I was embarrassed. It’s a strange thing to say because out of all the personal items I’ve ever purchased from a public supermarket in my life (sanitary towels, underwear etc.) surely condoms would be a lesser chore. We’re all animals, at the end of the day and, presumably, a large number of the population have sex on some occasion. Most display it as an act of accomplishment, something to be proud of and boast about. So why is it such an awkward experience? For me, it was because I chose to try and achieve this milestone task at a rather askew point in my life. I was very much in love with someone who was very “meh” in his feelings towards me and I was doing everything I could to win his affections, even lowering myself to such degrading tasks that even he was too embarrassed to attempt himself. I was very insecure about myself. I wasn’t particularly attractive, nor did I hold myself very well, and I was convinced that every eye in that supermarket was on me, judging and mocking. If people saw me holding up condoms they’d know that I presumed to have some sort of sex life and they would shake their head sadly and think “poor girl. Maybe she’ll actually get to use those someday”. At least, that’s what I thought. In reality, my relative plainness probably allowed me to walk through most public places every day of my life without drawing half a stare from anyone. I had, purposely chose a busy, mainstream supermarket to do my shopping because of the presumption that it would be busy with folk not noticing what I was doing. Only when I got there, armed myself with a shopping basket and stepped through the doors did I realise my mistake. I was way too paranoid. I could basically hear the “wuuurrr” of a thousand CCTV cameras turn in my direction, following me through the aisles. I had planned to fill the basket with a few, inconsequential items in order to mask the main purchase. I strolled as carefree as I could, feeling my stomach twist and turn in response to the task that was lay ahead of me. I tossed some random vegetables into the basket, small priced things that, to me, portrayed an average shopping basket. And then I came to *the* aisle. They were stocked near the end, among shelves of vitamins, chap-sticks, exercise supplements and other over the counter medical things. There were three other people in the aisle already. An elderly couple with a shopping trolley, perusing the athlete foot remedies next to my target items, and a bored looking woman, eyes moving, disinterestedly, across the dieting aids. I stole a glance at the condom shelves and was shocked to see they were in short supply. Only a few choices remained, and there was my other moment of panic. Choices? In my absurd naivety, it hadn’t occurred to me that there was various….options when it came to condoms. There were Thin Feel, Extra Safe, Extra Lubricated, Extra Large, Micro Thin and a couple that were simply named Pleasure Me and Tickle Me. Underneath was a wider array of lubrications and gels and God knows what else. I turned my attention to the vitamins, directly across the aisle. I’ve never feigned so much interest in my life. I stood, for what must have been five minute, lifting box after box, reading the back, putting some back, returning, changing my mind, shaking my head….after about eight minutes the paranoia set back in. The old couple had left but the dieting woman remained. She had wandered over to the Deep Heat display but she was still there looking as bored as ever. Did we both have a common goal, here? Was she waiting for me as much as I was waiting for her. Could we both set aside our humiliation and help each other out in achieving what we wanted? Of course not. Would I be able to outlast her? I turned my attention back to the vitamins. What a ridiculously large choice of vitamins. I spotted a three for one offer and tossed the orange flavoured vitamin b supplements into my basket. She was still there. I changed tactics. I began to move, slowly, down the aisle, away from the condoms, towards the painkillers. Three boxes of cough syrup joined the other useless crap in now scattered around my basket. I crossed to the other side and held a tiny box of ear drops inches from my face, studying the fine print while watching the blurry shape of my rival move closer to the sex stuff. The ear drops went into the basket too and I had to admit defeat. Diet woman had stopped at the foot products and was idly scanning the various remedies, her body leaning closer to the risqué stuff but not close enough. I left the aisle and did another round of the store. When I returned my basket was now laden with stir-fry sauce, a sharing pack of chocolate buttons and a little jar of paprika. Diet woman had gone. No doubt she was half way home, her miserable face finally breaking into a smile of pure glee, her prize clutched in her idling fingers. There was a new couple in the aisle though. He was gazing around with the typical suicidal look of a man dragged out to carry the burden of useless haberdashery their partners claimed to need. She was on her knees, a phone glued to her head, discussing the unacceptable prices of face-cream, while tossing about packets of sanitary towels. I maneuvered into the next aisle, dropping some shampoo and deodorant in the ever increasing pile of unwanted trash in my basket. I crossed back into *the* aisle just as the couple were wandering away and a hippy-looking man was wandering in. I was back at my old comfort shelves. The vitamins hadn’t changed much, unfortunately. I couldn’t see hippy man, but I could smell him. He was being suspiciously quiet just out of eyesight. I dropped a few more vitamin packets into my basket and turned to investigate. He was browsing the condoms. All attempts at stealth were forgotten as I stared, open mouthed and wide-eyed, at this hairy, dirty, thin old man casually deliberating between two varieties of condom. I managed to steer myself away, pretending to be immediately excited by the chap-sticks (of which I basket-ed two), feeling a little ridiculous at the ease and, well, casualness in how he purchased his prophylactics. My palms were sweating. It was my turn. I moved back to the vitamins, chucking a few more in just for sake of routine. Hippy was gone but there was a new woman in the aisle, her attention fully focused on nicotine patches. I could feel the panic setting in, the cameras zooming on my face, the customers all waiting for this moment, when they could turn, in unison and smirk in mockery. I glanced to the nicotine woman, her hands full with boxes. I turned, finding myself stood directly and purposefully in front of my worst fear. There was no faking it now. To anyone wanting to look, there was no mistaking my purpose at that moment in time. My eyes went immediately to a bright red box and I made my choice. I stooped, weighed down and made awkward by my heaving basket of stupid stuff. My hands, all moist and trembling, landed on my prize and as I tried to pull the little box towards me I was met with resistance. Pure panic. I pulled harder and the entire display shelf, with each box slotted into it’s own little notch came towards me. I discarded the basket, letting it drop with a pretty audible thud and rattle of many little vitamins all moving inside their packets. With two hands I freed the Thin Feel and tucked it under my mountain of health pills. It hadn’t gone as smoothly as I had hoped but I had them; my key to continuing sexual activities. I almost ran to the checkout, that red box in my basket felt like a beacon, shinning through the green plastic, alerting everyone to its freedom. I was relieved to find the self-checkout almost empty and threw myself on the furthest station. With my condoms safely hidden I began scanning my other items, wondering if I could overdose on vitamins. When I had a good hiding pile in my bad I slipped the condoms out, scanned them in one, easy move and dumped them to the bottom of the bag. Success! The rest of the vitamins I processed with as much consideration as I had shown when I snatched them off the shelves. Suddenly, the screen froze. The smooth, mechanical voice of evil called out “Assistance needed”. It wasn’t my imagination this time. Everyone was looking at me. Everyone was turning to stare at the gormless girl with a box of vitamins held, guiltily in her hand, looking around furtively for a moment of release. She arrived in the form of a wrinkly staff member, muttering about the cold and pressing buttons on my terminal with total distaste. “Right it’s just an age check for the medicines. Have you bagged that last one yet?” She tugged at the bag, dislodging the shameful little red box of shameful things. She saw the condoms. She saw the ridiculous stock of vitamins. I don’t know which I should feel more embarrassed about. I stuffed the remainder of my decoy shopping into a second bag and made my escape, praying that the alarm wouldn’t squeal in anger at my attempt of fleeing. At home, I gazed over my shopping results. So much stuff I would never use. But I had the condoms. There was some victory in all of this, at least….until I checked the receipt. In my hasty retreat I hadn’t even spared a thought for the pricing of my nonsense buys. I hadn’t even noticed the total of my shop from hell, simply sticking my card in the reader and punching in my pin, giving my speedy admission to sap as much as was necessary from my account. I wasn’t wealthy but I was working and not doing much else so I had enough money to sow such carelessness over spending. The receipt was not to my liking. With a multibuy saving of five pound and eighty pence, I had, quite horrifically spent a total of £60.10. Vitamins are ridiculously expensive. It’s been almost two years. I still have those exact same condoms.


