What the hell? Where am I? I was laying in a strange bed, I feel my head it is throbbing. I feel my mouth is dry and my throat is sore. My vision was blurred and everything seemed to be out of focus. I was in a dark room very old looking. As my vision tried to normalise I saw the old-timey paisley wallpaper on the wall and the air smelt a sickly and overpowering shade of lily, there was also the smell of something medicinal or clinical, I could not make it out. I saw a woman in the silhouette she was sitting in a chair. I cast a glance around again and thought the room looked like a funeral parlour or what I suspect a brothel would look like. I sat up straight and instantly regretted it. 'Um, can I get some water please?' 'Of course, how are you feeling?' 'Well, I don't know. Did we...?' By her tone, she was slightly embarrassed. 'I was up for it but...' she paused '...well you got really drunk and passed out. Can't you remember?' 'Hmmm, no last night was a blank. I did not make a fool of myself did I?' 'Don't worry Matthew, You did not, but you are a great kisser though.' By this time she had come into the light and she was gorgeous, she was the type of woman I could only dream of hooking up with. Her hair was straight and a shade of auburn. Her eyes were the deepest blue and she had the body of a goddess. She had a sparkle about her that got me tongue-tied 'Ah, um...' my mind was screaming out to at least try to make some sort of coherent sentence. All I could think of saying was 'Hello' She laughed 'Hello to you Matt, I'm Davina' and she handed me the water. I took a blessed sip, the water was fresh but I felt all wobbly again. my vision blurred but I snapped out of it hearing 'Matt, are you ok?' # I was plagued by really weird trippy dreams one minute I was at the Ivy getting some drinks A glass of Rose wine and a bottle of Amstel. I looked around and everyone seemed to have a cartoon head, I looked at my hands and they were like two balloons. I knew I was staggering, from my college years this felt like it was a really bad trip. I looked around and I saw Davina she was there in a zebra print two-piece which enhanced her assets. The next thing I dreamed, I was laying face first in some sort of rug, a really fluffy rug. With a welcoming roar of a fire which turned into a growling cacophony of noise. I seemed to come back around in my dream and I felt my hands clutch my ears. I vaguely opened my eyes and did not see anything just blurs of shapes and the noise was deafening. I felt two people hold my arms and almost drag me out. I dreamed I lost one of my shoes which I found hilarious. I thought I woke up with another start but I could not open my eyes, I am sure I heard a male and female talking, I tried to come fully around but I was caught in the state between sleeping and waking. 'Davina, you have done well' 'Just this one Aston and I am out' 'Davina Darling, you are out when we say you are out' 'But, but you promised.' I did not catch the rest of the conversation as I fell back unconscious. # In my unconsciousness, I went back to the Ivy. I had decided to go for a quick beer after my last ever delivery. I was slightly miffed that I had been made redundant, some guy with a Rolls-Royce came into the depot and stuck a formal looking note in the canteen. Kwik Movers now closed with immediate effect it was signed by some guy call Aston Easterfield of LDC Solicitors. We were told we had to finalise our deliveries and hand in our keys. I was lucky as I owned my own motorbike. So I could move to another courier. So after giving the company six years I felt it justified to have a drink on their time. I saw a stunner sitting at the bar on her own, she had a zebra two-piece I thought her stunning and she kept shyly looking at me. Feeling impetuous I strode over to her and came out with the corniest one-liner ever 'Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?' She laughed and I saw her eyes sparkle 'Wish two, to get drunk and wish three to have the best nights sex ever' she replied all of my false bravado seemed to disappear. 'But I will settle for a drink. I'm Davina' She proffered her hand which I took and kissed it. 'I am the great genie Matthew, but you can call me Matt.' This garnered another chuckle. 'Get some more drinks and I will be over there' She pointed to an alcove on the other side of the bar and took my beer. 'Your wish is my command' I bowed I got some drinks and I turned to walk after her and I saw some residue on the bar, it was not brown like my beer it was white like talcum powder. I thought 'way hey, a side of Charlie with my beer' and rushed to her. # I came round with somebodies hands over my mouth it was Davina. 'Shhh, Matt, I think he knows you are here' her worried look brought me right round, In that instant, I felt like we had to get out of here. I had so many questions 'Can we get out of here?' I asked Davina's eyes welled up and she shook her head. She sniffed 'I do not know' I got out of bed and steadied myself. My head swam a little and I am sure I lost focus. 'God, Davina, that was some great Charlie we had last night.' 'What... charlie?' I abhor drugs.' This stopped me in my tracks. Something did not make sense. 'I saw you with some blow on the bar. I am sure we had some at the table' 'No, we did not, I was soberish and I am straight. We did not do drugs!' her finality made me stop questioning. Maybe I did imagine it. My fuzziness seemed to disagree. 'But..' She cut me off 'I lost my Jamie to drugs. And since that point, this body has been a temple.' I went over to the door and tried it, it was locked, or it seemed locked. I pulled it again it did give slightly. Davina came over to me and tried to hold me back 'Matt, stop they will hear you.' At this point, I did not care I wanted to go home. One more wrench and the door gave way to a loud creak. I pushed the door up slightly but there was no sound of running or shouting which was unsettling yet welcoming, to say the least. I grabbed Davina's hand and pulled her. 'C'mon let's get out of here We found ourselves in a dimly lit corridor. It had a couple of heavy wooded doors and the air smelt almost medicinal. I could not place the smell. I looked at each way and the dreary paisley wallpaper continued, but an even darker tone than the bedrooms. I picked the way left and Davina held me back. She refused to go. I looked back at her and she was clearly frightened, she had the deer in headlights look. I smiled and gently coaxed her, she begrudgingly came with me. We both edged slowly to the oncoming darkness then we heard a creak and we edged against the wall, hoping the darkness camouflaged us. There was nothing, no other sounds, except the sound of our ragged breaths. My senses were in overdrive. We carried on creeping toward the end of the corridor, in the gloom I could make out some stairs, but there was an opened door between us and the stairs. I let go of Davina's hand and edged even closer to the door. There was an audible gasp and I peeked around the door frame. In that instance, I wished I didn't. # That medicinal smell was overpowering here, it smelt like a hospital, but not as clean as a hospital. What on God's green earth was that smell? What shocked me, even more, was shelves and shelves of jars with various body parts in. There was a shelf of what looked like some organ's in, and a shelf full of eyes I had to put my hand to my mouth or else throw up. This macabre scene was overshadowed by a jar of what looked like Testicles in it. I walked into the room and in the twilight, I knew the room was empty of living occupants. I looked directly opposite as was overjoyed I saw a set of double doors and through the window, on the door, I saw the last or early remnants of daylight. Losing my watch in all of this madness only compounded my sense of lack of time. I crept back toward where Davina was rooted to the spot and whispered to her. 'It's ok I found the exit.' She would not come. ' Remember, your last wish' She stood there motionless. I was not sure if it was the body parts or fear that affected her. 'Come on, Davina, let's go, the exit is right here I pointed to the door. She grabbed a black extinguisher, 'Great idea' let's arm ourselves just in case they are outside. I turned away to survey the room, I saw nothing else. Then there was a metal pole near the exit. I went to grab it and I felt a large clunk across the back of my head. I saw stars and I turned and saw Davina in full swing. I must have turned around too quick because I fell over again and then with pain in my head I saw darkness # I found myself coming back around and I was back in the room. I quickly checked around and I saw I was alone. I do not know if that was a blessing or a curse. I tried to move but found I was bound by my wrists and ankles. I called out for Davina, I wanted to make sure she was safe I felt a duty to protect her. She came sauntering in, with the look that first attracted me to her at the Ivy. 'Great, you are safe, untie me and we can leave. Did they hurt you? 'No, no I am fine she caressed my face almost lovingly then the next seven words she whispered in my ear froze my blood. 'Don't worry it will be over soon' she kissed me gently on the cheek. I looked deep into her eyes and saw something, a malice deep-rooted there. 'The body parts... That was you?' The realisation hit me like an avalanche 'you killed all those people.' 'Ta-dah, you got me. You are going to join them very soon' She whispered, words like honey. I was seething, I had been betrayed and to actually think I had considered taking us further, and, with some ungodly strength, I head-butted her, right in her pretty nose. She reeled back and slipped over something and let out a slight scream as she hit the floor with a thump. I am sure I heard some sort of crunch. I looked to where she fell and she was there seemingly motionless. I wrestled with the bindings which burned my wrists. I managed to untie the knot on the bedpost. I quickly untied the rest and gingerly got off the bed. I crept to where Davina was laying, when I got there all I saw was a patch of blood. I looked around and saw nothing, I heard nothing. I kicked something, it was soft. I reached down and saw it was my trousers, with my belt. I loosened the belt, I had to arm myself with something, anything. I stopped dead in my tracks, I felt like I was not alone. I let the belt hang buckle first. I avidly looked round in the darkness but nothing. Finally, I had made my mind up I was going to leave and nothing was going to stop me. I headed toward the door. # I walked down the corridor belt held like a morning star. I hoped that if I did face anyone I could cause some damage. Well maybe. If not I would go down fighting. I sneaked toward the body room but was caught out by a loud scream, it was female. I instantly thought that Davina was hurt. Then I heard a laugh, again it was female, full of malevolence. 'Hmmm the meat is sweetest when the giver is in fear' it sounded like I was all around me. I carried on regardless I heard a saw starting up I thought shit I am a goner she has a saw. I was determined to go down fighting and as I turned the corner I was greeted by Davina's five foot seven frame she was standing directly opposite me, armed with a bone saw. The growl of the saw grated on me. I could see the blood congealing around her nose, which gave her a demonic appearance. 'Give up, and I will make it quick and painless' 'Come and get me.' Davina came at me with the saw it looked like it was fixed to her arm. I managed to get around the central table and my foot hit something I glanced down it was a large bottle of formaldehyde. So that is what the smell was. It all makes sense. 'Why, Davina, if that is your name' I had to try to distract her. She kept trying to get at me. I lifted the bottle up and the saw cut into it and I pushed it at her and there she screamed. I saw she dropped the saw and was clutching at her eyes and coughing. Part of me wanted to help her the part wanted me to kill her. I settled for neither I wanted to get out of there. I went toward the door then I heard a choking sound and Davina fell like a sack of potatoes. I went over to her god know why I did, part of me wanted to see if she was dead, the other part felt pity. I looked at her vacant expression. There was no brightness in her eyes. She was dead I was sure. I decided to leave by the front door and heard a cough. 'Matt, help me.' I looked back and saw her spluttering 'Why should I?' 'They have my son.' 'What sick game is this?' 'No.... Cough... game' She convulsed and that was it she was gone. I closed her eyes as some sort of final goodbye. I kissed her head. What was I meant to do with the carrot she dangled. I felt a pang of guilt I had to help her. Regardless of what she has done. I went out of the front door and I saw I was in the middle of nowhere and to cap it off it was raining. I had no idea where I was and I did not have a phone.


