My phone pings. Kyle – u comin to kieran’s party tonight? Diann – on the ferry over now Kyle – can’t wait to see you my sexy girl from across the water Then a load of hearts and kissy faces. He thinks he’s some kind of love poet. I don’t reply, just give him the blue ticks. He’s cocky enough. Phone again. Steven – Just a friendly reminder. £150 by tuesday or there’ll be a penalty Shit. No kissy faces here. Steven’s all for equal opportunities –he doesn’t mind breaking women’s arms as well as men’s. But for girls my age he’ll accept other services if you really can’t pay. I’ll be able to pay. I always do. I put my phone away and stare out the window. The Larne–Cairnryan ferry isn’t exactly the High Seas. The water is grey and flat and the sky is grey and flat. There are a few moody-looking seagulls flying about, probably hoping for chips. Two affluent Belfast types take the seat opposite me and throw their things on the table, nearly knocking over my bottle of Fanta. The woman has one of those scarves that’s nearly a shawl draped around her and her hair is perfect. Obviously she isn’t planning on going up on deck. She looks at me like I’m something on her shoe. I smile at them anyway. The man says hello. I say hello. The woman has a stick up her ass and doesn’t bother. She gives me a “butt out” look and starts talking importantly. Obviously, I’m supposed to leave even though I was here first! Who does she think she is? I get up to give them “privacy” but – oops! – I slip and fall straight on to the man’s knee. “Sorry!” I giggle. “No problem,” he says. He helps me up and holds onto me as long as he can. Is he looking down my top? I feel like telling him I left school three weeks ago. The perv and the cow. These two are welcome to each other. I give him a flirty smile, making sure she notices. She notices all right – her face could turn milk. I sashay away, trying to put a bit of a Marilyn Monroe wiggle into my walk. Hopefully I’ve started an argument between the happy couple anyway. Round the corner I check his wallet. £330 cash, and credit cards and stuff. Couldn’t have done much better. The cards aren’t much good to me though. I’m sure Steven could beat the PIN number out of him but I’m happy enough with the cash. My phone rings. Ma. No hello, just straight in. “Why are you on the ferry to Scotland?” She’s raging. “I’m not…” “Don’t lie to me, you cheeky wee bitch. Tanya was in Larne today and she saw you get on the ferry.” Shit. Looks like there’s no escape from Northern Ireland without being seen. “I suppose you’re going to that Campbell party. They’re a bad crowd.” As if she didn’t hang around with worse when she was my age. Probably how she got pregnant with me. “Mum, I’m 18 years old. I’ll be ok.” She lets out a snort. “You’ve been 18 for ten days. I’ve got double the miles on the clock you have. I suppose you think you know more than me now… Where did you get the money for the ferry anyway? If you have money going spare you could have at least put a bit in the electricity meter.”

“Sorry, Ma. I’ll bring back enough to fill it for a few weeks.” “How are you getting that?” “I found a wallet on the ferry. No sense handing it in. I’m sure the owner’s gone long ago.” Pause. She’ll pretend to believe me. “You’re right, love. The person who lost it doesn’t need it as much as us, probably. How much?” “150 quid.” Minus the Steven money and a wee bit for me. The good news has put her off her ranting stride. “That’s great, love. That’ll come in handy. Look, I know you’re an adult and I can’t stop you going to the party. Just be careful, that’s all. I just want you to be safe.” We have to go through this routine every time. “I’ll be fine, Ma. There’ll be loads of girls at the party too.” “Girls can be just as bad as the fellas.” “I know. I’ll watch myself. I’ll have to go now, Ma. People are giving me looks for talking too loud.” After I hang up I feel like getting some air and putting distance between me and the stuck-up couple. Just in case he looks for his wallet and remembers my “fall”. The deck is up some stairs and along a narrow corridor, where I run into a boy about my age. I really don’t like the look of him. “Hi, beautiful!” he says, leering at me. Boke. “Excuse me,” I say and try to push past. He grabs my arm. “Hey, hang on. You could say hello to a fellow human being.” A fellow human being? What the fuck? “Sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t thinking. Hello.” “Oh yeah, you girls only start being nice when you’re scared. You’re not fooling anybody.”  Wow, he’s gone from 0 to 60 in 3.5. He’s nearly spitting with rage. Why is it so quiet in here? Must be the heavy doors at the ends of the staircase. That means no one inside the ferry or on the deck can hear me either. “Look, are you going to let me past or what?” I say, trying to sound confident. “What’s the rush?” “I want to go up on deck.” “Well I’m going up too. You first,” he says. No way was I letting him follow me up the stairs. I turn back the way I came. “I need to go back to the restaurant. I think I left my…” “Will you STOP LYING TO ME!” With no warning he grabs me and smashes me into the wall. My head spins with the shock and the pain. I can’t believe he just did that. Fucker. I grab his shoulders and bring my knee up into his groin. He crumples to the floor and I run for the door. I crash into it and it opens and I go through and finally the sea air hits me. I gulp it in. It’s freezing. A lot wilder than you’d think inside. I lean against the railing, panting. I’m just starting to get my heart rate down when I notice the stuck-up woman has appeared on the deck. She’s looking for somebody. Me. My heart beats faster again. I try to creep round the corner out of sight. “You!” she shouts. I look around, fake-surprised. “Me?” No need to panic, just brazen it out. She has no proof. “Yes, you, you wee bitch!” The refined accent is gone and she looks like a pitbull spoiling for a fight. I look around for help but we’re alone. Where is everybody on this stupid boat? “What’s wrong with you?” I scream. Might as well stick to the innocent act as long as I can. “You know what I’m talking about. Did you think Ben wouldn’t notice his wallet is gone?” “Are you accusing me of stealing?” I say, trying to sound brave. I have to look up to meet her eye. She’s a lot more built than me, too. “Look, stop messing me around. We both know you took it. Give it back. Don’t make me hurt you.” “Don’t make me hurt you? Who are you, Chuck Norris?” I sneer. “Compared to you, yes.” She takes another step towards me. Is she actually going to hit me? There aren’t any cameras here, and she’d probably get off with it. It isn’t worth getting the shit kicked out of me for a wallet. “Wait! Wait. Fuck! Calm down. You can have the wallet.” I get it out of my pocket quickly and hand it over. She’s a bit disappointed – she would have loved an excuse to belt me. “I knew it was you. Ben wouldn’t believe it. He seemed to think you’re a lovely girl.” “I wasn’t after your boyfriend,” I say. That’s true. She’s welcome to him. “I just needed to distract him so I could take the wallet.” She doesn’t answer. She’s still standing in front of me, stopping me from leaving. “Are you going to report me to the police?” I ask eventually. “It wasn’t your first time stealing. You knew what you were doing,” she says. I want to say her boyfriend is such a fool a total beginner could’ve done it, as long as they had boobs. As if she cares about my moral compass. She wants to make me grovel because I got her boyfriend’s attention. “I don’t make a habit of it, honestly.” Pretty much the truth. Depending on what you mean by a habit. A habit is every day, right? She’s still staring at me. Her face is twisted with scorn. How old is she? 28? 30? Hopefully she can still remember being a teenager. “Please,” I say. “I’m only 16.” Close enough. I try to look as young and scared as possible. It isn’t working. What is she, a female Steven? “You’ve started young. Can’t you get a job like everybody else?” Apparently in her world jobs always pay enough. “I’m really sorry,” I say. “I’ll never do it again.” Ahem. She can’t string this out much longer – she needs to call the authorities soon or let me go. I’m sure she’d love to hand me over to the police but there’ll be questions for her too. They’ll tell her she should have reported me straight away instead of going vigilante. I think she’s starting to worry that someone came up on deck and overheard her Ike Turner routine.

Eventually she says, “I’ll let it go this time.” She looks down her nose at me one last time and heads back into the boat. Fuck her. I stare out to sea and try to calm my thoughts. I’m nearly crying with rage. I’m mostly mad at myself for putting myself in the position where she could humiliate me. It’s my own fault. Why did I take that wallet when the journey wasn’t half over and I had no escape route? I should have waited til we disembark and taken the safest mark. But I wanted to get them . Her, looking at me as if I was dirt, and him, thinking I’m some wee slut who fancied him. I didn’t want to miss my chance to ruin their day. Idiot. I force myself not to chase after her and attack her like a feral cat. Don’t be stupid. There’ll be plenty of chances to get more money before Tuesday. She isn’t important. I’ve let her under my skin far too much already. Finally my breathing stabilizes. I turn around and… Shit! I nearly jump out of my skin. Corridor Boy is standing staring at me with a sick grin on his face. How long has he been there? I was so drained from the confrontation I didn’t notice him sneaking up behind me. He comes closer and I take a step back. My back hits the metal railing. “You’re in a wee world of your own, aren’t you?” He says in a weird sing-songy voice. “What…?” “In your own pretty girl world, where you don’t have to notice the rest of us.” He must be unhinged. I’ve had enough of this. I try to push past him but he’s ready for me to attack this time. He grabs me round the neck and leans me backwards over the railing. The metal bars dig into my back and pain cuts through me. His face is close to mine, close enough to smell the grease in his hair and the sharp scent of aftershave that isn’t covering the smell of his body. Sweat drips down his face into his eyes even though it’s freezing out here. He must be on a trip or something. He thinks he’s killing some kind of monster instead of a human girl. Panicking, I try to push back but I can’t get leverage with my feet off the ground. I’m past the tipping point now. He starts squeezing my neck. I have to cling to him anyway because he’s the only thing keeping me from falling. I don’t dare hit or claw his face in case he lets go of me. The grey sea doesn’t look flat now. It looks choppy and furious and absolutely freezing. I’d go under in a second and the shock of the cold would probably kill me. I try to shout. “Help! Please!” But it doesn’t come out sounding anything like that. Where is everyone? Why is there never anyone around when I’m in trouble? He’s still squeezing my neck, staring into my eyes but not really seeing me at all. He won’t stop unless I can stop him. Darkness is creeping in around the edge of my vision. I’m crying, my tears are all over his hands but he still isn’t stopping. I need to think of something fast but my thoughts are getting slower and slower… I’ve given up when I feel us being pulled back into the boat. Someone wrenches him off me. I collapse and gasp in breath after breath, hardly knowing where I am. Finally I feel some strength coming back to me. Corridor Boy is lying in a heap, out for the count. The posh pitbull is standing over me. “Relax, take some more deep breaths,” she says. She’s white with shock. I’ve really ruined her day now. “How did you know…?” “I heard you shouting. I was still on the deck. Are you all right?” “I think so. Did you knock him out?” My voice is a bit croaky. “Yeah.” She really is Chuck Norris. “He must have been mad. He was trying to kill you.” Her voice is shaky. I don’t think she knows whether it really happened or if it was a dream. I suppose I’m expected to be all grateful now even though she treated me like shit earlier. Maybe I can turn it to my advantage. “Thank you. You just saved my life.” I say. I’m still shaking but I struggle to my feet and hold out my arms. I have to do this now, when it’s realistic. She isn’t too keen but she can’t refuse a hug after saving my life. It gives me plenty of time to take the wallet back, take out the cash and replace the empty wallet so she won’t miss it. I’m sure she wouldn’t want me to get beaten up or worse by Steven after going to all the trouble of saving my life. We break apart. She’s shaking too. She’ll never be able to forget me now, the slutty girl on the ferry. Maybe I’ll haunt her dreams for a while. I know I’ll be hanging backwards over that railing in my dreams for... It’s starting to hit me how lucky I was. Thankfully she hadn’t left the deck. Another couple of seconds and she wouldn’t have heard me shouting for help at all. There would have been nothing between me and that giant, empty grey sea… I shiver and force myself to stop thinking about it. The security guards finally appear, self-important even though they missed all the action, and I make myself concentrate on them. I tell them I’m fine and that this woman is a hero. She gives me a strange look, half-apologetic, half-scornful. I just give her a sweet smile. She’s done me two good turns today. The security guards take Corridor Boy into custody and fuss over me, insisting on checking me over. I ask if I can send one text first. My near-death experience must have made me sentimental. I click into Kyle’s conversation and type: Can’t wait to see you either xx