Someone knocked on my door. Actually, knocking is too polite of a term for what that bastard was doing. So I’ll rephrase: some shitheel, pompous, smells-of-piss asshat was hammering on my door, keeping me from my well deserved rest and waking me up at the crack of dawn. “Invester!” they shouted. “Invester, open up!” I rolled over in my cot, cracking open one eyelid that was crusty with sleep. I looked out the window and saw the sun barely peeking over the horizon. “Fuck off, it’s barely light out!” I shouted and rolled back to face the wall. Bastard peasants, no sense of decency. “It’s sunset you prick! Open the fucking door!” I groaned and opened my one eye again to take a second look at the sun. Sure as harpy-pox, the sun was going down, not coming up. “I said, it’s barely light out, not that it’s early. Leave me alone.” I shouted at the door again and lay back down. The barrage of fists against my door was like several cannons going off in sequence. “Invester!” the man shouted, his thin, reedy voice making an excellent harmony with his pounding. I growled and sat up, rubbing my eyes and the bags under them. Wincing with aches and pain from a hard night before, I stumbled across the room to the door, my boots clunking on my floor. I hadn’t bothered to get undressed much after getting in yesterday. Or possibly this morning. With one hand I started performing the necessary gestures to unseal the door and with the other I grabbed my wineskin I kept by the door for just such an emergency. The glyphs on the door unsealed with a light glow and the lock clicked. I whipped the door open quickly to catch my harasser off guard. “What in the Five Hades do you want?” I growled as I twisted the cork of the wineskin with my teeth. He was a fat man, with thick sausage fingers and jowls that quivered when he talked. Kinda short, but I’m not one to talk. He was wearing normal travellers clothes but sporting several large rings and a heavy amulet around his neck with a gem in the middle. His watery eyes did a quick once over of my own regal attire of worn boots, stained shirt, and heavy overcoat. I had somehow managed to remove my pants without taking off my boots last night. “You’re the invester? Leander Norric?” asked the fat man, disbelievingly. “Obviously I am or I would have come to greet you with a heavy cudgel, and I don’t mean this one.” I replied as I scratched my groin through my drawers. I was still trying to wrench the cork out of the flask. “I’ll ask once more and then I’m going back to bed and you can beat your hands bloody for all I care. What. Do. You. Want-aha!” I suddenly freed the cork with a satisfying pop that rang with the promise of sweet nectar. “I need to hire you. Some… *thing* is robbing me blind and if I lose any more of my inventory-”. “Talk to the guards.” I interrupted and gestured to the soldiers on patrol nearby. Their loud clanking armor was doing more damage to my aching head than the battering of my door just a few seconds ago. “They won’t investigate! They said it was supernatural in nature-” sputtered the fat man. “Talk to the church then. Any of them, doesn’t matter which.” I raised the flask to my lips, my parched throat clamoring for wine. “They said it’s ‘not a demonic or malicious entity worthy of exorcism by the church’” pleaded the fat man. “They told me I wasn’t praying enough and that I was being tested.” “The only one being tested here is me.” I said fiercely, lowering my flask to glower at the man. “I don’t work for cheap, if you want to trade a goat for a chore go find a farmers kid to shoo whatever it is you got out with a broom-” “I’ll pay you double your fee if you can come with me, right now, invester.” Interrupted the fat man. I stopped and reconsidered him. He had the look of desperation about him, wringing his hands and shifting his weight. “Double you say?” I asked as I raised my flask again. “Double, but we have to go now and I need this solved immediately.” he confirmed, his many chins wobbling. I squeezed the wineskin but only a couple sour drops of wine dripped onto my tongue, leaving me with an even greater thirst. Disgusted with the traitorous bag, I re-corked it. “Three things.” I said. “Number one, I decide on the price after I see what I’m dealing with. Number two, I can’t promise it’ll be solved ‘immediately’. You might have any number of ghoulish beasties or shit-flinging curses on your shop or you and some of those take time to remove.” “I heard you solved the McTravers problem within a couple hours.” said the fat man, looking unimpressed. “Did you hear that I spent those couple hours moving an enchanted needle a total of three inches because any faster would have killed their damn foolish boy? Did you hear that part? Didn’t think so. We do this *my way*. Which is to say slow and safe.” “Fine, your way. What was the third thing?” “Third, I need my pants. Go fill this-” I shoved my empty wineskin at him. “And I’ll get dressed. Your shop far?” “I have a horse and cart.” “Good.” I slammed my door in his face and turned around. My single room hut was cluttered and messy, the wood stove stone cold and the bed a mess. I sighed and rummaged for my pants, pulling them on. Dressed, I knelt down to open my trunk. My work chest was a handsome piece of furniture, and functional. The carved oak was strong and thick, the steel and silver trim was bright and shiny. I undid the locks, some magical, some with keys. Opening the chest, watching the shelves spring up, I considered what to bring for this job. Hand crossbow, yes, with ammo. Silver daggers, no, wouldn’t be any better than an average knife. Holy water, nah, the church didn’t think it was devilish or demonic. Salt pouch, yes could be all I needed. I packed the gear and an assortment of powders into some of my coat’s pockets and made sure I had my notebook and charcoal in another. The paper in the little notebook was probably worth more than the chest and all its contents so I made sure it was secure in my chest pocket. My knees popped as I stood back up, grunting. I stretched my arms toward the ceiling and felt something in my back slip into place. “Alright.” I muttered. “Let’s go.” I stumped over to the door and whipped it open. My client stood there, the wineskins bulging with promise. “Fast.” I grunted, taking it from him.” “I filled it right over there.” he said, pointing. I followed his fat finger with my eyes and saw him pointing at the well nearby, where people came and went with their containers of water. I opened the bag, took a swig of water to rinse the fuzz out of my mouth and spat. Then I upended the bag, dumping the water into the mud, splattering some passersby who gave me some dirty looks. Dunno why they were so fussed, they were all caked in shit and mud anyway. I probably made them cleaner. “Now take this and get me a proper drink in it. That your cart?” I asked, gesturing with my head. “Yes.” said the fat man shortly. “Good, I’ll be in there. Wake me up when we get there and for fuck’s sake, put some real wine in the bag.” I started off toward the carriage. “You’re a right bastard Norric, you know that?” shouted the fat man. “Yeah, but you’re gonna deal with me all the same, aren’t ye?” I mumbled to myself as I climbed into the cart, sniffing a bit at the smell of horse and oats. I shoved a bag of feed into a corner, sat up against it, and looked at the setting sun. We probably wouldn’t be at my clients residence until after dark if he took a cart to get here. “Fuck.” I mumbled out loud. Everything was meaner at night. Especially people. I closed my eyes and fell asleep. “Oye, wake up.” I was nudged rudely by a booted foot. “We’re here.” I opened my eyes. We were stopped outside a building near the edge of a forest. There were some other homes and stores nearby but this was clearly way out on the edge of the city’s limits. The enterprising individuals who staked a claim out here called it the Wilds.. It was a fitting name. Beasts, bandits, tax collectors, ghouls of all sorts lurked out here. Most communities required a steady immigration their first year out here, just to maintain the population while they sorted out whatever it was that was killing them. Sometimes it was a disease; not surprising given the rough conditions. Other times they called someone like me. I didn’t have an official title for my occupation. Fixer was sometimes used or invester. I don’t like invester though, makes me sound like a stuffy clerk for a bank. But it was short for investigator, as in “Oh wee lad, gon’ up ta hill n’get that *invester* fella\*.\* Something’s gon and killed all ta cows and yer mum and ta neighbours.” Grisly murders. Mysterious disappearances. Strange happenings. Curses. Basically whatever the government and church decided they didn’t think was worth their time or want their hands sullied with, people came to me. I didn’t work cheap but I charged fairly. Seventy gold crowns from the wealthy alderman who didn’t want people to know that his son had been cursed by a jilted lover. Just one crown and bed for the night from the poor village that was being haunted by a ghoul. I dirtied my hands on the regular, often visiting the underbelly of the city to find the answers I was being paid for. This job looked soft though. The village we were in was well lit, regular guards walking in pairs. The shop we had stopped in front of looked fine too; showing no signs of abuse or the advanced decay that cursed buildings often have. “Well? Aren’t you coming?” asked the fat man impatiently. He was already off the cart and unlocking the front door. No magic on his locks, just a single key. That alone told me a lot about what could be wrong with his shop. I grabbed my wineskin and rolled out of the cart, standing in the road, looking up and down the street. No unusual sounds, no menacing mist or presence. Nothing malicious at all really. I took a blessed swig of wine and walked up to the entrance of the shop. My client held it open for me but I didn’t go inside yet. Instead I examined the door frame carefully, checking for glyphs or scratches. Nothing. “Well?” asked the owner again. “What’s your name?” I asked him as I stepped into the shop. Neat little place. Looked like he sold some expensive charms, he had a variety of jewellery on display, with little picture cards in front to explain what each one did. Smart, the illiteracy rate out here was astronomical. “I’m Leod Marshton.” he said, hauntingly. “Purveyor of fine charms and wardens essential for the prepared travellers of the Wilds-” “Yeah, I didn’t ask for your sales pitch.” I said casually as I strolled along the perimeter of the shop. I kept one hand on the handle of my crossbow in the fold of my coat as I walked. Caution when exploring new surroundings has saved my skin more than once. “I take it some inventory has gone missing?” “Yes, some very expensive pieces. I know they weren’t stolen by normal means which is why-” “You hired me, got it. How do you know they weren’t nicked?” I asked him, examining an expensive looking amulet which could apparently detect magic. Probably trash, even if it actually did was the card advertised. I couldn’t sense anything arcane in the shop, which meant his inventory was probably minimally enchanted or not at all. “You got some fine metals here, how’d you know it wasn’t someone in the village?” “I’ll tell you.” said Leod, narrowing his eyes. “Because I’d set down a charm, turn around to grab another and when I turned back, it was gone. Right in front of me. Couldn’t have taken my eyes off of it for more than a second” “Mmhm, happened more than once?” “About twice a week, yes.” “Mhmm”. I finished my sweep of the store and came over to Leod. I squinted at him hard, carefully looking him over top to bottom. Then I stared into his eyes. “What… what are you doing?” he asked me, looking slightly alarmed. “Trying to see if you’re jinxed.” I said, tongue between my teeth. “Jinxed?” Leod asked, patting himself down. “What do you mean jinxed?” “Jinxed. You know. Hexed. Cursed. Bamboozled. I’m trying to see if someone has polluted the sanctity of your mind or body. Got any new scars? Places that itch? Been feeling foggy lately? Sleepless? Too much sleep? Has your appetite gone off? Tripled? How about your sex life, got a constant woody?” “What, I- no!” Leod sputtered. “None of that! I’m fine! Everything is… fine! Why would I be cursed?” I shrugged. “Happens. Someone hexes you when you’re unaware, takes control of your body for a short period of time. You could be blanking out, handing your goods over to someone out the window and regaining your senses once they're gone. It’s not easy but someone who thought your charms were the real deal would be interested in it.” Leod blustered with anger. “I’ll have you know that these charms are endorsed by the Church of the Kloth-” “Of course,” I interrupted. “We can probably rule out robbery. Someone who stole a charm would find out they’re shit once they tried to fence it or use it. Wouldn’t make sense to keep stealing junk.” I finished staring at Leod and looked around the shop again. It was very clean. I checked the floors. Barely any wear. “How long have you been out here?” I asked. “Only a month.” he replied. “I got approved for a Wilds Frontier loan and moved out here. There’s an untapped market for traveller charms on this end of the Wilds. I’ve made several lucrative sales already.” the smug look on his face made me roll my eyes. “Yeah except you probably got a heavy rate on the loan right? Which is why you need to find your thief, eh? Too much stock goes missing and suddenly you’re missing payments.” Leod nodded stiffly. “Well, yes, my profit margin is thin for the first year or so.” I nodded absently. “Piss anyone off in town yet?” Leod swelled with anger again. It made him look like a toad. “I have an excellent relationship with the community! We have to rely on each other this far out of the city!” “So no one has used your charms yet, got it.” I concluded. I wandered back and forth along the shop, letting my feet do the thinking. Humans, like elves, can sense magic, but most of us don’t know how. Because there are so many different kinds of magic, it would be difficult to tell if there’s any at all, let alone what kind. From Leod’s description, it seemed to me that there was something supernatural about. But it didn’t seem manufactured or constructed like a spell. So I wandered, letting my thoughts go blank, keeping myself distracted by pestering Leod with questions. Trying to detect anything at all. I paused in my pacing. This was the third time I had walked past this particular desk, without meaning to. I crouched down and looked under the tables. “Got a basement?” “No.” Leod answered, looking impatient. “You sure? I had a client once who told me he didn’t have a basement. Turned out there was a lich’s laboratory under his floorboards. Poor guy never knew about it. Some real twisted shit down there.” “There isn’t a basement.” Leod said through gritted teeth. “I had the land surveyed by a geomancer.” I stood up again. “Did he give you a report?” “Yes.” “Lemme see it.” Leod walked past me and rummaged through his desk for a moment before pulling out a certificate. “Ah yes, see? Here it is. Signed by a respectable guild from the city, paid in full. A clean sweep of the premise before the land was cleared and my shop went up.” I took the paper from him carefully. He probably paid a hefty sum to have that document done up and I didn’t have the coin to get him a replacement. I scanned the document. He was right, it was a good, thorough scan from a respectable guild. There were two geomancers, actually, and they cross checked each other’s work. I grunted in approval. “Yeah, good, looks like you don’t have any portals nearby or subterranean works or dwellings. That’s a relief, that lab I mentioned was disgusting. Ever seen an eviscerated pepelexa? Fucking gross.” I flipped over the certificate and continued reading. No curses, no wards, nothing about gravesites, no large animals removed from the area, it looked like everything was on the up and up. I was about to hand the paper back when a footnote caught my eye. It was in the additional details left by one of the geomancers. I read it once, then again as I processed it. “Aw shitfire.” I said, annoyed. “What? What is it?” demanded Leod. “Did you read this *all the way through*?” I asked him, handing the paper back. “Of course I did!” Leod huffed. “Then you definitely read the part at the bottom of the additional notes? The part about how one of the magicians experienced seeing several ‘bright and vision-obscuring lights’ when they were clearing out the woods for the lot?” “Well, yes,” sputtered Leod. “But they assured me it was normal! That it happened sometimes when clearing forests! They said it was pixies or something, trying to drive off intruders.” I rubbed my eyes and took a long overdue swig from my flask. “Your store is made from the same wood that was cleared from this land, wasn’t it.” Leod stopped dead. “How could you possibly know that?” he demanded. I smiled. “Because,” I lectured “when you remove the wood cut from an area with magical creatures, it loses its magical properties. That’s why people can get ‘fairy wood’ for cheap and not have any problems. By the way, ‘fairy wood’ is a bullshit term. Fairies and pixies are nothing alike. Anyway the pixies don’t see the wood as home any more and they move on to new territory. You kept the same wood in the same forest so you get to keep the same pixies.” “So I have pixies?” asked Leod, confused. “You have something. ‘Pixie’ is kind of a catchall term for small magical beings with wings. Kind of like how ‘bug’ refers to tiny crawly things.” “Well, what do I have?!” asked Leod, raising his voice. “Shhh.” I put a finger to my lips. “We don’t want to spook it. Dim the lights, let's sit over there by the window. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Anything taken lately?” Leod shook his head and looked worriedly around his store, probably expecting something large and nasty to spring out of the shadows. It always astounds me how little the general populace knows about the land they live on. I pulled a bench out, as far away as we could get from the desk I had walked by repeatedly. After Leod put out all but one of the candles we sat down on the bench together. We waited silently. Time went by very slowly, Leod’s pocket watch ticking loudly. He kept checking it, turning it to the light, fidgeting in place. I sat still and watched the rafters above the desk. If Leod was lucky, I might be able to solve his mystery tonight. If I was right about my hunch though, Leod was going to be mighty unhappy with the outcome. After about thirty minutes of waiting, I saw what I had been waiting for. “There.” I said quietly, not bothering to whisper. Leod started, having been falling asleep the last five minutes. “What? Where? What?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. “Keep your voice down. She probably isn’t scared of us but we don’t want to startle her.” I said in a low voice, not blinking. “The rafters.” Leod looked up to the rafters, looking frightened. “Is it dangerous?” he asked in a whisper. “Only to your profits.” I said in the same low voice. I got up and walked quietly and calmly to the desk. From the rafters there was a small, bright mist floating down, almost like a tiny golden cloud. You couldn’t see through it, but it shimmered with movement as it fell slowly towards the desk. I approached the desk slowly and sank down to my knees, getting eye level with the glowing light. Leod followed behind me, shaking with small tremors, trying to look over my shoulder. “Hello, little miss.” I said to the cloud. There was a light puff of air, and a tiny girl’s head poked out of the little cloud. She was as golden as the cloud that held her, with long curly hair and a cherub-like face. Slender glossimer wings were poking out of her back but she kept mostly hidden in her cloud cover. She looked up at me curiously as she shimmered in the darkness of the shop, a slight ringing sound emanating from her glow. “What… what is *that*?” breathed Leod. “*She*,” I correctly gently, not looking away from her “is a flickerwill.” “A what?” snapped Leod. Abruptly the golden light went out, like it had never been there at all. The cabin was bathed in black ink after our eyes had gotten used to the golden light. “Dammit man, keep your voice mellow, don’t fuck this up.” I said in the same amiable tone. “Got a crown on you?” “What?” “A crown, give me a gold crown.” Leod fished his large hand in his pocket and handed me a sweaty gold coin. “Here little miss.” I said, keeping my voice soothing. “Something for you, given freely, not taken. A present.” I placed the coin on the desk and waited. Nothing happened. “What’s happening?” asked Leod in a whisper. “I’m trying to show her we’re not dangerous. Ask her to come out.” “What?” Leod asked in a panicked whisper. “Why me?” “Because this is your shop she’s in, and this is her home you’re in. You should get acquainted.” Leod looked bewildered. I sighed. “Just speak to her calmly, tell her she can have the coin.” Leod opened his mouth, closed it and swallowed, then opened it again. “Little… umm, flickmist” he started. “Flickerwill.” I corrected “Little flickerwill,” Leod began again. “You may, umm… have this gold coin. As a gift.” he finished lamely. I turned to roll my eyes at him again. As I turned, the golden light reappeared behind me. Leod gasped and grabbed at his neck, scrambling for the charm hanging from it. I turned back. The flickerwill was floating a couple of inches off the desk. She had grabbed the coin which was nearly as big as her head and was holding it with both hands; looking quite pleased with herself. She gave us a shy smile and like a candle blowing out, disappeared. “Good.” I said loudly. Leod started, having gotten used to my soft voice. “That’s solved then.” I got up and lit the lanterns in the room, filling it with light once more. “That’s it? That thing is gone then?” asked Leod disbelievingly. “Oh hell no.” I chuckled. “You’re not gonna get rid of her.” “What do you mean I’m not getting rid of her!? I hired you to get rid of her!” “Nope. You hired me to solve this problem and we did just now. Once a week, you’re gonna leave a crown out for her, and say out loud that it is a gift for her. That should stop her from nicking your goods.” Leod looked completely lost so I threw him a bone. “Flickerwills are harmless sprites that covet shiny objects. I’m guessing that this one lived in the forest that you had chopped down and since the wood never left, neither did she. She’s been stealing your stuff when you weren’t looking.” Leod pondered this for a minute then looked cross. “Am I getting my stolen goods back?” “Unlikely. She has no reason to give them back. You won’t find them laying around the shop either. Flickerwills and blink in and out of existence. Whatever she took is gone into the aether.” “When will she leave?” asked Leod, looking mutinous. “Leave?” I laughed in his face. “You don’t get it, do you? You set up shop in her home. You cut down her house and rearranged it how you like. She’s not gonna leave and there is absolutely nothing you can do to her. Make a quick movement in her presence and she’ll vanish instantly. She’ll keep stealing your valuables too, unless you pay her.” “How does she even know she’s getting paid?!” bawled Leod, who was red in the face. I actually wondered about his heart for a moment. “She doesn’t, you’re just giving her something else shiny in lieu of your valuables. Doesn’t matter what she gets, really. I just figured you’d always have a crown when you need it and it’s pretty cheap for rent.” “Rent? Rent!?” yelled Leod. He was rapidly progressing to purple and I idly wondered if the flickerwill would be pest free soon. “I own this establishment, and the land it's built on! I own the trees used to make this store! I’m not sharing my home and business with a filthy little pincher and paying for it!” I nodded the whole time, pretending to keep interest in the conversation. “Indeed. Well I wish you the best of luck in evicting the otherworldly fae creature from your place of business. You’ll find that you will be laughed out of every exterminator's door and sent packing from the churches. A flickerwill isn’t evil, it’s part of the land. You can either suck it up and pay the crown or move out but the pixie is here to stay now that you built the house out of her trees. I can safely say that if you keep leaving her gifts, she will not steal from you. Just like people, they prefer to be given gifts than scrounge for their own wants.” I patted Leod on the shoulder who was slowly deflating and looking forlorn. “Speaking of payment, I’d charge you twenty crowns for my expertise and negotiations of hostilities with the flickerwill. You agreed to double, so that will be forty crowns. I’ll knock five off if you give me a lift back to town in the morning.” I pulled a blanket off a shelf and shoved it up against a corner. “You can’t be seriously trying to stay here after that stunt you pulled.” Leod looked completely defeated. I laced my hands behind my head and settled back into the corner. “I’d be a lunatic to try and get back to the city this late. Just be glad I solved your problem ‘immediately’.” I nodded to him and shut my eyes. I heard Leod grumbling as he slammed a door shut and disappeared deeper into his home. “Goodnight, little miss.” I said to the empty room. From behind my closed eyes I could see a shining glow right in front of my face. There was a brief puff of air on the tip of my nose and then the light went out. Something heavy dropped into my hand. I opened my eyes and held it up to the dim moonlight. It was one of the charms the flickerwill had taken, a large silver brooch with a emerald inlaid in the centre. Probably worth a solid week's worth of wages but I decided to keep it as a souvenir. It’s not often that I finish a case where no one and nothing has been killed. I’d like to remember this one.


