"The devil waits for us. He lives in our pride, our hate, our jealousy, and tempts us. He pulls us in with lies and false promises, turns us away from our god and our fellow man, and then we are lost." Raphe stands at the pulpit, staring down at the blank, sagging face of his followers. They stare back with bovine eyes, feeling none of the rapture he's used to. God lives everywhere, but rural Missouri and middle England's Wingston-on-the-Brook are different down to their very souls. "We must resist the dark temptations that Satan brings before us. Fight him in our hearts, in our minds, in our souls, and prevail over the armies of the serpent king." He aches for the cries of hallelujah that ring absent. "Let us pray." His pleas to the lord fall on distracted ears and are followed by a tape cassette recording of the dying groans of an organ. His flock gather together in clumps as they leave, more interest in the chatter and babble and, 'Oh, what a nice hat,' then a sermon has brought out yet. He closes his bible with care and goes to join them, press the flesh and bring them to god with a smile if nothing else will work, but his way is blocked. Mrs Withers, 80 years old and widowed for at least 20 of them, is leaning on her walking stick at the foot of the steps. She's dressed like the Queen in a baby blue dress and matching sun hat but her eyes are sharp, and she waits for him to reach her before talking. "Your sermon." She tilts her head, eyes slit. "It was definitely something new." This woman could be a perfect sample of the rot that has been allowed to set in without the firm hand of a true man of god. Their pro-forma prayers and dower hymns flowing through the town like blood. "Should bringing passion for the lord to this house of god be new? It should ring from the foundations. It's what our world should be built on." The old lady stares into his eyes with an unblinking gaze before answering. "I understand that you were not expecting to find yourself here. And we were not expecting you. Brimstone may have worked for your old congregation until, well..." He grinds his teeth and she just raises an eyebrow. "...But we're of a different sort here. Time weighs heavy. We've found our own way to do things. Our own path. We've learned that the strong resolve of outsiders isn't always so kind. Or necessary." "God may ask much of us, but never more than we can bare." "Tell that to Seila." The name sounds like it should ring a bell, but his confusion must show on his face because her own softens. "Perhaps time is all that we need. And a little enlightenment, maybe?" Her smile is crooked. "It's a good time of year to go looking. Take a walk in the woods to clear your mind?" Raphe feels like she's telling a joke he's not in on, but he nods anyway. Doesn't hurt to humour the old witch. She bids him farewell and sets off after the gaggle of similar women who are making their way out of the door, leaving him alone. - Sunday may be the main focus of his job, but it's not the majority. The rest of the week is made up of planning, preparing, and maintaining, including visits to the infirm and frail among his congregation. When he first visited the doll like Miss Coleman and towering Miss Moore, two spinsters in their 60s who live in a cottage like house down it's own country lane, he thought they were sisters. They twittered when he asked. Just friends who had decided to see out their golden years with someone else for company. Now they serve him tea in tiny cups and homemade cookies, and seem determined to spend their time talking about nieces, nephews and local gossip rather than the church. He's sure they'd be useful bringing in the community now that Easter is over. He just needs them to get with the program. He puts a tiny meringue back on delicate china. "If you'll excuse me, ladies, could I use your bathroom?" He needs a break from their chatter before he says something he'll regret. They point him to the stairs and he makes his escape, having to lean against the railing as he squeezes past the stair lift. The upstairs hallway is decorated with floral wallpaper and paint by numbers paintings, dark brown carpet that might be as old as he is, and three identical looking doors. The first is a bedroom with all the lace he was expecting. A collection of china dolls stare out glassy eyed from the shelves. In the second he expects to find another bed, so he's surprised when he opens the door to what seems to be a workroom. Paper flowers and blood red ribbons fill a table that takes up all one wall, and a tailors dummy stands in the centre wearing a simple white shift dress. White candles are scattered around the room, and he spots a blanket with what looks like a moon and stars embroidered on it. "It's the door at the end of the hall, dearie." His skin chills at the surprise but when he turns around she's wearing the same smile she had serving drinks. "I didn't hear about anyone getting married," he says, jerking his head into the room. "Oh, no dear. Not married. We just..." A wistful look fills her eyes. "It's for a party. Something we've been planning for the whole year. Just a bit of fun, you understand." And what can he say to that? He empties his bladder with thoughts jumbling together in his head. When he comes back down the comfortable mood is broken. The two ladies stand awkwardly while he puts on his coat to keep out the cold April air, and look relieved when he finally takes each ones hand and heads for the door. He's almost there when the doorbell rings, and he can't tell what he sees in their faces when he turns back for a moment, but it makes sense for him to open it. The woman standing in the tiny open porch is a shock for him, if only because of her beauty. She's young, maybe 16, and her face fills with wide eyed surprise when she's confronted with a stranger. "Tanith!" The taller woman sweeps past him to cradle the girls face, and Raphe is struck by her smile. "Oh, my dear, come in. The reverend was just leaving, and we've got everything ready. You'll look radiant. How I envy the young." Raphe finds himself quickly bundled out onto the porch, the door closed in his face. - He slips into bed that night, ready for the peaceful sleep of the righteous, but tosses and turns under his covers when it doesn't come. His mind slips back to Tanith, her innocent smile and strange name. He'd looked up it's meaning that evening. Serpent lady. After a Phoenician goddess. He wonders how a couple in this part of the world came to choose that for their child. When he looks up at the alarm clock and sees it's already passed midnight he sighs to himself. This isn't working. He need something to cool his nerves, and a quick cup of hot coco sounds like just the ticket. The floor is cold under his naked feet as he trots back round towards the bedroom door. There's a light outside. Not in his street, not that close, but the church and small house it comes with are sitting on the highest point for miles looking out over the town. He would put it down to a late night dog walker, or someone coming back from meeting with someone they shouldn't, but the light is still. He squints his eyes to try and see more, and thinks he makes out the general form. By now he can make out the geography even in the darkness of the full moon as well. Someone is standing on the bridge over the sluggish river that runs through town. Not doing anything else, just looking, like a ghost mourning a lost love out at sea. The light is moving slightly now, bobbing up and down as the figure moves strangely, and it takes him a moment to figure out what is happening. They're climbing over the railing. He only hesitates for a second. He's shoving on yesterday's clothes before he's really thought about it, forcing his feet into the wrong shoes before he thinks to switch them and try again. The bridge isn't tall, not high enough to be fatal, but that can be worse. He sees the figure in his minds eye, falling through the glassy surface of the water and breaking bones on the hard bottom, or getting sucked out into the mud and held their as their oxygen runs out. The figure is still visible when he leaves the front door hanging open and pelts down the sloping road. His feet slap against the asphalt and his lungs burn, but if he can just get there in time... He's close enough to hear the splash and puts on a final burst of speed, colliding with the metal railing and letting his body fold over it to peer down into the cold depths. He can's see anything. There's no one on the surface and it's too dark to see the bottom. He heads for the embankment and scrambles down till his feet are wet. There's no one there. He searches downriver with his eyes, then splashes to the other side of the bridge for a look, but he's alone here, standing in frigid water in his pyjamas. The climb up out of the river is undignified, and he scrapes his hands on the way, but his mind is turning over too fast for any of it to register. As he trudges back to his home he knows he has to uncover the truth - The buzzing of his alarm wakes him early, so early, and after the drama of last night it isn't surprising that his eyes drift closed and stay that way for several hours. When he wakes again it's to the sound of music. He rubs his sandpaper face and drags himself back to that same window. There's a crowd this time, gathering in the main grass square. Raphe has had damn near enough of this. He gets dressed quickly, slipping on a thin coat over his priestly garb. The change of seasons is running slow and winter still clings to the corners of the day. Something makes the holy man keep himself hidden from the revellers. He watches from consecrated ground as they gather together, garlands of flowers in their hair and paper mache masks of demented creatures. They swirl like a whirlpool till an older man dressed in flowing robes stands on the plinth of a statue and calls there attention. "Ladies! Gentlemen! Friends!" He waits for the crowd to quell. "On this May Day, just like on so many before it, we return to the forest. For though it is reduced, though the new encroaches on the old, we hold our ways sacred." He's joined on his makeshift podium by a young woman in a white dress. "Today, we give back. Give the young back to the ancient. Let us follow our May Queen." It's Tanith. Tanith looking like a bride with bare feet and flowers in flowing golden hair, holding aloft a standard and leading the crowd into the trees. Her followers are a mix of gruesome creatures, one seems to be wearing a horse skull, and innocent looking little children, angels in their own white dresses.

He's seen this movie before. Read about it happening in real life, but never thought he'd have to witness such depravity. He keeps himself unseen as he runs through the trees, far enough away to stay safe but close enough that he can still track their progress. Brambles scratch at his skin and roots reach up to trip him, but he forces his way through. They come to a clearing. It's crowded and they press in, moving through each other like murmuring birds. They dance and sing, words in some old tongue he doesn't quite understand. He circles them in his own way and that's when he sees the fire. It's been burning for a while, flames licking up the sides of what looks like a coffin made of cinder blocks. Just the right size for a person. He has to stop this. Has to bring god back to this terrible heathen place. The fire has been left to burn for itself and he heads closer. They've used local wood, and it crackles and pops with the last moisture. They've even left out the axe. He feels the weight of it in his hands and he knows what he has to do. He grips it, wringing the neck, steps forward to look into the flames, and pretends the smoke is to blame for the tears running down his face. But there's something down there. Something in the pit. A red skinned form laying in the hole. He only makes out the hooves and snout of the pig for a second before he feels a hand on his shoulder. He swings round on instinct. He feels the axe bury in soft flesh, sees innocent eyes flash pain, and then she's falling. Tanith stares up at him, white dress turning red as her blood blooms over it, and he knows he is lost.


