The smell of sulfur filled Emily’s nostrils as she struck the matchhead on the side of the box. The light from the flame caused her to temporarily see spots every time she blinked. She extended the match to the fresh wick resting atop the blood red candle she had found in a drawer in the house and lit it. The wax instantly pooled and ran down the sides of the beacon before dripping onto the grass. Emily rested on her knees next to the freshly filled hole with her Bible in her hand and optimistic thoughts on her mind. She needed her Henry to come back to her. Emily missed him dearly. Emily closed her eyes and cleared her mind of the doubts that had piled in the back of her head. All she could focus on now was hope. Hope that she knew what she was doing. Hope that she had the strength. Hope that Google wouldn’t lie to her. Being brought up in a religious household, Emily knew what she was about to do may be an afront to God, but she had to push those fears aside. She could reconcile with him later. The echoes of her mother’s voice filled her thoughts, “God works in mysterious ways,” over and over. It ate at her. She knew he did and believed it whole-heartedly, but maybe he got this one wrong. The light from the full moon illuminated her surroundings and helped guide her hand as she drew a star on the grave. The article said “pentagram,” but she wasn’t about to go to hell over Henry. No, she just spun the star a few degrees until it looked normal and not satanic. In her mind, this would help her case should God need any further details. A few rhyming verses were instructed to be repeated as part of the ritual, but Emily felt uncomfortable saying them, so she made up her own chant: “Be it day. Be it night. I ask you to see the light. I like burgers. I like fries. Please let my Henry a…RIIISE.” She repeated these lines several times with a synchronized arm movements for emphasis. Every time she repeated herself, she got a little louder. Apparently, she was supposed to be waiting for the candle to get blown out. That would either mean Henry was coming back to life, or to haunt her. Either way, she’d get to see him again, or so she figured. As she begun to lose her breath, she yelled the verses as loud as she could and raised her arms to the sky one last time. The smoke from the snuffed candle tickled her nostrils and brought a grin to her face. She waited patiently for what may come next. According to the instructions, if done correctly, the ground should start shaking and Henry should appear one limb at a time like a phoenix from the ashes. She waited. And waited. The longer she waited, the damper her eyes got until the tears streamed down her cheeks in consistent flows. She wailed in pain. It just had to work, she thought to herself. But it hadn’t. She stood up and frantically stomped the dirt around his plot. The dust in the air caused her to cough a little bit and it mixed with the tears causing her face to become unexpectedly dirty. She ran inside and straight upstairs, only stopping in the bathroom to wash up before diving into her bed and crying into her pillows. Her clock said 3:24 when she was suddenly awoken by an oddly familiar noise. It was if something was slowly rolling across the floor, occasionally bumping into things as it guided itself through the darkness. It couldn’t be , Emily thought to herself, piecing together the noises. “Henry? Is…is that you?” There was no response. “Henry?” She asked into the night once again. Emily peeked her head out of her room and quickly scanned both ends of the hallway. Left, right, then left again. But she didn’t see anything. “Henrrrryyy?” Her voice echoed off the walls and into the dark voids of the house. The rolling started again, but it sounded further away, so she left her doorway and began walking down the corridor towards the stairwell. She heard a bump coming from downstairs and got a little excited. She quickly darted down the stairs, her feet patting each step with a quick tap as they swiftly moved from one to the next. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and held her breath, listening for any signs of life. A shuffling came from the office and she immediately turned to walk towards it. As she approached the doorway and let her eyes adjust to the images she was seeing, her smile quickly turned to a grimace and the air left her lungs completely. “Oh…God.” The creature that stood before her was not Henry. No. It was something that looked like Henry but Emily knew it wasn’t. It had glowing red eyes and snarled as it noticed her. She gasped in horror as it pivoted to approach her. Its long, disheveled hands reached for her, grasping at the air with distorted tendrils. She screamed. And screamed. The longer she screamed, the redder her face got until she felt like her skull was going to explode. She shouted in distress. She had to move, to run. But she couldn’t. Suddenly, the lights in the office flicked on and Emily noticed her brother Zach standing just inside the room. Henry’s evil spirit had vanished. “Are you okay?” Zach asked in a panic. “I heard you screaming from all the way upstairs.” Emily had to catch her breath. The sweat beaded on her forehead and began to moisten her brow. She tried to speak, but it was hard to find the words. “H…He…Henry….ghost…res…urrected.” “What?” Zach was completely confused and gave Emily a few moments to compose herself. She slowed her heartbeat and begun to form actual sentences. “I missed Henry. So, I looked up resurrection spells.” She pulled out a folded piece of paper from her back pocket and handed it to Zach. “I think I did it wrong, because his angry spirit tried to get me.” She pointed to the corner that she had first noticed Henry in. “Henry? As in your dead hamster?” He scratched his head. “That Henry?” “I just missed him so much.” Zach sighed, looked at the paper, scolded her for trying to conjure some black magic in a Christian household and sent her to bed. “I will say, though, that’s pretty impressive for an 8-year-old.” She tried to laugh but hadn’t gathered that much strength yet. She laid in bed long after Zach had shut the door and stared at her ceiling in the dark. She went through all that had happened to her and feared that God had punished her. “God works in mysterious ways” entered her mind again. And so did the rolling and bumping. Only, it wasn’t in her mind. It was right outside her door.