I’m on tills, it’s about five hours into my shift. Feeling a little tired. I’m in automatic mode; I serve customers with my almost monotone *thank you*, *who’s next*, *cheers bud*. Words just come out of my mouth. Sometimes I say *hi* when they are leaving, or *cheers* when they come to my counter. I’ve clocked myself doing this. I know it’s bad but I don’t want to berate myself — after all, I’m serving about two customers a minute. It doesn’t sound like much, but it is. I’ve decided I want to change things up. I will become conscious. I will take the wheel. I will fly my plane. ‘Hello’ I say with an award-winning smile. ‘ello!’ the small old lady says to me. She seems happy. Let’s add a personal touch to this interaction. Let's see… she’s buying alcohol — perfect! I’ve got just the ticket. ‘excuse me mam,’ *god* I am a charmer, ‘can I see some aye-dee for this?’. I’m already smiling. ‘what was that son?’ Bless. She’s too old to hear me properly*.* I suppose we all get old someday. Wrinkled faces and hairs coming out of our ears… out of her cheeks and chin and christ those are some gross eyebrows. No — stop. I’m being nice. ‘I said,’ *there’s that smile again*, ‘can I see some AYE-DEE?’ A frown. That’s not good. Is she a grumpy old person? Was that enthusiastic *ello* just a ruse? A subterfuge to subvert my expectations? I wonder if she looks down on me. Perhaps she was just in automatic mode too? **‘Ish there a problem here?’** says some burly bald-headed man that appeared from somewhere behind her. ‘No, ha ha, I was just asking her for some aye-dee, you know, for the wine’. I keep my smile up with effort. **‘Are youh tryin to confuse this frail ald woman? oan purpose?**’ He looks angry. Why must people moralise on behalf of others; can this lady not fight her own battles? I mean, probably not. But still. ‘No, no! Ha ha’ *yikes* ‘I was trying to make a joke, to make her laugh! I’m obviously not as funny as I thought I was, ha ha’. **‘WHO the FUCK dae ya HINK yeh ARE?**’ says another, almost comically similar rough big bald-headed man who also seemingly appeared from my periphery. These two men, standing either side of her, look like they could pick her up and lob her over the counter at me — if she didn’t break in their hands. How did they even hear the conversation? None of my colleagues seem to have; they’re still serving customers. Same as I should be. ‘Look. Fellas.’ *Oooh, where did this confidence come from?* ‘I think there’s been a misunderstanding here. I’m not trying to confuse this lady-’ *you whelks* ‘I was just trying to brighten her day with a little joke. I mean, she’s obviously too old to be aye-dee’d for alcohol. She looks waayhaay over twenty-five!’ I’m sure these gentlemen can find the good humour in this situation. **‘HOUUUH**’ a gasp. A loud one Oh n- **‘HOU VERY DARE YOUH. YOUH ANIMAL**’ spittle on my face ‘**IF I CO-**’ ‘Killlll the motherr fuckkaa!!!!’ shrieks the old lady with a shrill, almost regal intonation; her head is thrown back and a finger points towards my face. Within seconds these burly men are on the counter, scrambling at me with their grubby sausage fingers. My colleagues, the bastards, continue to serve normally. These men have passed the threshold and are chasing me behind the self-scans in full view of the customers. The old lady cracks a smile. The burly men beat me to a pulp, first cracking my ribs then squishing my face like a beaten tomato. My body is so badly broken and rigid that I look like a chip that’s been left in the oven too long. The blood covering me looks like tomato sauce. It pools on the floor and my manager tells me to clean it up. Such is life when you are nice to customers.