Edward stands at the edge of the yellow ‘Do Not Cross’ line listening to the rattling metallic screech echoing from the tunnel. Shimming back, he glances down the dark tracks watching the lights come closer until the train roars passed and shrieks to a halt. Two tones sound off the subterranean walls followed by an electronic voice. “Doors opening.” Like the ocean tide, the passengers flow in and out of the train car. Edward steps through the sliding doors and the voice chimes once more. “Doors closing.” Almost immediately the train lurches forward. Ed sighs harshly after catching himself on a rubber handhold that hangs from the ceiling. He looks around the car thinking how funny it is that he recognizes the strangers on his morning commute. He nods to the familiar faces he makes eye contact with and notes the others who are caught up in their morning routines and sleepy stupors. Like the middle-aged gentleman juggling a thermos, a newspaper, and his cell phone. Or the large woman with thinning brown hair and fading dye who chews her breakfast louder than the train runs. Edward glances out of the window at the dark tunnel thinking of the other sleepy faces around him. The occasional light bulb wooshes past distracting him from both the familiar and unfamiliar. He reminds himself beneath his breath. “Two stops ‘til daylight.” The train’s professional voice sounds off once more cutting through the uncomfortable morning silence. “Approaching Clarke and Division. Next stop: North and Clybourne.” A Sikh man Edward recognizes bounces onto the train offering all who meet his gaze with bright smile. After another exchange of passengers, the train surges forward once more. Edward closes his eyes after returning the greeting and he reminds himself. “One stop ‘til daylight.” Edward forces a low airy laugh finding humor in a wandering thought about his morning ritual. It reminds him of turning on the light in a dark room. He closes his eyes to prepare the onslaught of sudden illumination. The light shines through his closed lids and his pupils adjust. Yet it feels silly to do now. He has already walked through the morning light to get to the train in the first place. Not to mention, the trains own fluorescent bulbs. What makes the sun’s light different? Is it the magnification off the city windows? Ed plays with different reasons but none of them feel right. He shrugs his thoughts away and continues to observe his many foreign acquaintances. He wonders how the pink haired woman with the side cut and the dark lipstick reads her novel while squeezed between the loud chewer and a smartly dressed but dazed looking businessman. The train screeches to a stop and the voices informs. “This is North and Clybourne. Exit through the doors on the right. Fullerton is next.” The doors thud open and the car becomes emptier. The businessman rushes out pushing past a homeless man as he enters. The vagrant looks at Edward and smiles. Some of his teeth are missing but his eyes are bright. “Morning, Eddy boy.” Ed returns a smile. “Good morning, Hughie.” “Doors closing.” The train launches again. “Fullerton is next. Transfer to the purple and brown lines at Fullerton.” Hugh points to his eyes. “Daylight’s a comin’. Better close the eyes before the sun burns ‘em out.” He laughs turns and finds his way to the back of the train car giving Edward a dismissive wave. Edward smiles at the delightful Hugh. He closes his eyes still wondering whether he shields them from the sudden shift in light or if it is a game he subconsciously plays with himself like children lifting their feet off the floor of the car as they’re driven by a cemetery. Listening to the screeching railway, he sways with the train car lightly correcting himself with the plastic handhold hanging from the ceiling. The sun’s warmth is sudden and even through his closed eyes he winces. There is both pleasure and discomfort. The sound of the train no longer echoes off the tunnel walls. It makes Edward feel as though the train is floating away like objects ejected from an air lock in space movies. The train slows and the momentum makes him sway forward. The train’s automated voice calls out again. “This is Fullerton. Switch to the Brown and Purple lines at Fullerton.” Edward sighs and the doors crank open. He can feel the bodies shift in and out like the air in his lungs. The sunlight shines through the skin and blood making a fine crimson beneath his eyelids. The train calls out to the passengers. “Doors closing. Next stop Belmont. Switch to Brown and Purple Lines at Belmont.” The doors close rapidly and the train lurches forward. Finally, Edward’s eyes flutter open as his body becomes accustomed to the train’s speed. He blinks at the rising glass buildings reflecting the sun’s light. He looks over the familiar faces of his commute noting that his vagrant acquaintance is gone. There is one new face with curly black hair and light bronze skin. She is looking at her phone with a bright smile. Her eyes are a green-hazel color trimmed with golden flakes. She is radiant. She is a flashbang grenade that steals away Edward’s sight and sucks the oxygen from his chest. Everything feels like that picture perfect movie moment. Guy sees girl. Time slows down. Love at first sight. Edward watches her for a moment. Wondering if it is appropriate to move over and talk to her. He decides against it. Who would want someone hitting on them at 7:23 in the morning? He averts his gaze outside and is taken aback by the sight. Three birds, a robin and two finches, are frozen in mid flight next to the window. The train is no longer moving. The trees outside are frozen mid wind induced sway. The vehicles and pedestrians along the streets and sidewalks all paused in their movements. Edward looks at all the passengers in the train car. The middle-aged man’s thermos is falling from his hands the liquid spilling over the side while his phone seems like its levitating awayt. The loud woman still holding the phone to her face on speaker phone mouth paralyzed in an exaggerated position mid conversation. He cringes at the sight of the half-chewed food in the other woman’s half open mouth. Edward swallows his disbelief, and he waves his hand in front of the nearest person. There is no reaction. “No. This can’t be happening. What is even happening?” Edward regurgitates the skepticism and it splashes over him in a panic. He rushes over to the man whose thermos spills hot coffee. He grabs the thermos and turns it over. Nothing falls out. He lets go of the container. It does not fall. Edward screams at the man’s face. There is no reaction. He pinches his arm hoping the pain might wake up from this strange dream. His fingernails slice his skin, and he remains awake. “I’m not asleep.” Shocked tears fall from his wide eyes. He lets the fear take him like the high tide waiting for himself to breathe in the calm. When the fear subsides like the low tide, he looks at her. How the sunlight is fixed on her motionless frame. Her brilliant beaming is comforting and intoxicating. It makes him feel safe. Edward blinks hard as if it will reset his malfunctioning eyes and brain. Perhaps he has fallen asleep, or he is stuck in a bout of sleep paralysis on the train. Yes! He thinks to himself. That must be it! He leans back in the seat growing lightheaded. The edge of his vision becomes static tunneling into the center. Edward breathes deep trying to get his breathing under control. Trying to get his perspective of the situation under control. He opens his eyes and his gaze immediately falls on her. “Is it you?” He whispers to himself taking in her hair like fire in the morning light. He shakes his head. “No. That doesn’t make sense.” Edward looks away only for a moment, and then glances back noticing even from nearly ten feet away the freckles along the bridge of her nose. He scans the train car taking in the other subjects frozen in time. Edward stands walking over to the coffee floating almost as if it were liquid floating in the vacuum of space. He dabs his finger and licks it. A thought crosses his mind, and he grabs his phone from his pocket. He clicks the lock button, and the screen remains dark. He sighs and looks at his darkened reflection. The man stuck in time gently tosses the phone upward expecting it to stay suspended like the coffee. It falls to the floor shattering the screen. He sighs again. “How long?” He wonders out loud. “How long will it be this way?” \*\* Ed’s stomach growls painfully. He scratches his long and greyed beard and sniffs the grime that burrows beneath his fingernails. His nose scrunches and he lifts the fingers in question to his eyes. “Time doesn’t exist. This is proof. It did once before, but now, like the dinosaurs, it does not. This train is the meteor that broke time.” Edwards sunken bloodshot eyes flick toward the radiant woman. She looks like a religious statue carved from the most precious material. “Or maybe it is you? Maybe this is wrong! Maybe time is not broken! Perhaps this is limbo, or an afterlife and this is my punishment.” His eyes go to the birds suspended outside of the train window. He digs the dirt from his fingernails using the corner of a debit card from his wallet. His bones poke through his skin as he hunches over to get a look at his toenails. His clothes drape over him as if they are on a mannequin to small for their display. “Maybe this train went off the rails and this is the moment before I died. I am stuck here. Yes. Yes! I did not believe in any God or religion. The universe doesn’t know what to do with me. So, I am here! Suspended in time! Losing youth and mind! Yes! Yes!” Edward tosses the card aside and stands up. He grabs the rubber handholds in front of the coffee man. He hangs bringing his legs up and lowering his face level with the man and his spilled drink. “What do you think, Stefan?” He waits a minute and begins to nod his head. “Yes. I understand. We don’t speak enough for you to want to answer. I think I know what you would say though. You would agree with me. Yes. Yes you would, Stefan.” Edward sees the man’s phone in his pocket. He releases the handles and falls onto his knees. He inches forward and slips his fingers in grabbing the phone. His stomach drops at the sight of his reflection. His skin is wrinkled and covered in liver spots. His eyes are desperate beads in sunken sockets. His hair is long greasy and thin, and his beard is unruly and down to his belly button. “I am my own demon.” Edward says to his greyed reflection. He notices his decaying teeth and infected gums. “My own punishing angel.” He looks to her. “I feel myself slipping. I’ve felt it for so long now. I don’t know how long I’ve been this way. Have I *always* been this way? How long has it been since my body has decayed. You are my constant, yet I do not know your name!” He lets the phone slip through his fingers as he stands. He gestures to the people around him. “I’ve fished into their pockets and learned what I could about them. My neighbors here frozen in this pocket of time. I’ve grown to love them. They are my friends and they’ve brought me solace in this time.” Edward grabs two metal poles four feet away from the radiant woman. “I’ve refrained from learning about you. Stopped myself. I don’t want to disrespect you. I don’t want to invade your privacy.” His lips curl into a frustrated sneer. “We could become friends! Like Stefan and I! He shares his coffee with me! Imagine what we could share! Imagine the conversations! I want to know your name! I want to know who you are!” Spittle sprays from his mouth. He breathes rapidly and steps forward hesitating as his hand reaches for the purse hanging from her arm. He reaches in and feels until he grabs something that feels like a wallet. There is a sense of relief as he pulls it out. The train rattles and screeches as it brakes pulling into the next station. The sudden shift in momentum pulls Edward down sending him tumbling backward. He lands on his back and matches the shocked stares at the passengers above him. They stare and plug their noses. He grasps the wallet holding it up in his hand. The radiant woman steps forward and snatches it back. “What the hell is wrong with you!” She shrieks. Edward’s ears ring and his face is hot from embarrassment. The other passengers begin to move between him and her. Their mouths move but he cannot hear. They point to the opening doors. He scrambles and runs out. The sudden sensation of noise and movement is too much for him to comprehend, an overload of his dulled senses from his pause in time. He pushes through the people waiting to get on the train. He falls onto the bench grasping his chest and howling in physical and emotional pain while watching the train refill. The doors close and the train lurches forward. He looks up finding the radiant woman in the window. She matches his look and gives him wry smile. Struck with fear, Edward struggles to stand. He limps down the stairs trying to run. He pushes with all his bodyweight through the turnstile and rounds the corner to a narrow alley riddled with potholes. He leans on a brick walls hidden by a dumpster. He looks down at a puddle and stares at the man who he became while lost in time. A brief quizzical look from his reflection back asks if this is who he was all along. Edward’s grasp on reality becomes as difficult as his breathing. His chest pulsates with pain. He closes his eyes, and he thinks of the radiant woman. Ed smiles weakly feeling the warmth and comfort. His voice is hoarse. “She’s warmer than the sun.” And his final breath croaks outward as if squeezed from a rusted tin can. ***** Thanks for the read everybody! Would love to hear some feedback. You will also be able to find this story and some more over on my Royal Road platform.