The Archipelago publishes every Wednesday. See the pinned comment for links to the contents. \ The image of the man curled up on the stool stayed with me. He seemed exhausted in a way that I hadn’t seen anywhere. Like a prey animal, he had been told to keep running, to cling onto the instinct for survival. But drive only goes so far, and eventually he’d given up, lied down, and waited for the predators to feast on whatever remained. I tried to explain that look of defeat to Kurbani and Xander; how passionless his passion had become. “Even if you’re meant to be doing something you love,” I said with a shrug, “If you can’t leave…” “…the room becomes a prison and the passion becomes slavery.” Kurbani said plainly, absent-mindedly poking her breakfast. I gave a sheepish nod. “I’d hate that for Mirai,” Xander said, stirring runny eggs as though a vision might appear in them. “She’s got too good a spirit to have it used up.” “It can happen to anyone,” Kurbani said. “We’ve all only got so much to give. You use it up, you’ve got nothing left, even for what you love.” She picked up a morself of freshly cooked fish and swallowed it. It smelled delicious, but neither of them were enjoying their meal. Xander lifted his head back, letting the cool winter sun spill onto his face. “This won’t deter her that easily. She’s too strong-willed for that.” “Always has been,” Kurbani smiled with an odd pride. “You know, it’s your fault she’s so smart. She didn’t get that from me.” Xander accused, pointing mockingly with his fork. “Maybe. But her stubbornness comes from you.” Xander let out a small chuckle before scratching his beard. “True that. True that.” Kurbani placed her plate down in her lap and took a resolute sigh. “Ferdinand, could you talk with her?” My eyes widened. “Me?” She leaned forwards, emboldened by the idea. “Offer an outside perspective. You’ve travelled the Archipelago and know what it’s like to go alone and what the world can be like.” “So have you,” I said with a nervous laugh. “Yeah,” Xander lifted his chin. “But we’re boring parents who want to ruin her life.” I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling a sudden heat despite the cold winter air. “You think there’s any chance she’ll listen to me, either?” Kurbani smiled. “She respects you more than you know. More than anyone.” “I can try.” “That’s all that we ask,” Kurbani smiled. I knew that I had to speak to Mirai. I owed Kurbani and Xander that much. But the reality was I was scared. After everything I had been through since Kadear, I shouldn't have been. My body was still recovering from the latest adventure: my legs still ached after the most basic of walks, and I still got pains in my kidneys from where the dehydration had left its mark. But those other threats, those mortal ones, they came to me. They made me respond. I could choose when I faced this fear, and that made me procrastinate and stew over exactly what to say. Two days later, the cowardice finally passing, and I headed to the shore to speak with Mirai. I decided I would catch her as she came home, away from the boat in an open space where private conversations weren’t overheard by default. As I waited, I watched the low sun skim across the seas and all too quickly dim below the horizon again. Boats came and went, each one failing to be the one I wanted to see. Alessia was out there somewhere. I wondered what the islanders of Vexids made of my idle waiting. Throughout the day, those on work shifts bounded by to meet with merchants or carry goods. Endesha was there too, striding with purpose, keen to share a little of the island’s history with visiting sailors. And amongst all the trading, and carrying, and talk, there was me. Sitting. Watching. Waiting. I wasn’t sure if they envied me, pitied me, or thought of me as some strange anomaly, a fascinating deviant whose inactivity could be gawked at. As dusk came I gave up waiting. The ships were beginning to blur with the clouds and waves. Patches of indeterminate blacks, purples and blues swirled like dyes, and soon, perhaps in my hopefulness, every cloud looked like a ship I knew. Instead, I waited by the cafe area to the side of the docks, sitting round a well-stoked fire that kept the sea breeze at bay. I practised what I would say to the flames, trying to work out what could possibly make a headstrong teenage girl decide her family were worth staying on a boring boat for. I was out of time to rehearse. At the top of the hill, I could see Mirai descending. Her walk was slow and meandering, shoulders loose and her head leaned back. I left the cafe and climbed up the hill to meet her, the winds now pinching as I huddled my arms around myself for warmth. “How was Charles?” I asked. She smiled. “Good. Been learning a lot.” She stretched out her arms. “Tired though.” “Even enjoyable things can be tiring.” She tilted her head and peered up at me, her eyes rolling back. “Yeah. There’s a satisfaction in being tired from doing good though. You know?” I nodded my agreement. The winds picked up and whistled around my ears, flapping in my sweater, all filling in the silence as I didn’t know what to say. “Do you mind me asking, have you thought anymore about if you’re going to stay?” She paused for a moment, a thought caught in her throat. She turned and stared off to the west. “It’s too far to see, and there are a few islands you’d have to sail around. But if you went dead straight that way,” she pointed over the small hill in front of her. “You’d sail straight into Deer Drum.” I turned to face where she was looking. “I didn’t know you knew your geography that well.” There was a slight shake of her head, not enough to dislodge the gaze. “I don’t. I just like to always know where it is.” “I’m sorry you all had to leave. I’m sorry that Deer Drum is a boat.” Another shake of the head, this one firmer. “This boat isn’t Deer Drum. It’s a lot of the same people. But it’s not Deer Drum. That’s what hurts. Ever since those bastards came to our island I’ve just been waiting. Waiting for things to settle down. Return to normal. And that’ll never happen. I don’t think dad or mum or any of the others ever want things to settle.” “Do you hate it on this boat that much?” “No. But it’s not Deer Drum. This place, those courtyards, it’s the first place I’ve been where I’ve felt… not belonging, but…” She grimaced, forcing the words to fruition. “At last, something felt right.” I didn’t respond. I just smiled and gave her room to talk. “I’ve just been drifting. Metaphorically and literally.” She let out a small spluttered chuckle. “For once I’m not. I have something to do, and I love it.” “You’re good at it too. I still remember the fish nets.” “Yeah. That felt good,” the corner of her lips uplifted with the memory. “But there’s way more I could do.” I swallowed. “Mirai, I know how much you love it here, and learning about engineering, but-“ “-a lot of the people are miserable?” She leaned back on one foot and folded her arms. She chuckled with a smirk. “Yeah. I’ve seen them too. I don’t want to end up like some of those people in the courtyards.” Another silence, this one filled by birds singing their evening song. Mirai turned, muttering to the ground. “Doesn’t matter though. I don’t think I’m staying.” Word spluttered from my mouth and I tried to hide my relief. “You’re not?” I failed. Mirai gave me a stern look for my unhidden pleasure. “This place is great, I honestly think I could make it work here. But… dad, mum, Novak.” She turned to face me at last, her eyes glassy. “I have to do what’s right for me, but that also means keeping my family close.” I smiled. “That sounds very mature of you.” She scrunched her face. “With everything that happened, you kind of grow up fast.” My face softened. “I’m glad you're staying.” “I hope I am too.” She looked up to the sky, then back to the ground, then finally back to me, a smirk on her lips. “I was chatting to Charles though, and I think, maybe I can have the best of both worlds?” “Oh?” She looked at the boat, her home, her lips curling with frustration. “I can’t just keep doing what I was doing. I can’t just keep babysitting kids. I need to make a life on that boat for me.” “And how do you plan to do that?” Mirai looked around at the passersby, eyeing up the porters and merchants, scanning every face. Her mouth opened, then closed again, puffing her cheeks. She looked back up the hill, and nodded for me to follow. As we walked the people and winds of the harbour were placed by nocturnal insects and the hum of factory machines through the nearby walls. “Can I tell you something and you keep it a secret?” Mirai asked. “Sure,” I nodded, trying to convince myself of the words. Her face was serious. She pointed at me as she spoke. “You’ve got to back me up on this. You can’t tell mum and dad.” I looked over my shoulder to the ship. A secret that would keep the family together. Xander and Kurbani would approve of that wouldn’t they? “Agreed.” Her posture loosened. “I’m going to stay, whatever happens. I can’t leave them. But I need something to not go insane.” A manic laugh escaped as she tilted her head back. “If it helps you stay I’ll do what I can. What do you need?” “I need you to convince my parents that you’ve come up with the one solution to make me stay.” “And that is…?” She opened her mouth to speak, but something caught her attention and lips wired shut again. Turning, I could see Sirad running up the path towards us. “Ferdinand! Ferdinand!” He stopped, panting. “Alessia. She’s back. At the quay.” I felt a jolt to my chest. “Mirai. We’ll do what it takes, but…” “Really?” She jerked a finger at me. “You just said you were going to help me.” “I will. I promise. But…” My head turned instinctively, I had to go. “I promise, we’ll speak tomorrow.” Mirai took a deep breath, releasing the tension in the exhale. “You’re right. This can wait. We’ll speak tomorrow.” I smiled. “Thank you.” Out of my periphery I could see that Sirad was still in hearing distance. “And… I’m glad we had this talk.” She smiled. “Same.” Nervousness crept through my veins as I walked back down the dirt path, my heart beating harder, as I scanned the quay, looking at the faces caught in the glow of the yellow lanterns. I skipped back and forth, checking sail patterns and trims of hulls till I saw a ship. Her ship. I followed the mast down to the deck, then to the jetti next to it. I saw three figures. Xander, Eir, and then, next to them… A smile crept across my lips and my torso flooded with warmth, as my arms twitched in anxiety. She was bent over, her whole body crouching down to the pavement, her face covered in her hands. She nodded, her hand slipping to reveal a wide grin. She shot up and hugged Xander tightly. He froze for a moment, then lifted his arms up and returned the hug. Alessia spoke again. Xander turned and pointed up the hill. She turned, staring in my direction but not at me. I started walking, trying to get into her eyeline. More glances across the crowd till our eyes met. She lifted her head back and mouthed something to the heavens, before she ran up the hill towards me. Her head hit my chest with force, and I wrapped my arms round her shoulders, feeling her hands squeeze behind my back. “I thought I’d lost you. I really did,” she muttered, her voice creaking slight. “Me too. I was worried about you.” “I still had the boat,” she chuckled dismissively. “But you, I saw you drift off on that crate. I thought you were gone.” We pulled back from the embrace. I concentrated on my face, trying to keep it calm, not allowing the smile to grow too big. “The crate floated past an island, and I managed to get to shore.” Her smile held no such reservations. She grinned so wide it threatened to swallow her face, her eyes reduced to thin slits across her brow. Her head lifted back, and she let out a sigh - part moan, part laugh, part exhaustion. Then she tightened her mouth and, outstretching a hand, smacked me in the arm. “Don’t you do that to me again.” She repeated the gesture with each word. “Next time look out for the crates. Be more aware of your surroundings. Keep a wider stance when you walk across a wet deck. And…” she let out a groan borne of feelings that had no words. “Thank God you are safe.” “You too. I saw that mast fall down and hit you. You fell off the boat-“ She shook her head. “I was dazed, but thankfully I didn’t drift far.” “I didn’t see you get back on board.” “Must have climbed up between the waves,” she said, biting her lip. “By the time I got to deck I was pretty dizzy and losing blood. Took me a while to get moving again.” It was only then I noticed, shadowed in the twilight, the large scar across the top of her forehead, just below the hairline. A strip where the skin was indented and pink. “Does it still hurt?” She pulled the hair back slightly and rotated her head, allowing me to inspect the mark. “It did hurt like shit. Now? It’s tender, but…” She shrugged. “You should see Eir. Get it checked out.” “Month old now. Ain’t gonna get worse. Besides, I’m a merchant girl, remember? I’ve had worse.” There it was again, that tongue caught between the teeth. I’d missed it. “What you need to know, is this is what I get for trying to save your dumb arse.” She pointed to the scar, and leaned it closer to my face. I shrugged. “I wouldn’t have had to cross the deck if you hadn’t broken your rope.” “Not my fault I’m trying to sail a four or five person ship by myself.” “And it’s not my fault I’m the only person who’ll sail with you.” We both stared at each other for a second in mock antipathy before more laughter crossed our lips, the moment too joyous for even sarcastic anger. She looked me over, inspecting my thin frame and sagging face. “Sorry it took so long to find you.” “It’s fine.” I curled up, scraggly arms crossing in front of my scrawny frame. Alessia didn’t notice, she was staring back at the ship. “I completely lost the front sail, and by the time I was on my feet, all the ropes were messed up. No steering, one sail, and no control. Just limped for a day-and-a-half till I bumped into another boat and could get a tow.” “How’s the ship?” “Got towed to one island, then paid someone to tow me to one where I knew some guys.” She rolled her head from side to side. “But we’re back to sailing.” “How much did it cost?” I stared at the new mast at the front of the ship, pretending I knew how to assess the quality of nautical craftsmanship in the dark from a hundred metres out. “Did they do a good job?” “Ferdinand.” She waited till she had my attention. “You have no idea how much that stuff I took from the ship on Yotese was worth, do you?” I looked to the side, avoiding the eye contact. A snicker escaped her lips. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.” She nodded at the boat. A different smile showed, one of a greater love than any human knew. “Let’s just say I could’ve got that entire mast gold-plated with change if I’d wanted.” “So what now?” I asked, standing next to her as we admired the new mast, rigging and freshly varnished wood. She let out a small uncertain huff. “I don’t like it, but…” “What?” “Day I’m leaving to come here, some guy approaches me on the quay, says someone’s been looking for us - you and me - and they need to see us soon. Told me to stay and wait here for them to come. Be about a week.” “Who do we both even know? Someone from one of the islands? Kedrick?” Alessia pulled one side of mouth back and shook her head. “They’d all say who they were right? Has to be someone who wants us to stay but worried we’d sail off if we knew who.” A name surfaced, I felt the frost on the ocean winds as I said it. “Sannaz?” She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe? I don’t know.” “But you want to wait and see?” “I want to wait and see,” she nodded. “We can wait a few days. What’s the worst that could happen?” “Sannaz finds what he’s after and ends The Archipelago?” I said with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah. But… apart from that?” I looked at the swirl of pastel colors on the sea, a brief silence forming between us for the first time. “Could Sannaz really be coming to find us?” Alessia folded her arms, and leaned her head towards me, the tip of her head touching my shoulder. “Honestly? I hope so. Because I’d really like this fishshit to be over with.”  \ The Archipelago publishes every Wednesday. See the pinned comment for links to the contents.