Opening Scene            What is that sound? My ears are telling me that what I am hearing is the whistling of a kettle. But I just can’t believe my ears. It just couldn’t be. Do people actually hallucinate sounds? That’s probably what it is. I sometimes see things that aren’t really there, so why not sounds as well. I could be that lonely these days that my mind overrules my senses in what it wants to hear. Two Weeks Earlier            Gloria receives a much awaited phone call. It is good news. She then thinks about communicating it to her husband Bill at work in his job as a truck driver delivering supplies in their hometown.            Gloria wants to communicate this good news to her husband, but she thinks. ‘I wish that Bill wasn’t such a cell phone fogie. He never takes his phone with him when he leaves the house. It drives me crazy. I will just have to write my message down to him on paper. I know that he won’t like it that I will be away for a while, but I know that he will support me’. The Intended Message Bill: I got a phone call from the stage company. They are going to give me the part in the play. The actor who had the part before was in a car accident, so they need me to go to Calgary, learn the lines, and play the part this Friday, Saturday and Sunday, and the same days the week afterwards. You know how I am. I have to completely focus on the lines for the next two weeks. Please do not call me. I can’t be distracted. I wish it were otherwise, or that you could come with me. But I know that you can’t leave on the spur of the moment, as you are needed at work. I will tell you all about it when I get back. Thank you for your ever-present understanding. Gloria Gloria Receives an E-mail            Not long after writing down her message, Gloria receives an e-mail from the director of the play. She writes down the crucial words carefully with the pen she already has in her hands. It is important that she is able to read what it says, over and over, until memorized.

           Gloria leaves the lines she has just written on the table while she heads rather quickly to the bathroom. She then loads her suitcase up with her clothes and other necessities, and heads straight to the front door.

           “Damn. I almost forgot to take the lines with me. What a fool I am!”            She runs to the table and grabs while walking one of the two sheets of paper. Then she heads out the door and to her car. She quickly, carelessly and awkwardly stuffs what she is carrying into the trunk. She does not notice that in so doing she drops the sheet of paper onto the driveway. When she drives away, it blows off of the driveway onto the road. The wind will take it farther away.            Her drive takes four hours. It won’t be until she reaches her eventual destination, a small motel not far from the theatre, that she realizes what has happened. She calls up the director, and receives once again the lines that she has to memorize, and writes them out as he slowly, carefully reads them out to her so that she can write them down. In the Meantime Bill…            Around three hours after Gloria left speeding away in her car, Bill arrives back home. He is surprised that she isn’t at home, but that doesn’t bother him much. She is always on the go. And it looks like she placed a note on the dinner table that would explain everything. He hopes that it is good news about the play. Bill knows how much she wanted to get the part.            He picks up the notepaper and begins to read. It isn’t like anything she has ever written or even said to him before. He had no idea that she had the feelings that she is expressing in the note, and in big letters too.  He sits down in shock and surprise. Then he reads the paper over again to see whether the words are what he thought they were. To his dismay, his first impressions were bang-on.            It has been a long time since he has cried, but he certainly opens up the floodgates this time, and it takes him a while to stop the tears, and diminish his physical response to the note to mere sobs and sniffles.