"Here it comes," Virgil whispered under his breath, turning away from the approaching policeman. Joanie shoved hands in pockets and replied, also in a whisper, "Be cool." Then, to the Nora, "Keep digging." "Hello," the policeman said, talking loud as he was still twenty yards away, moving with purposeful strides across the green grass of Tranquility Park. "I'll have to ask you to stop that digging." Virgil, in a navy blue suit, took a breath and squared his shoulders towards the Policeman. He attempted a smile and stuck out his hand. "Hello officer. What seems to be the problem?" Behind him Joanie and Nora, both wearing work clothes - jeans, boots, reflective safety vests over cotton and hard hats - paused to watch. They were standing around a plaque set into the ground that read: "*City of Houston Time Capsule. Buried September 2nd, 1960. Not to be opened until September 2nd, 2015.*" "Can I see your work permit?" the cop asked, ignoring Virgil's hand. Virgil looked around, confused and stammered, "...permit...? Why... what...?" "Yeah, yeah," Joanie said. "I got it over here." She retrieved a metal clipboard, opened it, and flipped through a stack of paper. "I can call the Mayor's office?" Virgil offered. "No, no," Joanie replied. "I'm sure I have a copy." "So do I dig or what?" Nora said. "No," the cop said. "Yes," Joanie said at the same time. Nora speared the blade of the shovel in the ground and leaned on the handle. A big girl, crowding six feet tall and past the two century mark, her top-weight pushed it down a good six inches. She winked at the cop. "I'm listening to the man with the gun." For all her heft, Nora had a very pretty face. Long, wavy curls of hair escaped from her hardhat and she made a show of tucking them back in. "Hell, even if he didn't have the gun," she continued, "he's too cute to argue with." The cop - a youthful black who enjoyed visiting the gym, radiated confidence, and kept his appearance sharp and professional - did a double take. When she caught his eye, Nora winked again and there it was - that moment a man, confronted with such an unlikely specimen, thought, *what if...?* "Here," Joanie snapped up a piece of paper. "Found it." She handed it to Virgil who passed it to the cop. The cop looked at its face. It appeared official enough, with stamps and signatures, but he didn't know enough about it to say one way or the other. "I'll have to call this in," he decided. "For Christsake," Joanie bitched. "Hey now," Nora beamed. "Overtime!" "Look," Virgil said, "Just call the Mayor's office. You know Jack Vance, right? Ask for him." "All I know is this thing isn't supposed to be dug up until tomorrow," the cop said. "There's supposed to be press; even a van. Buses of kids and all that. You guys are making a mistake." Virgil nodded his head and chuckled, "Yes, you're right, officer....?" "Martin." "Officer Martin. See, the thing is, well.... Did you hear what happened when they opened the League City time capsule two years ago? No? It was somewhat of a disaster. Fifty years ago they didn't appreciate what the groundwater around here could do to even the sturdiest box made during that time. Anyway it was a stinking mess. The only things that survived were bits and pieces of old junk that couldn't be corroded. They pulled something out that looked - I swear to God - just like a wooden dildo. Might have been part of something else when it had been buried, but when they slapped it in the Mayor's hand.... Well, most people snickered, but quite a few were very offended. All those kids asking '*what's that, mommy?*'. "Oh! And there was the frog, too. Well, the frog skeleton, dressed in an adorable tuxedo - complete with a top-hat and cane, hermetically sealed in a bag with the sheet music to *Ragtime Gal*\-" "-Can we get on with this?" Joanie interrupted. "No way this project is authorized for golden time." Virgil touched Officer Martin's arm, gently turning him away. "Our Mayor does not want that happening here. So this is somewhat of a preemptive strike. If we find everything in order, the capsule goes back and we cover it up just like it was. Bada bing. If, however, it's a big smelly puddle of slop? Well, I've got some clean old junk in my car. You understand how this works? Have to make hizhonor look good for the cameras." Officer Martin's eyes went from the unctuous Virgil, to the exasperated Joanie, landing on the bemused Nora. "Okay," he said. "Carry on." "Thank you Officer," Virgil said, once again attempting to smile. "Hey Officer Martin," Nora called out. "You want to help dig? I'll bet those big arms of yours could make short work of this hole." Officer Martin fought back a grin. "Tell you what, lady. I'll swing by here after I get off work and see if still need help with your hole." Nora barked out a laugh loud enough to be heard in Sugar Land. "When's your shift end?" "Eight o'clock." "Me and my hole will be waiting." Officer Martin strutted away using everything his momma gave him. When the policeman was out of earshot, Joanie cut her eyes from Virgil to Nora and back again. "Jesus, you two...." \*\*\* "I have bad news," Richard Hautala told Joanie. As if to emphasize the words, he dragged a straight razor across his hairy and bespotted forearm. A thin line of blood welled up from the cut. "Um," Joanie said. "Oh, this?" Hautala held up the razor. "This is just for effect." He turned it around and showed Joanie the other side where a tube containing red-dyed Vaseline lay across the blade. "It ain't real. It's about as sharp as an asshole. You squeeze this here for the blood." He demonstrated, dragging it across his wrist this time - same result: a thin line of red. "Okay." "But why, you're wondering?" "Hey, Mr. Hautala, really-" "-Surely you noticed my new look?" Old Man Hautala smiled - dentures gleaming - and twisted his head to let Joanie take it all in. An octogenarian, Mr. Hautala was bald and shriveled with the body shape - and skin texture - of an avocado. But since Joanie had last seen him, he'd added eyebrow studs, ear stretchings, and facial tattoos - tears at the corner of his eyes. He had a stud on one nostril and a loop through his lower lip. He winked and lifted his polo shirt. Both sagging, leathery nipples had been pierced; connected by a silver chain. "What do you think?" he asked. "That's.... Something," Joanie rubbed the back of her neck. "You said bad news?" "Kids today," Mr. Hautala explained, tucking his shirt back in, "do this shit now. If I want their business, I have to show them I relate." He gingerly brought a finger up to touch one of the ear stretchers. Joanie flinched when the whole ear fell off, hitting the ground with a clang. "Oops," Mr. Hautala reached to pick it up. Like the razor, it was a fake. His real ear was still where it belonged, on the side of his head. It had liver spots and tufts of hair, but no holes. "I don't mind telling you," he said, fitting the prosthetic and screwing it in place, "it's all fake. Even the tattoos. Why take a needle when Sharpies cost, like, a dollar?" Joanie shrugged. "Right?" "You said bad news?" Joanie prodded. "These couple of kids come in looking to trade on old tech. On chips? Yeah, right, I tell them I'll do what I can, but don't go buying that house in the subs just yet. Anyway, these kids look like... like... the colour out of space, you know? Barely human. The dude had horns. No shit, implanted little nubs on his forehead, supposed to be horns. Huh. The girl's pants were so tight, you could tell what she drank for.... Nevermind. Anyway, when they come back and I tell them the deal, she starts slicing up her arm. I'm hip. Bad news hurts. Give me a whetstone, a Gillette, a squirting flower and five minutes and we'll commiserate together, darlin'. So here I am. What do you think?" "Desperate times," Joanie stated. "Too right!" Mr. Hautala exclaimed. "The bad news?" Joanie tried again. "Yeah. Turns out the buyer is in a sanitarium so.... No money." Joanie rubbed a hand over her face. "Okay, so this is not to say there will never be money, but just now...? She's kind of tied up." \*\*\* *Houston, September 2nd, 1960.* *Ten year old Marion Bradley stood in wide-eyed wonder as the celebrity worked his way through the crowd. He tossed his head back and showed teeth when he laughed and, when he shook hands with the city's politicians, his head tilted slightly and his eyebrows raised inquisitively at their names. Houston doesn't have a fall season, so it was hot, but even still the celebrity wore a tapered jacket with a fleece collar. His waist was encircled by a gun-belt; the holster of which bore the image of a chess piece. He said "Thank you," with a peculiar clip to the words.* *His name was Richard Boone and he was there on a publicity junket and to watch the time-capsule buried.* *To young Marion, however, his name was Paladin and he was just about the closest thing to a living god she'd ever seen. Once a week she saw him on the television being as brave and intractable, wise and lusty as the entire pantheon of Greek deities; so how could he be here, now, walking around with them just as if he were a real person?* *She was positively transfixed.* *As he moved among the people, his eyes fell on her and he smiled. "Ho ho!" he said, scooping her off her feet. "What do we have here?"* *Under his hands, Marion's flower dress became wings and she flew in the sky. If he let go, she'd fall into the sun. He didn't let go, however, just spun her around in a circle then set her back down. "You are just about the cutest thing I have ever seen. I believe I'm going to ask your father if you can join me for dinner tonight at the Carlton Hotel?"* *Standing next to them, beaming like a child himself, her dad said, "Maybe when she's older."* *"It's a date," Paladin said, slipping her a card with a wink. He gave one to her father, too. In fact, he handed them out freely to all around.* *As they were closing the lid on the time capsule, he used two fingers to expertly flick one of those cards into the box. People cheered as it spun through the narrow opening at just the last moment possible.* *The cards all bore the image of that same chess piece from the holster. They read "Have Gun, Will Travel".* *Marion Bradley held the card in both hands like an icon. She knew it was a treasure she would never lose.* *\*\*\** "Of course she lost it - or threw it away." Mr. Hautala had bagged up the card they'd retrieved from the time capsule. He slid it across the table to Joanie. "This was supposed to be the replacement. Shame. She was going to pay over a two hundred grand for it too." Joanie, hands folded on her lap, looked at the card. It was remarkably well preserved. "What's it worth, really?" she asked. "Less than nothing," he replied. "Well, check that. Because of the press you're getting, I could maybe get a couple thou. Maybe. It isn't every day you can snag grip from a stolen time capsule. The weirdness factor alone might go five grand." Mr. Hautala shrugged. "Well, the buyer still wants it, though, right?" "Sure. But, like I said, they locked her up." "When's she getting out?" "Eh, this could be one of those *if* she's getting out situations." Mr. Hautala rubbed his thumb against two fingers, making the international gesture of money. "She's very wealthy and her family is worried about their inheritance." "Doesn't seem like a reason to lock her up." Joanie crossed her arms. "Isn't she fighting it?" "Absolutely. She's a big shot lawyer, you know. It's just that, well, she has gone a little crazy." He tapped the card. "Two hundred grand plus for this? Do you know how many of these cards are out there? Even supposedly authentic ones - printed by the studio in the 50s and 60s - can be had for around fifty bucks. Hell, you can get one signed by Richard Boone himself for a thou or less. Nope. She has to have this one; no matter what the cost." Mr. Hautala whistled low and circled a finger around his ear. "She's a collector," Joanie said, sounding indignant. "Lots of people pay lots more for stupider stuff." "Sure," Mr. Hautala agreed. "But Marion Bradley isn't a collector. She is trying to recreate her life to be exactly like it was when she was a girl back in the '60s. Bought her parents' old house; got a refurbished Chevy Covair; snatched up every toy from that era. Changed her wardrobe. She's been sinking millions of dollars into this obsession. The doctors call it *crippling nostalgia."* "They just made that up." "She showed up in court wearing pedal pushers and a denim blouse knotted under her breasts. Her hair in ponytails, sucking a lollipop. She weighs close to two hundred pounds." Mr. Hautala lifted the duffel-bag containing the rest of the stuff Joanie and her crew stole from the time capsule and handed it over. "Me? I don't get it," he said. "I never did look forward to looking back. Of course, that's probably because things were so terrible when I was a kid. Wars with a capital W. Diseases and no medicine. Hunger. And the constant fear of death from above 'cause all those damned pterodactyls." "Is anything in here worth... anything?" Joanie said, lifting the bag. Mr. Hautala made a face. "I took pictures and notes. Like I said, I'll shop it around. Y'all got a trending news story with that time capsule burglary, so there may be some interest there. But beyond nostalgia or weirdness?" He shook his head. Dejected, Joanie stood to leave. "Hey kid," Mr. Hautala stopped her at the door. "Just in case you're interested - the sanitarium where they're keeping Marion Bradley is located over on the Southwest side. In Missouri City. A place called Sendak's. Not like she's locked up in Supermax or anything." Joanie paused with her hand on the doorknob. She blinked twice. "She'd be grateful, I'm sure," Mr. Hautala continued, "for a visit." Joanie nodded slowly. "Hey, check this out!" Mr. Hautala raised the fake razor to his mouth. "You think this'll freak those kids next time I see them?" He opened his mouth wide, eyes popping, and dragged the dull blade all over his tongue. He also squirted some of the fake blood. "Pah!" he winced, spitting. "Yuk!" Joanie left him, closing the door on a sputtering of "Puh!"'s \*\*\* "Oh shit," Virgil said, his eyes growing wide. "Ohshitohshitohshit," They were sitting in the booth of a Mexican restaurant close to the airport with the time capsule items spread out over the table, taking inventory. Virgil's outburst had been caused by the door opening. Joanie looked over her shoulder to see Detective Donald Sobol walking in. "Be cool," she grabbed Virgil's wrist just as he was about to start scooping all the stolen items into the bag. "Be cool." She let go the wrist. Virgil folded his hands. Momentarily, Detective Sobol stood at the edge of their table. "Well hello, Ms. Muncie," he said. "Fancy meeting you here." "Detective," Joanie muttered by way of greeting. Detective Sobol set his hands on the table and hunched over the various maps, papers, trinkets, toys and doo-dads. He smiled. His aquamarine eyes sparkled. He laughed, showing them the two rows of coffee and cigarette stained teeth. "You've got to be kidding me." "What?" Joanie said. "Oh, nothing." He stood up. Then pushed his hands on his lower back and stretched. "Hey, maybe you can help me out with something. There was this unusual robbery yesterday, maybe you heard? A crew of slick operators stole a time capsule just before it was supposed to be dug up. Really embarrassed the Mayor in front of all those news cameras; standing over an empty hole with a bunch of nothing. But you wouldn't know anything about that?" "What's a time capsule?" Joanie asked. "Right." The detective said. "Y'all ought to be more careful. Food here's good, but they don't really clean the tables very well. Might get all this stuff sticky." "Oh, right!" Virgil exclaimed. He started shoveling the stolen goods away immediately. "Thanks for the advice." Detective Sobol watched Virgil, shaking his head sadly. Then he turned his attention to Joanie. "When are you going to stop this?" he asked. Joanie cocked her head and just looked at him with a dull, blank expression. "Can't you see it's over?" the Detective continued. "The time for this type of nonsense has come and gone. There's no more room for the common crook in today's society. You either have to be a brutal, remorseless killer or a highly sophisticated criminal to get noticed. These little grifts of yours? I hate to tell you this, but they're passé." Virgil used both hands to cram the items in the bag. He struggled with the zipper, catching it on the edge of an old map. When he forced it, the paper ripped. "Shit," he said, holding up a ruined piece of history. Detective Sobol motioned towards Virgil with an open hand. "See? This is who you're working with now? What ever happened to Leonard? Stark and Westlake?" "Hey, those two...." Joanie sat forward, getting upset. "Yeah, I know," Sobol interrupted. "But then there's Connell and Matheson, too. Hell, even Bradbury left you." Joanie brought a fist down. Her mouth became a tense, white line and her eyes narrowed. Sobol recognized he'd gone too far. His voice softened. "I'm just saying. You're time has passed." A waiter came with a basket of chips and two bowls of salsa. Detective Sobol took advantage of the interruption. "Anyway, I'll leave you to your meal." He set twenty dollars on their table. "On me." "Whoa, hey," Virgil pushed the money away like it was on fire. His distrust for police ran deep. "No need for that." Detective Sobol put a hand on Virgil's shoulder and squeezed. He used the other hand to tuck the money into the breast pocket of Virgil's shirt. "I insist," he said. "I voted for Chris Bell.