I meditate on the kitchen floor. By which I mean I sit, legs crossed, mostly still, and pointedly try not to notice the fossilised food remnants haunting me from under the cupboard door. The veneer is cracked in such a way it resembles a curling lip, and I work hard to not think about it too hard, lest it threaten to warp into something edging on sinister. I just sit, breathing mindfully, which is desperately uncomfortable, batting away any wayward thoughts, or trying to. Until at last I am disturbed by the deafening stare of a small brown cat. This is our oft practiced ritual. He is hungry, or so he claims, and I pretend to be agitated by his flagrant disregard for my inner wellbeing. “Food?” Say I. “Prrp” says he. And so the conversation goes, every time. While demolishing a generous portion of biscuits, I imagine he questions my habits. “Why are you on the floor mummy?” I tell him I do this because the internet says it is the way to inner peace. That it is the path to a shiny white plastic enlightenment, and I believe them, sometimes. Because frankly it’s a choice between transcendental bliss or ice cream, and I can’t afford to buy any more fat-girl clothes. I meditate on the kitchen floor, and he asks me if it’s white-plastic enlightenment I’m searching for down there, or whether I’m just looking for stray morsels. The latter, he says, is wiser, and I am beginning to agree. We watch the news together in the mornings and descend into furious debate over the behaviour of MPs with regularity. He is firm in defence of filibustering, claiming it has political merit, and I rankle at the notion every time. More than once I have slammed the door in petulant frustration, leaving him alone to focus fully on the washing of a limb. We do not fall out often though. He is my closest confidant in whiskers. I talk to him about silence on the hard days, and how I hate it, and how I need it, which is somehow all the worse. In sympathy he breaks it for me by demonstrating how to add volume to a stare, and I thank him with carefully placed pressure behind the ears. I ask about his childhood sometimes, and wonder what he means when he says he can’t remember. Most evenings he curls up on my lap and describes his dreams, but only those that set his paws to twitching. They are all black and white films of pursuits and victories, strategy and success. There is a violence to them I think, though he never tells me so. He says the television helps him build a world outside of our flat, and my tears cast little spikes in his fur, as I mutter sorry over and over. I cry for his freedom, and for mine, and he purrs his low hymn to drown out my worry. We are trapped here he says, confined by co-dependency and circumstance, both caught by sadness and dulled instinct. He says he forgives me, but only after tuna.