Cornelius walked out of his tent, ready to seize the day. The natives had kept him from his prize long enough. “Gerald, get the advance scouts ready. I want to know where the gems are today, and then the rest of the troop will march through the night to start packing them up tomorrow morning.” “Are you sure that’s wise, sir?” Gerald looked up, giving his misgivings in that timid voice the captain had learned to tolerate so well. “The troops have barely slept the 3 weeks we’ve been here, and we don’t know nearly enough about the jungle to be sure the scouts can find these gems today. And, even if they do find it, we almost certainly can’t get the whole caravan through the trees in one night.” Gerald was what some may call a voice of reason, but Cornelius called him a roadblock. He’d been saddled with the advisor after his last exploration lead to the decimation of the military forces, but the captain had no idea how this mole of a man was supposed to guard against bad luck, or how his ability to speak to the beasts was supposed to be useful when they didn’t seem to have a thought besides *kill*. *Swish* “But *he* can.” Cornelius pointed towards the savage that’d been strung up by his grotesquely long arms. “I’m sure you won’t mind leading us to your comrades at all, would you?”. The half man, half beast sneered at the men, but that’s all he could do now. The regulars had thought that stringing him up by his arms would be enough to make him cooperative, but his dexterous legs with hands-like feet became a problem. Now he swung from the pole with two broken femurs, not unlike how he’d swung from trees into the camp to begin with. Cornelius turned back to Gerald. “He can’t walk, but the native certainly knows his way around. If the scouts bring him along and pay attention, they’ll find the natives in no time. Then, the gems must be near, and we’ll be going home with those magic crystals withing the week. So, stop questioning everything I tell you and get the advance scouts ready.” “Y-y-yes sir!” Gerald scurried away to prepare for the advance. Cornelius turned back to his captive and stood onto the box that was needed to hang this freakishly tall creature from the pole. “I don’t know how you got to be like this, but I assure you I’ll extend you the mercy of ending your miserable life as soon as you’re no longer useful.” Cornelius walked away from the prisoner with a push, leaving the man to swing back and forth from his wrists. *Swish* A bloodied scout stumbled into Cornelius’ tent, not 2 hours after they’d left to find the gems. “What is the meaning of this! Do you not know to announce yourself before you even consider coming into my quarters?!” Cornelius slammed his book down and studied the young man, half of his face mangled beyond recognition. He also wasn’t saluting, which the captain quickly forgave after realizing the soldier didn’t have a right arm left to salute with. Instead there was a mangled stump right above his elbow with the bone jutting out , the flesh mangled and almost burned. “Good God, man, what happened? Where are the others?” “Only…one…left.” The scout coughed up blood between each word, then collapsed onto the floor of the tent. After fetching the medic and making sure the boy was being taken care of, Cornelius went to find Gerald. There was no way that soldier was the only one who made it back. Besides, what on earth could have caused him that much damage, besides jumping in front of a train? And there he was, the little rodent looking frightened as ever, staring at something just outside of camp. “What do you know about the scouting trip? The soldier said he was the only one left, but that can’t poss…” the captain stopped in his tracks. The soldier was wrong, he wasn’t the only one who made it back. He was just the only one still alive. Heads, legs, arms, and torsos were scattered just outside of camp. They appeared to be arranged to spell something in the native’s language, but Cornelius didn’t need Gerald to translate to tell him the message. “War” was universal. Then, a flash out of the corner of his eye. There, a woman, probably a meter and a half tall, with grotesquely muscular legs and knees facing the wrong way. She eyed Gerald and Cornelius, looking like a predator who knows its been seen, but is still deciding if it can go in for a kill. And then, nothing. *Swish* And then, everything. Cornelius stood in the middle of what appeared to be a town square, although unlike any he’d ever seen. The huts here were built into the trees, a combination of trunks hollowed out and branches laced around to create dwellings. A man and a woman stood behind him, both with the same diminutive stature and impossibly constructed legs that he’d seen on the woman back at camp just before he was whisked off here. Speaking of, he saw her standing off to the side next to the captain’s former captive, sitting down as a part of a much larger circle. Cornelius saw Gerald on the ground dry heaving. And then Cornelius vomited. After he was done with the worst bout of motion sickness any man had every experienced, Cornelius tried again to survey what was going on around him while staying on his knees. There were easily over a hundred of the natives gathered around him, but in reality he could only assume they were all human. There were a good dozen that looked like the captive, all hanging from their arms and legs 20 feet above the proceedings, and another dozen or so who had the structure of his unthinkably quick captors. There were so much more beyond that, though. Ones with webbed appendages and fins, others with rocky exteriors and permanently hunched backs, still others with thin limbs, padded feet, and huge eyes, and another half dozen one offs scattered about. Behind all of them were several children poking their eyes between their elders to get a better view of the strange man, although none of the young ones seemed to have any of the deformities of the adults. And in the center stood a man with no eyes. The man, shuffling forward with the grace of a king, stopped in front of Gerald and started speaking in the native’s tongue. Gerald stayed on his knees, gazing up at this sightless patriarch with all of the reverence shown to God. “So you’re the one in charge then? I’m the captain of my crew, you’ll speak to me first.” Cornelius got up to stand his ground, and then quickly found himself planted in it. One of the speedsters had her foot placed on top of his back and seemed likely to break his spine if he spoke out again. The blind man turned his attention back to Gerald and resumed speaking. After a while of Gerald’s eyes doing their best saucer impression, the old man gestured towards Cornelius. Gerald turned to him and, with much hesitancy, said “They all are given their changes by the gems. They grow up to look like you and me normally, but the gems change them to give them advantages in the jungle, according to what the tribe needs and what fits the individual. He wants to know if you would like to see the gems.” Cornelius stared at the two pieces of flesh where eyes should be and nodded like a man possessed. One of the rock-like creatures were brought forward, and the patriarch started talking again, with Gerald translating. “At their coming of age ceremony each member of their tribe gazes on the gems and holds them to cause the changes. If anyone except one with the strengthened skin touches them again, they will die a terrible death for their greed for more power. We are the first outsiders to ever see the gems.” The one with strengthened skin opened its hand showing two small, purple gems. Cornelius stared at them rabidly, when all of a sudden, he and Gerald were dragged into contact with the crystals. Heat radiated from the gems, a feeling of fire coursing over Cornelius’ skin from head to toe. The burning sensation grew and grew, both of them screaming out in pain against it until, finally, it subsided. The captain opened his eyes against the sweat coating his face and surveyed his new body. His eyes felt smaller, and yet the light was way too much for him. He closed his eyes and tried to ask what had happened, when suddenly he could see everything. He’d let out a small squeak and was able to see the patriarch standing over him, the rock creature waiting patiently, and Gerald lying next to him. Or, at least, what used to be Gerald. He had a long nose, tiny eyes, and absolutely enormous hands. Gerald, routing in the dirt as he was, had turned into a human mole. The captain turned back to his own situation. He could feel fur all over his body, except under his arms, where there seemed to be a mass of skin. With his eyes still closed, Cornelius stood up, extending his arms to their full wingspan, and tried to piece together what had happened to him. He had fur, he could see with sound, he had flesh under his arms that seemed like…wings. It hit him. Cornelius had turned into a blood sucker. With a few more clicks, Cornelius could tell that his former captive was now being brought over as Cornelius was being pressed into the ground. The man was still towering sitting down, although the being at foot level certainly helped with that. In his lanky hands he was carrying a long, thin piece of stone, a knife. As the man was carried towards Cornelius’ legs, the captain realized what was happening. This wouldn’t be an eye for an eye, but it was certainly close enough. *Swish.


It generally takes me about 20 minutes to find a cafe or restaurant to dine in. I start with Google recommendations, searching for the general term ‘restaurants near me’ before my sparking tastebuds narrow it down to the flavour I desire at the time.

The images of Indian dishes make my mouth water, especially when I think about warm garlic naan covered in melted butter, then a photo of pulled pork tacos with super fresh slaw from a popular Mexican restaurant draws my attention. But most of the time, it’s Asian cuisine that makes my stomach gurgle in approval; Vietnamese my preference at lunchtime, Japanese an evening favouite. If a restaurant doesn’t feature images of their plated offerings, they don’t even get a look in. If the plates aren’t presented well or nicely garnished, I will scroll on by. Presentation is everything when it comes to promoting your business online, I should know, I judge businesses for a living, as a marketing consultant.

To see the shortfalls in a business in order to improve it, you need to inspect it with a critical eye, from first impression to sale. In order to then promote the business effectively, you need to inspect your market and yes, you need to be judgmental; age, income, and gender all come into it. Then, of course, this behaviour carries over into your everyday life. Sometimes it’s a good thing, but it can make you look at the world with cloud-tinted glasses. The other consideration when browsing search results is customer reviews. Of course, this is an absolute given. I can pick a disgruntled customer a mile away, so I’ll scroll past those, disinterested in their rant. I also avoid reviews with poor spelling and grammar, reviews that spell the business name wrong, and outright abusive reviews to the business. Once they’re weeded out, I can then get on to the real reviews and base my personal ranking on those, plus the visual presentation of the business. So you would think that when I walked into the lowest rated restaurant in the city I was visiting, I must have forgotten my phone, it surely can’t have been on purpose.

On the outside, the restaurant looked welcoming. It was quiet, but post-Covid most businesses were struggling so that came as no surprise. The front window was clean with very little advertising, and a simple red stenciled sign that read ‘Fusion Delights’.

I’d come across it after the meeting when I was walking back to the hotel. It was the first restaurant I’d seen that was open at 11 am, and while it was early, I wanted something substantial having skipped breakfast to get to my appointment on time.

Fusion Delights had a familiar ring to it and I immediately thought that the menu would have an Asian influence, but when I picked up a menu from the display stand on the way in, I saw it was a fusion… of various cultures signature dishes. Crumbed Calamari Rings with Satay Sauce Pulled Beef Sliders with Hollandaise Slaw Butter Chicken with Pesto Naan Teriyaki Chicken with Bulgur Pilaf In a way, they all seemed strangely appetizing but the thing that really caught my eye was the price. Not one main dish was over $15. This made me doubt the quality a little, but hunger led the way and I went ahead and approached the counter to order. The counter was clean and the Raspberry and Dark Chocolate Muffins on display were large and looked fresh with just the right amount of chocolate chunks, I almost ordered one but figured if I were still hungry after my super cheap main, I might just get one to take back to the hotel. A coffee machine sat to the right of the counter, and although I’d been cutting back on caffeine, I decided I’d order one to give me a boost to get through the rest of the day.

When ordering coffee at a new establishment, I would select a Mochaccino. I figured the addition of chocolate would mask any substandard coffee-making skills, I couldn’t bear being disappointed by burned milk, or coarsely ground beans. When the server came out of the kitchen to greet me, I thought she looked tentative, even a little scared. She smiled and was polite, but looked at me from under heavy quizzical eyebrows and with a slightly shaky voice she said, “Good morning, how may I help you?” So far so good: a clean restaurant, a quirky menu, tasty looking muffins and a lovely server.