Now listen closely for I can only tell you this story once. The story of The Marionette. As you stroll through the streets at night, it would be best to remember this story. This story starts in a home with a child and her caretaker, a marionette nanny droid. The droid took great care for the child and the child loved the droid. The child and the droid would play together, work together and sleep together. The droid started to love this child as a mother would their baby. The droid would do anything in its power to keep the child happy. One day the child entered its room crying. Nothing the droid could do would put a smile on the child’s face. Why was the child crying? If the droid knew it could make the child happy again. This continued for months and months and the droid was powerless to stop it. One day the child never returned. The droid waited yet the child never came. “That foolish daughter of mine. I thought I taught her better than to run from her problems.” The voice was identified to be that of the droid’s owner, the father of the child. “I thought that girl was my daughter yet she’s no better than the vermin that live on the streets begging for food.” As the father entered the child’s room the droid could see his cold stare befall him. “That child would never do what I wanted her to do. She would never do her studies; she would just come crying to you droid. She ran away because you made her soft. She wanted to ‘chase her own dream’. It was a mistake to allow you to care for her.” And with that the droid was shut off and cast aside. \ Yet there was still something. A will still present. A desire within the droid. A spark of life appeared. The droid awoke from its slumber. It was dark, a darkness that would crush the soul yet the droid prevailed as its will was strong. In the midst of the darkness was a figure. The figure stood tall dressed in a 5-piece suit and had long navy hair and red glowing eyes. In a calm charismatic voice, the demon asked “I can cut you of your strings if you so desire and all I ask in return is that we become friends. Do we have a deal?” The puppet responded “Can I do as I wish after I am free.” “Anything your heart desires.” The demon stretched out his hand to shake that of the marionette. The droid took it and the deal was sealed and when the puppet was free from its string it returned home. \ As the marionette opened the door to the house the father came into the entryway “what do you think you’re doing? Do you think you have the right to burst in un” And at the sight of the puppet the father’s eyes filled with terror. The creature that stood before him had murder in its eyes and a large crack in its mask revealing a row of sharp jagged teeth. It spoke “I’m home master. Did you miss me?” “How?” That was all the father could mutter before his head flew off his body and onto the floor “My gods have abandoned me and now so will yours.” All in the house were killed in brutal ways. The mother was strung up by threads. The maid was stabbed and had a smile gouged into her face and the teacher had her skull bashed in by a book. To this day The Marionette lives in that house waiting for the child to come home. If you ever pass that house never go in, for if you do, you’ll never come out.    This is my first of many short stories set in a universe that I have created set in an alternate future. Please don't mind any grammatical errors that might be present as I am not a writer. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoy sharing these stories.  Edit: Thank you all. I have read all of your comments and it has given me the courage to wright more short stories on this subreddit.


