covered herself in her pink blanket. "Ask Dan, he's been there before. Now, go home. I'll see you tomorrow." she hissed at him. The door opened and a sleepy Esther entered the room. "Mom!" Linda shouted. Esther is Linda's mother? And what about Dan? What else is he keeping from him? "Just another bad dream?" Esther hugged her daughter to her chest. "No, it's real! Tommy was there, he saved me. Look, my charm is missing!" Esther held her daughter's wrist and inspected the charm bracelet which was missing a charm--the moon charm I was holding in my invisible hands. "Tommy? The one with the birthday on a leap-year? He must be very special." Linda nodded and burrowed further in her mother's embrace. Suddenly, Tommy's hand was glowing and he was teleported back in his bedroom. Then, everything went black. ***** The sunlight streaming from his windows jarred him awake from his sleep. Tommy was unsure whether he just dreamt all of it, but no, he is still holding Linda's moon charm in his hands. He is back to his old, boring self.

I don't have it anymore . Tommy looked at his hands and shook his head in disbelief. Well, he'd had enough adventures last night and thank God next year's a leap year. He got dressed, ate cereal and walked to school. Everything is normal. When he told Jeremy and Bryce that there will be no party later because his mom's out of town, they offered to take him to their houses to celebrate but Tommy said he'll pass. Tommy was just glad that he's back and he'll see his mom tomorrow. He doesn't have to decide when to celebrate his freakin' birthday or visit people's dreams. But he didn't entirely hate the experience, it was kinda cool. And he'll definitely come back next year and find his father. He tried to talk to Dan earlier but he came late to school and he's not answering Tommy's texts. What else does he know? He has to get answers from either Dan or Linda. Linda, who also came late to school carrying a mysterious box and was ignoring him since her arrival, who is she really? Why and how does she know his father? His reverie was once interrupted by Linda. "Pssst! Meet me at lunch by the oak tree, and bring your friends." She whispered to him. Mr. Graves didn't notice her. Linda pointed at the box by her feet. "I brought your gift" she then winked at him and pretended to listen raptly to the unsuspecting Mr. Graves. At lunch, the four of them approached the table by the oak tree behind the school where Linda was waiting for them, smiling while shaking her head. "Good thing you didn't die yesterday, Tommy." She held out her hands which were holding the box from earlier. Tommy lifted the lid and saw a cake with the words "Happy Birthday Tommy" written in white icing. "My mom made it; she said leap year babies are really special. It's carrot cake!" Tommy murmured his thanks while Bryce and Jeremy eyed the cake suspiciously. Dan rolls his eyes and says, "Esther must really hate me." He shared a look with Linda. Tommy chuckled and accepted the fork that Linda was handing him. "Hey, you're the one who suggested that I don't celebrate." He will definitely have a talk with the both of them later, but for now; he'll just eat a cake peacefully.