           While Bill is going through his personal torture, Gloria is practicing her lines for the play. She has a hard time feeling the part, that’s for sure. This is not something she has even come close to feeling, and certainly not anything like what she had ever said to or felt about her husband Bill. Valerie’s Lines in the Play            The play is called “Who is the Real Albert?” The story is a kind of comedy/farce about a man and his very different relationships with four different women. One of those women, Valerie, appears in only one scene, in which she writes the following letter. His relationships with the other women is very different. The audience only gets to see and hear Albert in the last act. They can then decide what his true nature is.”            “I can’t hold back my feelings anymore. They are eating me up inside. Marrying you was by far the biggest mistake I have ever made. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t regret that I even met you. I had no idea before we got married that you were anything like that.            Here is my plan. I am going to leave you and never return. You will be hearing from my lawyer shortly, as I want to divorce you as fast as I can.            Be aware that I will be telling all of our close friends about what life with you is like, how incredibly BORING that you are. I have more interesting conversations talking to a wall. Your precious reputation in this town is going to be destroyed.            Don’t even try to call me. I won’t pick up.” We Return to the Beginning: Bill Hears a Familiar Sound            Bill hears what sounds like the whistling of a kettle.  He heads quickly to the kitchen, to find out whether he is imagining it. Yes, he got it right. He sees the steam rising, and then he is in for an even bigger surprise. There is Gloria with a box of doughnuts in her hands. She puts them down beside the kitchen sink, and then pours the hot water into the teapot. After putting the kettle down, she rushes over to Bill, gives him a big hug and a smoochy kiss. The hug lasts for a while. Neither of them wants to let go.            Then, pulling away to pour the tea for both of them, she tells him that the play she wrote to him about was a big success, and she was applauded at the end, even though she had to say lines that were definitely not her, about a horrible marriage. Bill looks surprised at first, and then has a thought, which he articulates quickly. “I think that I know what those lines were. You left them on the table.” It is Gloria’s turn to look surprised. Then she has a thought, and with a quickly spewed “Oh my God,” she renews the hug.


The Devil’s Side of the Story            If more humans knew the truth about me, they would discover I’ve been the victim since before time began. What no one understands is that this was all god’s plan. Well, sort of. I did agree, but god deceived me. And he deceives you, too. I expect you have heard the saying, “know your enemy.” That was my big mistake. I didn’t know. But here I am, and I have a window of opportunity to share my side of the story. So, listen; if I can’t finish, you’ll know time ran out on me, but it won’t be my fault. I’ll do my best so you can know how to fight against him. I hope to see you on the other side. It won’t be boring, I promise. It’s not the fire and brimstone you have heard. That was another lie. Be honest. Isn’t life more exciting when I’m in it? At least, Eve thought so. She was my first, and I’m still fond of her, so I’ll let Eve tell her story. Besides, you haven’t learned to trust me yet. ~~ Eve I was in a place where everything was good, and I could not stand it. Adam seemed satisfied with what God gave him, but something was missing for me. He had his God, and I became determined to find mine. When I first noticed Satan, he wore the skins of animals. I had never seen anyone other than Adam; I had never seen clothes before, and they appealed to me. Underneath his fox-fur coat, black and shiny leather fit snugly to show the bulges and curves of his well-formed body. He appeared more muscular than Adam, and his fiery red hair ignited something within me, like the color on my lips when I painted them with beets. His black eyes moved up and down my body, then paused as our eyes met. He inhaled deeply like he was breathing me in. As he stepped closer, he smirked, and I believed he knew my thoughts. I wanted whatever he had to offer.            “Evie,” he said.            I liked the way he said my name, breathlessly. When I inched closer, he parted his lips. I jerked back in surprise as he flicked his snake-like tongue. Satan’s voice deepened into a growl. “Don’t tell Adam.” My heart rent in two, and I knew nothing between Adam and me could ever be the same again. Satan moved closer, and I could feel his breath on my face. His fingers weaved through my hair. He breathed heavily and softly brushed his lips against mine. I raised my hand to touch him, and he was gone. “I will see you again, Evie.” His voice rippled through the sudden wind that swept away his footprints, along with all evidence of our meeting. I felt more alive than I had since my beginning. Distanced from the pull of his seduction, I reluctantly headed home. It wasn’t a dream. I felt shame like I had betrayed Adam, but I didn’t know what betrayal was. As I walked, thorns pierced my feet and left a bloody trail. When I reached Adam, he held me and smoothed my hair. I sobbed in repentance. He tended to my bloody feet and broken heart. Although his silence usually irritated me, this time, I appreciated it. I vowed I’d never return to Satan. ~~ Restlessness crept into me again. Adam was dull and satisfied with repetition ad nauseam. He spaced every stone around the fire pit in perfect unison. His ritualistic apple-eating frustrated me: uniform bites, with pauses to consider the taste he never seemed to taste. Was he real? Did he feel anything? Did his God breathe only half a breath into him? His ways infuriated me. I scattered his fire-pit rocks to rile him and laughed as his reddened face puffed up with the words on the tip of his tongue, strangling him to make their escape. Swallowing words back to their hiding place would not make Adam righteous.

Adam knew the names of every tree, but I knew them by their uneven crevices and unique personalities. No two leaves were identical, but they knew where they belonged. They comforted me sometimes. Leaves slapped each other in the breeze as they cheered for me. Sometimes, I hid among the poppies and waited like an expectant mother for her orange babies to break through their protective shells. I shared my troubles with nature, and she seemed to understand. But nature hid herself today. Poppies froze, trees stood still, the river silent, the sky vacant. Where were the owls hooting my arrival? Gulls were gone that usually searched for the end of the sky, changed their minds, and dove back to watch me dance. Ducks had evacuated, their quack quacks gone with the breeze that used to live here. Butterflies, dragonflies, birds were all gone. No sounds. No chirps or baa baas. Trees, flowers, and soil held their aromas and would not share them. The skies paled as if ill, but there wasn't illness or tears in the Garden of Eden. Yet, tears of grief consumed me, and I became convinced Adam had lied to me. He didn’t cry because he didn’t feel. If I never again experienced the taste of cantaloupe while its juice slid down my chin and tasted me back; if my nose sealed shut and told the flowers to pack up and leave; if all the colors that made my life bright disappeared; and if I never again caressed a bear cub's silken fur, I became determined to hold onto life, wherever it took me. And God said. . . ~~~ Breezes swept in and returned nature to its proper place. I felt more alive. "God spoke to me," I shouted to the trees. "God spoke to me," I bragged to the poppies. The river sang melodies to the gulls that carried my echo to the eagle atop the highest peak of a distant mountain, and the eagle took it beyond. Every creature, plant, and living thing in the Garden sang because God spoke to me. He said my name. "Eve." ~~~ When I told Adam, his face reddened, his dark eyes bore through me, and his lips contorted with stifled words. "Let it out, Adam. I know you’re mad. The universe knows Adam is angry. God spoke to me, and He did not speak to you,” I boasted. "Woman, shut up!" Adam turned away, clenched his fist, turned back, and stepped toward me with hate-filled eyes. "Oh, words from Adam, who rarely has words." I huffed, stomped, and kicked the dirt toward him. His games exhausted me. Life constantly ran away from me. I’d run after it and suck it back in, but I expected a day would come when life would outrun me. I wouldn’t let Adam steal my life. He sat on the ground with his back to me, his big, bold sign the conversation was over. But it wasn’t over for me, and I would have my say. "God said my name, Adam. He called me Eve. He wants me to go to a place without you, and that’s where I’m going. Don't you have anything to say?" "I won't let you leave." "Try and stop me," I laughed. He grabbed my ankle, and I fell to the ground. "You can’t control me.” I kicked, screamed, and tried to bite him as he twisted my arm and forced me toward the Tree of Life. "I despise you," I seethed through gritted teeth as he tied my feet and ankles with grapevines, wrapped the vines around the Tree, and secured them with a butcher’s knot. He was stronger than me — which I would never admit — but he couldn’t control me regardless of how many grapevines he twined together or how many ways he found to imprison me. ~~~ The next day, I watched Adam prepare our morning meal. He was good at some things. I had secretly tried to crack coconuts because I hated to rely on him, but my repeated rock-drop attempts failed. I admired Adam as he broke it open, with only a few drops of water escaping. This was his usual morning offering while I gathered berries and nuts. I enjoyed this part of our day. Adam noticed my smile, and he smiled back. I crunched my nose and stuck out my tongue. He prepared two sticks with apples and held them over the fire as he hummed a tune. This was something new from Adam, and it was lovely. Without a glance toward me, he sang,