“Hello, this is a lovely looking restaurant,” I started by saying, while gesturing around the clean white walls and tasteful simple red and black stenciled artwork. “Oh really?” She said, raising her face to look at me directly. “I mean, thank you so much.” “Yes, it really is, and I’m excited to try some food from your menu.” “Great!” She replied, now seeming a bit more lively and comfortable with me. “What can I get you?” I decided on the spur of the moment to go for gold, and ordered a Latte, I felt like she was a person I could trust to treat the beans gently.

“I’ll also get the Teriyaki Chicken with Bulgur Pilaf, please.” “Sure, that’ll be $17.50 please? But I’m sorry, your coffee will take 10 minutes or so, I haven’t started the machine yet.” “No problem,” I said with a smile. I had a feeling the wait would be worth it. I returned to my table and within one minute, a fresh bottle of water was placed in front of me with a small plate of Cabbage and Wasabi Mayo. Fantastic. The Latte arrived at my table within the promised 10 minutes. It was served in a glass, the froth was thin and tight, and there was a perfectly formed silver fern pattern on the top, representing our country, New Zealand. I waited until she had left before I put the cup to my lips and took a sip… of the best coffees I had ever tasted; smooth, creamy, strong enough but not to the point of bitterness, and an ever so subtle caramel finish.

“Is your coffee okay?”

The coffee was so enjoyable that I hadn’t even noticed the server return to my table holding a beautifully presented Teriyaki Chicken and Bulgar Pilaf plate with fresh slaw on the side. “Oh yes, it’s gorgeous, thank you so much.” She put the plate in front of me with chopsticks and a fork, and I saw her nametag read ‘Bethany’. She was startled when I thanked her again by using her name. Then smiled shyly as she remembered she was wearing her nametag.

“You’re welcome. Enjoy, and let me know if there’s anything else you need.” The chicken was the first thing I tried. It was tender and the sauce was so rich and tasty, I could tell it was homemade. The bulgur was next. I was somewhat of a bulgur connoisseur as it was one of the first dishes I’d ever made. Cracked bulgur wheat is cheap to buy, and with simple ingredients including tomatoes, stock, onions, and oil, it was very easy to make. But to get the taste just right? That was another thing.

The first mouthful of bulgur was warm and comforting. It wasn’t too flavoursome and while tomato isn’t normally something I’d have with teriyaki anything, it complimented the chicken perfectly and I had to stop myself from audibly moaning with foodie pleasure. The slaw was as fresh as it looked, light, and with just the right amount of mayo so as to refresh the palette.

My Japanese Turkish fusion meal went down a treat; every mouthful with the right mix of flavours. I washed it down with the cool filtered water and sat back, satisfied with the size of the meal, and impressed with the quality. Bethany had peaked at me a few times during my meal, clearly trying to figure out whether I was enjoying it or not, and noticing I had finished, she came over to clear my table.

“How did you enjoy your meal?” “With every ounce of my being,” I replied. And she beamed. I added, “could you point me to the bathroom, please?” You can always tell a good food establishment by the condition of its bathroom, and Fusion Delights did not let me down. The benchtop was sparkly clean, the toilet equally so. Ample toilet paper was available, displayed in a wall cabinet with a glass door, and foaming soap was available at the sink for handwashing. There were hand towels, and a hand dryer available to suit both preferences, and the feature wall displayed a print of various famous landmarks from around the world: the Taj Mahal, Great Wall of China, Statue of Liberty, and the Colosseum - another addition to the ‘fusion’ theme. When I returned to my table, my used plate was gone, and in its place was a small bowl with a few M&Ms surrounding a Starlight Mint - very cool. I popped the M&Ms in my mouth and the mint in my pocket for later.

Having paid when I ordered, I could have just walked out, but Bethany watched me curiously as I walked back to the counter. “Bethany, can you call the owner of this restaurant for me, please?” Her cheeks blushed and it was then that I noticed how young she was, she can’t have been older than 20. “Was there something wrong?” “No, everything was perfect. I just need to speak to the owner for a moment if that’s okay?” Bethany nodded and picked up the phone, and the owner answered straight away. “Uh, hi Bruce. It’s Bethany here. Sorry to call you at home but I have a customer who would like to speak to you.” She was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry, we did try hard. We did. She told me everything was good and she just wants to talk to you.” Bethany’s blush had turned a deeper pink as the owner’s voice rose, berating his staff member and I could see her eyes were welling up with tears. “Put the phone on speaker please, Bethany,” I asked calmly and gave her a reassuring smile. “And stay to listen to our conversation.” She did as asked without warning the owner and his voice continued, over the loud speaker now. “We’ve talked about all this Bethany, what did you do wrong? I can’t believe it, I can’t believe you.” “Hello, Bruce.” I interrupted, and was met with silence. “Bruce, it’s me, Sarah.” “Sarah? I-I didn’t know you were visiting today, I’m at home.” “I know,” I replied and winked at Bethany. “That was the point.” “You, you know each other?” She whispered, and I nodded in response. “Bruce, I wanted to speak to you straight away and congratulate you and your staff. Everything, from the new sign on the window to the cleanliness of the bathroom, to the tastiness of the food and quality of your newly trained barista’s coffee… was perfect.” Bethany raised her eyebrows in shock as she heard quiet sobs coming from the other end of the phone. She couldn’t believe her stern boss was crying! “Th-thank you, S-Sarah. Thank you so much for everything, for bringing us back from the dead.” I laughed. “Bruce, you could have taken every bit of advice I had given you, and thrown it out the window, continuing to do the things you were doing. But you chose to fight, to give it one more push and make the improvements this place so needed. And you and your staff did it. You didn’t just do it, you ACED it!” “So you don’t think we’ll be the lowest-rated restaurant in town anymore?” “Hah. Absolutely not. Once word gets out and customers have the same experience I just did, you and Bethany here are going to be rushed off your feet. People want, people NEED to socialise again now that restrictions have been lifted,” I reassured him. “And Fusion Delights is going to be THE place to go.” With more tears and congratulations, Bethany ended the phone call, and looked at me shaking her head, “you tricked me! You actually Mystery Shoppered me!” Smiling, I nodded and said “I did, that’s part of my job. I make recommendations and then I follow up with a sneaky visit, and do you know what the last recommendation is that I’ll be making to Bruce?” Bethany shook her head. “That Bethany gets a pay rise.” I was still smiling when I left Fusion Delights, the name Bruce and I had agreed upon when he hired me to help him revive his restaurant after the pandemic had forced him to cut costs and quality, resulting in it becoming the lowest-rated restaurant in town. But now this will change, and being part of that change is what drives me. May the five-star reviews roll in!


Detective Nunez sips coffee, looking around my apartment as if he’s just a visitor.             “Congratulations on your promotion,” I say. “Officer to Detective, that’s a promotion, isn’t it?” My voice is dead. I keep looking at Billie. Why is she messed up in this? Why did I think I could live a happy life?             “First I want to say congratulations to you,” he says, smiling. He aims an open palm at Billie’s convex stomach. “Parenthood is the best job in the world.” He smiles and I know it’s genuine.             “You’re a father?” I ask.             “Yes. A little girl. She’s my whole world.” He looks down at his hands, picturing her in his head.             “She’s a lucky girl then. I wish I’d had a father like you. How’s progress on the case?” I think about Zach, buried for years beneath the tree. I picture my mother swinging from the tree when she broke free from my dad’s grip on her.             “We’ve recovered the, uh, remains of Zach. DNA testing against your father proved the identity. It was a very easy case after your father’s confession.” He’s leaning forwards on the sofa. His kind face must be comforting to his daughter.             I bite my nail. I know there’s more.             “So, you found my brother. When do I get to bury him?” I ask.             “The due diligence will take a week or two more, Xander. The department doesn’t take murder lightly.” He twirls the simple gold band around his marriage finger.             Billie is rubbing her stomach to soothe herself. She’s nervous and can’t hide it like me. I take her hand. She squeezes mine as if the contractions have started.             “You’re not here about what my father did, are you detective?”             “No.” He makes the face of someone who knows the person next to them farted but can’t bring it up. “I’m not in the homicide squad.” He reaches down into his satchel and pulls out an iPad with a sticker that marks it property of the police department. Swiping through some files he shows me a photograph. “Do you recognise this man?”             It’s Andy. “He looks familiar.”             “He recognised you from a photo Xander. He says you came to visit his dad the night he suffered a stroke.” He knows he has me trapped. It’s a no-win scenario.             “He’s the kid from the park. Man. I mean, you’ve met him? He’s got learning difficulties or something. I walked him home. Kids at the park were yelling at him.” It’s not why I walked Andy home. A detective worth anything will know that instinctively.             “You talked to his father, Bill?” The enquiry is casual, but he might as well be shining a light in my eye while I’m cuffed to a table.             “He wasn’t a nice guy, told me to get lost.”             “Lots of people think Bill was a great guy, he was a doctor. Saved a lot of lives.” Detective Nunez wants me to contradict him. Nope.             “I didn’t know that. People are more than they seem I guess.”             “Always. What people don’t know is that Bill was abusing children, including Andy when he was younger.” Nunez’ piercing brown eyes ask if I was part of that.             I should react with shock but none of that is news to me and the thought makes me angry. “That’s terrible. Did you arrest him?” I ask the same way I’d ask for a menu, flat as a pancake. I’m good at lying, usually.             “We did, but he’s mentally incompetent to face charges now. He’s in a care home, will be for the rest of his days.”             “Maybe the world’s better off that way, if he was what you say he was.” Billie squeezes my hand. I’m being too obvious.             “Thing is, we don’t know what happened to him. He was a healthy man. I mean he was sick the way anyone who hurts kids is sick, but what happened to his mind can’t be explained.” He looks at Billie. “Is it possible for me to have another coffee?”             “Of course,” she says. I wish she wouldn’t indulge him. Let his mind falter. Let his mouth go dry. I’m happy for the first time in my life and he’s going to fuck it up. Screw him and his ironed powder blue shirt. Damn his casual pleather jacket and the jeans.             “Can you skip to the point, Detective?” I hate waiting for it.             “Did you in any way harm Doctor Bill Schrader?”             “No.” I look him right in his brown eyes. “I never hurt Bill Schrader.” I can say it honestly because I didn’t hurt him, I took away the evil in him. It isn’t my fault that there was almost nothing left when it was gone.             “Your DNA was on the clothes he was wearing when the ambulance crew found him. He had traces of Chloroform around his mouth. So did Andy. Do you know anything about that?” Detective Nunez is really going for it. He’s lost the casual body language. He’s facing me like a perp.             “No.” I drink coffee from the cup in front of me so that I can gulp without it being so obvious. “Maybe one of Doctor Schrader’s victims came back for revenge.”             “Perhaps.” Nunez pulls a notepad from his pocket and writes something down. “You know, I should thank whoever did it. They got a monster off the streets. Andy is in better hands now. He’s been adopted by an old couple who lost their son in Afghanistan.”             “I’m glad for him,” I say, stiff lipped.             “You know something else I forgot?” He takes the coffee from Billie, who sits heavily by my side. “You’ve been present at a lot of weird events like that of Doctor Schrader’s downfall. A bunch of neo-Nazis ended up in the same mess as him a couple of counties over. You bought gas there the same night.” God damn it. Why couldn’t he be an incompetent donut loving cop who just likes to flash the lights?             Billie looks at me. She’s about to start crying. She’s got her mommy to be T-shirt on. She’s wearing fluffy bunny slippers on her feet. She’s ordered the cot, the changing table, the bottles, the pram, the diaper bucket, the wet-wipe warmer. She giggles when she shows me baby outfits based on characters we like. She wants to dress the baby as Grogu from The Mandalorian for its first Halloween. Billie Watanabe is a growing ball of love that deserves better than this shit.