1. where do we begin... i guess, if i had to say, it would start in my home. if home is what they say, if home is a place of comfort, then home is what it was. so i hesitate to bring it up. i am unclear as to what it means to be alive in that place. if part of me is here, i survived, while part of me will always be left behind, broken glass on torn bed frames, still it lives in there. in those crevices in my mind i don’t care to visit. that i won’t visit. if that is home, then it’s the perfect place to lay down my heart. 2. it’s a school day. i remember because mom woke me up. i am five, or four, and there is that smell of morning. i don’t smell the morning anymore. i went into the kitchen. breakfast was served: eggs with cut up hotdogs. we get ready to leave. there in the closing of the car door, i hear it. softly, at first, a hummingbird wasn’t this quite. then, at once, an eruption of sound came from behind my seat. i covered my ears as mom opened the door. “what’s wrong?” i don’t answer. i wouldn’t even know what to say. 3. i am eighteen again. eighteen and drinking shit beer with shit friends that i’ve partnered for a lifetime. these are girls. these are guys. these are the people i would kill for and lose with. we are out of town. the city limit miles behind. the sky is growing dark. i turn, stumbling over to piss. my eye sight is foggy, i can hear Mike shouting “don’t go too far!” with my dick in my zipper and my hand on a beer i start to pee into some bushes. how does it always know, when i am alone or afraid? i hear it... a soft humming of wind and voices. it’s as if all these people crammed into a room, speaking in whispers. then it shouts. one voice among them louder than hell. always in that same place. in that place right behind your peripheral vision. i turn around as fast as i can and trip with my dick still out, spilling beer and embarrassment all over my jeans. it was Mike this time. he laughed, high as a kite “you alright man, you look pale” i put myself away as he helps me up. i spook around trying to see clearly. looking all around as if nothing had just happened. 4. it was my eight grade graduation. my mom is looking proud in the audience. for a while there, i wasn’t sure i would make it. i wasn’t sure i would walk with my class. this was two years after the accident. i had developed behavioral issues and was removed from my classes due to anger management. they wrote me up this plan. this plan that would get me back on the road to success, they said. as i sat there waiting for my name to be called. a man stood in the back of the cafeteria where they hosted our event. he didn’t look like a parent. he didn’t look like a person, really, as i blinked twice before looking at him again. my name was called. i stood up to walk over to the principle to receive my certificate... the humming began. the sounds of those people faded. my mom looked so proud of me. so proud. as i screamed, he handed me my certificate. his hand was made of leathery black skin. his face was featureless. and his eyes. those empty shark gazes as we touched. my skin turned cold. i blinked twice. and he was gone. the principle stood there “good job” i looked around, the crowd of parents and teachers clapping for the next kid who stood up after me. and my mom. so proud. so pleased. 5. it was raining outside. i always loved the rain. i would get up early and chase the dog through the mud. we had a big backyard. as big could be for me, age seven or eight. i ran around barking. i loved the rain in those days. i loved the mud and the wet earth smell that crept up from the ground. the rain began to pour harder. my dog stopped and stared. “what’s wrong boy?” “why did you stop?” he began to cower. his tail coiled up under his butt as i bent down to grab him. he was whimpering. i couldn’t tell what was wrong. the rain pouring down. and even in that whitewall of water, the humming began. i looked up. and there he was. only a few feet in front of me. he didn’t look wet at all. the rain didn’t touch him. and his eyes were fixed upon me. “what do you want?” he raised his skeletal hand. black as night. black as the color of the void must feel. lifting only four or five fingers. i blinked twice. my dog found it’s voice and barked. i blinked twice before falling over into the mud and ground. i sat there and cried as the rain came to a sudden halt. 6. it was summer once again. twenty-one and in the back of a mustang with the top down. the song playing was eighties rock. for whom the bell tolls, time marches on... for whom the bell tolls. Mike was driving and Hector was in the front seat. i was waving my hands in the air. all of us singing along to the song. Hector turned to me, handing me a shooter of Jameson, before handing one to Mike. we were coming up on the big drop. the little dipper, we coined it. it was this patch of road that went up and instantly fell down. Mike was going thirty-five as he approached it. we blew past the speed marker: 25. he pressed his foot down on the gas. we jumped up to sixty in half a second. the little dipper ahead. i closed my eyes. threw my hands up after we all slammed our shots. we came up the slope and flew over the drop. time stood still. time wasn’t constant in this state of being. the music died. the car disappeared. and thats when i saw him. waiting at the bottom of the road. as if he’d been there all night. he was always there. Mike swerved. Hector flew out of the car. his body a rag doll. i grabbed on to the seat belt around my waist. we slammed into a ditch and the car made this awful noise. crunching up like a wad of tin foil. “did you see that?” “where’s Hector?” we got out of the car. shouting for Hector. “Mike, do you see it?” “see what?” i pointed. we both froze. he was standing over Hectors body on the asphalt. he leaned down and touched him. he visibly touched him with the red tint of tail lights lighting his hand. Mike ran over as i froze. “help me!” i couldn’t move. 7. i was snorting blow with these two girls i met at the bar. they were both laughing and taking bong rips as i emptied out my bag on a movie case. i cut up some lines and rolled up a twenty dollar bill. “i want next” one of the girls said before coming over to sit next to me. i snorted my line. the lions share of a line. and my nose began to burn. “who wants shots?” the other girl stood up and walked into the kitchen of this shotgun style apartment. the girl next to me took my rolled up twenty and snorted loudly over the movie case. “do you always do your blow on a weird movie case?” i looked back at the movie. and there he was. a shadow covered in white. i panicked. “we have to leave” my arms turned pale. my legs began shaking. she reached over and grabbed my leg. i blinked twice as i met her face... it wasn’t her sitting next to me anymore. 8. Hector didn’t die from the impact to the road. Hector was hurt, covered in blood that wasn’t his own. the report said he died from acute organ failure. he was still alive when we got to him that night. he looked at Mike and started to tear up. he reached over to me as i slowly walked over “it’s you...” he croaked. “it’s always been you...” 9. i shut my eyes before remembering that home. that house where time floated by and you floated along. if there was life there, it surely swam alone. i began to see it, unwillingly. i didn’t want to see. i blinked twice and there i was: twenty-six. successful. in a career. in a house under my name. with a car out front. i sat in that house alone. even though i knew, deep down, that i was never, truly, alone. it began with a frenzy. i smashed the walls with an axe and then began on the decor. i walked over to the stove. began to light everything that was remotely flammable. i entered my room. chopping the bed frame, ripping the curtains as the fire in the kitchen began to spread. with the smoke filling up behind me. i walked into the bathroom and slammed into the mirror. and as i fell to my knees, there he was on the floor... 10. the day of the accident was a mistake. i didn’t fall from the quad, no, something pushed me. i was going twenty before it swept me off. the last memory of my youth escaped me. my final moment was full of fear and regret. i was eleven or twelve. i was there and then i wasn’t. he looked at me, as my brain began to swell. internal bleeding. he looked at me and i looked at him. a creature without a face with a sharks gaze. it was hungry. and i knew it was time. i reached out and it took my hand. i fell through the world as the earth escaped from underneath. left behind. who was the man in the mask... 11. we left Hector at the front doors of St. Mary’s hospital. we left him there and ran. Mike’s uncle picked us up a block or so away. we were covered in blood and he didn’t ask why. Mike cried. he looked at me “why did you tell me to leave him there?” i couldn’t respond. i had no words. i began to cry harder. the alcohol fueling a bursted rage. a fury locked up in my throat. my eyes stinging. my nose backed up with snot. we left him there on that concrete slab just outside the automatic doors. i forced Mike to listen. Hector was gone and the faceless man took him. Mike didn’t believe me. even after the funeral. that was the last time we ever stood in the same place. Hector was gone. only his tombstone remained. 12. you can run from it all your life. you can run away and graduate and have a family and kids. but his surviving words still read: a beloved son. and the days taste stale. the food is always dry. and the faceless man is there... watching. waiting. i need only look in a mirror. 13. end.


In a world of superheroes the final bomb dropped, bringing destruction upon all whether hero or villain. Citizen or criminal, man or woman, adult or child. Not one was spared from the terrible weapons of destruction, crafted by those who didn’t realize that they created doom for not only their sworn enemies but for themselves too. No hero was strong enough, none were smart enough, but only one was fast enough. He was fast enough to save himself but not one other person. Fast enough to run and run until he noticed no more flares of destruction. Until the only thing he could notice was not the piercing sounds of yelling and crying, but the deafening silence of pure nothingness, a world that lay waiting for something to inhabit it. Not unlike the feeling one gets from seeing a once bustling street become empty at night. He was simply a blur, unable to cope that there was absolutely no one left. However, the blur thought if he could not save anyone, help anyone, or avenge anyone. Why not become everyone? The blur has become even faster now, storming through every library possible, learning how to do everything possible. First, he rebuilt every bridge, building, school, and skyscraper possible. He forgot no building from the tallest skyscraper to the secluded farmhouse across the world. He had to keep himself busy, if he wasn’t busy than he was thinking. If he was thinking he was thinking of what he failed to do, his failure as a hero. He was even faster now. As he kept running and repairing, he still felt empty inside. Everything looked fine on the outside, why was he not feeling better? The blur realized it, how could he forget? Every nice house needs decorations inside, things that tell you about who lived there and what they liked. So he started to decorate, paintings, trinkets, and other things. He ran and ran across the world decorating the inside of every building. Giving each one a personality he saw fit. What would once take him a month only took a few days, he was even faster now. Soon he was finished, everything had been fixed and decorated. It was like nothing bad had ever happened. But eventually he started to think once more, “I decorated and designed how I saw fit”. The rural farmer would not have a painting of a cityscape on his wall. It would be impossible to figure out the interests of every single person on Earth and what they would want in their homes. There just wasn’t enough time to do it. But for the blur this wasn’t an issue, he had all the time in the world and all the speed to do it. He started inspecting the belongings in every single house, deducing what they liked, their interests, and their dislikes. So he began, carefully taking in the consideration of everyone to have lived. Zipping across each street, house to house, bedroom to bedroom. He decorated in a way that they would have liked it, in a way that would not have told you it was the work of man losing himself. As he finished he thought to himself what more could he do? Everything looked better now, what more was he missing? As fast as the blur was, his thoughts started catching up to him. He could no longer keep himself busy with mindless work that would not please anyone except him. No matter how powerful one may be, every human needs companionship. He started a fruitless search around the world, there had to be at least ONE person left. He searched and searched, shelters, houses, schools, valleys, mountains, deserts. Every nook and cranny he searched, all he found were corpses. The blur then had his next idea “If I couldn’t save them in life, than I could honor them in death.” He began digging, he used a shovel at first but eventually realized it would be faster to just use his hands. As quickly as he bloodied his hands crudely thrusting them into the ground, they healed even quicker. In minutes he had buried dozens of people, a pile of dirt from the graves he had dug out began to rise. Another minute goes by, and soon a hill has taken shape. After a few minutes thousands had been buried, he was even faster now. A mountain started to form, eventually it began to tower over the tallest buildings. Hours had passed, everyone had been laid to rest. A mountain that put any skyscraper, mountain, or cloud to shame with its height had formed. It was a monument, a monument to not just the blur’s failure. But to the failure of humanity, a failure to realize to bring doom upon their enemies, that they had also brought doom upon those undeserving of it. The blur was left running, running to find something that wasn’t there. Whether it was purpose, companionship, or a way to undo it all. He was left running at speeds thought impossible. He was losing his grip, as for every day, hour, minute, and even second that had gone by. He had began to lose himself Even Faster Now.