The following story is a true story. It probably will be rejected as non-complaint because it is reversing the #5 proposal. I wrote about what I said to a person as a child, which was too little; and then what I am always thinking I should have said now that I am an adult of nearly 78 years.  Still, it is cathartic for me to express this if only one person reads it. What I Wish I Had Said When my mother was pregnant, expecting me, it was the height of the Second World War. My father had been drafted into the Army during and was shipping out from New York to North Africa on November 28, 1943, the day I was born. When his wife, my mother, died six months later, he was too far away to come back for the funeral. His tour of duty took him from North Africa to Italy and, eventually, to Austria before finally being returned home several months after the war in Europe had ended.

All this time, I was being cared for by my grandmother. He came straight down to the little town of Mt. Pleasant, Tennessee where she lived to meet his son as quickly as he could, and we finally came face to face. Finally, I got to  hug my daddy for real when I was two years old instead of hugging and kissing his portrait. He took me to Nashville for a visit with all his brothers and sisters, my aunts and uncles who had been so kind to visit me and bring presents such as clothes, toys, and a tiny, child-sized rocking chair which I just recently passed down to one of my grandchildren. But, the visit was, of necessity, brief because he had to get a job and go back to work in the post-war recovery period. In those days, there were very few daycare centers for toddlers or preschoolers.  Here he was . . . a widower who needed a job and had no way to look after his son when he was on a job. He did the thing that was best for me. He gave me back into the care of my grandmother who was “Mama” to me . . . the only mother I had really ever known.

I stayed with my grandmother until I was 8, almost 9, years old. My father would come down from Nashville to visit and play with me and take me back for brief visits to the big city. But, it wasn’t until I had just completed third grade in Mt. Pleasant when my father finally remarried and came to get me for good. It’s about that day that I want to tell you, dear reader. In retrospect, I imagine both he and his new bride were anxious about my reactions to the adjustment of moving from the only caregiver (the grandmother I called Mama), the only home, the only school, the hometown I loved so well. My mother’s sister, my aunt Joan, was there, too, and she had been like a second mother to me.  I recently asked Aunt Joan what was I like as I anticipated the big change. She said I was not apprehensive, but rather looked forward to living with my father.

At last they arrived. Daddy introduced me to his new wife. It was the first time we had ever met . . . the day he came to get me. I don’t know how long they had been married, a week perhaps, maybe a month. They had rented a house in a nice area of Nashville. It was a very modest house, in fact, it was like a guest house behind a larger one. Even its address was humble, 3205 ½ Acklen Avenue.

They told me about it as we drove back up to it. I was to have my own bedroom! I was excited about that! I had never had that before. There was only one bedroom in my grandmother’s upstairs apartment and only one bed, an old double bed that my grandmother shared with me. Remember, I was still only 8 years old. I can’t remember much of the conversation as we rode the approximately two-hour trip. I suppose they told me about the school I would be attending. My father probably set some ground rules about addressing my elders, including them of course, with Sir and Ma’am as was the custom in those days among many southern families, though my grandmother had not taught me such formalities. Finally, the conversation turned to the thing that had probably caused the most anxiety both with them and with me. What was I going to call my new stepmother?

I was at least as inhibited as the average eight-year-old and probably more so. I think I would rather have just been told what to call her, but they could not have known this. It is to their credit that they left that decision up to me. It is to my now aging dismay that I said, “Is it OK if I call her Betty ?” After all, that was her name. Not the one I wish now I had chosen, but the one a reserved, loyal-to-Mama, not-yet-fourth grader, chose. They were both gracious and gave no indication that this was anything but a perfectly acceptable answer.

Now, with the wisdom of an additional almost 70 years added to the eight I had accumulated at that time, I can tell you what I wish I had said. I will say it now, not as an eight-year-old would say it because an eight-year-old would never have the maturity or language skills to say it, but as a 78-year-old would say it if he could somehow be transported back in time to that moment and yet retain the old man’s knowledge and experience. To the question, “What do you want to call her?” I would direct my attention to her and answer: Well, I’ve been thinking about that. I know I don’t want to call you “Stepmother.” Ever since Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, that name has been too sinister! “Mrs. Ward” is too formal and awkward for the relationship. To call you by your first name, “Betty” seems too informal for a little kid like me, in fact, it seems almost rude to address any adult by their first name unless some title like Aunt or Uncle or something is included. I guess “Miss Betty” would be respectful, but still sort of strange sounding under the circumstances.

No. I want to call you something that reflects what I hope our relationship will be. I realize that you married my father and I was just part of the deal. You must love him a great deal to take on a young child having no idea what he’s like. You had to know that marrying a man with extra baggage would mean there would be less money, less time, less privacy for each other. And yet, you committed to this with no trial period or anything.

And what am I hoping for in you? I’m just a kid. I need someone to sew my buttons back on, take me to ball practice, see that I have clean clothes to wear, see that I’m dressed properly for the occasion, take me to a doctor’s appointment, meet my teacher, help me with homework I don’t understand, cook for me, make me take a bath when I should, or go to bed when I should. I need someone that I can talk to when it’s sympathy I seek. I need someone who has that natural instinct to wrap their arms around me when I’m scared or scolded, and say, “Everything’s going to be OK.” In short, I want you to do all the things a person does for her child. And, if I am going to ask so much of you, then you deserve to be called by the name that defines those qualities, the sweetest name in the world . . . Mother!

That is what I wish I had said. That is what I wish I had done even if I could not have expressed it in such terms. Instead, I called her Betty , and though she did those things, I was ignorantly oblivious. Three and a half years later, my father and Betty divorced. Only recently, in the last year or two, did I come to the conclusion that I could have made the difference. I am so sorry I was too shy or self-conscious to open up to her and treat her like the mother I think she was trying and wanted to be. Had that relationship developed, I believe the relationship between her and my father would have had more of a chance.

About four years after their divorce, Betty died of cancer, like my mother. I regret that I was as oblivious to her suffering as the infant I had been was to the one that gave me life. I did not know of Betty’s sickness and death until some time later. I can only hope that someday, Heaven will give me the opportunity to say to her what I wish I had said .


 The storage unit door rolled up. Eduardo stood with his elderly momma beside him and his wife behind them.    “Okay, momma, let me get a chair for you.” Eduardo took out from high a Louis XV style chair and placed it on the concrete for her. He got one out for Maria, but she waved him away and fumbled for her cigarettes and lighter. “Could you do that over there?” He pointed.    She gave him a look of outrage.    “The wind. The smoke will get in the chairs and the carpets. Maria, please, over there.”