            “Maybe we should talk in the hallway, detective.” I stand up slowly. I don’t want him to take it as a threat.             “You first, Xander. Let’s talk.” He stands. I can see the bulge of his gun.             I walk out into the hallway outside the loft apartment Billie talked me into renting. I lean on the railing over the staircase, looking down seven floors.             “I’ve been trying to track your movements. It’s not easy.”             “Then why not let it go?” I ask. “Do you think the people you’re talking about don’t deserve to face justice?”             “What you do isn’t justice, Xander. It’s vigilantism. Only the law can provide safe, accountable justice.”             “Tell that to my brother Zach. To my mother Maria. To Andy. To the victims of Doctor Schrader. Tell that to the people attacked or murdered by neo-Nazis for the colour of their skin.” My voice is freezer burn. My eyes are narrowed beams of rage. My heart is beating a gallop.             “It’s impossible to know what a person will do beforehand, Xander. If you had evidence of their crimes, you could have turned them in to the law. They would have been arrested, put in prison. They wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone again.” He really believes it. He’s a pastor at the pulpit. He’s the man on the soapbox. His passion and faith are palpable.             “Unless they have a good lawyer. Doctor Schrader would have. He’d have spun the court stories about his work. He’d have character witnesses telling the jury about the miracles he performed. He’d have lawyers tripping up his victims with bullshit questions to make them sound guilty. That’s just the normal ones, then there’s my father. Do you know what he could do? He twisted our minds with his powers. He made us forget about Zach. He would hurt us and then take away the memories. Your justice system has no answer to that.” I growled with the menace of a guard dog.             Detective Nunez was supressing the urge to reach for his gun. “I’m sorry you feel like that, but I can’t let you take the law into your own hands. I’m going to come back with a warrant-”             “Do you want to know how helpless victims of abuse feel? Do you want to know what the hatred of those monsters tastes like? I can show you.” I hold out my hand. I buried a lot of old memories with my father, but I’ve been at work since then.             “What are you talking about? You need help Xander.” He shakes his head.             “Shake my hand, what do you have to lose?” My tanned hand takes his.             I send memories flooding into his mind. Memories of a woman attacked by her husband. The memories of the husband being attacked by his father before he relived it with his wife. I show him how it felt for a man who was hunted through the streets for his Delhi accent and kicked to within an inch of his life. I show the same attack from the perspective of the attackers.             I let go of his hand. He staggers back and falls to the ground. Sweat starts to bead on his face. Tears flow from his eyes. He’s pissed himself. His hands are clawing at his hair.             “That’s how it feels from both sides Detective Nunez. Still think I should leave the monsters out there to get caught?” I slide down against the wall to be at his eye level. I look at the shadows cast by the railings from the light above my door. “You don’t catch them all. I can’t either. Some of them, the clever ones or the lucky ones get away with it. Some get caught and get off on technicalities. Some serve a sentence and do the same thing all over again.             My father was known to the police. You know all about it. He hurt people for a living. Nothing ever stuck to him. You probably never thought there were people out there like me. My father could do this, he used it for all the wrong reasons. I’ve spent years finding people like him and neutralising them. I don’t kill them. I don’t do more damage than I have to. I cut away the part of their mind that causes other people pain. If that’s more than they can afford to lose and function, then I’d say it’s the lesser of two evils.”             I stand. He’s still in the nightmares. I take his hand. He panics and tries to fight me off. I take back the memories. He looks into my eyes, pure fear.             “I have some spare pants for you to put on, you can’t go out like that.” I point to his crotch without looking. He follows me in a trance. “You have great faith in the law. That’s noble, admirable. You must recognise that it’s not perfect. You don’t catch a hundred percent of the bad guys. Of those you do, not all get put away. Then there’s recidivism.             “Detective Nunez is going to borrow some of my clothes. He had an accident.” I tell Billie. She knows what I mean. She can guess what happened. She’s too smart to lie to. The detective has a shower and puts on some of my clothes. They’re loose on him. I’m a muscular guy. Wrestling with steroid enhanced fascists is great exercise.             He sits on our sofa again. He’s a different man. His smile is gone.             “You,” he says, looking at me. He blinks but the words vanish from his tongue.             “Yes. Everything you saw is real. They’re all memories and thoughts I took from other people. They’re all the evidence I need. People can burn documents, delete files. It doesn’t matter. If they remember, all I have to do is hold their hand.”             He cups his jaw in his hand. His eyes water silently. Billie passes him a box of tissues wrapped in a fluffy pink case. Detective Nunez wipes his eyes. “My daughter. If that ever… What would I do?” His brown hand grabs more tissues. He’s shaking.             “If you know about anyone who might be a risk to her, you can point me their way. I don’t misfire. If there’s no memories in their mind, I just walk away. I’ve assumed things before and been wrong. Those people didn’t get hurt.”             Nunez wipes a hand over his sweaty forehead. “This is mad. It’s impossible.”             I get him chocolate from the kitchen. It’s good for shock or upset pregnant women. I show him the box. He shakes his head. I shake the box insistently. He takes one. Billie rubs his back.             “I can prove it to you again. If you have a suspect in a case, let me shake their hand. I’ll tell you every detail about how they did or didn’t do it.” I don’t know why I say it. It’s ridiculous. There would be more evidence to expose me.             “There are guys that mutter in the precinct when someone gets off. Someone big. Someone always says that there should be another way. The captain calls that giving in to the dark side. We’re supposed to uphold justice. We can’t do that from outside the law.” He takes another chocolate. He’s looking at his coffee cup on the table. Still shaking, he’s calming down. I can smell the sweat of stress on him again even though he just showered. His black hair is slicked back by the water.             “I need to go home and hold my daughter.” He shoots to his feet.             “Detective Nunez,” I say. He looks at me. “Please let this go. I don’t hurt good people. I barely hurt the bad people, but I do stop them. I don’t want to have to prove it to you, but I will. I’m going to be a father as well. I want to watch my child grow up. I want them to be safe.” My voice pleads while my face is stern. I stand taller than him as he leaves in my clothes with his own in a plastic bag. “I need to think, Xander. Thank you for the clothes.” He turns. “It was nice to meet you, Billie.”             “Nice to meet you, Detective Nunez.” He closes the door behind him. I watch him walk away through the peep hole. He’s a zombie, hollowed out inside. I hope he’s alright to drive.             Billie holds out her arms for a hug but she’s too pregnant. I stand behind her and wrap my arms around her. In a month I’ll be a father. Hopefully I won’t be in prison when the baby is born.


The knights had been assembled for an hour before Arthur, King, entered Camelot’s great hall. When the clatter of his chain mail began echoing through the castle, the lords rose and snatched their helmets, prepared to offer them along with their lives in service to their liege. Arthur stepped up to his seat, inclining his head slightly to the gathered knights. Sir Galahad threw himself to the floor. As the other armor-clad warriors struggled to their knees, their king waved his hand. “No, no, get up,” he boomed. “I called this meeting to…. What’s that?” He gestured with a heavy gauntlet toward the center of the table. Peering up at the hall’s high windows, Lancelot shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun streaming into the chamber. “Perhaps it’s a ray of sun, sire, highlighting an aberration in the grain.” Arthur heaved his mighty sword, Excalibur, onto the great table. “Who did this? Who spilled a flagon on the Round Table? You think, after seeing a mark like that, the guests of Camelot will take me seriously? It’s warped the planks! I’m a king, not a pauper, and I deserve to live like one! There’s not a platter in this fair land capable of covering that up! Percivale, you look like you’ve got something to say.” The knight stammered under his breath. “Go on.” “I don’t believe it’s a spilled drink, sire.” Percivale bit his lip. “Then, what is it? A leak in the rafters? It’s an unusual color for rainwater this time of year, don’t you think? Your travels have taken you to many lands under my banner. Does that puddle look familiar to you?” Percivale’s eyes fell to his boots. Arthur turned his attention to the broader group. “I wouldn’t have spent all that money on a comfortable castle if I’d known my knights were just going to waltz around, ruining everything. How am I supposed to fix this? Have a carpenter strip and stain the Round Table all over again? I’m heavily leveraged at the moment. It’ll involve another tax on my subjects, and you can bet I’ll tell them where to pin the blame!” “I saw who did it, sire,” Sir Gawain said. Arthur’s left eyebrow edged closer to his circlet. “It was….” Gawain gulped for air. “It was the sorceress, Morgana le Fay—as I live and breathe, sire.” “Was it really?” Gawain shifted his weight and stared at a stack of rotting bones under the table. “No,” he whispered. “I swear you knights have made Morgana a scapegoat for everything! If it rains, you tell me it was Morgana. If it snows, it was definitely Morgana. If you fail a quest, it’s because Morgana showed up—who knows how—to cackle at you! I thought I chose you all for your bravery. If I’d wanted a bunch of rabble rousers who spill mead on the furniture and blame my half-sister every time their horses throw a shoe, I’d have grabbed a wagonful of superstitious peasants off the street!” Arthur paused. “No one wants to confess? Alright. There will be no feasting until the table’s fixed. No mead either. I’ll wall up the cellar myself if I have to. Also, Sir Lionell, your charter to slay the dragon of Tywyn has been indefinitely postponed. The beast appears to have entered into a truce with the townspeople… for the moment. I will continue to evaluate the situation in the coming weeks.