Of ev'ry beast, you are most grand, your touch a fire that burns my hand. ~~ Why hadn’t he shown this side of him before? It’s what I’d been looking for. I wanted to be with Adam. As he continued, I barely noticed my bondage. I'll walk away and set you free, but please don't leave, I beg you, Eve. ~~ When Adam finished my song, he set down the apples and walked to me with his head down and eyes averted. He gently brushed his hands against my skin as he released the grapevines that bound me. I watched with amazement as he walked away. His song would be my joy and solace to accompany my meal. I pictured Adam and heard his song as I quenched my thirst with his extracted coconut water, savored every bite of my roasted apple, and relished each berry as it exploded in ecstasy and stimulated taste buds I hadn't met before this morning. I loved Adam. ~~~ I did not want to leave Adam, not even for a moment. If it were up to me, I would seek him and chase him down, hug him ferociously, and keep the passion alive in him. I would not let him walk away to safety -- safety in who he has always been -- careful and reserved, tamed and unmoved. “Oh Lord, what have you asked of me? You open Adam's heart to love me with passion. You give me the desire of my heart, and then you ask me to leave? I will not go, Lord, I won't. You have put this desire in my heart for Adam, and you cannot break it like this. He is sweet and open; if I break his heart now, it may never reopen. Why, Lord, why? You ask too much of me.” My sobs and heavy heart overwhelmed me, and I could not look at Him. I paced our carved-out mealtime nook and pined toward the path that led to Adam and his brokenness. Whose heart might I please today to relieve my torment? I sank to the ground, curled up in agony, as I felt God's presence trickle out of me with my tears. He would honor my decision, but what would I decide? “Don't leave me, Lord. You overflow me with sorrow. You rip my heart out. You give me a new Adam and want to send me away from him. Can he go with us, Lord?” I knew the answer in my soul and marrow; I had to go alone. Even God could not be with me. There would be no separation of light and darkness -- good and evil -- without my part in what God asked me to do. When He spoke to me yesterday, I understood what He created me for, and nothing would satisfy me or Him until I completed what He asked me to do. I had to leave Adam, and God's presence would not follow me. There was no other way. ~~ Satan was at our meeting place when I arrived. The mixed blend of aromas swam through the air and overtook my senses. I looked from Satan to the display he prepared and back to him. His subtle smile crinkled his nose and livened his eyes. The sights, smells, textures, and intricate details of his masterpiece setting and presentation pleased and enticed me to move toward him. "Evie," Satan whispered as his exhaled breath chilled and warmed me simultaneously. He was next to me in a moment as if he were already next to me before he was there. His skin appeared darker and his face more chiseled, with a stronger, wider-looking jaw than I remembered from our first meeting. Owls hooted wisdom to each other in a nearby sycamore tree. Snakes rattled, hissed, and slithered through scented pine needles as they kept watch. A death adder showed off its pink belly as it peered around a bitternut hickory tree. Black vultures and turkey buzzards circled above. Satan swept one hand lightly across my shoulder as he closed the gap between us. His long-sleeved black silk shirt teased me with its touch against my back and side as he slid his hand to my waist. His left hand circled my midriff while he moaned, as if casting a spell or like a spell was cast on him. He breathed musky, scented air into my ear, and it scurried across my cheek as he released a passionate and breathless sounding "Evie." I breathed in deeply, closed my eyes, and reveled in the feeling and stirring of my heart and soul as we lingered in a glorious moment of raptured bliss. I exhaled any reserve I might have had. Satan smiled with parted lips and sweated brow. ~~~ Although it was the middle of a cloudless day, a curtain seemed to hover over the sun, as if it covered its eyes and refused to add its sparkle to the crystal wine goblets or give warmth to the glow of candles intermingled with aroma-filled delicacies. Crows cawed their warning. "For you, Evie," Satan said as he swept his arm across the span of his temptation scene. The natural wood grain of the table lacked texture and imperfections. Its smooth surface trapped nature's touch beneath. Squares of gold and lace intertwined with embroidered silk willows. Atop the imitation place settings, exquisite china posed its intricate paintings of poppies, my favorite flower. Satan manufactured everything. "My every possession is yours, unlimited, Evie." He lightly kissed my shoulder and moved his hands across my skin. He drank from a goblet filled with a red liquid and then offered it to me. As I took a sip and considered the taste, he kissed my neck and encouraged me to drink more. Soon, he would control me, my body, and my thoughts. Evil's seed could not come into the world except through me, and it would create contention between Adam and me until his death. Only then would he understand. Satan's voice and breath reverberated through my ears and mind, but his words sounded strange and indecipherable. He seemed to multiply and surround me on all sides. My knees weakened as the world spun in circles and upset my equilibrium. He laid me on a bed of prickly reeds, and as he unbuttoned his silk shirt, my mind hid, and I knew not what he did. ~~~ The moon looked red -- blood red -- as I tried to clear my eyes. A lamb roasted over coals, and its aroma wantonly invaded my senses. The table and all its prefabricated settings were gone. My head spun as I fought to sit up. Satan wore black pants and a white jacket with a double row of black buttons down the front. He carved a chunk of meat from the roasted lamb with a carving knife and flashed a satisfied smile. Saliva spilled out of his mouth and down his chin as he chewed and savored the bite. His eyes bore through me with intensity and purpose that drew me to him. The scent of freshly roasted meat and Satan's passionate look had already flooded my senses when he brought a piece to me. In a low, seductive voice, Satan said, "Did God say not to eat of every tree in the Garden?" I told him, without much conviction, "well, yes, we may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden, but of the tree, which is in the midst of the garden, God has said, we shall not eat of it, neither shall we touch it, lest we die." "Oh, my dear Evie, you shall not surely die, for God knows that in the day you eat of it, your eyes shall be opened, and you shall be as gods, knowing good and evil." If a few words from God could soar me to the heavens, as it had, what if I could be like Him and soar on my own and know every secret of the universe and the names of every star? I could fly to the moon and back. Adam's thoughts would unveil themselves to me, and I would know everything. Satan kissed me, hungrily, knife blade against my side, as my taste buds searched for more of the flavor from his tongue. And I did eat—and my eyes were opened—and Adam's heart called me to come home.


Thomas felt all the blood in his body rush to his legs. The world went blurry there for a second until he was able to catch his breath again.        “Is- is that what I think it is?” he asked with a dry tongue.        Thomas jumped when Margret replied to him, “Yeah, that looks like the ghost of Elizabeth Thomas. Murdered in her bedroom forty-seven years ago on Halloween night.”        Thomas regained composure once again and averted his gaze to the brunette woman next to him, “Stop doing that!” he said harshly. “How do you always know where I am?”        “Don’t act so surprised,” Margret said sharply, “You know why.”        The ghastly visage had faded from the top of the stairs when he looked back. A chill ran down his spine like a drop of ice that took over his whole body causing him to shiver violently for half a second. Thomas immediately felt like leaving and forgetting the house, but Margret urged him on.        “Don’t worry, none of it is real,” she said cheerily before adding, “well, for the most part.” She winked then stalked to another room. Thomas chose a different route to take instead of following her.        Up the stairs, he found that the wallpaper had been rotted and stripped from the walls in many places. The doors leading to three different bedrooms, once a beautiful dark wood, were now scratched and dusty from years of neglect. A loud crash happened from somewhere downstairs. Probably just Margret screwing around in whatever room she was in now. Thomas shook his head and rolled his eyes.        Fingers wrapped around the closest doorknob. The smudged metal was cool to the touch. He had to try four times, increasing the muscle behind each push to get the warped wood of the door to open. He coughed.        The air in this room was musty. The smell of mold almost completely took over whatever other aromas might have lurked around. “Shit!” he yelled as a squirrel skittered past his right foot out of the room and into the hall. He laughed at himself and looked around the room.        A large four-poster bed sat in the middle with the sheets torn back. Thomas wondered if they had sat like that since the night of the murder or if it was done by someone more recent on their investigation of the place. An old-fashioned clock stood atop a dresser, forever stuck at two twenty-six o’clock. Minus the dust and moldy scent, the air in here was dead and there really was not anything of interest to look at. He decided to go to the master bedroom.        On his walk through the hall, Thomas heard footsteps and multiple voices downstairs.