   Maria stomped her heels away. Momma let go of her walker and sat. Eduardo got a bentwood chair for himself. He found a small marble top table to go between them. None of momma’s furniture ever matched. Among the overstuff storage was a box Eduardo recognized and removed newspaper wrapped tea cups and saucers from. He unwrapped and placed them on the table. From a picnic hamper he had brought he took out a thermos and poured milky tea in both cups.    “Where my paper?” Momma asked.    Eduardo took a laptop from the picnic hamper. “No more paper anymore, momma. We’re going to look on this.”    “She doesn’t know what that is. We did the same thing three weeks ago. She doesn’t remember anything anymore.” Maria said, punctuating by waving her cigarette around.    Momma turned and smiled at Maria. “I’m going to buy a new house. I’m going to have a home of my own again.” Momma turned to Eduardo. “I don’t want to stay in that place anymore.”    “I know, momma, I know.” He powered up the laptop and clicked on a familiar link. Houses began to appear on the screen. “Here we go. Look momma.”    Momma leaned within two inches of the screen and moved her eyes from corner to corner. She placed a finger on one of the houses on the screen. “Show me inside.”    Eduardo tapped and a video walkthrough of the house began to play. Momma smiled and her eyes widened in delight.    “She is not getting another house.” Maria said. ”Tell her she’s not getting another house. She can’t look after herself. I’m never cleaning up after her again. Do you remember what her bathroom looked like?”    Eduardo shushed her quiet.    “Don’t tell me to be quiet. Why are we keeping all this? Why are we paying to keep all her junk? Seven months now. That’s two vacations we could have had. We should sell it all and take a trip.”    “Why can’t you let her be happy? She misses her things. She wants to see them sometimes. This is her life in here.”    Eduardo moved up to Maria.    Momma looked away from the laptop. She grasped her walker and moved along the edge of the storage unit. Past couch ends, beds on their sides, end boards, end tables, and a dresser she knew well. On top were stacks of photo albums. She pulled a middle one without pulling them down on herself, or losing her balance. It was a good day for her. She shuffled back to her chair and opened the album. She rubbed her hand on each photo like they were good luck charms. She looked up at the sun squinting. Then she looked back down, surprised there was a photo album on her lap. She studied it again.    “Momma told me I should never have married you.”    “Yeah, well now she doesn’t even know who you are. And you’re no prize, either. She wants to buy a house? Sell her ours. We’re going to have to sell our house to pay for that retirement hotel you put her in. Why didn’t you marry her? Why did you have to pick on me?”    “When we took that trip to the Falls, I should have pushed you.” Eduardo said.    “I should have jumped.”    Eduardo marched away to sit with momma again. Momma put the photo album on the table and moved it towards Eduardo almost knocking the laptop off before he caught it. Momma held her fingers under a photo in the top corner. She whispered to him. “That’s my son.” She smiled and closed the album, then rose to try to return it.    “I’ll get it, Momma.”    He returned it and they sat sipping tea, and looking at the rows of other storage units across from them. It stayed sunny and quiet, except for Maria making a show of huffing and puffing while she chain-smoked away the afternoon.    Eduardo returned his momma to her care facility. Her next home was palliative care. Then momma passed.    Maria did not attend the funeral. Eduardo explained to friends and family that she had left him to travel the world. Discreetly, he let people know that she had detested him for years and could not wait for an excuse to leave him. The same people delicately let Eduardo know that they had also known she was not good for him and it was for the best.    Eduardo took one last trip to the storage unit. The owner followed him in. Eduardo opened the unit.    “I’m so sorry.” The owner said. Eduardo thanked him.    “About her things. We have an auction service.” The owner said.    “The lease is for ten years.”    “Yes, but it’s only been two. Such a tragedy. We can work something out on the lease.”    “No.” Eduardo opened his truck and dragged down a hope chest. “It’s the last of her things, from the home. I can’t bring myself to throw any of her things away.”    He pushed the photo albums back on the dresser and got the owner to lift an end of the hope chest and they set it on top. He pulled down the roll door and locked it. “I will keep paying the lease. I cannot deal with this now. I must grieve. When I can deal with this I will call.”    “How is your wife doing?”    “She left me.”    “I’m so sorry.”    Eduardo drove off, comforted that at least he would never have any more grief from Maria again. Well, at least she wouldn’t be found for another eight years.


The library. Beth was always oh-so fond of browsing through the books, eyeing the titles on the well-worn spines and finding her smile in spite of herself. The smell of burnt wood seemed to flow through the air and into her nose, accompanied by the lingering scent of paper and ink, the two of which lay heavy in the air. It must've been something about the candles littered about, precariously placed on stacks of even more books, or maybe it's the long window that stretch from floor to ceiling, from which the outside sunshine shares its rays into the room, flooding the heavenly, cosy place with its radiant warmth. Something about libraries has always struck Beth as... what's the word? Let's just take it home-like, or.. maybe snug, homey, cosy, warm, safe. Libraries, big and small, old and new, have struck Beth's tender, womanly fancies every time. And now, here she was, feeling in her element as she explored a new happy place, a safe haven in which she would take refuge in her darkest times. Her bright, hazel eyes scanned the book spines, her chocolate-coloured hair swinging to and fro in a sheet at her movements. Oh, what a lovely place is a library. Her nimble, long fingers ghosted over the books, in which she held a delightful pleasant love for so strong that she didn't feel as if her day was yet to complete without picking up a book and reading a word if need be. Then, an odd object stuck out of the shelves, and, intrigued, she pulled it out. It seemingly stuck to the shelf, and with a tilted head, Beth pulled on it harder, confused. Another pull and it won't budge, but something else moved. The bookshelf. It made a creaking sound, and gears cranking together were heard. Shocked, she stepped back, and looked at the bookshelf, now moving to the right, after jolting backwards. Her eyes filled with wonder and curiosity. Soon, a niche now existed in the place of the bookshelf, which had no ceased to appear, having apparently lodged itself somewhere behind the bookshelf next to it. The niche was big enough for an adult human to fit through, so Beth slid in with ease, though she was precarious, for these kind of exciting things were rather rare in the occurrence of her daily life, droll and dull. Inside, it was dark, but, as if sensing her motions, antique wall-lamps switched on automatically. Surprise was etched clearly on Beth's face, as she went down the now illuminated steps of the unknown room. The walls were damp, and something emerald that was apparently moss covered the walls, which made them slippery and cold, reminding one of a snake, or some other spine-chilling creature. Beth's eyes reflected excitement, fear, curiosity, and confusion all at once, and how they shined once she reached the end of the long staircase down the imposing hall. Under the library was a secret study, an office of some kind. The whole place was littered with books, carelessly strewn about. The floor was carpeted with an expensive kind, of fur or something. Never-ending bookshelves lined all the walls, and there were many cosy lights scattered just as messily as the books. Ancient books were they, for the spines were weak and the covers were well-worn. These little flaws didn't affect Beth in the slightest though, for she loved all kinds of books, and didn't care whether they were old or new, fresh or aged, for a genuine book lover she was. Nearby, there was a merry fire crackling, its flames a mix of dark blue and green instead of the original red and orange, which piqued Beth's curiosity to the utmost. Droll decorations ornamented the room, a Christmas wreath hung on a wall, a few copied pictures of the Mona Lisa, The Starry Night and The Girl With a Pearl Earring were hung about the brick walls. There were couches with cushions stacked neatly, and the whole place smelled like coffee, vanilla, and maybe throw in some ink and spices into the mix that Beth's nose inhaled. Beth sank into one of the big cushions, having picked up a compulsive book on the floor, and sighing at the luxury of the private place she had found, she began reading the book, with legs curled up like a feline would. Suddenly, the cushions behind her back disappeared and went to somewhere that she still didn't know to this day, and when she looked around, slightly panicked, her gaze fell to the bottom of the chair which she had sat in. There was a hole, though tiny, it grew larger and larger, expanding widely, before eventually being big enough to swallow her whole, book and all. Beth's lips uttered a sacred shriek of sheer sock, as she fell down into the hole, that went on and on for what seemed like days, as she clutched the book to her chest and prayed to God for her safety. Then, her small frame hit the ground with a thud, and her book fell out of her arms with another thud. Dizzy and scared, she roamed the room, which seemed to be a cylinder kind, and she picked up her fallen book, for it was her only companion in this (literally) dark time. The sunshine flowed freely through her bedroom windows, irradiating her room with warmth and comfort. Her eyes fluttered open as she clutched the book she has fallen asleep too that night. She breathed out a long sigh, relieved and found herself to be safe in her bed, blankets pooling about her. It was a dream, after all. Two weeks after that dream she had, Beth read the newspaper to find some exciting news: "A new library has opened in town! Come visit now!" When she hurried to the library, her nimble fingers once again ghosted on the books' spines, and once again she found an odd object sticking out. She pulled on it, only to find it didn't move. Upon another hard pull, the bookshelf moved, and with her natural curiosity and completely forgetting about her dream, in she went and down she stepped on the stairs.


My mother was dead to me. This realisation came to me in the early hours of the morning as I lay in her stuffy guest room listening to her rhythmic snores filter through the thin wall separating us.

It wasn’t because she’d done anything super horrendous. There was no big climactic moment that caused my epiphany. It was more of a straw, fragile and brittle, placed gently on the camel’s back. But she’d forgotten about the anniversary.

She forgot a lot of things when I was a child. Almost all my birthdays for a start. The years she did remember, she usually gave me a twenty and told me to buy myself something.

This may be a little unfair. I do in fact recall her buying me gifts twice. Once for my fifth birthday she gave me sea monkeys. And a cake. The sea monkeys, not surprisingly, never made it. The cake, being an icecream one, also did not survive being left on the counter for the day. But still, it was the thought right? When I was eighteen, she gave me a bottle of peach schnapps. It was in a dusty cellophane bag tied with ribbon. The little card attached had a snowman on it. She hadn't written on it. She never came to my school events. To parent teacher meetings. Or sports days. She didn’t read to me, or tell me funny stories about her childhood. I very much doubt she had any to be honest.

My mother was a single one. She came from a poor, uninterested family, and she got pregnant young. My father took off three months after I was born. My fault, according to mum. I was a terrible baby, colicky and loud.

She lived off the benefit for a long time. Until I started school and she found part time work at a dental clinic. The one thing my mother did do was enforce the importance of dental hygiene, despite only lasting at that job for six months. She was fanatical with brushing and flossing and even on bad days, she always insisted on mouthwash before bed. My mother took her looks seriously too. She dieted and plucked and bleached and polished regularly. She put on ‘her face’ the minute she’d had her morning coffee, and took it off only after dinner and her nightly tv programmes. She dated, a lot. The men seemed to get younger and younger, along with the age she gave them. Eventually, if they asked - which wasn’t often - I was her little sister. But my mother wasn’t healthy. Mentally she was very ill. Voices spoke to her. She spent days in bed, lamenting her life, threatening to end it. Then she would be off, sometimes for days on end, on an adventure, or a wild goose chase of some sort, trying to ‘find herself’. She tried various jobs. Bar work, retail, telemarketing, cleaning. But nothing lasted longer than a few months. Like the men. I learnt to cook out of necessity. It was that or starve on those days where I woke to find her gone. I got myself to school, and I found myself jobs wherever I could. I learnt to drive a car without her.

At school, I was known for having ‘Loopy Laura’ as a mother. I kept to myself a lot. I didn't have many friends.