‘Fuckin’ bastard!’ screamed Anto. Today just wasn’t his day, and the last 730 hadn’t been either. ‘Wassa matter with ye?’ hollered Anto’s Da, Fergal, ‘Quit that fuckin’ bellowin’ or I’ll come up there an’ give ye somethin’ te yell about!’ ‘Fuckin’ aul bastard, fuckin’ sittin’ there in his fuckin’ chair thinkin’ he’s got it all fuckin’ figured out, the big fat ballix.’ Anto’d been filling in his CV, and was just done tweaking his meagre GCSE results into more promising grades when the laptop crashed, along with a whole morning’s worth of effort. Ever since his arrest for drunk driving things had gone steadily from bad to worse. He’d been nicked one night picking his girlfriend up from the local bar where she was having a girl’s night out. It’d been him and Big Crick, and he’d only sat down to three beer when the phone had gone. Caoimhe’d fallen out with her mates, they’d gotten into it over Niamh’s new boyfriend and Caoimhe had called him a drug dealer, which the fucker was, but that’d not stopped Niamh from trying to empty a bottle of Gallo’s white all over her head. Anto’d long harboured the suspicion it was those two having at it what alerted the PSNI as they’d pulled him over barely a mile down the road. That’d led to rows, Caoimhe had accused him of putting her in danger, and Anto had argued that she was responsible, as she was meant to get a taxi, but after the fight insisted he come instead. ‘Sure wasn’t ‘at not me night off? Can’t a man sit down an’ have a wee swall wey his mate and be left in peace?!’ He’d lost that row, and worse rows followed after he lost his job, being unable to drive to work. He got banned for a year and ordered to go to a therapist to discuss his relationship with alcohol, plus do 200 hours community service. The community service was rough, he’d be sent over to East Belfast to scrub the racist graffiti off the walls of a house of a black family which had been targeted by the local paramilitaries. Anto avoided the East at all costs. Apart from seeing his mate Marty in Short Strand the place was a no go for a fella called ‘Anthony Patrick Joseph O’Hara’. He’d taken to drinking more, especially before the community work where he brought a half bottle of vodka and kept it in his back pocket. Sure, he reckoned, if yer gonna get death threats for having to scrub off other racist death threats, you may as well do it absolutely rotten. The therapy appointments were worse yet. He’d have to sit there and get grilled on his drinking, which he knew had increased, but had only done so in response to the situation in which he now found himself. ‘Have ye ever told someone yer not an alky?’ He’d screamed at Caoimhe one night after they’d argued over his loss of income, ‘Well, the more ye fuckin’ try te tell ‘em yer not one, the more ye fuckin’ sound like one!’ Soon after they lost the flat, Anto’d been unable to pay his half of the rent, and the social wouldn’t cover it. Caoimhe’d moved back in with her Ma and they’d stopped speaking. They broke up soon after. Anto found he couldn’t look at her anymore, and the drink was turning him nastier than a dose of watery shite. He was forced to move back into his old room with his Ma, Da, brother and two sisters. There was no room in the house, and the room he shared with his 19 year old brother Michael was barely fit for a child, let alone two grown men. His drinking continued unabated, and the drugs too. He’d not touched them for years, but there was no reason now not to bang in a load of coke and gobble up a few tabs. Plus, Feeney Rubberlips from down the street had some good gear on offer, and he’d sort ye out on tick too. Anto had existed in this state for last year and a half, he’d continued trying to seek work, but each rejection justified another trip to the offie, and put him in the mind for a fat line. However, on the jobsite he’d noticed a job he was definitely qualified for, it was even better than the one he’d lost. More pay, more benefits and what’s more, it was in walking distance from his house. The sort of thing that could get him back on his feet, maybe get Caoimhe back, and definitely lead him to getting out his Ma’s house and away from getting his head melted to fuck every single night. ‘Awh fuck Da, am on applyin’ for this here job an’ the laptop’s shat itself. Fucker wiped me applications n’all.’ ‘Well why the good fuck are ye fuckin’ yelpin’ ta me ‘bout it, ye born in a barn?Jesus Christ wee lad shut yer fuckin’ hole! An’ here, yer Ma wants ye down the laundrette to pick up the washin’. It’s down Lonergan’s, all paid for, the washer’s onna fritz again.’ ‘Fuck sake’ muttered Anto, getting his coat and heading out the door. ‘Ma better have stuck my fuckin’ jeans in there. Paid good money for them n’all afore Michael went an’ spilt his whole fuckin’ dinner on me, fuck sake.’ He arrived, got the clothes and headed straight back home to finish the CV, he looked and his jeans and shirts were there too. ‘Thank fuck for somethin’ today’ he thought, as sat back down again and flicked open the laptop. Halfway through the CV and application form he got bored, and noticed his jeans were still warm from the press. He swiftly got changed into them, his legs embracing the heat. The fit felt a little off, but he thought sure they always do, always a wee bit tighter after a good wash. Anto breezed through the form, and re-wrote his CV, remembering courses he’d been on that were applicable and training certificates he had but had forgotten he’d earned. All in all, the application seemed to look good he thought, he even felt bothered enough to write a cover letter telling them just how he was the man for the job. A ‘Digital Marketing Executive’, he could see it now. The past two years would be a memory. Hell, he’d even tell them about the conviction if it came up and point out how his therapy had cured him. He’d be able to spin it around, they’d maybe even think it was funny. Anto the full-time mad bastard. Anto the Pintman, nicked for only three beer. After all he thought, why let the truth get in the way of a good story! Crick rang him up that evening, he said he’d found a hundred notes in a baggy on the ground down Cupar street. ‘Mon me n’ you’ll getta wee swall on, out for a rake of pints and we’ll hit up Rubberlips for summa ‘at good stuff. None of that cut shite.’ ‘Fuckin’ right!’ answered Anto, he’d have a good one tonight. After all, how often is it ye find notes lying about round the West? And no doubt no fucker’s gonna be raising a stink either as it was likely dodgy in the first place. After changing shirts, and brushing his nuggets, Anto met Crick at 8pm down McEnaney’s opposite the cemetery, and the lads swiftly proceeded to commence wineing and bineing as the culchies are so aft of saying. Soon they were joined by Marty, Wee Steeker and Bonzo who’d sourced the gear and brought a bag of workerman’s glue for desert amongst the tombstones. When Anto awoke the next morning, fully clothed, he found he still had a full memory of the previous night, plus £20 unspent. He’d gotten a girl’s number last night, and he could remember getting with her before she left. What made it even better was that he still felt pissed, so he didn’t even have a hangover to deal with yet. On checking his phone to see if the number had all the digits he saw he’d been called five times that morning by a number he didn’t recognise. It wasn’t the girl’s either as he’d saved hers under ‘Fuckin’ Ride’. He phoned the number and a woman answered. ‘Hello, this is Anthony O’Hara, I’ve got a number of missed calls from you and I was just ringing up to see why.’ ‘Oh! Mr. O’Hara, so glad you rang us back! We’ve be trying all morning! My name’s Sarah Waters, we’re ringing you back about your application yesterday. We think you’d be a great candidate and we’re actually having online interviews this morning if you’re still keen on the position?’ ‘Umm oh, aye, woah, I wasn’t expecting that, I’ve slept in a wee bit this morning, it was a friend’s birthday last night, em, what time are the interviews at?’ ‘We can fit you in in about an hour if that suits, we’re sorry about the short notice, but we really are very eager to get this position filled as soon as we can!’ ‘Aye, sure, no bother that’s grand. I’ll send you my Skype now, and we can speak in an hour! Thanks again, I wasn’t expecting this, it’s really appreciated!’ ‘No problem at all, we’ll contact you in an hour Anthony, and good luck!’ Hanging up the phone Anto felt strangely calm. In the past he’d be shitin’ bricks and peeling the scalp off himself with anxiety, but for some reason, today he just felt as confident as ever, and he knew what he needed to do. The old laptop took 20 minutes to load up, but everything else got up and running without a hitch. Anto went to the bathroom, pissed, brushed his teeth, threw some water on his face and decided against a shower. He opted instead to reapply some wax to his hair, and put in some eyedrops, as his eyes were as red as strawberries. With ten minutes to go he put on a new shirt, but left the jeans, after all, he’d be sitting down. He could even talk to them with his knob hanging out