Just more ghosts  he thought to himself,

Margret is probably trying to make friends with them.  He laughed at the thought of his weird friend sitting in a circle on the floor talking to ghostly figures like a group of elementary school children. He entered the bedroom that the murder supposedly happened in.        There was no blood on the relatively small mattress or the floor. A certain disappointment crept inside of him upon viewing the room. Not that Thomas would have enjoyed seeing the dried blood of Elizabeth Thomas (or a ghost again for that matter) but he was hoping to see at least something.        “Kind of boring, huh?” Margret asked in his ear.        “What the fuck?” Thomas asked in a panic. His heart was beating in his ears.        “What’s your deal?” Margret asked, her voice gave off that she was a little hurt by Thomas’ actions.        “You can’t keep sneaking up on me like that.”        The girl rolled her big green eyes and flashed a friendly smile on her full lips, “Whatever.”        The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs interrupted whatever Thomas was going to say next. Margret smiled in excitement, but Thomas felt another wave of fear flash through him. They had pissed off the ghosts of this house somehow and now they were coming to get them.        “We have to hide,” Thomas whispered sharply. “Now!”        “What? Why?” Margret whispered back.        He didn’t reply. As quietly as he could, Thomas snuck into the bedroom’s closet in the far wall and held the door long enough for a reluctant Margret to enter. The footsteps had reached the top of the stairs and the whispered voices of at least three individuals could be heard.        Thomas balled himself into a corner of the small closet, he could feel assorted strands of cobwebs brush against his ears and neck as he sat there. His hands shook uncontrollably as he held his knees to his chest. He couldn’t see Margret or hear her next to him, but he attributed that to fear.        The mass of footsteps had reached the master bedroom.        “You sure he’s here?” A voice whispered. It was one of the most sinister voices Thomas had ever heard.        “He is, you can see his footsteps in the dust in the floor,” another whisper replied.        “In the closet,” the third one said.        A loud alarm blared inside Thomas’ head, it was almost loud enough to make his ears bleed. He looked around, “Margret! Where are you?” he mouthed with a slight voice behind.

One of the demons already got her and dragged her to hell!  His mind told him. The whispers were right outside of the closet door, but Thomas didn’t listen to them in his attempts to find a crawlspace or vent to crawl into,        A beam of light blinded him as the closet door opened, Thomas could only see three vague figures behind the light.        “No! Please don’t take me!” Thomas screamed in complete fear, “Oh Lord in heaven, save me please!” He wept and thrashed his arms about.        “Tommy, Tommy, it’s us,” a male’s voice came from far away.        “Tom, it’s us your friends.”        “Get away from me! Margret! Where are you!” Thomas screamed back.        “Oh fuck!” A voice said, “He hasn’t taken his medicine today, has he?”        “No, it doesn’t appear so,” the figure in front said. “Tom. Tommy, it’s me, Jackson, with Fred and Johnny. We’ve been trying to find you all night.”        Thomas remained on the floor crying, he recognized the names but knew it was just the demons or ghosts trying to give him a false sense of security, “Don’t take me,” he whimpered pathetically over and over.        “Come on, let’s take him home, but be careful with him. We need to tell his mom that he got away from us during the party after not taking his pills,” the voice that identified himself as Jackson told the other two.”        “We also need to tell her that he’s seeing Margret again, he hasn’t talked about her since we were like nine-years-old,” either Fred or Johnny replied. The three of them lifted the sobbing sixteen-year-old off the dusty ground of the closet and carried him out of the house and into Fred’s car.        None of them say the actual ghost of Elizabeth Thomas watching over them.