“I’m not competitive.” “Neither am I.” Kaley and Sam thought they knew themselves, but how well did they know each other? They’d been friends for what felt like an age. They’d done everything alongside one another for decades. It wasn’t planned, but their lives just seemed to converge time and again, like planes in a coordinated display -  but they’d never been the fighter kind, just the friendly kind. Friendship is a tenuous thing. It can all change in a minute over something seemingly innocuous, like something slight that the wind carries in. People believe nothing can tear them apart until they’re looking at their own shredded halves of what was once one, shared page. They thought they’d always be on friendly terms, until the house appeared. They were house hunting in tandem. They both sent each other any promising prospects they found online. They weren’t looking for the same thing at all – Kaley wanted something airy and city-based while Sam wanted to be sequestered away in a countryside cottage. It wasn’t a rivalry; it was a supportive search shared between friends. That was why they were surprised by each other at the open viewing. They’d told each other they were both attending one, but neither had dreamt it would be at the same location. They had both fallen in love with the place before they’d even got out of their cars. It was one of those idyllic places that look like they can only exist in airbrushed magazines, but it was real and with an affordable price tag. Kaley gave Sam a strained smile and Sam returned it. They didn’t hide how unhappy they were to see each other well at all. They had genuinely always been happy to see each other until that moment. It’s funny how one small, added weight can tip the scale in the other direction. The agent greeted them at the door, while he also greeted all the other viewers. There were so many keen potential bidders; everyone knew their chance of getting the place was as slim as the hallway felt with twenty people crammed into it. Each potential buyer lingered in the rooms, showing how loath they were to leave. It was a competitive atmosphere. One person looked another squarely in the eye, as if to say, are you going to dare outbid me? It wasn’t a friendly atmosphere, however friendly the house felt. Kaley stepped in front of Sam and made her way inside first. Ordinarily, she always would have held the door open and said, “after you.” They both basked in the beauty of their new home – the one they would, they realised, lose a friend to get. After being ejected by the agent whenever he jangled his keys to tell them the viewing time had ended, they left in separate cars without exchanging a word. Kaley went home, where she awaited a message from Sam, offering her the house, but it didn’t arrive. From there, the bidding war commenced. The price kept jumping up, and no one seemed to find its increase unreasonable. They just thought of the pink horse chestnut trees in the garden and the little brook at the end of the lawn. They thought of the sun-filled rooms with the dancing shadows of tree branches that moved on the walls. They thought of the heady scent of roses and the joyous moments they would spend inside its walls. Kaley had always hated expressions like “forever home,” but that was what it was to anyone that had the pleasure of viewing it. They both went beyond their budget to outdo each other. Each of them had the estate agent as a regular contact on their phones. They both sought out constant updates on the status of the house sale. But in that whole time, they didn’t talk to each other – they didn’t even send a single, civil message. The sisterhood they’d spent their lives building had become nothing but a sham. They couldn’t bear to face each other, because doing that would be like facing up to their own disappointment, to their own need for acquiescence where the house was concerned. Neither of them was prepared to acquiesce and let the other have it, for the sake of friendship. The place had a personality as strong as a person’s. It felt like it would be enough to fill the void left by their dead friendship. Their phones rang, simultaneously, with two different agents on the ends of the lines. They had both been outbid. The price had skyrocketed to the point that they could no longer match it, never mind outdo it. The professional tones of the agents weren’t sympathetic enough to their plight. They had invested their whole hearts in the house, and it was never going to belong to either of them. They didn’t know who the highest bidder was, and they didn’t know that it wasn’t each other. They just knew that their dreams were like mirages that had vanished, shattered like broken shards of mirror on cold, tiled floors. A month passed by, and they individually drove to the house – an idea at once in their two heads. They pulled up on the opposite side of the street and parked under the draped veiling of the trees. They tried to approach the place, circumspectly, investigating to see who had taken up residence there. Neither of them believed it was right to do that, but they had to know anyway. And so, they ended up standing side by side, on the same side of the street, looking at the occupied house than neither of them owned. Their eyes met at that moment of realisation, as they watched a kid they didn’t know playing basketball in the driveway, sinking shots they never could have made. The longer they looked at the house, the more they realised it was never meant to be theirs, to be theirs to fight over. They looked at each other with coy smiles, mirroring each other, and took a simultaneous step towards each other’s spot in the sun.


It was the best of times, it was the… oh wait, that’s a different story. I should lead with a more original first line. It was the longest day of my young life. My mother had woken us in the night, packed the car, and drove all night and all the next day. We had only stopped to use questionable gas station rest rooms and to eat the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches she seemed to have an endless supply of. I really wanted McDonald’s, but she said it was too expensive for all of us to order burgers, drinks, and fries. I had 3 younger sisters, Lucy, Maggie, and Sprout. (Yup my parents named her Sprout like a plant growing from the soil). I’m the oldest, Daphne. It was the 4 of us and Ma, plus our gray striped cat, Scrooge, traveling in a ‘99 Saab 95 wagon. The heat didn’t even work until we hit Ohio, where Ma stopped at a mechanic shop. She went to talk with mechanic for a while behind the shop, and said our bill was all set.

I don’t know what it cost, but she kept eating tic tacs like there was a bitter taste in her mouth. “Where are we going, Ma?” We all kept asking her. For six hundred miles, she didn’t answer. When we hit Minnesota, she said, “To see the lights.” “What lights, Ma?” I asked. “The ones up in the sky. You can only see ‘em this time of year and not everyone can see it. Couldn’t see it back in Dorchester.” “But Ma, you can see it in Maine, I think,” I said, recalling a bit of information from a science class. “Well, don’t you wanna go to Minnesota?” “We never thought about it,” Said Maggie honestly. “Well, think about it now, girls, because we’re here,” She said. We were on edge because of the midnight journey cross country, but it seemed exciting to be able to get a view of the Northern Lights. Though we’d been traversing the United States for 23 hours now, I would say the real story starts at this point. Consider all that the prologue .

From what I learned in sixth grade science, the Northern Lights were caused by highly charged solar wind particles that collided with air molecules in the atmosphere. It created beautiful colors and you could see them in Finland, Sweden, Iceland and Alaska. I did think you could sometimes see this in Maine, but Ma said we’d be able to see it in Minnesota. (Come to think of it, it made sense because we were up on the top of the states. I had only gotten a 78 in 7th grade geography and the topic of the aurora borealis from last year was cloudy in my brain.)

It was nearly 3 o’clock at this point, so Ma checked us into a motel. It smelled like cigarettes even though it had “no smoking” signs all over the lobby. We got cokes from a machine! That was pretty cool because Ma never let us drink cokes at home. She always said, “it will rot your teeth and fill up your belly with bubbles.” We didn’t question it, though, you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

We all took a nice nap on creaky king-size bed. The pillows were too hard, but we’d brought our own pillows in the car, so we went and got those to sleep on. Ma put a chair in front of the door even though it had a lock. She said better be safe than sorry.

When we woke up, it was dark outside, but we could tell there was a greenish glow. It was the lights! We all put on our jackets and went out on the little balcony outside the room. It had these wrought iron bars and old folding chairs, but I thought it was the nicest balcony because we’d never had one at home.

My sisters were yelling, “The sky is all lit up!”

I said, “It’s so beautiful.”

Ma smiled for the first time that whole day.

She said, “I’m glad you girls like the view, because I think we’ll be here a while.”

“Are we on vacation?” Lucy asked.

“No,” Ma answered.

“This going be house?” Sprout asked nervously.

Ma laughed, “Goodness no, but we’ll be here for a couple days. Then hopefully we’ll find a house. Well- probably an apartment.”

I was starting to realize what was happening. It wasn’t about the northern lights at all. We were running away from our old home. I was 12, so I knew more than my sisters. Sprout was only three, Maggie was barely five, and Lucy was ten. Ma was trying to spare us from being upset or seeing that she was scared. He must’ve hit her- I decided. Our Dad got mad very easily, like if hot chocolate spilled on his pants, or if you were singing a song loudly, or if Ma burnt the chicken. Ma didn’t mean to burn the chicken, but sometimes if Dad was mad at one of us, it distracted her from cooking supper. He never cooked, he never did any of the chores, and he never took us anywhere. If we missed the bus for school, he would yell and kick the wall with his foot, then Ma would hurriedly get us out the door and drive us herself. She never said anything bad about him, but I knew she didn’t like to be yelled at.

“Does he know where we are?” I asked.

She kept her eyes on the swirling green and purple lights.

“Ma…” I asked again nervously.

“No, Daphne,” She said quietly.

“Good,” I said emphatically, “I hate him. I’m glad we ran away.”

She gestured to the girls and put a finger to

her lip, “Shhh. We don’t need to upset your sisters. Let’s have a fun adventure and they’ll only remember the beautiful lights and that we settled here to always be in their glow.”

“It doesn’t glow all year, Ma,” I said matter-of-factly.

“Nothing lasts forever, my love, but I want you to remember that when the beautiful parts of life come, they’re always sweeter than the terrible parts.”

I hugged her and we stood there for a little longer. When it got too cold, we went inside. Ma got us hot chocolate from the cafe down the street and we split three cups between us. We watched

“Huckleberry Finn” on the Tv and Ma even got us chips for 50 cents from the front desk. We felt like royalty! Money was tight, but she never let us figure it out.