, shouted Antonio who was perched precariously on Manarai peak, the highest peak in Monsanto. He has been shouting these words for a long time now. His vocal chords had turned stiff. By constantly uttering those words, he wanted to erase the blasphemous thoughts of running away from Luchesse. After some time, no matter how loud he shouted, he found his false pride about his birthplace withering away. He paused to gaze at the mountains that has been hugging his city, he calls it a bondage while others perceive it as protection. Antonio longed to fly above these mountains, get rid of his spiritual baggage and experience freedom. Knowing the kind of life he has led, he wasn’t sure if this was possible. But at that moment, he felt a surge so strong that he knew the mountains would crumble to let him do his bidding. Antonio is the only child of a Kaplan traders, who earned their livelihood by selling merchandise and souvenirs to the few tourists who visit Luchesse. Antonio was only three years old when his parents enrolled him into a monastery. Bells and prayer wheels were his toys. When Antonio grew older, he started to assist his parents in their trade. The tourists were eager to talk to this starry-eyed monk who shared their enthusiasm in equal measure. It was from these tourists that Antonio got a glimpse of what the outer world would actually look like, a world starkly different from his own. Unlike his world that stood the test of time with much disdain, the world from where these tourists came from was always changing. He noticed the shifting urban landscapes each time the tourists handed him over the photographs of their homelands. It was as if those places kept changing their masks every now and then. Few years after his parent’s death, Antonio became increasingly restless. He wanted to lose his loneliness among the festive crowds in Fiorina, he longed to climb to the top of Leaning tower of Pizza and his wish list started getting longer. He regretted his life that shunned all forms of materialism, a life that has been tuned to follow a strict code of ethics, a life that has laid a clear demarcation between good and bad. *“Of course, who are these people to decide what’s good for my life. I went to the monastery by design, not by choice”*, Antonio thought. But two decades of a rigid monastic upbringing is not going to be easy to be forgotten. He intently missed the prayers, faulted his morning prayers and skipped his classes. While guilt bore him down for a few days, hope of a new exciting life that lay ahead fogged his conscience. Finally when the pricks of guilt could hurt him no more, he knew he was ready to get away. He started planning his getaway from Linguina. From a tourist, he had learnt of a secret route through the Ortler mountain range. The route was not heavily guarded by border police and Antonio was confident in entering the quaint little town of Fiorina without any hassle. There he planned to start a trade shop which sold souvenirs and merchandise. *“I’ll have to start from there and go a long way to become a wealthy trader”.* With these thoughts firmly etched in his mind, Antonio packed his goods, discarded his robe for a cheap suit and boarded the early bus that will take him to Fiorina. The bus travelled down the friendship highway, which connected Monsanto all the way till Mondelez. At Mondelez, there would be stringent checking of the passenger visas by the border authorities. The secret route that Antonio planned to take started at Barila, which was few kilometers before Mondelez. The rickety journey by bus until Barila would last for two days. Antonio waved his hands impassively to the vast grasslands and the mountain vistas that he was leaving behind. A Ugandan tourist seated next to him quipped, *“What a lovely place! Place of the gods indeed."*. Antonio just smiled back. After an uneventful journey, the bus arrived at Barila two days later. Antonio got down and decided to stay overnight at that place. The place was barren except for a very huge monastery that he spotted few miles ahead. He was afraid that nostalgia would get the better of him if he sought rest there. Having failed to locate an alternative to seek refuge, he trudged towards the monastery through the heavy thickets of the Mondelez valley. He noticed that the monastery rested on the slopes of the trail that he would have to take to reach Fiorina.* “I am going to stay here only for the night. I would leave long before the first ray of sunlight strokes this place”*, he said to himself. It was dark by the time Antonio stepped into the monastery and the earthen lights made its walls reflect a sublime glow. The dome stood there majestically, ornamented by the crested moon. The peace was so filling, and the effect was magical. It hasn’t been even two days and invisible strings were drawing Antonio towards the life of prayer and solitude. But he held on to his mission. If his ascetic life gave him the will power to abstain from a common man’s desires, he could use the same will power to achieve the reverse effect. He walked up to a monk and asked him for a place to rest for the night. The monk took him to a huge hall where drifters were allowed to stay. The hall was empty save for a person huddled in a corner. Willing for an acquaintance, Antonio sat next to the small man. *“Where are you from?”* Antonio asked boldly, a trifle too loud, which shook the meek man from his slump. *“I am Rinaldi, a trader from Fiorina, on my way to Monsanto”*, he replied softly. *“Oh, you are a trader. Good. What goods do you sell?”* *“Gems, souvenirs, perfumes and other antiques”* *“Do you have any of these with you now?"*, inquired Antonio, who was more eager to learn about the kind of goods that are in demand. *“No I don’t have anything with me right now”*, Rinaldi retorted to Antonio. *“That’s strange. You don’t look like a tourist and I assumed you were going to Monsanto for business"* *“I am going to Monsanto to become a monk”* *“A monk? You want to become a monk?”* *“Yes”* *“But why?”* asked Antonio, bewildered. “You appear to be a man of means and why do you want to renounce it to lead a life of denial and contemplation?” *“Denial and contemplation. Yes those are the words. Those are the words that will make the rest of my life rich. All this time, I was running behind money, gems and fame. I was like this free bird, always seeking better opportunities far and beyond. I started as a small trader. Over time I set up many trade shops, my business flourished. I thought I knew what I wanted, but it was all a big mistake.”* *“Did you suffer losses in your business? You are broke?” “I am not broke, but I am a broken man. Fame and fortune are a bottomless pit. The way to it is deep, dark and limitless. I have been falling in this pit for years now. Nothing ever stops you.”* Antonio became disturbed. Here he was, determined to bury his caged past and forge a free life. Rinaldi, on the other hand, was getting more determined by the minute, to become a monk. He was swelling up in confidence and resolve as Antonio tried to talk him out of it. *“But what about freedom? Why do you want to spend the rest of your life in a cloister?”* *“Freedom.”* Rinaldi repeated. *“Freedom only creates chaos.”* Rinaldi stretched himself and laid down on the floor. He slept as soon as he hit the floor. Antonio had the premonition that Rinaldi would have left before he woke up the next day. He was very tired and set off to sleep. He was not able to catch any sleep.* “Strange. All these years in the monastery, of all the hardships I faced, I never faced a sleepless night.”* Antonio was awake the whole night, making futile attempts to remember the ideas that he had for the future. The next morning, Antonio saw Rinaldi wake up and heed towards Monsanto. Antonio pretended to be asleep. In one corner of his eye, he saw Rinaldi walk towards the rising sun. Rinaldi turned back and smiled, a smile of realization. As he continued walking, he heard someone shouting from behind. *“Wait. I am coming with you.”*, shouted Antonio running after Rinaldi. Rinaldi said nothing. Antonio and Rinaldi boarded the bus to Monsanto. The beauty of the rugged landscape was compounded by the inner peace that Antonio felt at that moment. They spoke nothing to each other, but it felt as if they knew the other person more than they knew themselves. The bus arrived at Monsanto and the driver woke up Antonio asking him to get down. Antonio searched for Rinaldi, the seat was empty, and he was nowhere to be found. The driver asked,*“What are you looking for?”.* Antonio stopped searching all of a sudden and stood transfixed. After some moments, he replied,* “Nothing. I think I found him.