Jane leaned across the arm of my deck chair and whispered something dirty. Kurt squealed on my lap, gasping as the fireworks exploded over our heads. The reflection of the kaleidoscopic colours on Lake Whitemer looked like an identical firework was going off not so far from where we sat, I’m sure Kurt believed that was really the case. He couldn’t talk, but on the off chance he chose this moment to spit out his first word, Jane did not want to chance him drawing a selection from the pool of what she was saying now. “What do you think?” she asked, fluttering her eyelids. “I think whoever’s putting on the big show across the water had better cut it so I can get you to bed,” I replied. “It’s the fourth of July,” she pointed out. “The Americans will keep at it until the sun comes up.” I pulled myself out of the deck chair and passed Kurt to his mother. He made a happy little hiccupping noise as he moved through the air. “Bed time,” Jane said, cradling him. “I’m afraid it’s past both of our bedtimes. Your father is going to spank me if I don’t get to bed soon.” She looked at me when I didn’t answer, half amused and annoyed. “That was the perfect set up. You’re supposed to say, ‘I’ll do it anyways’, or ‘too late’. Something like that.” “Sorry.” I was distracted. I heard something moving around against the kitchen window behind us. A mouse? No, larger than a mouse, maybe a raccoon. When I turned and peered through the window, it was empty. “Miles?” “Hmm?” I turned. The light of the fireworks dyed Jane’s hair green, then white, then the bright cherry red of a fire truck. “Is everything alright?” she asked. “Yeah. I thought maybe I heard an animal inside. Wait out here a second, I’ll check it out.” “I told you, we should’ve had someone come and clean the cottage in May. This is what happens when you’re only here for three months of the year. Something else moves in.” “Yes dear,” I joked. I opened the screen door and it whined on its hinges. I tensed, ready to hear our scuffling guest streaking for the doorway and my unprotected bare feet, or the obnoxious clanging of a pot knocked onto the floor. I heard nothing. “Hurry up,” Jane said in a low whisper. “I’ll be back to deal with you in a minute,” I said, stepping into the kitchen. I groped blindly at the wall to my left, then turned on the light switch. The kitchen was just as we’d left it. If we had a furry house guest, it had abstained from chowing down on the leftover hot dog from dinner. I walked through the kitchen, past the TV in the back half of the open space, and down the hallway. The basement door was shut. Nothing had run down there to hide, and if the mice living down there were hungry, they had not come up into the kitchen. “Coast is clear,” I said over my shoulder, but Jane was already in my ear. “Good. Get in bed.” “Yes ma’am.” \*\*\*\*\*\* I woke up the next morning feeling more rested than I had since I started managing the corporate accounts at BD. I rose carefully from bed, not wanting to wake Jane, and tiptoed across the room to peer into Kurt’s crib. He was sleeping with a stuffed teal elephant tucked under his arm. His little chest rose and fell with hypnotic regular ease, and he barely stirred when I kissed his forehead. Our parents and friends had warned us, in that half joking but *no seriously we know best* way that seasoned parents often employ. They love to council mothers and fathers to be. Loved to warn that we would be getting next to zero sleep once the baby came into our lives. I knew this was a rule, but Kurt was a pleasant and surprising exception. He was good for six or seven hours every night, even when fireworks were exploding like cannon fire across the lake. I tiptoed out of the room and after cleaning up the mess from last night’s dinner, I broke four eggs into one pan and fried bacon on another. Last night’s hot dog was untouched, further proof that I had been imagining whatever it was that I thought I’d heard, and in an unpredicted bout of madness I threw it out the open window into the loose forest outside for some squirrel or other thing. Probably a dumb thing to do, feeding the animals was a surefire way to get them coming back, but I was filled to burst with sunshine and summer air. “Breakfast,” I said when Jane wandered out of our bedroom rubbing her eyes. One of my XL t-shirts hung over her waist like a dress, making me question whether she was wearing underwear. I decided to find out after breakfast. “Morning sweetness,” she said. “How’s Kurt?” “Kid’s a champion,” I said. “Still asleep. I don’t even think he woke up during last night's commotion, and I don’t mean the fireworks.” Jane stopped rubbing her eyes. She frowned. For some reason, she glanced at the couch and the armchair sitting across from the flat screen, then back to me. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Looks like I’m not the only one who fumbles at innuendos.” “No, not that. Where’s Kurt?” My heart dropped, but just a hair. “He’s in his crib.” “No he’s not,” Jane said, with a tone suggesting I cut out whatever bad joke I was making. “You brought him out here when you woke up, right?” “No,” I said, already moving past her back into the bedroom. “Look, he’s right he– “ The crib was empty. I dropped to my knees and looked under the crib, then spun and checked under the bed. No Kurt. I stood and walked across the room to check the closet. Jane was entering the room behind me. She stuck her hands under the flat blanket in the crib and tossed it aside, as if Kurt might have hidden underneath it. “Kurt?” she called across the cottage. She was using her mommy voice but there was an edge to it that I didn’t like. “He couldn’t have gone far,” I said, closing the closet. No Kurt in there either. “He was right there when I woke up.” “How long ago was that?” Jane asked. She was back tracking my trail, opening and closing the closet for herself. “Ten minutes? Fifteen tops.” She left the room and I followed. “Kurt?” she called again. I didn’t really start to worry until we knew for sure that he wasn’t in our bedroom, the unused spare, the kitchen, or the bathroom. Jane had pulled every pot and pan out of the bottom row of kitchen cupboards and was crawling in herself to get a better look when I returned to the kitchen. “I’m going to check outside,” I said, striding past her. She said something about the basement, but I didn’t catch most of it. In a moment I was outside, and the closing screen door snatched her words out of the air. I sprinted to the edge of the lake and scanned the surface. I had a horrible frantic fear that I would spot him, a white lump floating calmly across the water, and I would have to splash my way to collect his drowned corpse. The only thing worse would be having to tell Jane, having to show her. For a second, I saw him there and my blood turned into ice. There he was, my dead son on the water. I blinked. It wasn’t Kurt at all, it was driftwood. The log I had mistaken for my dead child was two or three times as wide around as Kurt, and it’s bark was the deep brown colour of soaked wood, not the pale milk white of drowning. *Keep it together,* I told myself. After a lap around the property, calling out a name that my son could not even say himself never mind respond to, I was about as sure as I ever would be that Kurt hadn’t wandered outside. “Any luck Jane?” I asked returning to the kitchen. I knew she hadn’t found him. She would’ve shouted for me. Jane didn’t answer. She wasn’t in the kitchen. She wasn’t in the bedroom or the bathroom either. “Jane?” I called out, panic rising like a cork up into my throat. *The basement*. She had mentioned she was going to look for Kurt down there. I flew through the basement door, and down the cement staircase. “Jane?” I brushed a spider web out of my hair and watched the owner throw itself across the room to get out of my warpath. “Kurt?” No one answered me, but I could tell Jane was down here. A single tired lightbulb was glowing beside a mountain of old cardboard boxes leaning against the back wall. Jane hated wasting electricity. We both made six figures a year but growing up poor had branded a deep hatred for waste into her skin. “Jane?” I had never properly investigated the basement, even when the cottage belonged to my parents, when my brothers and I had the time and energy to explore. It was dark and dusty down here and spider webs clung to every wall. The basement was for storage; not a fun place to be when the shining lake and boundless woods beckoned outside. I approached the ominous mountain of cardboard. Normally the summit was buried beneath a snowy layer of dust, but there were footprints on the top of a few boxes. Jane had climbed over the pile. Looking closely, I observed that she had pushed boxes aside to clear a path to the back wall. I followed her prints. The tops of the old cardboard gave a little under my weight, but they held. When I reached the back wall, I looked down. A passage had been hiding behind these boxes for god knew how long, but Jane had spotted it in the search for her infant son. The hole in the floor opened to a black staircase, leading to a level below the basement. I wondered what had possessed her to go into the foreboding darkened hall, when I spotted it. Kurt’s teal elephant, shrouded in dust and shadows, lay comatose at the bottom of the steps. “Jane?” I shouted. There was no answer. “Hold up a second Jane, I’m coming.” I ran back to the kitchen to grab a flashlight, and when I returned I took the black steps two at a time. The beam of my flashlight and the barest hint of Jane’s shoes in the dust led the way. I left the elephant to watch my back. There were even more spider webs on this level. They hung off the old dark stone in sticky curtains, the bold shadows cast by my light reminded me of tennis rackets. A few of the webs lay broken along the trail. Jane must have torn them loose on her way. There were spiders hanging in the middle of some of the webs. They had fat brown and orange bodies about as large as quarters, and they scurried into cracks in the stone walls when I aimed the light at them. I wondered what the spiders could possibly be catching and eating down here. The path hooked right. I was beyond the walls of the house now, and I judged the path was carrying me under the lake. I started thinking that maybe I had made a mistake. My family wasn’t down here. What I had mistaken for foot prints had been nothing more than a trick of the light. Kurt had tossed the elephant down the mysterious black staircase, but of course he hadn’t come this far in the dark by himself. Jane was probably in the kitchen right now with Kurt in her arms, wondering where *I* had gotten off to. I was just about to turn back when my flashlight landed on Kurt’s sock. I bent and peeled the sock off the black stone floor. It was light blue with white spaceships soaring across the yarn, hand knitted by Jane’s mother. “Jane!” I shouted. “Kurt!” Something moved up ahead. Jane’s shoe scuffing against stone. I wanted to run down the path towards the sound, but it was hard to find courage in the bowels of the earth, so I walked. I was forced to stop when I came to a wall of spider webs. There was a host in each of them the size of a dollar. They scurried away when the beam of the flashlight burned their blind eyes, and I realized that the path was not blocked by the webbing after all. I was staring at another wall. It was a dead end. I nearly turned back again, but my flashlight happened to drop, revealing a battered old trap door with a cast iron handle. It looked like the sort of thing that would prove to be heavier than first guess. The trapdoor was shut, but it was clear that Jane had been through it. There was a single ginger hair caught on the nearest corner. It was catching the beam and flickering it back at me, ushering me down. I pulled the hair and twisted it between my fingers. The length and colour were a perfect match. Definitely one of Jane’s. The trapdoor opened with a screech that could wake the dead. It was heavy, too heavy for Kurt to get through on his own, and yet Jane had passed this way. Had it been opened up when my son came crawling? Had Jane picked him up and carried him farther into the darkness? I could not fathom what possible reason she could have for doing this, but it was the only plausible explanation for what I was seeing. I peered inside, and my flashlight revealed the top of a ladder. It stretched down into a void of utter darkness. My beam of light ran down the length of the ladder, and I saw that if I had walked blindly forward I would have fallen at least twenty feet into yet another basement level. I shuddered. It was cold down there, and a rotting odour was wafting up through the trapdoor. The walls in the deeper level were made from cracked and moss-covered cobble, and the floor was mud. There were small pools of water scattered here and there, and some of them had clumps of grey algae floating on the surface. The lake was finding its way into the chamber somehow, turning the chasm below me into a shallow swamp. I noticed thin white and yellow mushrooms sprouting from the walls and the mud, and I made a mental note to myself to avoid them at all costs. Spider bites were annoying but poisonous fungus could give you a serious infection. “Jane!” I shouted down. “Jane are you down there?” There was no answer. “Jane? Jane can you hear me?” When no one answered I took a deep breath and climbed down the ladder. I kept the flashlight clenched tight beneath my teeth. There was a huge bang the second after my shoes hit the mud. I looked up and the bottom of the trapdoor greeted me. I had leaned it up against the wall, I was sure, but someone or something had knocked it down. Kurt maybe? Had I missed him in the dark? There was a sound that reminded me of a canoe brushing against dirt and rocks as it approaches shore. Someone was pushing a heavy object over the lid of the trapdoor. Definitely not Kurt. “Hey!” I shouted. My cry echoed a thousand times down the grimy trail ahead of me. *“Hey hey hey hey ey ey ey ey”.* I carried on down the path, shouting for Jane. I did not want to push against the top of the trapdoor and discover I could not get out. I was worried enough as it was. I would cross that bridge when I came to it. “Jane!” I shouted. “*Jane Jane Jane Jane ane ane ane ane ne ne,*” said the walls. My boot brushed against one of the mushrooms. I had not noticed the fungus on my first passover with the flashlight, and the beam was pointed ahead of me, not straight down. With terrible speed, the cap flopped onto my boot and stuck there. It did not come free no matter how hard I shook my foot. “Son of a bitch!” A tapping noise behind me answered. Something was walking through the puddles. Something big with a lot of legs. I spun, and my beam of light just kissed one spider leg as it disappeared into the darkness. The thing was as large as a housecat. I shivered. Good thing I had thought to grab the flash light. “Jane!” “*Jane Jane Jane Jane ane ane ane ane ne ne*.” I continued. The minutes seemed to stretch on and on. “Jane!” I called again. “Miles?” That was her, and not too far ahead. Her voice was quieter than a whisper and it was tough to discern my own name over the layers of echoes, but it was Jane’s voice. That was what mattered. “Jane! Stop, I’m coming!” I ran to her. Light burst from my hand and danced across the mud and stone walls. The trail turned sharply left, and when I was ten feet away, Jane stepped out from around the corner. Her skin was eggshell white. Her green eyes were clouded, and a swirling fog was reflecting on them instead of my own scared face. She looked like a ghost. “Jane are you alright?” “Miles,” she said. “Go back. One got me. I’m done for.” I approached. I had to lower the flash light because she kept flinching away from the light whenever it brushed her skin. “Jane! What are you talking about? What do you mean something got you? Where’s Kurt?” I put my hands on her shoulders and she pushed me off, taking a step back into the blackness. “No time Miles. No time. You have to… run. They got me. It got me.” “What got you Jane? What go –” but I never finished asking my question. In the same instant that I noticed the clear rope growing from the back of her head, it was yanked backward. Jane cried out as she was pulled head first into the darkness. She screamed, it sounded like shattering glass, and then the scream was severed. It cut out all at once, like she was on the phone with me and someone had hung up on her end. Her screaming was replaced by horrible crunching and slobbering sounds, and I brought up my flashlight, my only means of protection. The beam flickered, the battery inside warning me to get back to safety. A spider bigger than a grizzly bear filled the hall in front of me. I watched my wife’s waist, then legs, then the heels of her shoes disappear into its squashing mouth, pushed inside by two hairy tarantula legs. They were four feet long at least. I screamed when the strobing flashlight found the spider’s blind glistening eyes. It scuttled backwards, but as it went, eight pinprick pupils with a lingering shred of awareness found me. They marked me, and gooseflesh burst across my skin. Then the spider was gone, hurrying through pools of stagnant water until it was out of the light. I spun and ran as fast as I could back towards the ladder. I discovered with horror that a cluster of spiders had crowded behind me, had been creeping up soundlessly while my back was turned. Discovered, they dove out of my way and the path ahead was clear. Spiders as large as cats and small dogs hurried out of the light’s dying glare. I was reminded of the scene in the second Harry Potter movie with all of the spiders. Those ones did not look quite so mean, did not have those hateful pink eyes. One creature as large as a great Dane stepped to the side of the path. Instead of fleeing from the light, it was content to step aside and watch me run by. I felt its horrible eyes as I rushed past. I knew it could not see me, those eyes had been burned out by the darkness a long time ago, but it knew about light, and it knew when the light was gone it would be time to feed. Something was coming behind me, something huge. Not the great Dane spider, maybe not even the grizzly bear that had eaten Jane. The thing behind me was titanic. It was afraid of the light, but it was also ravenously hungry. The light was dying, disappearing into nothingness and flicking back to life in the next moment. Each time it came back a little later than the stammer of power before. Eventually, the light would flicker out like a candle and would not come back on. The ladder was just ahead of me. I hurtled on to the first rung and climbed for my life. My worst fear was confirmed when I pushed my flat palm against the top of the trapdoor. It budged, but only slightly. Something was on top of it weighing it down, maybe a fat spider. I shoved again. The door opened and inch, then crashed back down. I shoved with my shoulder, stepping up another rung to put as much force as I could into the hit. I almost got the lid up, but the trapdoor clattered back down after opening maybe a foot. I lost my balance, recovered it, but the flashlight slipped out of my hands. I grabbed for it as it fell, got a few fingers around the plastic stem, fumbled it, and watched my only lifeboat sink to the floor below. It seemed to spiral in slow motion. It exploded into a thousand pieces when it hit the ground, but before it did I got a glimpse of the monster following me. It was a spider the size of an elephant. Its wrinkled skin was the same aggravated purple as a flaring bruise, and it was totally bald. I had a sense that it was older by far than the cottage above it, maybe older than the lake. The creature had been lurking nearly out of sight, not wanting to come too close to the waving flashlight while I tried to escape. Before the flashlight burst, I saw its eyes were locked on me. It was slobbering venom and saliva. It could not wait to have me. Through the darkness, I heard it coming tentatively forward through the puddles, perhaps wary I would produce another light. The ladder shook a bit with each of its gargantuan steps. I was out of time. I felt one of its legs prodding the bottom of the ladder. It did not have the courage to come at me yet, but it would soon. I shoved as hard as I possibly could against the top of the trapdoor, driving it upwards with everything I had. It clacked open at last, flinging all of the way back and staying open. The spider who had been holding it down ran back the way it had come and out of sight. I got my arms over the lip of the cavern and prepared to lift myself onto the higher floor. The ladder gave way. I had managed to haul enough of myself over the edge so that I was able to hold on, and my swinging feet kicked the top of the ladder while it went down. The old spider made a horrible titter noise, like a demon giggling. Thunder boomed from the depths as the purple monstrosity pounced on the ladder. The wood cracked in the beast’s mouth. It had been expecting to find me still attached to the ladder, would be furious when it realized it had been cheated it out of a meal. A scent of rotting fish came up through my nostrils and I knew I was smelling the spider’s innards. I was sweating profusely. I wore a t-shirt, and my slicked-up forearms made it almost impossible to hoist myself up. I pushed straight up on my hands, like an olympic gymnast on the hanging rings. My belly button rubbed against the threshold between cold basement and the purple spider’s domain, and I leaned forward. I brought one leg up, pushed it against the back of the trapdoor, and my knees went from open air to rubbing painfully against the black stone. Then I was on my knees. My feet were hanging over the edge of the chasm and I pulled them back quickly. I was aching with sadness for Kurt and Jane, but the glow of relief was there too. I was alive. Broken, maybe mentally fucked up for the rest of my life, but alive. I scrambled to my feet and ran. I made it a few steps, but something caught my shoe in midair, nearly throwing me face first into the ground. I looked down. A hauntingly familiar white rope was trailing from the bottom of my shoe, the one with the fungus still attached, all the way back to the trapdoor. The spider on the other end of the sticky silk rope pulled once, investigating, and I was jerked backwards onto my ass. A cry of pain shot out of my throat before I could catch it and hold it back. Then I was gliding slowly back down the path, being towed like a fish on the end of a line, towards the open trapdoor. I fumbled with my shoe, trying to pull it off, but my hand brushed the mushroom stuck there and pain seared through my hand like it had been impaled on a spear. The fungus squirmed in joy, and when I yanked my hand away, it spread like a gluey paste across my shoelaces. The chunk on my hand did not let go. The pain was transcendent. I felt the fungus melting through my shoelace, beginning to burn my foot, all while I slid towards my doom. I tried to kick off the shoe my using my other foot to press against the heel, but that only brought on more pain. The fungus stretching from my hand down to my shoe had melded itself to my foot, so that when I pressed I felt a rocket of hot pain shoot up through my foot, all the way up to my hand. It was like a stick of boiling chewing gum, but it was binding my foot and hand together instead of my hair. Then I was at the trapdoor. I screamed. I tried to dig in my feet, but it was no good. I felt my foot being pulled over the edge into the abyss, then my legs and then the rest of me. I was falling, howling, and in the last moments before the spider’s maw cut through my leg, and before its legs stuffed the rest of me into its belly, I heard the demonic giggling one more time. I wonder if I will see Jane and Kurt again in the afterlife, or inside of the monster’s stomach.