It’s been ten years since we left Massachusetts. I’m 22 now and look forward to attending college. For my essay, the only story I could think of was the journey to the northern lights. It taught me the importance of looking on the bright side (literally and figuratively) and how you have to be brave sometimes even when it’s thrust on you. Ma wasn’t ready to be brave like that, but she had to be, she had to take us and get us all far, far away. I have to be brave now, because I have to leave her. I have to leave our circle of love and warmth, but I know that I’ll be back every chance I get. My Ma, my sisters, and I are like the solar particles flying about from the sun, mixing with the atmosphere of Earth to create the beautiful colors in the sky. There are seasons when we won’t be together, but we’ll always come back to each other, and it’ll always be special and magical.


I hadn’t been to work in weeks. I yawned as I pressed the start button on the coffee pot. As the familiar aroma met the air, my mind wandered to my daily commute and the monumental

to-do list that awaited me. My co-worker Bill's last day was Friday. So not only will I be catching up on work that I missed while I was away but also committing to the work of two people until Bill’s replacement can start in one more week.

My other co-worker and close friend Mandi asked me if I could pitch in for the goodbye party for Bill. They got him a cake, a card, and a bird watching book. I pitched in a few bucks, just hoping it was enough to look like I cared but not too much for the occasion. I can’t really say I will whole-heartedly miss Bill. His musky cologne often preceded his presence and his incessant throat-clearing afforded me the luxury of wearing headphones all day to drown out the awkward interruptions. I often wore the headphones just to avoid small talk with Bill. Without the headphones, it seemed to notify Bill that my ears were simply available to be filled with the sound of his nasally voice. Without any inquiries from me, I knew about his kids going off to college, his wood-working hobby, and some of his marital issues with his wife of 40 years. I knew a little too much about Bill, really. He honestly just seemed a little lonely, like he needed a friend.

I shrugged the thoughts away as I blindly reached inside the cabinet for a coffee cup. Deliciously anticipating the first few sips of this powerful elixir known as coffee. I marveled at how I went weeks in the mountains without caffeine, simply happy to awake with the sun and be invigorated by the idea of trails to be discovered. The minute I find myself having to put on my suit and tie and head into a large, municipal brown building with an office divided into cubicles for the masses; I find that I need rocket fuel to propel me forward. Yes, I’m instantly re-thinking all of my life decisions. But not this one. The coffee seems like the best decision I’ve made today. After rushing through traffic and scrambling from my spot on the 10th floor of the parking garage, I finally slump into my desk chair at half past eight. Thinking that likely no one will notice that I’ve even been gone. I turn on my desk lamp as I remove my bag strap over my head and place my work bag next to me. It’s full of work I told myself I might do while I was out. Although nothing in that bag had been touched since I walked out the door of the office. I power on my desktop and my mind wanders to the coffee machine nearby. It’s not the best coffee, but it may be an alternative form of rocket fuel as I wait for the operating system to load.

Soon enough, my desktop screen flashes awake and the light from the screen is almost as jarring as the light from my desk lamp. Just like riding a bike, I log into our database and fire up my email. I’m alarmed to see that I have 200 unread emails. I blink a few times and decide I will make my way to the break room first for that coffee. I grab my headphones to plug into my ears, in case anyone wants to welcome me back from my trip or ask me if I miss BIll.

Oddly enough, the office seems eerily quiet and I haven’t noticed anyone at their desks. I look at the calendar on the wall while I maneuver a paper cup under the one-cup coffee dispenser. I find today’s date quickly at the bottom of the grid, Monday August 25th. Nothing stands out to me, not around a major holiday. Maybe it’s just a Monday, if only there were enough rocket fuel for us all I think. I turn on some tunes through my phone and blow on my hot coffee as I saunter back to my desk.

200 emails, here we go. My left hand is positioned on the keyboard and my right hand is clutching my coffee cup as I decide to start from the bottom and work my way up. Lots of emails about Bill’s last day. Delegating who will get the cake, who will bring the utensils, can someone get the balloons, also don’t tell Bill, it’s a surprise. My fingers fly quickly through these emails and the junk ads I receive for menswear and hiking gear. It’s tempting to browse through the sales but I’m 50 emails down. The coffee seems to be kicking in because I am suddenly committed to this cause of making it to the last email.

I must make it to the last week that I was out, there are a few emails from my boss asking Bill to update him on the status of his projects and to include me on these emails so that I can pick up where Bill leaves off. Always making sure that the work goes on, no matter what. No matter that Bill has pretty much built his life around this company’s motto of “Building a better future for tomorrow” by always thinking several steps ahead. Bill usually got to many of our projects before me, oftentimes tackling the more challenging spreadsheets and staying late to be ahead of deadlines. I wondered how much of that was related to Bill not wanting to be home alone with his wife. I knew he was looking forward to having more time to visit with his kids, they both went to the west coast for college. Bill said he wanted to make a cross country trip to visit them, he always wanted to do that when he was younger but he was busy raising a family. “It’s just the American way”, he always said, “there’s plenty to be done here at work and the home needs to be watched after.”

I look over at Bill’s empty chair in the cubicle across from mine and take a sip of my coffee. I nod to him like he’s there. I hope he gets to witness some of the wonderful monuments and trails that I got to lay my eyes on the last few weeks. He certainly deserves this time away. I wish my Dad had ever thought to take that time to visit me in college. We would have had way more fun on a hiking trail than we ever did on our trips out of town for my away varsity baseball games in high school. Often, the rides home were filled with languishing disappointment about the team's performance and how I could be a better leader.

I finally make it to the emails from Friday, Bill’s last day. “Cake in the break room in 15 minutes!” read one of the emails as the title of the email with the body of the email blank. This was everyone's notice to be there before Bill. I chuckle when I notice that Bill was accidentally included in that email. Something about best laid plans come to mind as I smile.

The final email in my inbox was actually from Bill. It’s from last Friday at 5:35 pm.

Dear Matt,

I wish you could have been here today for my last day, but I am excited for your adventure. I hope it’s your breath of fresh air. I will miss our office chats. Thank you for reminding me that our days on this planet are numbered. While you are one of the most efficient partners I’ve ever worked with, you were always planning the next adventure for your life outside of here. I am looking forward to filling my final days outside of these walls too, enjoying time with family but also exploring the great outdoors. Hey, maybe I’ll finally get to meet that John Muir guy on the trails you talk about so much! Better yet, maybe I’ll see you out there one day too, kid. Take care of yourself, don’t work too hard at this place. I appreciate you entertaining me with your music and listening to my stories. It helped me make the decision to retire when I needed to and I appreciate you.

Your friend,

Bill

P.S. I left you something in the top drawer of your desk. My going away gift to you.

As I reach towards the top drawer, I think I see someone pass my cubicle. I look up but don’t see anyone nearby. I look back at the email and feel guilty about the measly monetary contribution I made towards Bill’s going away party. I look down at my empty coffee cup. Something about Bill’s email does make me miss him and also feel ashamed at not listening to more of his stories. I had no idea he wanted to go hiking, sounds like something we definitely could have done together one day. I shake my head and laugh a little to myself at the thought of old man Bill on the trails. Well, maybe we wouldn’t go together but I definitely could have given him some tips.

I’m opening the top drawer of my desk when I notice someone standing behind me. It’s my boss. He startles me a little. The look on his face is more tired than usual.

“Hey Matt, what are you doing here today?” He says in a gruff voice.

“Hey Nate, today is my first day back from vacation. Anything fall apart while I was gone? Looks like Bill really had it under control!” I say as I motion towards his empty seat.

Nate’s brow furls. “Matt, did you get the memo while you were out? I asked Mandi to text you since I know you’re usually not checking emails while you’re away.”

“Oh,” I look down at my phone. “Maybe, but I didn’t have any service until I got to the airport yesterday. What’s up?” I’m a little concerned now that I’m not sure what would have been so important that he needed someone to send me a text memo to my personal phone.

He sighs. “Matt, you shouldn’t be here today. Bill passed away unexpectedly on Saturday. His funeral is this afternoon. I gave most of our team the day off. You should go, Bill would have wanted you there.” He says as he slowly turns to walk away with his shoulders slumped over and a hand rubbing back and forth against his forehead.

It takes me a few minutes to process his words. I’m stunned. He’s gone? I mean he’s gone but he’s also...gone. Almost robotically, I look inside the drawer of my desk and find a box wrapped in newspaper. My hands are trembling as I unwrap the package. Under the paper is a brown cardboard box. I open the lid and pull out a tissue wrapped object. It’s a wooden figurine. I set it on my desk to get a better look at it. It’s two men, standing side by side with canes. One of the men is visibly older with a walking cane and the other is younger with a walking stick instead of a cane. I slide my thumb over the smooth wood and inspect the figure. Underneath is an etching that states “Into the forest I go” with Bill's initials and the date of his last day of work.

I set the figure down. I stand up from my desk. I text Mandi for the address to the funeral. I leave my work bag at work and I toss my empty coffee cup in the waste bin near the exit.