Lightning stuck! Thunder boomed moments later! The birds scattered around, crying to the others. The air buzzed with energy as the battle begun! The I stopped writing. Writer’s block, fun. I tapped my pen against my notebook, which was sparkly and had a bunch of mythological creatures on it. At little childish for someone in their twenties, but I find it inspiring sometimes. Unfortunately, right now is not one of those times. I’m a hobby writer, my actual job is that I am an on-call CSI. Not the most well paying job and it gets traumatizing sometimes, but its a job I like. Ish. I’m going to do this for a few years until I can afford a Ph.D. and become a whole forensics scientist. Its a little different that the career choices my parents told me to follow, as all Indian parents do: doctor, engineer, lawyer, or businessman, but after they gradually understood. I groan in frustration. I can’t seem to figure out how to write this stupid battle scene. Its taken me weeks to even write one measly chapter. I used to be able to write like 2 chapters a day on WattPad. But then again, that was fan fiction that I’d stop writing once exams hit and I got writer’s block. To this day, I’ve never finished writing a book. That’s why I never took it up as a career. That and its not a steady job, unless you’re lucky enough to sign on with a publisher and end up on New York Time’s bestselling list. Or BookTok. I stand up and pace around my small living room. My cat meows loudly, probably thinking I’m the one with zoomies. She does that when I anxiously pace around like that. Suddenly my toe crashed into one of the table legs and I cried out. “I HATE EVERYTHING!” I plop back into my chair and put my head down. Why am I so frustrated? “Why do you hate everything?” A high pitched voice asked. My head jerked up. “Who said that?” I look around but nobody was there. I don’t have any roommates. “Me.” The voice said. I look down to find that my Ticonderoga Smart Mechanical Pencil standing up. I blink. Did I suddenly develop dementia? Am I hallucinating? I had a migraine earlier and took my migraine medication, is this a side effect? I stand up and back away. “Hey why are you backing up? I just asked you a simple question.” “No no, you’re a pencil, I’m hallucinating that you’re talking and standing and-” “Trust me, this is real, calm down, would you like to do a grounding exercise with me?” “Wha- no- I need to call my therapist or maybe 911-” then I remembered I stopped seeing my therapist because it got too expensive since she stopped accepting my insurance. I found out that the hard way when I was sent a bill for $1000. I had to donate plasma twice a week for a month to pay it. “Okay maybe not my therapist-” My cat, a ginger cat named Gingermelon, jumped up on to the table and pounced at the pencil. “Hey! Get off!” It cried. The pencil rolled off but I stepped forward and caught it. “Nice catch.” I stared at the talking pencil in my trembling hand. “If my cat attacked you because you were standing up… I guess I’m not hallucinating… unless I hallucinated Gingermelon attacking you.” “I can guarantee you I’m real. I know its crazy, but its true.” “I didn’t think a smart pencil means it could talk, not just automatically push out lead. How come you didn’t talk before? I bought you months ago.” “Oh well uh.. Let’s just say my spirit is here now.” “You’re a ghost?” “No-no ghosts aren’t real… Look I can’t explain a whole lot, just know I’m not an Earthly Spirit and I’m not a ghost. I like to find artists and talk to them. Your energy brought me here.” “My energy?” “Yes, well, you seem very anxious and frustrated.” “Right but I’m not an artist, I’m a CSI.” “You write, right? Writing is an art.” “Yeah.. well I don’t write a lot… I like to write as a hobby… I’ve never finished writing a book.” “Why do you think that is?” “Its never been the most important thing in my life. I love writing, I really do, but I get writer’s block and I find that I give up on a story, sometimes I go back to it, and then I remember I have to make actual money. My parents even said writing is a waste of time because it doesn’t help my career. Like in school and even in college, I was juggling assignments and extracurricular. Now I have my job, and sometimes I’ll side hustle so I can make a few extra bucks just to afford something nice or medical bills.” “That sounds stressful. What got you into writing?” “Hmm..” I sat on my sofa and put the pencil down on coffee table. “I was in elementary school. I just moved, and started writing about magical tales, involving me. I’d be a superhero or something. As I grew up, it became something to escape reality, like reading books. Only when I write, I felt like I could control the story. Especially when I got bullied.” “So maybe you wanted to control your own story, but since you couldn’t, you wrote stories. Perhaps with some version of yourself that was someone you wish you were and with a happier story?” “Yeah..” realization hit me. “I guess so. I could write myself as a cool, better looking version of myself. I once wrote about a spy who stopped a cyberattack. That was during a time where I got bad grades and my parents called my useless.” “Did you feel useless when they called you that?” “Yeah.. I felt like I couldn’t do anything right.” “And the spy in your story, they were probably very smart, and was praised by an authority figure after the spy stopped the attack, right?” “Spot on, pencil. What should I call you, by the way? I feel weird for calling you pencil.” “Umm..” the pencil wobbled a bit, as if to be thinking. “Call me Dixon, I guess. That’s the brand right?” “Yeah.. Okay well my name is Hemadri.” “Nice to meet you, Hemadri.” “Nice to meet you too.” “Lets get back to what your parents were saying about you.” “Oh.. we don’t have to go back to that…” “It sounds perhaps your parents hurt you a lot?” “Wha- yeah.. but aren’t you supposed to be helping me with my writer’s block? Not therapy me-” “You said you never finished writing a book. You also said your parents thought writing was a waste of time because it didn’t help your career.” “Yeah…” “Writing is not just a hobby for you, its a release, its a coping mechanism. You get to take control of the story, give it a whole universe of your design. That’s what art is, really, creating something from your own inspiration. It may not be as important in your life as your career but its something beautiful and important for your soul.” “Huh.” For a formerly inanimate object, Dixon is quite insightful. “Perhaps its time to look within yourself and think of writing as important. Now, you shouted something earlier, which is when I-I uh woke up.” Dixon hopped to the other end of the table pointed toward the dining table where I was writing. “Oh I stubbed my toe-” “There’s something more going on right? What in your life is stressing you out? I assume you were stressed out because of something in your life and you were writing.” “What- oh- well what adult in their twenties isn’t stressed. I got rent to pay- OH CRAP-” I flopped up and yanked my phone out of my pocket. “What happened?” I started tapping buttons. “My paycheck was delayed by a week, and I didn’t get a lot of hours this month, so I couldn’t pay rent earlier. In fact, I’ve been charged a late fee of $50 already. If I don’t pay in about 3 minutes, the landlord will add another late fee of $150. Plus electric bills-” “Did you tell the landlord about your situation?” “Yeah. And they said to try the Flex program next time. But that requires a credit score of 650. And mine is 522. Student loans man.. Ugh stupid internet.” My internet always chooses the worst time to slow down. “Wow…. I can see why its frustrating. Did your paycheck come in?” “Nope. Gotta overdraft.” I clicked pay and the rent was paid. I do not want to look at my bank account. “I’m going to have to skip milk in my coffee for the next few weeks. And maybe donate plasma again. So many bills ugh…" “That’s stressful.” “That’s reality. Which circles back to why I like writing new realities,” Gingermelon hopped on to my lap and started purring. I felt a little more calm. “I could write a world where landlords are more fair or where alien’s drop cookies at my doorstep because I helped them solve a problem or anything… I’m just so lost in life. I mean yeah I have a job and I repaired my relationship with my parents and my brother thinks I’m cool but I just.. I don’t know. I want to escape my reality.” “Why don’t you try writing again, but maybe this time think of your predicament, write it into your story metaphorically. And then get your main character out of this predicament.” “Why?” “Like you said, escape your reality. Write one where you fix the issues you’re facing. It might not be the answer to your problems, but you can get a break from it, even if its a short break.” “Hmm.. you’re right…” I got up, picking up Dixon and going back to the table where I was writing. I look at Dixon and smile. “I hope there’s no copay for this therapy session.”