I met Ben when I was babysitting. He was older than me, had left school and been working at a mechanic for a few years. His boss, the dad to the kids I was watching, took his crew out for a Christmas shout. Ben had come home with him, somewhat drunk. “It was love at first sight,” he would tell everyone. “ I took one look at her and I was a goner.” I would just smile and agree, but the truth was it took me a little longer than him to feel it. But he wore me down, and we started to date. He proposed to me on my 21st birthday. I’d already moved in with him fairly quickly, eager to get out of my house and away from my mother. I left school and trained to be a nurse, which I both loved and excelled at. We got married at the registry office, something his mother still hates me for. But I couldn’t see the point of spending so much money for a single day. For a dress I’d never wear again. Flowers that would die, and fancy food we didn’t need. It all seemed such a waste. Now, I do wish I'd at least had more photos.

Ben died two and a half years later. Car accident. I was working. I realised it was him when I saw the workshop logo on his overalls. He was already dead by then. I only had an hour left of my shift, so I stayed on and when I got home, I remember I made tuna melts, too many just for me, and then I cried until I was sick. Three weeks later, I realised I was pregnant. I was both thrilled and terrified. How would I know how to be a mother when I’d never had one myself? I hadn’t even managed to keep brine alive. But this child was a part of Ben, a piece of us, and I loved them already, sight unseen.

I read every book I could, took birth classes, and painted a nursery. I ate spinach and salmon and took folic acid and did gentle yoga stretches. I did all the right things. My grief at losing Ben was eclipsed by my joy at becoming a mother. I told my mother about the baby because she served me at the supermarket. It took her several minutes of scanning items before she realised who I was. I hadn’t seen her, I realised, since the funeral. “I’m having a baby, ” I told her as she weighed my bananas. “Due in July”. “Oh fuck, thats a bugger,” she said sympathetically.

“I’m actually really pleased,” I informed her quietly. “Oh, well then,” She paused to bag my oranges. “Good luck” I wasn't upset by her reaction. Or angry. Or anything really. I was a bit immune I suppose. But two days later, she came by with a badly wrapped box. Inside I found a grey crocheted teddy bear and a onesie with ‘nana’s angel’ printed on it. She was on meds at the time, and doing okay. She started them after I moved out I think. She had her supermarket job, and she joined a group, made a couple of friends.

As the months went on, she and I developed something resembling a tentative relationship. She helped me paint, came with me to the birthing class, joined me some days to walk around the gardens. I softened towards her a little, accepted her olive branch and began to think I could forgive her lack of mothering. She seemed to want to make up for it as a grandmother. I went into labour early. Too early. When I got to the hospital, I rang and asked her to come. By the time she arrived, Bella was dead. Wrapped in a muslin shroud, her tiny face blank and waxy. Like mine.

I didn't cope.

I couldn't work. Couldn't be around death. Or birth. I stayed at home and didn't eat, didn't shower. Tried not to feel. Initially, my mother visited, then rang. She was, she told me, grieving as much as me. Then she started with ‘ probably for the best’, ‘you can have another’ type comments and moved to ‘ you need to move on, get over it etc etc’. I knew I was depressed. But grief is like a lake, inky and dragging. It pulls you in, promises oblivion in its depths. I wasn't interested in surfacing, in looking at the sky, the sun. I wanted to swim to the bottom, wind myself in the weeds, and cease. Months passed. Eventually, I went back to work, to life. Lived my life, except it wasn’t me living it. I was a clone. A functioning replica. At night I sat in my nursery and rocked.

Time passed.

The night of the anniversary of her death, I couldn't stand to go home, be alone. So I went to my mother’s who hadn’t remembered. She was in what she called a ‘fun mood’. She invited me to join her and her new man for dinner. We sat, ate spaghetti, and drank red wine. My mother was very animated, laughed a lot. They made plans to go to the beach. At one point the new man, Dave, asked me what I did.

“I’m a nurse.” I told him.

“And your husband? Are you married? Do you have a family?” he asked, his mouth full of overcooked pasta.. “Plenty of time for that,” my mother told him. “ no need to get tied down too young, I can tell you that for free.” She laughed, sloshing her merlot onto the off white tablecloth. And I realised. Like an anvil on the head. No. no I didn’t have a family.

I never really did.


Child 7673 was a problem, the biggest problem to plague the Nightmare Department of the Monsters Advocacy Bureau since its inception. 7673 was like no child anyone had ever seen. On the surface, she seemed like any other child; she slept in a bed, and she had nightmares; that much was obvious from her sleep charts. The problem with 7673? She wasn’t afraid of monsters. She just wasn’t intimidated by them. The Nightmare Department had exhausted almost all of its resources trying to scare this child. The threat level of the monster visiting her every night had increased with each visit to her bedroom, the hope being that the scarier the monster appeared, the more frightened she'd be. But all those efforts were in vain, and the Nightmare Department had only one option left; an option they had never used before. They were bringing in the scariest monster in the archives. Me.

I’d like to start this tale by making one thing extremely clear. Child 7673 is an exception to every rule I’ve set for myself. I don't like children. That’s why I joined the Nightmare Department, so I could scare them. I wasn’t expecting to never be called in. They say I’m too scary for most kids--I could kill one, potentially. The MAB doesn’t need to be going around killing children, it’s bad publicity. I’m seven feet tall with carnivorous teeth and beady eyes. Even when I was small, I was the tallest monster for my age. My skin is rough, almost scaly, and jagged around my elbows. The lower level monsters nicknamed me “Dragon” because of them, after the mythological beast. Apparently, for this reason, I’m kept away from most children.

Anyway, I was called once they realized that 7673 posed a problem. My boss summoned me into his office to brief me on the situation. His door was already open when I arrived, so I walked right in, trying to seem as casual as possible. He was sitting at his desk, doing paperwork. I stood in awkward silence for what felt like too long before I finally cleared my throat loudly. “Sir?” “Oh, I see you’ve finally arrived,” he said. “Please take a seat. We have so much to discuss.” “Do we? I’m pretty sure I know what my job entails.” “I didn’t call you in here to listen to you insult me. This is a serious case, so shape up. This kid is causing tons of trouble, and I am not happy about it.” “Everyone? What does that even mean? She’s just an annoying little kid.” “It seems like you don’t quite understand the utter propensity of this situation. Please, allow me to fill you in. You know, just as every monster here knows, that the connection between the monster world and the human world is a delicate one. Those humans let us scare their children only on their own moral guidelines," he said. After taking a sip of his drink, he continued, “Humans want their children to be mentally strong adults. They want them to learn how to deal with the scary things life has to offer and blah, blah, blah. The MAB also gets funding depending on how well we can scare these kids.”

“Yeah, boss. I know all that.” I said. “I’m not clear on why this kid is different than the rest.” “This particular child has proved a big problem. If she isn’t stopped soon, the careers of some of the ‘higher-ups’ at the MAB could be in jeopardy. This is big stuff.” My first instinct was to laugh, although I contained myself. Some of the most important monsters at the MAB, fired over a human child. The irony was almost too much to handle. My boss was surely one of those people in jeopardy, or else he wouldn’t have mentioned it. My evil troll of a boss, gone for good. The thought was tantalizing, I must confess. But I still had my doubts about this job. Maybe part of it was laziness, but another part of me found it hard to believe I was the only monster qualified.

“So you’re telling me I’m the only one that can do this job,” I said. “What about Gris? Those tentacles of his are scary as hell.” “Gris was one of our first tries,” the boss said. “His tentacles didn’t do a damn thing.” “You could send in Charma. That rat’s nest on her head would scare—” “How many times must I tell you? You have no choice. You are going to do this job. Nobody else. Understood?” “Yes, sir.” I walked out of his office feeling a bit defeated. I couldn’t help but wonder how well tonight would go. I wasn’t looking forward to it.

But I had a duty, and was going to do it well. I would scare Child 7673 so bad that she'd scream for help, maybe even wet the bed. Monsters get extra participation points if the kid pees. What actually happened when I stepped into her bedroom, well, I wasn’t expecting it at all. But it helped me realize a few things. Ah, I can see it, you’re squirming in your seat now, wondering why 7673 is different. Patience. I’m getting there.

The sky was a delightful pitch black the night I went to her neighborhood. Perfect monster weather. The MAB provided me with a sort of tracking device, so I’d be able to find it. Getting into the house was easy enough. I simply walked through the back door. Humans are quite stupid when it comes to locking houses at night. I passed another tiny human’s bedroom on the way to her's, her baby brother’s, as I presumed from the level one monster already under the crib. I finally reached her room last, her human name printed in bright pink letters across the door: C-A-S-S-A-N-D-R-A. So 7673’s name was Cassandra. This was the root of my downfall; where my affection first bloomed from my ice-cold heart. Because I’d never been out in the field before, I didn't know that human names were something monsters disregarded. I found myself thinking she had a cute name. That awful word actually ran through my mind. Cute. I’m ashamed.

All was quiet as I entered the room. In the corner next to her closet was a small table with a tea set--stuffed animals sitting in chairs, ready to drink the imaginary tea. I finished surveying the room and turned toward her bed, slithered over to her sleeping form. This was where things were going to get tricky. My friends had told me there were many ways in which one could scare a child. Should I hide in the closet, and then jump out? Should I just stand and watch her until she woke up and saw me? I finally decided to use the growling-in-the-ear method. I think she thought I was the dog, because she simply put out her hand as if to say, No, Toto, I’m not in the mood . How annoying. The second method I used woke her up. I ran my fingers across her cheek in that creepy way. You know. I had just recently sharpened my fingernails into points, and I’m sure the sensation was less than comforting. She woke up with a start, her eyes searching the room before landing on my hulking form. I tried to snarl at her in the best way I could, allowing her to see my jagged teeth. I thought I had succeeded in scaring her when she sat straight up in bed and looked me dead in the eyes, her curls bouncing everywhere as her shadow was illuminated against the pink walls. Even in the dark, I could see her green eyes sparkle with determination as they locked with mine. She was a fierce little human, that much was obvious. She spoke in a squeaky but determined voice.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not afraid of monsters like you? Go away!”