In all of his years as a soldier Sergeant Myrnov had seen many dead bodies in his time. But never one such as the one he had the displeasure of staring at now. Before him his company commander, Captain Solinkov was absolutely sobbing next to a dead hooker on the bed while his XO, Lieutenant Artyom was beside him staring in disbelief. He had no idea what he was walking into, but sadly he was now here. After a moment Captain Solinkov rubbed his eyes “This isn’t how I wanted things to end, this isn’t how I wanted things to end at all”. As he spoke Lieutenant Artyom was already shutting the curtains and spoke to comfort his commander “no Sir we know you didn’t mean to its alright.. did anyone see you come in here?” Captain Solinkov just shook his head, unable to focus “no, no I don’t think so” he then stood up and began to pace the floor when Sergeant Myrnov spoke “I think we should inform the police, with your rank and connections Sir I’m sure everything would be fin-“ However Lieutenant Artyom cut him off before he could finish “That won’t be nesscary Sergeant, do me a favor and look down the hallway to make sure if anyone is there”. Sergeant Myrnov then sighed and creaked open the door to see the inside of an empty cheap hotel before discreetly closing the door and replying “the hallway is empty Sir”. Lieutenant Artyom then spoke as if he was the one wearing the double bars “now Sir we will take care of this whole thing for you.. But we’d better get our story straight. She died of a heart attack and there was nothing more that could be done, do you understand Sir?” Captain Solinkov nodded and began adjusting his uniform as he took a deep breath “Alright, she died of a heart attack and there was nothing more that could have been done.” Lieutenant Artyom then nodded “good.. now you go ahead Sir and get another room and we will sort this out.” The captain then nodded and took one last glance at the hooker before putting on his cap “it’s a damn shame, she was very nice you know. We spent the whole evening talking about my ex wife and our kids over some drinks.” Sergeant Myrnov then asked “What was her name Sir?” However Lieutenant Artyom answered for him “that doesn’t matter Sergeant” he said reminding him of his rank. The very dreadful reply reminded Captain Solinkov of their situation and he extended his hand to Lieutenant Artyom “you’re a good friend Pavel. Per usual I won’t forget this”. Lieutenant Artyom then said the same to the good captain. And with that Captain Solinkov gave a slight nod to Segerant Myrnov wishing him the same before he left. Lieutenant Artyom then got to work immediately, as if he had done this a hundred times before and rolled the frail woman’s body into a spare bedsheet from the closet and Sergeant Myrnov helped him carry her down the hallway and towards a cemetery when Lieutenant Artyom whispered “no, the river” They then went towards the local river and took every back alley they could to avoid crowds of drunken soldiers and annoyed townsfolk until they came to the river and Lieutenant Artyom was preparing to throw her in when Sergeant Myrnov stopped him. “Sir aren’t we going to say a few words for her?” Lieutenant Artyom answered him with a stare and they then quietly threw the poor girl into the river and began walking off back towards the hotel with an awkward silence coming over them. After walking a few blocks Sergeant Myrnov finally asked the question he had been thinking about for the past hour. “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking.. how have you remained your composure this entire time?” Lieutenant Artyom walked some time before he finally answered. “Because this isn’t the first time he’s done this”.


You had opened the door. He was standing there in an ugly black tuxedo with a boutonniere wilting as you speak. But it probably had been wilting for a while. You don’t think he did anything else in his life important. Except try to get you to like him.

“Too bad.” You reminded him. His smile lingered, but your eyes were rolling. “I don’t like you.” You were about to shut the door when he told you he wasn’t trying to like you—he was here because he knew you thought he was dead. You shrugged. You couldn’t care whether he told the rats in the gutters he was alive. You just weren’t interested in him. And that was that. You slammed the door and waited for him to leave. But you sensed—with growing irritation as your long, star-studded nails dug into your clenched palms—that he was still standing there, waiting for you to jump into his arms and accept him as your husband, fiancé or boyfriend even. You won’t. You wouldn’t. You don’t care. You wouldn’t care. You don’t know why you had cared. Why you wasted your time.

You opened the door and just muttered, “You can go now.” “But you thought I was dead.” Of course. His retort. You sighed, your heavily evergreen beaded tawny hand clutched firmly on the brass doorknob. You wanted to vanish, to leave with him knowing he didn’t belong to such a woman like you. But thinking he had been dead, you didn’t want—deep, deep down—to just leave him. You’re not someone who would just ditch people. You’re loving, kind. Friendly. Dutiful. You just… You pursed your lips and threw open the door. “What do you want?” Crossing arms, you held each elbow in a palm. “Why are you here?” He snorted and shook his head. “You know why.” The man scuffled a black, assumedly polished dress shoe on the finished asphalt and took a step. “You’re about to step in the wet cement.” You called. He snickered again but stopped with his lifted foot pointed downwards at the cement like a hunting dog’s paw when smelling the wind and visually tracking its master’s bird of prey. But this man was no dog. He was a weirdo. You even remember your senior picture day. Now, thirteen years later, he was even weirder. You didn’t need to know any more.

“Guy?” You dashed outside, your bare feet scratching the rough steps but then halting right in front of the wet cement pathway separating you two. He opened his mouth when he saw your bare feet, but you cut in.

“I know, I know. Just get some shoes on.” You turned your head away as he continued, saying he was going to say that you should be careful. “About what? Not stepping in the wet cement?” “No!” His persistence drew you back, almost begrudgingly. “I just don’t want you to get stuck.” You threw your head back and laughed. “Stuck?” You reached out and grabbed his cuffed wrists, him asking why you were suddenly kind to him even when you had killed those times you could’ve invited him in. “Well,” you pulled him across as he stepped dramatically over, “I’ll help you over this cement.” “And then invite me in?” He hooted, shuffling both feet around to face you. You just looked at them, mind blank. “No.” You shook your head and then bolted into the house. Crashing through the door and then opening a wooden cabinet, you grabbed a plastic container of pictures and then scurried back to the man. Suddenly, your hands shot out right in front of you and your brushed, low ponytail kissed the wet cement. Or rather it smacked a millimeter into it, and then you heard loud, instigative laughter from above. You instinctively tried using your hands to push yourself up to punch the guy but immediately felt stupid—they sunk in so your arms looked handless. Using your feet, you tried heaving yourself up. But try as you might, you couldn’t push hard enough to lift your evergreen hand bracelet out of this frightfully embarrassing situation. “Help—please?” You begged him.

Suddenly, you were in the air, and then your soles pounded the white concrete behind the cement. “We’ve got to move!” He grabbed the box of pictures you were going to show him because you found yourself wanting to reconnect over those long-lost years. You wanted to get back together—although you didn’t love him and never would even if you two were the last people on earth. “Come on!” He yelled, frantically beckoning you on. “What?” You inquired, a little oblivious. “What’s going on—” Then you heard a whining, grinding sound as a monstrosity of a bulldozer beeped and rolled extremely slowly towards you. You yelped and then scampered out of its way. It lowered and then dumped a huge mountain of slimily cement-grey cement into the ditch of a narrow pathway trenched in front of the sidewalk in the asphalt driveway. “Amanda!”

“I’m coming!” You rushed over to the man, his hand grabbing yours as you both hurried through the cracked, splitting door that creaked more than the bulldozer beeped. “I got the container!” He stated the obvious as he held it out to you amidst your eye-rolling sighs. You both were in the living room, standing in front of an ugly mustard-yellow leather couch and an ugly wooden side table. You looked at him like he wasn’t making any sense, and repositioned your arms so your palms held your elbows again.

“Why’d you bring me in here?” You questioned. He shrugged, throwing his palms up. “The quicksand—” You slowly closed your eyes. “The wet cement.” “Whatever!” His eyes bulged, but yours rolled to the ceiling. But of course, he ignored this gesture and continued. “We need to get out of here. You see that cement?” He pointed out the window, but you were already looking. “Yeah.” You turned back and half-closed your eyes. “W—“ “We need to escape!” You slouched on your hip. “What’s the problem?” “Mandy!” He was ballistic. Over nothing. Over wet cement. What was he even talking about? It was just a sunny day outside in the neighborhood with construction workers filling a ditch. It wasn’t like green slime rained from purple clouds. Or an orange orangutan dominated the empire, desiring to destroy the world all because of his selfish self. It was like it was just an average day with average people doing average things. It was just an average— A light crash swung you around. He was searching with a hand like he was trying to find his dropped glasses. “Here.” You hurried around the wooden table and relocated the half-empty plastic container onto the table. You shook and scraped off the majority of the wet cement and fell to the floor to slide some pictures from underneath this furniture. Once you had peeled the spider webs and dust bunnies away, you plopped them onto the white top and looked at the still searching man obviously not understanding that he only had to get two more pictures. You smirked and slid a toe around, pushing the pictures in circles and away from him so he had to scramble to get them. Snickering became complete hilarity until the man panicked, shooting his hand out, grasping them and swiping them up to slam them on to the table, his eyes bulging. Utterly confused, you stared at him, eyes wide. “What’s wrong?”

He bit his lip. “Amanda.” He sighed up at you, and you quickly snatched a look out the window. But nothing terrifying was going on. “At least not now.” As if he could read your mind. “I’m supposed to be dead. You thought I was dead. Now I’m alive, and they’re after me.” You scrunched your face together after eyeing him suspiciously. “Who is?” He jabbed at the outside. You tried to imagine what cement monsters or construction demons could be infesting the world outside this shabby place in order to get to your friend. After a dry explanation, he then clutched the container like a precious object of his and then headed for the basement. Barging through the door, he beckoned with an arm, and you scampered over, stomping downstairs until he hopped up on the rail. You found yourself doing the same. Sliding tempted you to scream “Wheeee!” and just ride along. You wanted to just relax from the stress of him randomly spazzing and panicking. He had started already whipping out pictures like a magician whips out a card in front of his guest. “Oh!” You gasped, pushing yourself off, leaving dry cement spots on the wooden rail. When the guy started elaborating that you couldn’t leave the handprints there, you almost fired back, “Are you—” But the guy shoved a picture in your hand. You looked over it, studying the wet cement into the asphalt driveway’s ditch. Then you bent your head forward and stepped back, covering your chest with a hand and gawking. “That’s…!” “Yep. It’s right outside.” You both locked eyes. “We’ll have to move. We can’t stay here.” He threw the picture back with the container’s others, and you ran away into the pitch darkness. Pestering him about how he obviously knew exactly where we were going, the sound of him jumping and then coming loudly down on metal flooring rudely interrupted him. It was telling you that you just had to follow.