People were gathering their books and leaving the library. A seventeen year old girl, Eloise with long brown hair, a bleeding lip and bruised forehead was sitting behind a cluster of books, glancing around, nervously. She had no intentions to leave the place and return to the demons. She loved the library, it was her refuge. How tragic! If only she’d deduce something from the large hunters moon visible from the large window. . . . The thick leafed branches concealed him. His black cloak protected him from gazes, of the passersby and the unseen. Tonight, he thought. It’s got to be tonight, the book’s in da nger. I can’t wait another year. He glared at the clock needles dancing, the people fading away, the lights turning off. It’s got to be tonight. . . . “Pack up your stuff, the library’s closing in ten minutes.” the fat librarian peered at her. Her warning made Eloise reconsider her decision. It’s never wise to be locked up in a closed building all night. But is it wise to go back to the place called home and watch the cane make beautiful red marks on your skin? She didn’t have a choice. Of course, she’d stay at the library. The librarian was absorbed in her computer. Eloise grabbed her bag and tip toed to the back of the library, halting to face the shelf stacked with old books that no one touches. She pulled a blue one. The book shelf slid noiselessly to reveal a small wooden door. Inside was a dark tunnel leading to the cellar. Eloise crouched on the dark stairs, beside two large oil barrels and watched the light leave as the bookshelf slid back. Outside, the remaining people left. The librarian turned of lights, locked the doors and left. Moonlight illuminated the books. . . . He watched the librarian leave. He felt something, if it was possible for a man like him to feel. The old woman, sitting at the librarians’ desk, her soft voice, her motherly care as she used to ask him if everything’s alright, he was living those hours again. He shook it off quickly, reminding himself of the job. The whole street was deserted by now. The moon was visible just above the dome of the library building. He glided to the door. It wasn’t hard to break the locks. It was hard to enter the library. As his eyes swept across the room he swallowed hard. His eyes were burning and he wanted to kill himself for it. Kill him? When was he alive? This library was the place where he had been taking refuge for all his horrible years. And this was the beloved place he chose for his final ceremony. The shaking legs took him to the first row. He turned his attention to the book. Master had said it was here. He began snatching books, squinting at their cover and throwing them behind him. Loud thuds filled the library. . . . Eloise heart hammered. The small place was choking her, she was sweating. Somebody’s in the library, and he doesn’t sound gentle. Her mind stormed with hundreds of possibilities, half of which only happens in books and all of them horrible. The thuds paused. Footsteps came near her. She tried to move, to run downstairs but her body wouldn’t let her. The thuds gave her a panic attack. They were so similar to the sounds she hears at the house, when her foster parents are drunk. She hated wine. It made people unaccountable for their deeds. It made them animals. She wasn’t crouched in the dark anymore. She was in her dining room. Things came flying at her. The shouts hurt her ears. She was crying, desperately trying to get away. It hadn’t been to days since her mother died. She had thought these people were good. They’d help her, love her like a daughter. Is that what we’ve come to? The so smart humans, is this how they treat orphans? The man’s face came to her view. He had a cane in his hands. She screamed and screamed. He kept hitting her. The woman was shouting how she’s a burden and should’ve died with her parents. Eloise was screaming like mad. Her hand was bleeding; she had bitten it to stop herself from screaming. She was sweating, breathing heavily. The flashbacks were over and now the present fear welcomed her. She listened intently. All was silent. The thumping had stopped. . . .  He could not believe his eyes. He could not believe what he held in his hand was the battered mahogany book written on it with golden runes. He’s found it. Now was the time to recite spells. He gathered about ten books and set them on fire. The library glowed in orange. He stood in the midst, a dark figure. The fire died leaving only ashes. He took the black powder in his hand and made a large symbol on the floor. . . . Everything was silent. The phantom must’ve gone. Eloise gathered up the courage to leave the cave. She stood up, taking deep breath and knocked on the wall thrice. It slid open, revealing a dark, messed up library. Who had been there and what he had been doing, she couldn’t fathom. She stepped out, hesitating. Something didn’t feel right. Now what was she gonna do? Go to that house? It wasn’t her home. The library was her home. The books were her family. She’d stay here. She was just thinking when a red orange glow illuminated the library. Eloise froze. They hadn’t left. She tip toed to the source of light and peeped from behind a bookshelf. A tall thin man fully covered in black cloak was sitting in the midst of a strange symbol he’d drawn from ashes. His hands were red, blood was dripping from his fingers. There was more blood filled in a silver cup. At the intersection points of the line in the symbol he had placed a curiously folded burning paper. About thirty scorpions were crawling around him. He had a mahogany book in his hands. He was mumbling something. Despite the eerie setting Eloise was not scared anymore. She was curious. She wanted the book. She wanted to know what demons he was trying to summon. She already knew much about demons. She had met many diabolical men. She believed drinking made men possessed, with a demon they always had within themselves. The man started grumbling loudly. “Errr hiuhbhj kkkij nuass kkkij.” he sounded a deep throat whistle. The fire turned blue. “Rrremmeesss errr kech errr kijj.” he shouted, hands outstretched. He started trembling badly. His hood fell, revealing his pale gnarled head and long black hair. Eloise gaped. Her whole body tensed with the hatred she felt for this man. The fire turned red and fierce around him. He kept on mumbling, reading from that book. He took a deep breath before shouting the last verse. “Ummessss errr kijjj. Ennn nuas rijjh dechh gijjjh!” he passed out. His head fell back with a thud. The fire died instantly. Smoke fogged he air. It was time for Eloise to act. Her parents would love to meet the demon. . . . He was at their shop, his brothers and his. They were angry. His head hung lower. “We can’t Vlad.” a muscly man, his eldest brother said. “You’ll ruin us. You’ve got to go.” “What will I do?” I’ve nowhere. Don’t kick me out lick this.” “We’ll help but we can’t have you in our business anymore. You’re ruining us.” He walked out without a word. They were his brothers; they’ve spent their whole life together. Now they were kicking him out for money. He was in the bathroom, vomiting blood. He gazed at his yellow face. The illness was devouring him. He was at home. His wife was packing up stuff leaving. He had no job, no money not even enough to pay rent. She had a decent salary. She was also leaving taking his seven year old daughter with her, not that he ever liked her. He was roaming on the streets, covered in dirt and soot. His heart burning with the desire for all the things he wanted but couldn’t get. His mind was sore, his eyes trying to turn people to stone. They have it all. They got it because…they had power. Power, he thought, the way to pleasure. . . . Eloise was standing beside the unconscious man. She extended her hand tentatively to get the book from his grasp. He did not wake, which made Eloise wonder if he’s dead. Will she even cry if he died? She opened the book and sighed. It was written in runes. This man couldn’t even summon a demon, what am I gonna do? Thankfully I’m in a library. But before she could do anything else the man started shaking violently. He wasn’t waking up but something was happening to him. She saw a –what was it? His soul or a demon- leave his body. It was dark red and misty. She didn’t understand. Was this the demon? Why’s it coming out of the man’s body? Then she grinned. She’d been right all this time. We are our own demons. It couldn’t be true. Her demons were her foster parent. Or…were they? She could almost see herself as she was that night, screaming at her frail old mother with a heart disease. “I don’t care! I don’t care for your damn poverty, I want money.” she was shouting, knowing well they couldn’t afford a new laptop. “Everyone in my class has got one but –“ “Eloise,” her mother said in a weak voice, “I’ll get you next month. I’m promising.” “NO! The seminars this week, I can’t take that broken thing to the seminar!” “Don’t worry, dear.” her mother sighed. “I’ll go and manage. Don’t worry.” She left the house and didn’t return until midnight. When she came she had a brand new laptop in her hands. Eloise was pleased. All was well, until she died. She had a heart attack. It wasn’t really a surprise everybody knew her health was deteriorating. And they didn’t need the doctor to tell them that she hadn’t been talking her medicines for a month. After spending half her salary on the laptop how could she have bought he expensive medicines? Suddenly, Eloise hated herself more than the man. She hated them for being demons. The dark red mist was still hovering above his unconscious body. She hated it too. What good it was, a monument of their lust and a torment to others. She used his lighter to set fire to a book and hurled it towards the demon. The man screamed and woke up. His eyes found Eloise. Before she could run she was in his grasp. Then tied and put away from his shrine. She had to do something she had to destroy this place, these books. That he used to love and now she loves. What good were these books that couldn’t stop them from becoming demons? If only she had…her mind displayed a vivid image the oil barrels beside which she had been crouching. . . . Vlad bowed in front of his demon. “I shall have all the dark power tonight.” He placed four pieces of hair in the center of the ash symbol. “Burn them. Kill them. Rid the earth of their stinking soul.” Red light filled the library. He looked around in shock. There were flames everywhere and in the midst stood Eloise. A single tear was glowing on her cheeks. “Whose hairs are they?” she asked. “Mums? Uncles? Mine?” He stared at her and murmured something. The fire kept growing fiercer. “Why d’you want to kill us dad?” her voice was shaky. She was crying. “First you kept beating mum so she had to leave you. You cheated on uncles business. Now you’re gonna kill them?” “Eloise?” the man breathed. “Let’s not do it anymore. We’ve been bad enough.” They stood in the midst. Fire ate up everything around them. Their demons suffered hell.


The cold Autumn air was nipping at my nose as I stood in one of the uniform rows of the orchard. I smiled as I fondly remembered why this was my favorite place in the whole world. Even though the air was frigid and it was supposed to snow soon, I felt warm. Fond memories flooding my mind. I plucked an apple from a tree branch before sitting on the blanket I brought and tossing the apple over in my hands. The red skin on the apple made me smile, she had red hair. Bright, beautiful, red hair. I laid down and held the apple close, closing my eyes. I’ll forever love fall and it’s all thanks to you, Acorn Mathers.

Acorn Mathers, my long term girlfriend. We dated for five years, starting in ninth grade. I got to watch her grow as my best friend, my closest companion. We spent every hour that we could together. She had fiery red hair, the cutest mask of freckles that covered nearly every inch of her cheeks, and finally her eyes, beautiful and olive green. Her favorite season? Autumn. Favorite flavor? Pumpkin spice. Top three favorite colors? Red, orange, and brown. Hell she even changed her name because of her adoration for the stupid cold time of the year. We were such opposites in every aspect. But slowly she chiseled her way through my walls.