And then she slapped me. The amount of rage I felt in that moment was immense, but I internalized it. I know, I was proud, too. It was then that I saw a light come on from under the door. It was far off, probably a couple rooms down. It didn’t take a genius to know it was Cassandra’s parents. Now you’d think that with me being a huge, angry monster and her being a small girl, she’d be thankful to see that her mommy and daddy were coming. Think again. Cassandra went rigid in her bed. Tears welled in her eyes. Why was she crying now? From down the hall I could hear arguing, bitter words being thrown back and forth between two people.

“I told you John! I told you not to come home drunk again! And what happens? You’re absolutely shitfaced! Do you think you’re setting a good example for the kids?”

“I don’t give a damn about what you think, and I don’t give a damn about setting any examples! Now get back in bed, you bitch.”

I was a bit shocked, but not much. I had heard about human couples fighting like this, about the unchecked consumption of alcohol and what it did to the body. It was then that I heard a sort of “umph” followed by a thud on the floor.

“What the hell? What was that? Was that one of her stupid toys again? How many times do I have to tell her to clean up after herself, huh? I’m sick of having to watch out for her shit! Where is she? Is she in her room?”

“John, don’t you dare go in there. She’s asleep. She didn’t do anything wrong. It was just an accident…John, please…don’t go in there. I’m begging you not to go in there.”

The sound of scuffling could be heard through the door, as if the woman was trying to hold the man back. The man, John, shoved his wife into the wall as he moved past her. I found myself thinking about what Cassandra had said to me earlier, about not being afraid of monsters like me. It had never occurred to me that there could be more than one kind of monster. The realization hit me with such force, I wasn’t sure how to react. I found myself frozen in place, not sure what it was I was supposed to do. Should I protect this kid? That wasn’t what I had been sent here to do, but it felt wrong to leave her to fend for herself. None of this had been addressed in my training.

I was still perplexed as to what action I should take when I felt a tiny hand grab my arm and yank me under the bed. The floor was covered in dust, with a pair of shoes and a tennis racket discarded in the corner. There was a spot on the floor amidst the dust particles where the wood was perfectly clean, though, like a small circular space that had been specially cleaned of dirt. I realized it was the spot where Cassandra crouched whenever she hid under her bed. How often did she hide here? Weren’t human children told that’s where the monsters like to lurk? Now, I could see Cassandra clearer, and I noticed bruises on her arms and legs. She had a scar across her temple, right at her hairline. I didn’t want to think about what could have given it to her.

This whole situation felt wrong to me, on multiple different levels. For one, I’m not particularly good at hiding. I’m a six foot, intimidating monster. I’m the one kids hide from. Could this little girl be trying to protect me? I could feel her shaking next to me. She was scared, that’s for sure. She was afraid of her father more than she was afraid of me. I wasn't sure how to feel about that. Should I feel like a failure? Like I hadn’t done my job? I thought that was what my boss would say, and I was surprised to discover that I didn’t actually feel that way. I was mad, angrier than I’d ever felt in my life. I'd always been told that monsters and parents were on a spectrum, at opposite ends. The monsters scared the child, and the parents comforted them and loved them. Mommies and Daddies were not allowed to change that. They had no reason or permission to be the scary ones. Even monsters know that children don’t deserve that. Monsters and nightmares are a part of life for most children. Having a bad dream or seeing a scary monster is terrifying, but waking up and knowing that it wasn’t real and that the monsters have better things to do than scare you helps a kid realize how strong they really are inside. The bedroom door swung open then, knocking pictures off the wall. Cassandra’s father stormed in, yelling her name. As I peered out from my hiding spot, I could see his shoes were scuffed and untied. His legs moved aimlessly in no pattern, telling me he'd consumed so much alcohol he could hardly stand upright. More banging sounds ensued as the man flung open Cassandra’s closet, thinking she’d be in it. When he didn’t find her, he shouted to himself before making his way to his daughter’s desk. He picked up a small glass orb with small white flakes floating inside of it, and inspected it for a few seconds before throwing it against the floor. Shards of glass flew everywhere as the tiny globe shattered, the liquid from inside oozing into the carpet.

I turned to see Cassandra curled up in a tight ball with her knees pulled up to her chest. Her face was pressed against the floor, and I could hear her sobbing. I had to do something soon. I couldn’t just stand by and watch Cassandra be scared by someone who wasn’t me, who wasn’t the right kind of monster. Her father, finally figuring out where we were hiding, stooped down with a certain amount of effort. He thrust an arm under the bed hoping, I assumed, to grab his daughter’s wrist and yank her out from her safe haven. In that moment I made my final decision. I found his hand and latched onto it. His palms were callused and rough. I was uneasy thinking about how capable they’d be of hurting Cassandra. I almost lost his grasp from how sweaty his fingers were. Stupid humans, always clenching their fists.

It took the man a brief moment to register what he had caught, and I could tell he was confused once he realized it wasn’t a small wrist or anything close to human skin. Quickly slipping out of my grasp, he jumped back in a delayed surprise. He backed himself into the corner of Cassandra’s room against the wall as I slinked out from under the bed menacingly. I didn’t have to think about how terrifying I wanted to sound this time. All my anger towards this vile creature bubbled to the surface without me having to give it a second thought. It brings me great joy to remember his face as I stood up and towered over him, letting out a noise that vibrated throughout the room. It was a look of pure terror. His horrified expression helped me realize why other monsters think I’m the best at what I do. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cassandra peering out from under the bed. Her eyes were wide with a mix of fear and wonder. I don’t think she had ever seen anyone or anything overpower her father until that moment. Right then, that was when the ice that had encased my heart for so long finally cracked, and I realized for the first time what caring for someone felt like. I had disregarded everything my job stood for, and I was proud. I hadn’t scared the child like I had always been told I must do, I had protected her instead. Nobody was allowed to scare her but me. She was my responsibility. I was a real monster.

I’m not going to relate the rest of that night’s events with you. Let’s just say that I decided to help my new friend Cassandra fight off her father. The problem didn’t resolve right away. It took months and a countless number of visits before I could convince Cassandra’s father that he didn’t want to mess with me. He got the message though. I don’t think he’ll be bothering anymore, and if he tries, I’ll be there to interfere. John had a hard time accepting being called an alcoholic and abuser to his face. I made sure to inform the boss that Cassandra would be my permanent assignment, and of course he agreed. That monster will do anything to keep his position at the MAB secure. I can’t give you a straight answer as to why I’ve developed such an attachment to this human child. I think it’s because I know that eventually, she’ll be too old for my protection. If I know humans at all, I know they are ignorant. I want to protect Cassandra for as long as I can, because I know this won’t be the last time her father drinks alcohol. I guess I just want her to know that there are good people, and monsters, out there too.

I suppose my story about Child 7673 serves as a lesson for all you humans. I hope you understand why monsters like me are the ones who scare children, but I also hope you understand that we do it with love, because we care. They are just as much our responsibility as they are yours, and they should be scared in the nicest way possible. That’s what it means to be a monster.


I had been out longer than I wanted. Than I promised. The city clock tower mocked me with the fact. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven! Eight! It was dark and cold. I tried to rush home as if it would give me back those two hours. Give those two hours back to my little sister who’s spent them alone. I walked faster with every shiver, risking making every slick spot into another delay, but it was worth it to see the candle flame twirling in the window of the small cabin that had become our home far from town and the people we once knew.

All that warmth was ripped away when I saw the door opened.

I was tired but found the strength to rev up for another fight. I burst open the door with a fiery vengeance. The main room was clear from the trashy pillows my sister imagines as luxury furniture, to the twig table she made, to the cast-iron stove that was older than the two of us combined times a lot.

A door creaked. It was the backroom. We never used it because of that sound. No one could know we were here. I inched toward the four but not before long, I was being dragged through the door.

It rattled me around like a boat caught in a winter storm on the black seas. For no reason, the fingers released from my collar, plummeting me to the floor with a cloud of what I hoped was dirt.

My arms flailed out like during our old ice skating trips but this time there was no cloud of laughter. All there was was a thud of my back hitting the floor and my elbow bashing into a spider-like cross-section. "Odette!" I said, knowing it could only be her little chest I was crashing into. Before I could get to her, the hands picked me up. This time I wasn't giving him any satisfaction in my pain and promptly kicked his gentlemens. It wasn't quite manly but neither was attacking a little girl to get to your enemy. I already faced off against five of his kind: those who preach love your neighbor but let their faith fall to the wayside when their neighbor is different from them. One coward by himself shouldn't be too much of a struggle, even with my go at sewing up my side. He was on the ground and not getting back up before I noticed all my medical work was for nothing. I collapsed to my knees in a fog as thick as a hike in the mountains, but all that rambled through my head was 'is Odette alright.' I cradled her in my arms. Closer and closer as she didn't respond. A growing patch of my blood on her white nightgown.

The door creaked. My eyes shot over but saw no one. Then they saw nothing in tandem with a head-crushing blow from a coward. As a few strands of dawn light shimmied through the dark drapes, my eyes bubbled open. I was in a ball of warmth but everything on the inside was in swirly shambles. The more I pushed my way up, the more my insides wanted to do the same. I wished my head would have done that as it swayed, swiveling my sight around. Three thoughts bombarded my mind as the clouds there were blown away with the darkness. I wasn’t in my bed. Not in my nightclothes. Not with my sister.  I scrambled to my feet and fell immediately. That could describe the whole process of my walk in these baggy clothes to the door where heavy leaning on the frame and slick fabric wrapped around my feet couldn't hold off gravity forever but long enough to see him. He was seated at a small round table, reading a hefty book. When his eyes looked up at a page turn, he leaned back and rolled down his sleeves to hide some scratches. With a smile, he crooned, "Good Morning." I didn't know what to feel, happy or scared to see the corners of his smile frame two protruding dragged-like teeth. Teeth like my own. I’ve only seen them once before on my sister. My deciding time was cut short when my knees turned to Fasole batută. I must’ve fainted because one moment I’m falling with the thunderous thump on the table and the next my head and knees were resting in his arms.

He bumped the door the rest of the way open. He carried me as if I were a feather even when I struggled against him.