Suddenly, a beacon of white light like that of a stage light for a solo performance appeared. You didn’t know where the light came from. “What are we doing?” You slowed down, gulping hard. “What are we doing here, exactly?” “Amanda.” He closed his eyes. You scrunched your face and then thought about it, realizing. “Let’s go.” You shook your head and walked calmly past him but noticed he stood stock-still. Stubborn as a donkey, maybe, absolutely refusing to move. A Duchenne smile formed.

“Ow! Ow!” He laughed, jerking away from your punching hand. You threw your hands in the air and said, “Well, you weren’t leaving.” “So you want me to leave. Besides, we’re safe here.” He flicked his eyebrows up and down, and you gave a rigid smile. He turned away, the stupid grin still wiggling between his round, should-be flushed cheeks. He wouldn’t quit. Maybe you should let your guard down again. Besides, he wasn’t a complete stranger. You both met back in early middle school, you dashing up to him and asking him where your homeroom class was. He just shrugged. Cute. But this time, he wasn’t. He was infuriating. But he dropped the container and repeated convincingly, “We’re safe here. The light is our safety zone—”

“I thought they were coming for us!” Your eyes bulging now, you grabbed his white, starched sleeve and tugged it. But he stayed rooted to the ground. You let yourself care about something else, calming down. “What is this?” You turned to him, but he didn’t look at you.

“Well,” he said seriously that bordered on funny although you didn’t want to admit it. “We’re here.” “What do you mean?” You probably sighed all your confusion and frustration and lividity away. Well, not away but enough for this moment. “Guy, I just…I’m sorry. I—” “Sorry?” He spun on a heel, turning right towards you. “You don’t need to be sorry. Just come over and slow dance with me.” “Slow dance?” That wasn’t in his nature. You stared at him and furrowed your brows. “Dance…?” You repeated slowly, wondering. “Yeah!” Before you knew it, you were right in front of him, his hands holding yours, his shoes tap dancing rhythmically to some beat. If there was a beat, which there wasn’t. “There’s no music.” You stated, but the man nodded his head softly.

“I got it.” He positioned your hand so you both stood before each other like a couple about to dance together. Then he started singing, softly, and then normally. You smiled a little, stepping along with his shoes, careful to shift them before they came down on your toes. But then you moved your body to the song, spinning around and twirling about. Being pulled and let go and then pulled again was actually fun. No one was there to watch you. No one mocked or pointed. Just you and him. You rested your head against his shoulder. You slow danced, you closing your eyes.

He slowed down and you almost grit your teeth—you didn’t want him to stop! You looked up at him and he asked what was wrong. “Don’t stop!” You pleaded and grinned when he just told you that he was getting to a slow part. He sang it for a while and then swung you around, singing louder and moving quicker. Twirling and spinning and then coming back against him, your smile grew big and proud, knowing you’d never get a moment like this again. So you lifted a foot and rotated yourself on the ball of your left foot as he took your raised right hand and pulled you to him. Stopping, you flashed a grateful smile and hugged him.

“Thanks.” You whispered. You slow-danced again, shoes moving simultaneously with bare feet. When he stopped swaying, you stepped back and freed your hands. “That was beautiful. Thank you!” The hands and bracelet were checked. “The cement. It’s gone.” “When you danced, all the cement stuff is gone—” “For now! But we’re here!” A growling, arrogant voice echoed a little off the walls, causing you two to flee the spotlight. While you ran, you asked your friend where you were going as you scampered around a wall and then dashed down a flight of stairs. Entering another hallway of black and blueness with very little light, you skidded to a halt. “No!” His eyes bulged. “We have to keep going. The reason why we were able to dance is because of the spotlight. It washed off the wet cement I pulled you out of.” “How far does this place go?” You looked ahead to a tunnel you entered —all black and blue. No lights except those lighting the corners of the front and end of this weird contraption. Were you going through a construction site? What was going on? Was this a maze of some sort?

You inquired, but no answer came. You just chugged on. Soon, you had run through the tunnel thing and were going through these— “Wait!” You slammed yourself to a stop, and he jammed his shoes into the ground, rolled forward and then spun around while getting back up and rounding around. “This is a trap. I sense it. We need to get out of here.” “Those cement wolves. They’ll get us.” You listened, but you didn’t hear them. You gestured in the opposite direction. “They’re not coming because we’re running. Because we’ve stopped, they’ll be onto us. But if we keep moving…” You surveyed the very dim place. Locating a piece of glass, you ran over and picked it up. Tilting it, you noticed something about the glint—lining it with other glints, you saw a bird. “Hey,” you told the guy as it flapped its wings and snapped its beak. “Come over here. I want to show you something.”

“Huh?” His dark silhouette came closer. “What’s going on?” “We’re coming!” roared the eerily intimidating voice, closer now.

“Let’s go.” The man grabbed your free hand, and you raced again through the tunnels and over rocks and under bridges. The whole time, you tilted and moved it, the bird that was made of refracted light clucking its beak and then suddenly flying out from the glass. You watched in awe as it escaped its own place of confinement.

“Guy. Let’s escape. Let’s… here.” You bent down, running your free hand under some stream water, a handful of pebbles coming along for the ride. Casting them randomly so the wolves would think you went in separate directions, you told the man to stop. He did.

Showing him the formerly glinting glass, you moved it so it reflected your faces. You looked at each other. You looked at the glass. You saw yourselves. “Trapped in the mirrored world.” He explained, scratching his head. He swallowed hard and wrung his hands. “We need to save ourselves.” “How are we going to do that?” Your glass self wrung her own hands and shook her head, asking the guy what they were going to do. The man just blinked at the ground and shrugged. Then he looked at you, but you cocked your head because you couldn’t see how he felt. Then he sniffed, and you could just see some tan against a hint of other tan. “Guy? You okay?” “I’m fine.” Some white whipped away from you, and you knew he had jerked his head away. You bent your head apologetically.

“Sorry.” You muttered. But you felt your hand lighten, and stood shoulder to shoulder with the guy as you studied the jagged mirror. Your mirror selves were panicking. You were almost crying, but he was trying to calm you down. But you wouldn’t listen. You started to sob. His face was contorted in anger but then he yanked you into a hug, admitting he was petrified as well. He also disclosed he didn’t know what to do or what you should do. What we should do.

“That’s how I feel.” The real guy’s voice quivered. You don’t know what to say. You just breathed, “Yeah.” And then hugged him, hoping this gesture would help. It did, but he shuffled away, stepping past you. You pursed your lips and stared at the blackness below you. Then you sniffled, too.