the fly, but he decided against that. Then the call came, he answered every question, made good natured jokes, and asked more questions back. He explained the gap in his employment, he’d been caring for his Granny (dead 10 years) and he’d been helping his mate out in his landscape gardening business on the side (selling some of Crick’s homegrown weed to teenagers). When the call ended he felt great, positive for the first time in years. Everything he’d gone through could now be put right. All his education (first one in the family at University for Digital Media) would finally be put to use, and his bad luck would finally come to an end. Anto decided on a long, hot shower before he went downstairs to tell his Ma n’ Da. They’d be glad to hear it, and it’d get them off his back for the day too. Fighting for the bathroom was always a constant in the O’Hara house, but as he walked onto the landing it was free, and even better, it didn’t stink of his Da’s arse! ‘I left the immersion on so there’s plenty of hot water there son’ shouted Anto’s Ma. ‘Fuckin’ A’ thought Anto, ‘This day’s goin’ grand!’ However, upon getting undressed and emptying the pockets of his jeans Anto found something he didn’t recognise. A faded and wrinkled receipt for a hammer and some nails from Brannigan’s Hardware. ‘The fuck?’ said Anto, as he looked at the label of the jeans and found they said ‘C. N. Toner’. ‘Huh? What the fuck, these here aren’t my fuckin’ jeans!’ ‘FUCKIN’ BASTARDS!! The cunts have gone an’ fuckin’ gimme some o’r cunt’s jeans. Who the fuck’s Toner, n’ why’s the cunt still labelling his fuckin’ jeans like a fuckin’ child?’ Anto’d spent good money on his jeans, they were his favourite pair and now he began to realise why they felt a bit tighter. He had no idea how he hadn’t clocked it until now, they were even a different shade of denim. This sort of thing always pissed Anto off no end, as a child he’d lost it when his Ma had lost his favourite Celtic top and then tried to replace it with the newer version. It had lost everything he’d loved about it, the old 1993-94 away design, the fit, the smell, the feel. He felt his hangover coming on with a vengeance. ‘What da fuck’ve I been playin’ at? What’d I say to thoseuns for the job?’ He couldn’t remember, it was all a blur. He’d probably been rambling, off his nut, he’d fucked it now, he’d made a fool of himself. Anto began to feel very strange, his skin felt clammy, even as he was under the hot water, he didn’t feel clean, everytime he closed his eyes he kept imagining he’d lost his hands and instead they just ended in conical points. He’d overdone it this time, he was going to die. He tried switching to cold but images just flooded his head of when he was in Donegal as a child and his Da had scared him shitless with tales of the Kelpie, and then afterwards pushed him into a pool of water in the bog. He could see the mad water horse now and he stumbled and fell out’ve the shower gasping for air. He dressed quickly, in his own clothes now, and headed downstairs. His sister’s were watching Love Island and the inane Essex accents were making him nauseous. ‘How could any cunt sound like ‘at?’ He screamed at them, as he went back to his room to lie down. His brother was in the room, playing his music, shite homemade techno that he thought sounded sweet, but Anto just didn’t have it in him to say was shite. He lay down, got under the covers, put his head under the pillow and lay there until he fell into a sweaty and fitful sleep. He dreamed off everything the previous day, dreamed of Caoimhe, and the other girl he’d got with, dreamed of Big Crick and the feed of pints. Dreamed of that cunt Toner and how he’d had such a good day and night in another fella’s jeans. He woke up to his phone ringing and felt sick. ‘Hello, is this Anthony?’ ‘Yeah it is, who’s speaking?’ ‘Hi Anthony, this is Sarah again, Sarah Waters, I just wanted to let you know that we were absolutely delighted with your interview and we’d like to offer you the position. When would you like to start?’ ‘Awh, I’m sorry, I cant...’ ‘Anthony?’ ‘Look, I cant, I’m not interested. Alright? It was all a fuckin’ lie, now fuck off.’ ‘Excuse me, is this you Anthony? I’m very confused!’ ‘Well this here won’t be confusin’ ye, get te fuck, and shut yer fat fuckin’ hole or I’ll come round there and bate the ballix out the lotta yiz, YIZ FUCKIN’ CUNTS!’ He hung up, turned his phone off and rolled over to go back to sleep. There was no way he’d’ve been able to accept that job. Not after the circumstances. It was all fake, it was all wrong.