“Where - where’s my…” I mumbled. “She’s in the next room, resting.” He set me back in the bed like falling snow as he partially disappeared in the dark. “As you should be.”

I gave out a snicker as any teenager would when they’re told what’s best for them.

“Do you mind if I check your side?” I pick at the shirt. “Why should I stop you now.” “I’m sorry. You and your sister were a mess when I found you,” he said, lifting my shirt slowly probably waiting to see if would change my answer. He, in like matter, gingerly removed the bandage revealing an ensemble of neatly sewn columns. “Now tell me was it you that butchered this.” “I’m not a doctor.” “Nor a long-term planner,” he mumbled. I guess he wasn’t used to our kind either: I could hear his statement as clear as if he stated it to my face. “My only plan is to protect my baby sister.” “Who would have protected her if you bleed to death feet two feet away from a man who was merely unconscious and thought the only reason God put him on this world was to kill you and her.”

“Like you care,” I said to the men who save my life, my sister’s, and had been so gentle and patient. In a fluid motion, he swung low, opening the side table drawer. “Besides who I am, I have a very big reason to care what happens to the two of you.”

He presented a photograph that took everything that I knew and threw it off-kilter. It was a photo of my family after my sister was born but beside my mother and father were two men I’ve never seen before: one sitting right in front of me.

“Your mother was my sister.” He looked down at his skin. “Your grandfather wasn’t the fidelitous type but she never cared. I was her brother no matter what.” What could anyone say to that? They were the two most perfect people and now they’re dead for no reason. They died protecting Odette and me and now probably for him too. What could anyone say to that? As I would come to know and know a lot, he knew what to say.

He brought up the blanket and tucked me in like an infant. “You avenged them. You killed every last one of them that took your parents from us and you protected your sister through all of it. Why don’t you let me do a little protecting of my own?”


The 14th of June 2053 is the day when Clara thought she was going to die. She would cease to be the main character of her own story and would turn into one of those novels that sit in library books gathering dust with no one reading them ever again.

Ten years earlier Clara was working a dead-end job which, bit by bit, was being replaced by robots. Working in New York wasn’t all it cracked up to be. Clara grew up on a farm surrounded by plants and animals and she loved it. She won prizes many times at county fairs for her impressive vegetables. Nevertheless, times were changing and Clara couldn’t afford the farm her parents gave her when they passed. With great sorrow, Clara sold the farm and went to the city in search of work.

Her savings were dwindling and Clara could barely afford the room she was renting. Losing the place to live and going to the streets was not an option. With the new policy on homelessness introduced in the US in 2045 any person found without the means to support themselves and without a home would be sent off to Alaska to the labour camps for low-skilled humans. No one she knows has ever come back from there. She might have been depressed but certainly not suicidal.

One day on her last day of work Clara found an interesting advert sub subway (transportation for the lower classes) which read: Are you unhappy with your life? Are you skilled in any STEM subjects, farming, and Botanics? Do you want to be a hero and do something incredible with your life? If so, visit us on colonizemars.com and join in the mission to reach for the stars. Clara thought it was an odd advert. Yes, there have been talks about colonising Mars since the beginning of the century from what her grandparents told her but she was surprised we finally got to a point where it is possible. She was curious to at least find out a bit more about the project.

As she walked back to her flat after getting her last paycheck and going through overdue bills, Clara remembered the advert she saw that very morning and thought that it won’t hurt to take a look.

As she was reading she realised that this could be an interesting opportunity. The company paid for any unsettled debts, provided free accommodation, food and she could apply as a botanist having a strong background due to her upbringing. She could do something she loves and gives her life meaning. It was certainly better than being sent off to a labour camp and losing her freedom.

She was a single child with no family and she wasn’t particularly sociable either. Clara generally kept to herself so missing people from back on Earth wouldn’t be an issue.

It was settled that this is an opportunity she might not get ever again and so the next day she applied. After a series of tests checking her skills, health, and any underlying medical issues Clara was officially accepted for the program. As she later found out it was going to be named project ‘Sunrise’.

Amongst the many preparations and training for the one-way journey to Mars Clara had a terrible realisation - there would be no windows anywhere in her new home. The new material, altanium, discovered just ten years ago was the strongest yet lightest material known to men. As such, the need for glass would be costly and potentially fatal. The ship as well as the entire Dome City (or as they liked to call it ‘The arc’) - the new habitation quarters on Mars would be completely closed off. The advancements in virtual reality meant that there would be special rooms where you can select where you want to go and feel like you’re there. That technology is something Clara could never be able to afford. Having a look outside the window and seeing the grim and dirty New York streets she thought she didn't need to see outside and it is not like Mars would be the most exciting place anyway.

Clara didn’t remember the journey to Mars as, just like the rest of the teams, they were hibernated for the duration of the flight. She enjoyed her new little flat and she excelled in her job. She realised that although she wasn’t the most sociable person when it comes to small talk she was pretty good at teaching and so the Botanics team was doing great at feeding the teams. As soon as Mars is terraformed Clara would begin the fertilisation and farming process. But as the years went by Clara was starting to get restless. She knew that project ‘Sunrise’ would take years but she didn’t realise how long those ten years would last. She never thought she would say this but she missed real sunrises, the smell of the city, and the sheer reality of being there. The projection room started to feel empty and hollow and didn’t satisfy her anymore. As she was getting her weekly vitamin D light therapy she realised she hasn’t seen sunlight for almost ten years. Suddenly a familiar sound came out of the speakers

Low oxygen. I repeat low oxygen. There has been a breach in the dome structure. Return to your rooms and await further instructions. Clara obediently started rushing towards her room thinking it’s the fifth time it happened this month. She has asked for a possibility to install some sort of viewing platform or a window but was met with denial. After all, the low oxygen announcements have been getting more frequent and so even if altanium cannot be relied on fully there was absolutely no way for any other material to be used and jeopardise the mission. Due to the strength of altanium no sound waves could escape its walls. That meant that all communication with Earth was controlled by specialised personnel, the ‘Special Communication Unit’, outside of the dome city. Clara didn’t mind as she made enough friends in the living quarters to keep herself busy.

One of those friends was James Anderson. James always intrigued Clara. She wasn’t sure if it was his good looks or enigmatic personality. James was part of the SCU team which generally kept to themselves. Clara was a hopeless romantic but her shy nature often stopped her from pursuing intimate relationships. She liked to walk past James’ room hoping for the courage to express her feelings to him. One night as Clara was walking by she heard James singing and she couldn’t help but to listen in. His voice was quiet and cracking down as though he would burst into tears at any moment.

One day we will walk through emerald fields And we will swim through sapphire waters We will fix what went wrong We will dance again, we will continue After a long winter returning birds fly home Ice melts and the world starts anew Can we ever start again You’re no match for any men In a day or two or maybe more Weeks or years I still believe That the world will turn around

And the sun will rise for us as long as we exist This caught Clara completely off guard. No one has ever sung her a love song and it was clear to her now that James was still in love with someone. She couldn’t even compete with that kind of love. Her eyes started swelling up and she hurried back to her room before anyone would notice her crying.

The next day Clara noticed James sitting on his own and he seemed down. She thought they could still talk even if they were never meant to end up together. As Clara tried to cheer James up he initially seemed to get even sadder. The sadness then unexpectedly turned into anger. He looked at Clara and said ‘You just don’t understand'. Clara was flabbergasted and told James that she understands he is still in love. James stood up in anger and blurted out ‘You don’t get it’. Clara was now getting frustrated as well. ‘Well tell me then what I do not understand?!’ - said Clara. ‘We don’t have much time...we are...we are…we are’ - James looked into the distance as he kept repeating the same words. ‘We are what?! James tell me what is going on at this instant!’ - shouted Clara. ‘We are...running out of oxygen. We’ll be out by Sunday and no one is coming for us’ - said James almost as though he was bored and thinking of something else already. He was still looking into the distance and avoiding Clare’s stare. He turned around and left in a hurry.

Clara shouted after him but James didn’t turn around. She didn’t want to cause a scene and ran back to her quarters. She couldn’t believe it. This just didn’t make any sense. Was this not an issue beforehand? Why is no one coming with help? It must be those damned dome structure breaches which ruined the oxygen supply and help wouldn’t get here in time… Everything continued as normal. It seemed that no one knew that anything was wrong yet. Clara withdrew back to her shell and stopped speaking to anyone. She was still in disbelief that all her efforts would go to waste. She wanted to change the world and she will never get a chance to do it now. It was all completely pointless. There was no fate worse than death.

The 14th of June 2053 is the day when Clara thought she was going to die. She would cease to be the main character of her own story and would turn into one of those novels that sit in library books gathering dust with no one reading them ever again.

Eventually, an announcement came through the speakers late at night for everyone to gather in the dome amphitheater. Clara has never seen all of the terraforming teams gathered all in one place before, it was quite a sight. She knew what was coming and felt grateful she had time to come to terms with dying.

Finally, the announcement ended and Clara was so shaken she felt completely frozen. This is not what she expected.

‘Project Sunrise members. We have created Project Sunrise for one reason only - for humanity to endure. We must survive. Thank you for participating in our largest to date self-preservation quarantine project. Over a decade ago we received intelligence that the United Republic of East Asia was working on a biological weapon aimed to reduce their numbers due to overpopulation and lack of resources. The weapon could not be controlled and it started spreading quickly. We have tried everything in our power to protect our people and I’m afraid to say that we have failed. We have failed as human beings and as you are listening to this recording you are the only ones left who were protected from the fatal biological weapon which has wiped out almost all of the human population. Your expertise in terraforming Mars will be used to re-establish humans and our societies. Our knowledge has not been lost. You see through all this time you have been in a secret base on Earth rather than sent to Mars. We…’ As she listened to the announcement Clara was so shaken she felt completely forzen. This is not what she expected. Is that why there were no windows? But what about the flight? Oh yes, they were asleep throughout it…. She was in a strange haze as everyone started walking through the exit. She suddenly felt her hand being grabbed and realised it was James.