I have a plan. I’m going to build a house. A home. I will hold the key. I will have control. I’ll have a nice front door that we’ll put a wreath on every Christmas to remind people and ourselves that we’re jolly. Maybe I’ll even have one of those electric doorbells with a camera. Then I’ll know if anyone else, including you, is trying to get in. I’ll be in the kitchen cooking dinner and you’ll show up at the door and buzz and I’ll prepare to put the pasta sauce on a simmer so that I can walk to the front door without having the ever-burdensome worry of having something boil over or burn into flames whilst I’m not looking and unaware. Yes, that will be my biggest worry when I’m in this house. I’ll casually ask who it is, and you’ll say it’s you and I’ll look worried because you were not part of my future plan. I did not consider that you would be here. I thought you’d be dead by now. I’ll have a nice hallway, of course. Just like the one I run down now, only with higher ceilings and more room to breathe. I haven’t decided if it will have family pictures along it or not – I won’t want to rub my family’s happiness in our guest's faces – it could seem a little gauche. I won’t have stairs – too many risks. I don’t have to explain it to you. Or do I? Is your brain so damaged from falling down them all the time that you can’t remember you fell down them? Well, not necessarily fell – I’m just sticking with the story you told the police. The police won’t ever come to this house. I’ll probably forget what they even look like. I’ll forget the clomp clomp clomp of their fists on the un-wreathed door. I’ll forget how it felt for my heart to jump up and lodge itself in my throat. I’ll forget the subsequent clomp… clomp… clomp… of his enraged fist-pounding your belly as your intestines wince – police make him angrier than ever. I think it’s because he’s scared of losing us? The only reason the police might tap tap tap at my big, wreathed door that I could possibly think of would be for a minor noise complaint by a grumpy old neighbour. The noise complaint wouldn’t be the same as the ones we receive now – no, if I ever got a noise complaint in this house it would be because I was throwing a little soirée in the garden, not throwing my wife against a wall. Oh god! I haven’t told you about the garden yet. It’ll have enough room for outdoor seating due to the simple fact that I’ll always be having guests over because I have nothing to hide. There’ll be white roses in the back of the garden of course, growing through the mud until the mud just disappears altogether. At the front of the garden, near the chairs and table, we’ll have daffodils. Those two flowers complement each other in a beautifully non-aggressive manner. Moreover, the soirée and the noise complaint from the grumpy neighbour will be the most ‘terrible thing’ I talk about for weeks, until I go to the bakery and my favourite sourdough is sold out, or one of the kids spills a snack in the car. Oh, what a chaotically blessed life I’ll have – I’ll talk about this supposed chaos at the P&C meeting the following week and receive validating empathetic nods and chuckles. It’ll feel so good to have my experience validated, so I’ll be able to project a warm smile, ignoring the cold iron rod that’s been lodged in my soul since birth. I’ll have a white kitchen with an island. Are you jealous I’m choosing white without hesitation? I’ll have a cleaning supplies closet off of the kitchen. I’ll keep bleach in there, but mine won’t be for cleaning my own blood that inconveniently spurted out of my mouth after my husband sadly smashed my face into the sink. Mine will be to clean silly little messes that my kids make. I won’t get angry when they make messes either, just bewildered. I’ll say “Oh no! Not pasta bolognese sauce on the white rug!” and then I’ll rush to the closet and get my supplies. Instead of crying as I wipe, I’ll laugh at how ridiculous I’m being – pasta sauce on the white rug is really no big deal! By the end of the night, we’ll be sitting in the living room that I’ve designed with a fireplace, all warm and cosy watching a movie on the TV that I’ve designed to have mounted to the wall. It’s not that I need it mounted on the wall – it will be mounted due to stylistic preferences, not because I’m afraid someone’s going to pick it up and throw it at me. And the fireplace will be turned on whenever it is cold. It will be a comfort, not a weapon. I think I’ll have a husband in the house too… maybe… we’ll see. If I do, I’ll sit next to him on the yellow and blue checked sofa and tell him what an ordeal the pasta sauce was - having to find the perfect pork and veal mince ratio, buying the organic tomatoes from the farmers market, only to have it spill on the white rug! He’ll listen and he’ll laugh and he won’t get angry. He’ll go in for a kiss and I’ll purse my lips and wince quietly even though I know he won’t hurt me. We’ll have a study off of the hallway too – a lot of successful families have those. But this one won’t have a lock like ours does. I did think about making it soundproof – it is quite a tiresome task to get my brain to focus on my homework when your howls and bellows permeate so pointedly through those thin walls. But then I remember that I’ll probably never need the soundproofing due to something like that again – oh gosh I’m a ditz sometimes! I’ll use the money I’ve saved on soundproofing to buy a big dining table that the kids can do homework on. I’ll always know what time they’ll be home, because they’ll always want to come home – to this home specifically, specially curated for them. I wonder why you haven’t designed a house for me like this yet. Why don’t you take me away? I’ll help you build it. You love this old house we live in too much, don’t you? It’s too familiar to you now. Do you even realise it’s haunted? Do you? Do you realise? Do you care? Do you care? Can you hear me? ….You must be upstairs. I’m sure you’ll pummel down soon. I guess I’ll have a spare room in the new house though. It will sit empty for a while, waiting for you to change your mind. You’ll call one day after I’ve put the kids to bed and I’ll answer and I’ll ask who it is and you’ll say it’s you and you’ll admit you’re in trouble and I’ll open my double garage and pull my car out to come and get you, and then we’ll pull back into the garage and close the door, and then we’ll be safe because we can watch the outside world through the electric doorbell with the camera. We will be safe in my dream home because I will hold the key. Not you, me. But for now, I’ll lock my door with an old broom that dad broke in half. I’ll lodge it under the handle and I’ll go to sleep with a pillow over my head so I can’t hear your curdling screams bubble over. I used to not lock the door in case you came to get me from my room in the middle of the night and take us away to someplace safe. But you will not get me out. I will get myself out and build us a new life. Don’t worry, I have a plan.


Kate woke up on a bed that was not her own. Her soft bed was gone, replaced by a hard slab of fabric, sitting gently on a sturdy metal frame. She swiftly opened her eyes and was quickie sitting up. As if on queue with her awakening, bright lights shot on, bathing the room is clean white light. Once her eyes adjusted, Kate looked around and was able to get a better understanding of the room she found herself in. The room was small, the walls and floors were made of solid panels, each seemed to be the exact same size and shape, all but one was a stark white. Across the room from the bed was a single black panel at the center of the wall. Kate’s eyes were still adjusting to the light as she stood herself up from the bed. She looked down and noticed her normal clothes were gone, replaced with a simple gray jumpsuit. “Hello?!” She shouted, her brain was running on overdrive trying to figure out where she was and how she got here. A monotone robotic male voice echoed across the room. “Subject is awake. Please confirm.” The voice seemed to be without a source, as if there were a thousand invisible speakers all echoing in perfect unison. Kate looked around, the adrenaline from being woken up was quickly fading as the fear of what was going on began to take hold. “Wha.. What is going on? Who are you? Where am I?” She stuttered through her words, unsure which question she really wanted answered, worried the answer might be alot worse than whatever her mind might think of. The voice returned. “Confirmation accepted.” The voice paused. An eternity of silence passed in a heartbeat. “Make progress, or termination will be permanent.” Kate yelled out, “What does that mean?” The voice was annoyingly silent, that seemed to be all the answers she was going to get. Kate looked around, and noticed the black panel had changed. At the top, a timer had appeared and was counting down. 3 minutes were left. Underneath, there was a message; ***What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs at night?*** Kate stared at the board confused as to why she was being asked a simple brain teaser. She thanked herself that she knew the answer, and unable to think of another way to answer, Kate spoke out the solution to the riddle. “The answer is man.” The timer stopped, and the message disappeared. A moment later, the loud voice returned. “Progress has been made.” Kate was unsure of what exactly *progress* meant, but making it seemed like a good thing, as the timer began to tick upwards until it hit 13 minutes, before it began to count down again. Then, another message appeared. ***LOCATE WHERE THE PATTERN REPEATS*** Kate looked at the message, then around the room for any sort of pattern she could find. The walls and ceiling remained unchanged, however when she looked down she noticed the floor had changed. It was no longer the same solid white, now a variety of black shapes scattered across the floor. She scanned the room, but couldn’t find any sight of a pattern. She spoke to herself “Okay, ‘Locate where the pattern repeats.’ Just gotta find it.’ How hard could it be?” Kate wasn’t sure if it was the nerves or the riddle, but she was just thankful that she had something else to focus her mind on. She quickly began to scan the ground, looking for any sign of a pattern, and where it might repeat. The clock had ticked down to 2 minutes, and Kate was still scanning the floor, but she couldn't find any sign of a pattern. Her mind was racing, and she began to panic. “There is no pattern! This doesn't make sense!” She yelled out, a small part of her brain was desperately hoping that maybe she had found the answer, but the voice was silent. Kate stared at the message, and suddenly she noticed something odd about the letters. She ran over, but before she could analyze them, she remembered the clock, and realized it had 5 seconds left. Kate froze, she tried to look at the letters but the pressure of the timer was too much, she couldn’t focus enough to find a pattern. The final seconds ticked away. The clock hit zero and the message disappeared. The ominous voice returned. “Time has expired, commencing termination.” The hard white light of the room was quickly replaced with a dim red. Smoke began to seep out from the floor. The room was quickly flooded with toxic gas. Kate tried to hold her breath, but eventually her body betrayed her, she took a deep breath in, she felt her body quickly begin to fail, until she completely collapsed. There was a flash of white, then suddenly Kate was once again standing in the center of the room. She took a deep breath, confused as to what just happened to her. “Make progress, or termination will be permanent.” Kate quickly realized she was somehow right back where she started. She looked at the clock, and saw it begin to count down from 5 minutes, with the same message as before. ***What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs at night?*** “Okay, so as long as I make progress, I somehow end up back where I started.” Kate said to herself. She didn’t understand the how or the why, but at least there were rules she could follow. “The answer is man” This time the voice did not return, the message simply disappeared, and the clock began to tick upwards. This time settling at 14 minutes. “And it would seem that time gets added every time I solve a puzzle. Got it.” Kate was beginning to feel slightly more confident, as the next riddle appeared. ***LOCATE WHERE THE PATTERN REPEATS*** This time Kate ignored the shapes on the ground, and went right to the letters. At the bottom of each of the letters, there were small shapes. Under the L was a square, the O had a circle, the C had a triangle. Square, circle, triangle. This pattern repeated under each letter across the whole riddle. She made a point to note every spot where the pattern repeated itself, and nervously spoke out her answer. “The pattern repeats every 3 letters.” The message vanished, the clock stopped, then the voice returned. “Progress has been made.” 10 minutes were added to the clock. This was how it continued, puzzles and riddles continued, sometimes entire rooms would open up, but each one had the same black panel, with a clock and riddle. If Kate could solve the puzzle, she could move on, and every time she solved a new one, the robotic voice indicated progress had been made. The once ominous voice began to take on a more calming presence to Kate, as each time it echoed, she knew she was now safe to fail a puzzle. Each failure led to a death of some type, but each time Kate woke up back at the start.