“You will bring peace to the earth,” my dad said. “So start acting like it.” I hated it when my parents lectured me like that. They firmly believed that I would make world peace someday. On the day I was born, my dad took me to go get my future foretold. The fortune-teller told him about a prophecy that said I would bring world peace. The prophecy said that on January 23, a child would be born. That child would immediately go to get his fortune told. They would have the power to heal themselves. It also described how the child looked, and he looked exactly like me. This child was supposed to save the world and make it flawless. So now, ever since then, they’ve always wanted me to be perfect. Every time I messed up, they would always give me the same lecture about how I was supposed to bring peace to the world and that I should act like it. I wasn’t even sure if I believed it anyway. Why me of all people. I thought that there was no way I could bring peace to the world. I didn’t stand out at all. I wasn’t any stronger, faster, or smarter than anyone else. I was just an ordinary person. If that fortune was true, then it would’ve been for someone else. My sister’s voice snapped me back into reality. “Fufu, come play with me,” she called. I sighed. My little sister refused to leave me alone. Every day she would ask me to play. I used to try to ignore her, but eventually, I gave in. I walked over to her room. I saw her in there, sitting on the floor with her dolls. She had fair skin. Her hair was light brown and went all the way down her back. She was pretty short. My sister had amber eyes that sparkled in the sun.