‘Why didn’t you tell me the truth!? How could you…’ - cried Clara quietly. ‘Some fates are worse than death Clara. For a long time that is how I felt about ours. Knowing but powerless to do anything. Powerless to help my colleagues. My friends. My family. But I do not anymore. We have a new purpose now’ - said James. They kept walking together quietly with their hands interwoven. Clara was lost for words and still in shock. As they went outside for the first time in ten years, the sun was rising from the East as it has for millions of years. It’s the sight Clara so desperately wanted to see but hoped she would never get to see again.

As they stood there together for a while, she heard a faint melody sung by James and smiled when she realised the song’s true meaning. One day we will again walk through emerald fields And we will swim through sapphire waters We will fix what went wrong We will dance again, we will continue After a winter returning birds fly home Ice melts and the world starts anew Please let us start again You’re no match for any men In a day or two or maybe more Weeks or years I still believe That the world will turn around

And the sun will rise for us as long as we exist


It was her name that jarred me. Miss Josephine Paxton. Miss. A large boardroom table with a dozen seats. Dark mahogany, shelves of worn books, the air filled with dust motes, musty and stale. I wondered if all lawyers had a room like this, or just the ones that served rich clients and read wills to greedy families gathered in the half light. The busy London traffic was humming behind the heavy dark curtains and in that afternoon heat, my mind drifted back through time. Back to the war years, back to my youth, back to a time when I was deeply in love. I’d been a trained confectioner, creating candies and crafting chocolate. The rationing brought an end to my youthful aspirations. No sugar meant no sweets and so the little shop that I’d taken over was forced to close. I wasn’t alone in this time of desperation, there were many of us who’d had to change career and I decided it wouldn’t do me any good to brood over the subject. I was lucky, my family had money, a large house in Surrey and I’d been allowed this exciting foray into business until my mother could find a suitable bachelor to marry me. Now that most of them had departed to fight the Germans, I was granted a temporary reprieve from the matchmakers that congregated at my parent’s parties. It wasn’t considered a tasteful subject to bring up the lack of eligible men in the neighbourhood, not when they were fighting for King and country. In the run up to Christmas in 1941, the National Service Act had passed to include women. Childless spinsters between the ages of twenty and thirty, should join the forces and ‘do their bit’ for England. I fell into that category, having celebrated my twenty-first birthday over the summer. The Land Army wasn’t an easy option for me, but I’d decided it was better to be outdoors than working in the munitions factories. I was assigned to work on a farm in a tiny village on the outskirts of Dorchester, deep in the heart of Dorset. Those first days were hard, cold and dark but by the time spring had arrived I was used to the muck and dirt, early morning milking and hands that were calloused and sore. I shared a cottage with two other girls, and we fought over bathwater and overalls in equal measure. The longer days of sunshine warmed our spirits and before long we were enjoying our days off with trips down to the seaside in Weymouth. We made friends and when the locals held a village dance, we were invited. The local lads were harmless and mostly farm workers, too old or damaged to fight in the war. Then the American GIs arrived. The first time we attended a dance with the yanks, the whole place was filled with Glen Miller music and laughter. The atmosphere was lively and the chatter of accents distinctly different to our own was enough to excite us. Glances were exchanged across the dance floor and it wasn’t long before we were all being twirled and hurled through the air by dashing servicemen. I noticed him sitting in the corner, taking in the scene with every drag of his cigarette. He was handsome in the smart, clean cut way that men used to be, but his demeanour made him seem unapproachable and stand-offish. I was caught mid stare and given a firm prod and a push towards him. I braced myself and accepted the challenge to engage in conversation with the only man in the room who seemed disinclined to make small talk. I took out a cigarette and sat down at his empty table, avoiding his stare. Like all men, he responded with a source of light and I resisted the urge to look into his eyes until he held the flame in front of them. He smiled warmly and we both laughed at the significance of the gesture. Steve was a New Yorker, his words took time for me to process but he spoke about his life back home, his parents’ store, the newspaper where he worked and the places he loved to visit. There was a sadness behind his chatter, I thought it was a dose of homesickness. The real cause of his melancholy didn’t emerge until we’d been courting for a few weeks. We’d taken a walk down to the riveron a Sunday afternoon, I’d packed a meagre picnic lunch that was bolstered by his contributions of cheese, two hard boiled eggs and a bottle of cider and we sat lounging in the afternoon sun. It was then that he told me about his ex-wife. My heart sank at his confession, but I was falling in love for the first time and the fact that he wanted to be honest made my heart thump with gladness. He loved me too. The weeks rolled past and the more time we spent together, the more in sync we became. He wanted to marry me and insisted that he ask my family for permission. The weekend pass came, and we headed to Surrey to meet my parents and extended members of the clan. Impressed by the family home, rolling countryside and lush green lawns, Steve looked nervously at me as we rang the doorbell. My father was a docile man, bowled over by Steve’s winning smile and now exuberant nature. My mother was easily won over by a pair of silk stockings and his New York drawl. Then my Grandmother, Seffy, joined us. The inquisition began in a harmless way, talk of his working-class roots, Scottish American heritage and ambitions as a journalist. Then I left the room to make another pot of tea. I knew that this was the point when his imminent proposal would be discussed, and permission would be granted. But when I reappeared with a tray in the drawing room, the atmosphere had shifted, my head began to swim in panic. Divorced. His honesty had been his downfall and my Grandmother left the room, brushing past me with a look of dismay. Steve stood and looked crestfallen; his smile was replaced with a tight grimace of acceptance. He held my shoulders firmly and whispered in my ear, “I’m sorry, your Grandmother is right, I’m not good enough” and then he left me. Standing with tears rolling down my cheeks, he didn’t look back as he drove away. After a weekend of crying and arguing with Seffy, I returned to Dorset by train, a wholly dishevelled mess. Despite my efforts, messages and phone calls to his base, I never saw him again. Here I was in a stuffy room fifteen years later and the name MISS Josephine Paxton, rang in my ears. “I’m sorry, you said Miss Paxton, you must be mistaken, my grandmother was Josephine Lake, Mrs Seffy Lake”. The solicitor cleared his throat uncomfortably and looked at me over the rim of his glasses, “I’m afraid your Grandmother was never legally married to your Grandfather my dear, if you’ll allow me to explain.” The explanation was long. A previous wife had existed, marred by insanity and a spell in an institution, there was no easy divorce back then, just more secrets and more lies. Thank goodness my father had never lived to discover his illegitimate birth and my mother was not well enough to attend. I left that room in disbelief, a rich woman. A rich single woman. I had never married and the past fifteen years had been lost. The sun shone outside, I stopped and breathed in the dull city air. As I walked toward the train station, a poster made me stop in my tracks. The heavy door needed a push to enter the office and a young girl smiled politely as she asked, “How can I help you Madam?” I looked around at the travel brochures and signalled to the window, “New York, I’d like to buy a ticket to New York.”


‘TIL DEATH DOESN’T US PART by Richard Wright “Ok, fine. I’ll do it,” Jerry said. “But I don’t know if I can make it all night. I’m sure it’s just going to make me go stir crazy.” He looked down at the ground and actually wished he could have kicked a little dirt on her. But he restrained himself. “Would you please just trust me for once?” Sally said, brushing her brunette hair out of her face. “I really think you will be surprised when it’s all done. You won’t know until you finally try it.” “I have tried it,” Jerry argued. “Remember, you tried to get me to do this a few days ago and it was a lame suggestion then too.”

“It was not,” she fired back. “You just couldn’t stand to stay all night long, or even for two whole minutes. You thought you would be bored and so you took off. But just remember who had the better time.” Jerry’s face formed a slow grin. “Hey, I had a blast. I just wish I could have been there to see the people’s faces when they realized their garbage can lids had been superglued on.” He began to laugh out loud. Sally let him have his moment, then said, “But you would have had more fun if you had stayed with me. You could have seen people here. They came by all night long, and they will again – trust me,” Sally pleaded with him. The two of them had been friends for just over a couple of months, after they had both attended a party across town. Although they had known about each other for some time, since they went to the same high school, it was only that night of the party that they finally had a real conversation. She liked his build and jet-black hair, while he commented how nice she had always seemed to be. They even laughed together about classes they liked and teachers they hated. But they also learned they could not be more opposite in their personalities. Sally had always known that Jerry was more of a free spirit, whereas she was more quiet and not quite as popular as he seemed to be. Though she had friends and liked to be around others, she wasn’t as crazy as Jerry, and was never comfortable being the center of attention, which was his favorite place to be. Even if it got him into trouble. Nor was she as fond of practical jokes, for which Jerry seemed to have a knack and about which he bragged constantly. She enjoyed the occasional surprise to a friend once in a while, but she didn’t crave joking around like Jerry did. His antics had even won him the nickname “The Joker” in school.

But now they were here, together, tonight. Just the two of them. She had to make this work. It might be her last chance with Jerry.

“Maybe you’re right,” he finally spoke. “I suppose I’ve never really given it a fair shot. I just don’t like being bogged down in one place for long. I have to be on the move , you know?” “Oh, I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I think the best way to torture you would be to tie you to a chair. Or chain you so you couldn’t move. That would drive you out of your mind.” “HA!” Jerry laughed again. “But we both know you can’t do that.” “Don’t remind me,” Sally said. “Hey, it’s always worked for me. No one has ever complained….well, not for at least a week now. I seem to have hit a slump.” Jerry was referring to his “streak,” as he liked to call it, of mischief around town. He was always seeking to get away with some silly thing or another. It was only a month earlier when he had managed to scare a cow out of the barn over on Farmer Henry Simpkins’ property and followed it as it ran down County Road 37, until he heard the cops’ sirens in the distance. Jerry left the cow running and fled before anyone could figure out what had happened. It was all over the paper the next morning. Then just over week ago he had convinced the Father Gideon that there was an air-draft problem in the chapel on Cedar Street. Jerry would sneak in the back of the church during services and caused the candles to blow out. It freaked out the attendees, and disrupted Father Gideon’s train of thought during his sermons. But no one ever saw or heard Jerry. He was too quick and too quiet for them. But now Sally was suggesting he couldn’t just settle down and stay with her in one place for one entire night. Well, too bad for her. Since she had thrown down this gauntlet, he would show her she was wrong.