I don’t like noise. For as long as I can remember I have found myself annoyed by them. From abhorrent noises of cars and jackhammers to the subtle ones of droplets and clock hands. Noise has been the endless irritation of my life. It’s not that my ears are sensitive, I just find them to be bothersome. I find it possible that some can understand me, it’s a relatable feeling. To not listen to noises we hate. But I don’t think people understand just how much I really hate noise. I wish I was deaf. I honestly envy them. Unable to hear any noise. *What a fantasy that must be.* I dislike noise so much that I go outside wearing earbuds. Although life hasn’t made it easy. I still have to talk to people, drive my car, go shopping, *and listen to so much more noise.* I work as a librarian. I would think this to be perfect work but it isn’t unfortunately. Whenever I hear someone sneeze, turn the page, move a chair, write, or walk I quietly tell them “Shh”. People don’t understand me. They don’t like me and that’s okay. The more they don’t talk to me the less noise I’ll hear. And that’s all I want really. I just wish they could do a better job at it. I live alone. But it’s not enough to escape from this insanity. So many little things just never seem to go away. The cars from outside, the flicker of my lights, the hum of my air conditioner, the cries of cicadas. I can hear them all and everything else. Living alone just wasn’t enough. I spent the next seven years soundproofing my home. Thick wide carpets everywhere. Curtains hanging on my seal tight windows and cushions doors. And bookshelves on practically every wall, as a librarian I found it easy to fill them with many things over the years. I used every trick I learned to absorb and cancel as much noise as possible both outside and inside my home. I top it off by always wearing noise cancelling earmuffs. It was all very expensive, but very well worth it. I woke up one day like no other, I got out of bed carefully and made my way to the kitchen. I quietly made some tea and began reading the morning paper. At first I was confused about what I was reading. But it didn’t take long for me to notice that I couldn’t hear the paper. “What?” I said to myself. I didn’t hear that either. I began reading even more yet not a single word from the paper sprung into my head. I wondered what was happening to me until I realized. *I couldn’t hear my thoughts.* I know *what* I was thinking and feeling, yet my mind was deaf to it. I sprung up from my chair and screamed at the top of my lungs “IT’S A MIRACLE!” “*Shh*,” was all I heard that morning.


From the Vatican Archives: File M5:1-5 Posted from The Convent of Las Hermanitas de los Mansos, Sanitorium - Manta, Ecuador From Christian Drewitt November 17, 2010 Dearest Lyra, Where to start? It’s been a year or more since I last wrote, my love, and I hope that this letter will explain everything. I’ve included everything into a file, they gave me everything, everything.

Now, it is clear to me that the things that have transpired have happened for a purpose by God, Himself. The good sisters of this convent where I have awoken have been kind enough to provide me with pen and paper so that I may relay to you this horrid tale. When I am returned to you, I will seal it away forever I hope. Should something  arise, however, all the information related to this event can be located within these pages and you, Lyra, will bear the responsibility with which I have been cursed.

As you know, for 27 years, I did not speak. I never bothered to learn sign language. The cure to my mutism, however, came in the form of extreme shock, deep in some remote pocket of a hot and damp South American jungle where my eyes were forced to look upon unnamable things so monstrous that I at once knew they were not of God’s good creation.

I am not an archeologist as you were led to believe, although I work with ancient artifacts. My position at my company is to hunt and retrieve daemonic objects from the farthest reaches of the earth. There were six members of our party including myself. I am the last one alive and sane.

Lyra, how I long to be in your arms once again. I miss you, the scent of your perfume, your laugh. Soon, we will be reunited and everything will be alright. Everything will be okay, everything will be okay. I can hear the key in my door—the nurses are returning with lunch. I will end the letter here and write you another to properly explain.

My love forever and ever, Christian November 19, 2010 Dear Lyra, My love, I am posting this letter too close to the last one, so you very likely have not even received the first news. I wanted to be sure that you knew I was alive and well first before delving into an explanation. I didn’t get a chance to make you understand, to detail the events. Of course, you will be confused when you read the first letter. I understand. It must read as the rantings of a madman, but I assure you I am very sound of mind. You know that I have always borne a strong constitution. Everything will be okay. It always is. But I should tell you what happened. You see, someone opened the box once on land--the artifact from the ship that is. When we reached the jungle, we were to meet a young man, Javier. He was to be our guide for the final resting place of the [REDACTED]. That’s when it all went wrong. A group of men had been following for days. They were not natives, they spoke many different languages and some even wore military uniforms. Strange people, so strange. They would chant nonsense and worship at the foot of the [REDACTED]. All at once, they set upon us and killed Javier. Poor Alec Carter was gravely injured. We escaped but Victor allowed his eyes to fall open the cursed thing and it made him strange and poisoned his mind. Not even the natives will look upon it. Dr. Phillips navigated us through the jungle. He is a sick man. The doctor died shortly after.

Don’t you see? It all went terribly wrong. It was meant to be a simple journey. The artifact would guide us to its home and it was going to be destroyed.

It happened like this: Victor did not destroy the [REDACTED]. Instead, he fixed it. Then, the floors shook, creatures emerged. It’s hazy here. I remember Carter shouting for me to grab the [REDACTED] and run. There were flashes of gunfire, a great and fearsome voice booming in the cave, commanding all to look at [REDACTED].

Everything changed then, Lyra. I was in a cave, but something incredible happened. I was in the cave but then, in an instant, I wasn't. My vision cut to a white beach. There was a Tsunami-like wave that cast a shadow. It moved in slow motion. When I looked to my right, I could see the remains of an ancient desert city. There were sounds in my ears and scents filled my head. Incense and spices and the rings of bells. To my left, beneath the great wave, there was a woman dressed in black. A long black veil covered her face except for her kohl-lined eyes. Her fingers were motioning, sparks of red flame flickered along the tips and slither between the digits and knuckles. Death is a woman, Lyra. I have seen her now. She is beautiful and inviting. I was tempted to be with her, to end everything as it was and be free of the brine-riddled cave. But then before I could decide, I returned to the jungle and there were cool fingers over my eyes and a woman’s voice in my ear. “Don’t look.” There was screaming, more gunfire.

My sight changed again. It sharpened. Once more, I had all my faculties and I can recall grabbing the box and shutting it. Mark Kim, he was with me. We escaped.

But Lyra, there are people at my door again. Those men always come and keep interrupting . I will never manage to fully tell you my story. Greedy, they are. Over and over, they want to discuss what I have seen. I will write another letter as soon as I am able.

Love, Christian January 3, 2011 Lyra, Why have you not returned my letters? It has been two months. Perhaps, I should be patient. I know that we are very far apart and the post will take a while to reach you in England. Things are not well, unfortunately. I believed I would improve with time but it seems that my nerves only continue to fray as my memory returns to me. Each piece only chips away at my own sanity.

Lyra, I want to go home. Fevered visions have dominated my senses for what feels like days. Visions of cyclopean cities constructed in what appeared to be dark, wet caverns deep beneath the sea. Strange beasts swim before my eyes in that ancient grotto. I can fully recall now how I ran and slipped against the algae covered stairs in an attempt to climb out of the pit, while my fingers clawed against the stone. There was no escape. Each corner I turned, every tunnel and staircase only revealed more of the strange civilization. I felt my sanity slip further, though it might have been a blessing in those moments. Do you understand now? I saw it! It’s massive body breaking water over its back and leaving the seabed exposed. Its face was a mass of tentacles that twisted and wove in endless motion beneath red, glowing eyes. I could not describe its size, for the thing dwarfed any structure that you have likely seen. Oh, dear God! I shake and weep now as I recall that eldritch scene. Surely, it could not be a mere beast but a god of old. Yes. A god of old coming to exact vengeance on mankind for allowing ourselves to forget it. If God was merciful He would strike us all down rather than allowing us to continue to exist alongside these creatures. I remember wandering through the jungle. My mind switched back and forth. When I was not lost in the ancient city, I was lost in the Amazon trailed by my final living but mad companion. I stumbled along the river, faintly aware of the weakness my body felt. The only reprieve during these torturous hours was the periodic appearance of that woman from my dream—if it was a dream. In the moments I felt my nerves become undone, she would materialize just out of reach. Death’s lips would brush the shell of my ear, fingers against my back, all gentle direction onward through the trees or upward through the labyrinth. I ran until I could no longer. From there, I found myself dragging myself along the forest floor  I lay face down in the mud only inches from the river, but could not raise my head nor make any movement toward it. It was then she appeared. She knelt by my head and dripped cool, fresh water into my open mouth with gold ringed fingers. I cannot recall her exact appearance, only the tender shape of her dark eyes. With every move, the jewelry that hung from her ears chimed against the delicate chains that were twisted into the woman’s dark hair.

She came to the end of her bucket of water, letting the liquid drip against my lips for the final time. She pressed her mouth against mine and whispered a single word, “Speak.” In an instant, she was gone and my memory of the next period in the wilderness as well.

And that is it. I awoke in a hospital in the coastal city of Manta, Ecuador; miles away from our initial destination. Apparently, my body had been discovered by a group of fishermen on the river. I had been babbling when I was found. With me was the box that I clutched to my chest like a jealous child. I had begged anyone who had handled me not to open it. To the fishermen’s and doctors’ credit, they honored my wishes and the same bag was found beneath my cot. Back! Those wretched men have returned. They will take away my letters again but I don't know if they will post it. Love of my life, Lyra, please . I need some assurance that you have read my letters. It will keep me going for a little while longer.

Love, Christian March 22, 2011 My love, I have received your letters, but I feel something is terribly wrong. They have all come at once, wrapped together, all opened and resealed. You said in the most recent posting that you were taking the next flight out to Manta and will be in Ecuador within the next 72 hours. It has been a week since and I am so afraid, Lyra. I want to go home. They will not let me leave the room. They have cut out much of my words, of that I am certain. You will have only read the sections of my writings that paint you a picture of a man who has lost his mind. I am sane, Lyra. To this fact, I cling desperately for it is the last thing I have in my possession. They have taken the box from me. They will not let me see my companion and I can no longer hear him cry. Please, come to see me.

Love, Christian April 2, 2011 Dear Lyra, They tell me I am ill. Over and over, they have told me. With all these memories in my mind of the grotto, of the eldritch beast and all his caves, of the woman sent by Death--if not death herself. I want them gone. Perhaps, in order to rid myself of such things, it would be best to accept that they are ravings of a madman. I came to understand that maybe you have not visited because of my poor standing. One day, when I am returned to health, I will pack up and step out onto the street, the cobblestone street across the church. I see it every morning outside my window, the sight impeded by bars. I am tired of this small, white room.

I would write more, but there is not much to write. The hours creep by as slowly as they did on the ship. There are days that my dreams blend into the present and I can see you standing on the street corner, waiting for me. Like right now. It is so clear, but I must remind myself that it is not so.

There is a woman there, though. Of this, I am certain. I can see her clearly on the street corner staring at me. Veiled in black, kohl darkened eyes that I can see even from here in my room. Her earrings are tinkling against the rings on her fingers as she tangles them around and around. She has found me again. The sound, it grows close and I can smell the sea. Salt fills the air and she is at my window.