“What do you want to play today?” I asked her, wanting to hurry up and get this over with. “Today we’re going on vacation to the beach,” she said. I picked up the doll that I always used. My sister picked up her doll and we both pretended to build sandcastles and swim in the ocean. We played for a long time until it was time for dinner. “Dinner time!” my mom called from downstairs. My sister and I descended the stairs and into the kitchen. We sat down at the kitchen table.

“Tonight we’re having meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and cauliflower.” I was disgusted. I hated cauliflower and my parents knew it. No matter how many times I told them that, they would always insist that I eat it because I needed to be healthy to bring world peace. That didn’t even make much sense in my opinion, but I just went along with it. At dinner that night, we talked about how everyone’s day was. It was boring because my parents, as usual, got sidetracked and somehow ended up talking about politics. My sister and I sat there in silence until we eventually got into a conversation ourselves. “Guess what?” my sister Melody said. “What?” I asked. “Tomorrow is the end-of-the-year party!” I had forgotten that I was about two weeks behind my sister. We hadn’t even started the end of the year testing. We were going to start tomorrow and keep testing for a whole week. All we got was an end of the year lunch which was a cupcake and juice, one each. That was basically what we got if it was someone’s birthday. On the other hand, Melody got pizza, hot dogs, and burgers. And there was dessert too! I wasn’t too surprised about this because Melody’s class always got more or better stuff than mine. Everything was normal in my life for a while. Until my dad told me something. “Today’s the day,” he said dramatically. I just stood there, confused. “Today’s the day for what?” “Today you have to prove yourself. There is something in the prophecy that I’ve never told you about. We were always pretty certain that you were the prophetic child, but we were never sure. The prophecy states that to be sure of your future, you have to go through a few tests to prove yourself.” “What kind of tests?” I asked him.

“The tests were listed in the prophecy. There’s a test of knowledge, strength, honesty, courage, and virtue. You must pass all these tests.” “Which one is first?” “The first one is the test of knowledge.” “How do I take the test?” “You must go back to the person who told you about your future. She will guide you from there. Get in the car. I’ll take you to her.” My dad grabbed his keys and put his shoes on. I slipped my shoes on and got in the car. My dad sat in the driver’s seat and I sat in the passenger seat. He turned the key, buckled his seatbelt, and started to pull out the driveway. We sat in silence for about fifteen minutes until we made it. We parked at a fortune-telling booth. Then my father wished me luck and sent me inside. I walked into the booth. “Hello? Anyone here?” I asked. Someone came out of the shadows. “So, you’re the boy from the prophecy. I remember seeing you as a baby,” said the person. I looked at her. Her face looked only a teensy bit familiar.

“Follow me.” She led me to a back room. This room contained many things. There were many items that I didn’t recognize. There was also a crystal ball and what appeared to be a mirror under a sheet. She yanked the sheet off and I figured out that it was not a mirror. I had no idea what it was. It looked like some sort of portal, but I wasn’t sure. It was a big rectangle made out of something purple. The inside was red and looked swirly, as if it were spinning. She gestured for me to go in.

I walked through the portal and the whole room started to spin. When I made it through to the other side, I saw something magnificent. I appeared to be in a bookstore. Suddenly, a loud voice started talking. “Are you Fuleusochenfu Kyo?”ok “I am,” I said. “Who are you?” “That is for me to know and for you to find out. Or maybe not find out at all if you fail this test.” “What kind of test is this? What will I be doing?” I asked. “You will be trying to escape.” I was a little confused. What did he mean by escape? Escape from what? The bookstore started to fill with sand. I panicked.

“What’s going on? What am I supposed to do?” I shouted. “I told you, you must escape,” said the voice. “But how?” The voice went away. The room was filling at a rapid rate. I looked around for a way out. I saw that there was a door to the left of me. I ran towards it. I tried to open it but there was sand blocking it. The sand was way too heavy. I pushed the sand away but it just kept falling. There was no way I could get out through that door. I saw a window but it was too high for me to reach. Luckily there was a large pile of sand in front of it. I stood on the sand and tried to go through the window, but the pile of sand collapsed under me. I had no idea how I was going to escape. When I had almost given up hope, the voice came back. “There are two ways to escape. You can either find a way to get out or answer this question.” “What’s the question?” I asked, eager to escape. “The question is more of a riddle actually. You measure my life in hours and I serve you by expiring. I’m quick when I’m thin and slow when I’m fat. The wind is my enemy. What am I?” I was stumped. I had no idea what the answer to his riddle was but I needed to figure it out fast. I thought as hard as I could but the answer evaded me. The sand was rising higher. It was almost to my neck at this point. I could barely move through all this sand. I kept thinking. Then I got an idea. I looked around the bookstore for anything that might help me answer the riddle. I saw books with various different pictures on the covers, but none of them could answer the riddle. Then I saw one. A book with a picture of a candle on it. I immediately knew that this was the answer. “The answer is a caaannnlll,” I said. My speech came out muffled because the sand was nearly covering my entire mouth. I tried again. “The answer is a candle,” I said. This time my speech was a lot clearer. “That is correct,” said the voice. The sand stopped coming in. A hole appeared in the wall and the sand started to go through there. “You have passed the test,” the voice boomed. “Thanks, but you still never told me your name.” “I am known as the Guardian of Knowledge. On your next test, you will meet the Guardian of Virtue.” “When does the test start?” I asked. “The next test starts right now.”

The floor opened up and I fell. I seemed to be falling for so long. It almost seemed like a bottomless pit. I started gaining speed as I was falling. Eventually, I started to stop slowly. I started to float in midair. I wondered what was going on. Then another voice started talking. This one sounded different.

“Are you ready for this test?” asked the voice. “I’m ready,” I answered boldly. “Then let the test begin!” I blinked. When I opened my eyes, my surroundings were completely different. I was in a city and there was crime everywhere. Everywhere I looked I saw people robbing each other. I was right beside a hospital. “In that hospital, there is the equipment that your grandpa needs to live,” said the voice. I was amazed. My grandpa had been sick for about three months and if he didn’t get special treatment, he would die. My family couldn’t afford the treatment. I debated stealing the equipment. Why shouldn’t I? Everyone around me was stealing so it wouldn’t make much of a difference if I did too. I went into the hospital to steal it. Then I thought about something. Maybe this was the test. It was a test of virtue after all. The test could be to see if I was going to steal it or not. I tried to shake those thoughts away. Even if that was the test, why should I care? This was for my grandpa and I would choose him over a test any day. I didn’t want to steal because I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. If my grandpa knew that I had stolen the equipment, he would be mad at me. My grandpa wouldn’t want to live by using stolen equipment. I decided that I wouldn’t do it. “I won’t do it!” I yelled at the voice. “Wise decision.” I braced myself, expecting to fall through the floor again. But this time, something else happened. Instead of falling, I started floating. I wasn’t expecting this. I floated up and to the right until I made it to another room. It wasn’t really a room though. I was standing in the middle of some train tracks. Other people were standing there too. I heard a train coming. I knew I had to get these people to safety. I grabbed a few children and rushed them off of the train tracks. “Everybody move!” I shouted. “Everyone get off the train tracks!” Most of them started to run away, but a few of them kept standing there, shocked. “Come on people! Move it!” I tried again. Some of them still didn’t move. I continued to push people out of the way. The train had almost reached us. I knew I couldn’t get everyone out of the way in time. I stood in front of the train and braced myself for impact. The train hit me at full force. I was knocked back, off of the train tracks. I slid across the dirt. When I recovered, I looked at myself. I had many bruises and I was bleeding pretty badly on my back. My guess was that I slid over something sharp. My head hurt very badly and at this rate, I was going to bleed out. I needed to do something. I couldn’t die. I had too much to live for. I didn’t know if I believed my fortune at first, but now I do. It was my destiny to save the world. I couldn’t die yet. All of a sudden, I started to float. I looked around and saw that I was emitting a bluish glow. I was like a floating orb. My body started to feel better. The ache started to go away. I was healing myself. I stayed in the air for a little while, about five minutes. Then I fell to the ground. Luckily, I wasn’t floating that high. The voice started to talk. “You are the boy! The prophecy states that only the hero is able to heal himself. No one else. You don’t have to take the rest of the tests.” Someone came out of the shadows. This person had gray skin and pointed eyes, kind of like an elf. He was very short. He had tussled white hair. When he saw me, he bowed. “I am the Guardian of Courage.” More people who looked like him walked in. They stated their names and bowed to me too. “We’re at your service,” they said, still bowing. It was official. I was the hero that was supposed to unite the world. I haven’t done it yet though. Every time I try, it doesn’t work. No one believes in me. I try to make peace, but no one listens. Someday they will listen though. And that will be the day I fulfill my destiny.