“So, what’s the deal then? What are we going to do here anyway?” Jerry asked. Sally quieted her voice, as if someone else would hear them, even though there was no one around that Jerry could see. The sun was almost completely gone down the horizon, and the night winds were beginning to pick up. “We’re just going to stay here all night–“ “--and do WHAT?” Jerry said, impatiently.

“Scare people.” “But that’s boring. You know I already do that. All the time.” “Yes, but you haven’t done it here,” Sally said. “Well, what’s the difference? Just because it’s finally Halloween and we’re in a graveyard?” “No, silly, because you’ll be with me again.” She beamed her brightest smile at him. He looked at her, and realized that he had always suspected she wanted to be more than friends. He admitted to himself that, while she was pretty enough, he just didn’t exactly feel the same way about her.

Finally he said, “Alright, just this once. For you. But don’t get used to it.” She moved closer, as if to touch him. “Jerry, why don’t you want to stay with me tonight?” He pulled slightly apart from her and glanced away.  “I just….I don’t really like to…you know…get close to people. Not like that. I never have, Sally. It’s not you, it’s just—“ “—I get it,” Sally replied. She turned slightly away from him so he couldn’t hear her deep sigh. Then turning back, she said, “Well, even so. I think we will have a lot of fun here tonight. It’s right up your “Joker” alley. I promise not to get in your way…although we would have more fun doing it together.” “Fine,” Jerry said. “Just don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I don’t like that. If something I want to do bothers you, then you’ll just have to go your way and let me go mine. Ok?” While his words stung a little, she nodded and said, “Ok.” They had to wait a while before the first people showed up, and they didn’t look much younger than Jerry and Sally. Obviously, they were only a small bunch of other teens trying to prank other people on Halloween. But Jerry had promised he would stay and try. So he and Sally came up with a plan. They would each hide behind a different headstone and wait until someone came close. Then, they would wave their arms and make ghostly wailing sounds while slowly rising to their feet and see how many people they could scare. The full moon was out and its dim glow through the dark clouds cast the perfect level of light around the barren premises.

But no one even came close to where they were. So, they tried moving closer to those other people to see if that helped. But that didn’t work either. The teens who broke into the cemetery were obviously more interested in scaring each other than in being scared by someone else. It’s like Jerry and Sally weren’t even there. Jerry had never felt so ignored. So after a while he gave up. “See,” he told Sally, “this is LAME.” He watched as the little punk kid in front of him took off running after some girl in a tight sweater, threatening to ‘get her,’ wondering how such idiots were actually smart enough to break in without getting caught. Jerking his thumb after the kid, he said, “I told you this was a dumb idea.” “Now wait, don’t quit on me,” she begged. “You promised.” “Yeah, but come on! I’ve been more excited watching paint dry.” “I know but…it’s not quite midnight yet. That’s when the real fun happens.” Sarcastically, Jerry replied, “You mean, more fun than THIS? Oh yay.” “Well, I’m sorry,” she whined at him. “I can’t control what other people do, I can only control what I do.” The wind picked up a little more, growing louder, and leaves started to rustle heavily around where they stood together. The oak and willow trees on the property began to dance against the sky in the motion of the breezes. This would have been a perfect time to make another plan, but neither of them felt like talking anymore. Yet Sally couldn’t give up now. Her own real plan could not be foiled. It had to work tonight or she could lose Jerry forever. Finally she spoke. “I’m sorry, Jerry. This was supposed to be way more fun. This is not how I though this night would go.” Jerry sighed. “It’s ok. You can’t help it. You and I are just too...I don’t know. We just define fun in different ways.” She looked down at the ground. “I guess you’re right.”

Somewhere in the distant night, they heard a dog bark. After another moment, Jerry said, “Look, I think I can still salvage this night, if I can just go somewhere else. We can hook up again some other time.” Suddenly Sally looked up. “Jerry, you can’t do that. Please, please just stay here with me.” She leaned closer to him, wanting so much to just hold him close to her. Jerry looked at her, at the longing in her eyes. He felt so awkward. How could he say what he wanted to without hurting her? He measured his words carefully: “Listen, Sally. I think I know what you’re trying to do. I think it’s what you tried to do the night of that party.” He paused. “Sally….I owe you an apology. For that night. I am so sorry about what happened…..what I did. It was wrong. And most of all, it wasn’t fair to you…it should never have happened.” They continued to stare into each other’s eyes. She could not look away, and she would not let him look away. When he tried, she pivoted her head so he would keep looking at her. She knew it wouldn’t be long now. “Jerry,” she said, “I understand. Please don’t blame yourself. I don’t blame you at all. It was an accident and I’ve forgiven you.” She noticed a tear starting to form in one of his eyes. “There was nothing you could have done to avoid what happened.” “I could have laid off the drinks,” he said. “I fooled myself, and I guess I fooled you too. When you asked me for that ride home, I said sure, just to prove I could handle it. I wanted to prove I was ok to drive….but I wasn’t.” He looked down at the ground and Sally noticed he started shivering. Sally’s kept her voice calm. “I actually knew you’d had a little too much that night, Jerry, and I could have refused to go with you, but I trusted you would be ok. I wanted you to be ok. I just wanted to be with you. To have you take me home. It was something I had actually dreamed about ever since we first talked…” Her words trailed off as she glanced down too. Then, through the darkness, they heard the sound of the clock tower at the entrance to the cemetery as it begin to peal its loud chime bell. Midnight had arrived. At first, the bell sound startled them, but with each chime they both relaxed. After the final tone sounded, they were looking at each other again. Jerry now had tears in both eyes, and Sally was smiling at him. “What?” he asked. “What’s with the grin?” She began to spin around with her arms waving above her head. “Oh Jerry! You did it! You stayed. I’m so happy!” She clapped her hands in front of her chest. Jerry just stared. “I don’t understand.”

Sally cheered again and again, while Jerry just looked on, confused. “We did it, Jerry. It’s finally over.”

“What are you talking about?” Then, from behind him, a deep, gruff voice spoke. “Well, congratulations, Sally.” Jerry whipped himself around, and saw a large older man standing before him. He had salty gray hair and wore a uniform with large golden buttons down the front. “Hello, Jerry. It’s nice to finally meet you – face to face.” The man’s cold eyes made him look as if he were about to offer a scolding lecture.

“Who are you?” asked Jerry. But the man stayed silent, staring. “Jerry,” Sally said, “I would like you to meet Mr. Daniels. He works here in the cemetery.” Jerry studied the man’s face some more and said, “Wait….have I seen you around here before?” “Not unless you have eyes in the back of your head, Sonny. But I’ve certainly seen you, fleeing this place. You’re a hard man to catch.” Then to Sally he said, “I’m glad this finally worked tonight, Sally. I really am too old for this.” Then, Mr. Daniels spoke to Jerry again.  “You see, Jerry, you have committed multiple violations against the rules. I have come to finally set things straight with you. Normally, when a person dies, their spirit can be free to go lots of places. It feels quite liberating, in fact, once a spirit is free from its host body.” Then his tone turned more serious. “Unless, of course, that person did something awful in life – like take another life, or two. Then, the rules are different. Those people don’t just get to flit around to wherever they want whenever they want. They get confined to one place only, and they have to stay there.” Jerry looked at Sally, not fully understanding. She said, “Jerry, you hardly got here when you became so excited to leave that no one could stop you. Ever since your body was put in the ground, Mr. Daniels here has tried to catch up to you, to keep you in your place. But he never could. So, he came to me and asked for my help.” Now Jerry understood. “So that’s why you wanted me to stay here tonight. You knew that by midnight on Halloween I would be caught.” Mr. Daniels said, “I’m sorry, Jerry, but those are the rules. I am here to put you where you belong – forever.” “Wait,” Jerry protested. “You mean I have to stay here, in this graveyard, forever?” “Yes, Jerry,” Sally said. “Right here where you were placed, two months ago.” She pointed down, and Jerry looked down and read the headstone, the one with his name on it. “Nooo,” Jerry began to wail as panic set in.  He looked back at Mr. Daniels. “I can’t do this.” “Oh please, don’t complain to me,” Mr. Daniels bristled. “It’s only because you were not in control of your senses and had an accident that you aren’t being confined to somewhere else for all eternity. But, you did take a life, along with your own – that night of the party, when you and innocent Sally here drove off the road and…well you know what happened. You were there.” “But Jerry, there’s good news,” Sally piped up. “You don’t have to be alone. You’ll always have me. I will be right here with you, right here in this cemetery, and you and I can finally be together.”

Jerry looked back at Mr. Daniels. “Wait,” he protested, “this isn’t fair!” “Enough!” yelled Mr. Daniels.  “You may not have liked following rules when you were alive, but in death, you WILL do what you are told! Now, be gone!!” With that, Mr. Daniels threw both his hands over his head and Jerry’s ghost suddenly poofed into a cloud of smoke, which spiraled downward into the ground in front of his headstone. And then, all was quiet.

After a moment, Sally and Mr. Daniels began gently floating along together to another near-by headstone. “Thank you, Mr. Daniels,” Sally smiled at him. “I cannot tell you how happy you’ve made me.” He smiled back as they came to a stop. “My pleasure, my dear. I cannot tell you how happy you’ve made me . Upper management gets so impatient with me when I can’t keep those wilder spirits under control. Maybe we need tighter spirit security at the perimeter fences. Anyway, I’m glad you’re finally going to get what you deserved in life, but never had. Enjoy your boy, Sweetheart.” And with that, Mr. Daniels waved his arms over his head again, and Sally’s ghost also poofed into a cloud and spiraled down into the dirt in front of her own headstone, where her body had also been buried just two months earlier, right after the accident that killed her -- and Jerry too.

Now, the two of them could remain together forever in this graveyard, as friends for sure, and maybe even one day as lovers. Sally was convinced that Jerry would eventually come to see things her way. After all, now that he would never be able to leave her again, she had all of eternity to work on him.