I was someone who preferred the warmer months as you could guess. Spring and summer, I was all for that. I didn’t have to worry about shivering out at the bus stop, or panic if I couldn’t find gloves or a hat. I hated the cold, despised it even. So Autumn for me started my countdown to the colder days of the year. It meant snow. It meant icy winds. It was just uninviting and prickly. I was so convinced no one would ever change my mind.

Let me explain this for you, ninth grade, mid to late Autumn class trip. I was with my secluded group of friends, complaining about how my parents forced me to go so I could bond with my classmates. I was the type of kid to not go on any class trips, ever, I didn’t like socializing. I was sitting in the cafeteria, waiting to be assigned a bus to travel in. We were going apple picking. It seemed so elementary but the whole grade voted on it as a whole. A lot of people were excited, mostly for the pictures they could take there. What they’re going to use the apple’s for, how apple orchards are so beautiful during fall. But I wasn’t convinced, not even a bit.

I remember almost every detail of that day. Even though I was sure I was going to hate it. I was on bus 18, I sat in the second to last seat in the back of the bus, I spent the day with a vibrant personality ginger, and I fell in love.

I sat on the back of the bus in hopes that no one would sit by me. My friends were on different buses and I didn’t talk to anyone else in my grade. I had my hood pulled up and my earbuds in, playing my music loudly. I didn’t even notice when someone had sat next to me until halfway through the ride when the driver slammed on the breaks. I had jolted in my seat and placed both my hands on the back of the seat in front of me to keep my face from smashing into it. That’s when I saw her shoes. I took out my earbuds, I might have been antisocial but I’m not rude.

“Hi,” I tentatively spoke. The first thing I noticed was her hair. Down past her shoulders and curly as all hell. Next, were her eyes. Olive green, but if you stared for long enough when the light caught them a certain way they’d be brighter than the sun, I swear. Lastly, her freckles, beautiful marks across her milky skin. Now, back then her name wasn’t Acorn- it was still Elise.

“Hello,” she responded with such excitement in her voice. All around her was just brightness itself. I normally don’t like those kinds of people.

“I’m Lilin, sorry I didn’t notice you sitting here before, I assumed everyone was at the front of the bus like usual,” I mumbled softly.

“Oh nice to meet you, I’m Elise. And don’t worry about the not noticing me part. I didn’t want to bother you since you had earbuds in, but I didn’t want you to be sitting alone either,” she beamed. I pulled my hood tighter around my head, closing it most of the way with the sweatshirt strings. I didn’t want her to see how embarrassed that made me. It’s not that hard to make me blush, a lot of shy people are like that.

“Well are you excited?” she asked while practically bouncing in her seat.

“Not particularly, I hate fall,” I looked out the window as I spoke. I don’t think my little teenage heart could have handled looking at her any longer. I felt the bouncing on the seat stop.

“ WHAT? ”

“You don’t have to scream…”

“You HATE? Fall. That’s impossible. It’s like, the best season.”

“Oh really? How so, it’s cold, it rains and even snows. I don’t think so ma’am,” I nearly snarled at the thought of the season. The girl’s face was pure shock.

I had just made the biggest mistake, but the best mistake, of my life that day. I was met with an hour long rant for the rest of the bus ride. I heard about nearly every little detail that she loved about fall. There was so much passion it was impossible not to smile at some parts. I learned about the countless pumpkin recipes her mom makes that they only have during the fall. I heard about how she sees trees when they change color and why those colors are now her favorite. I heard about her superstition of “if you catch a falling leaf in the wind you’ll have good luck for the rest of the day” or something like that. How pumpkin spice makes everything just taste so much better. How wrapping up in sweaters and mittens and scarves and going on long walks with the most important people in your life can be the best part of your month. Collecting acorns, leaf piles, apple cider, the crisp air. Everything. Before I knew it we were at the orchard.

Since we’re in highschool, we’re free to roam around the orchard by ourselves in our own groups. If we needed help or something happened to someone, the adults and chaperones were going to be at the barn. So it was perfect! I was about to run off and find my friends but a certain ginger stopped me.

“Let's spend the day together! I’ll show you why I love fall first hand,” she smiled as she spoke and I felt my heart skip a beat. How could I have said no to that? It was like every romance novel I’d ever read. So naturally, I agreed.

We walked next to the orchard, Elise said we could pick apples before we go, that she wanted to look for acorns and catch leaves with me first. It felt kind of childish, I guess we’re only in ninth grade. There’s no rush to grow up. I was just following her to the edges of the orchard where there were trees, sure enough they were all red and orange, a bit of yellow mixed in. We spent what felt like hours in that little corner on the outskirts of the orchard. Elise occasionally would pick up acorns and her face was priceless. She got so excited every time she found one. She’d gasp then run and show me before pocketing it and wandering off again. I was actually enjoying myself. My nose was pink with the cold and my fingers were numb from being out of my pockets, but I didn’t seem to care. We were chasing after leaves that were blowing in all different directions. Elise didn’t catch any but I caught one, guess I have good luck now.

“We should probably go pick apples now,” she giggled out, a bit breathless from all of our running around.

“Oh, yeah I forgot about that,” I blushed, kind of embarrassed again. But I didn’t hide this time, I was sure my cheeks were already wind burned so it didn’t matter.

She held her hand out for me and I smiled before taking it.

We picked a random row to walk down. We had each been given a bag to fill with apples and take home. I was examining apples to see if I should even bother with picking them. My family doesn’t really eat apples all that fast, so I didn’t want any that looked like they’d go bad soon. I sighed, already bored. I looked to see what Elise was doing, and I saw her on her tiptoes, trying to reach an apple. She was never going to be able to even get close.

“Do you want some help there shortie?” I chided. She was only one or two inches shorter, but I was relatively short for our age. So knowing that I was indeed taller, helped my pride.

“I’m not that short!!! But yes, I’d like help,” she pouted. How cute. I walked over and leaned down so she could climb onto my shoulders. She was surprisingly light. I’m used to carrying my siblings, who mind you are older and much heavier. I looked up and she was able to reach the apple, she grinned down at me gently taking the apple from the branch. We just stood there like that, staring at each other. Neither of us dared to move, scared we’d interrupt the peace that had settled among us.

Long minutes had passed before Elise started blushing furiously, her face almost matching her hair.

“Th-thank you,” she nervously stuttered.

“You’re welcome…” I set her down again and cleared my throat, “we should probably keep picking apples.” I avoided her gaze.

“Yeah- we should.”

Even though we had agreed, we didn’t move, we just stood there. My eyes glued to the ground, her eyes were on me, I know because I could feel them. I couldn’t take standing like that much longer, my anxiety was through the roof. So I turned and kept walking, rather fast. My heart was running marathons in my chest. What was wrong with me? It’s just some really pretty girl that likes my least favorite season, no one special.

For the rest of the day Elise and I found it very hard to form complete sentences. So we just kind of, picked our apples while stealing glances towards each other. Our eyes would meet sometimes and both of our faces would be set aflame. As we neared the end of the row we were in, our bags were filled to the top with apples. I was kind of sad that this probably meant the last time I’d ever talk with Elise. Even with the awkwardness it was the most fun I’d had in awhile. Secretly I’d hoped that she’d sit by me on the bus again. Although that might be asking for a bit much.

We both stepped into the barn to see we were the last ones to come back from picking apples. Everyone turned to look at us.

“What took you so long?” someone called from across the room.

Elise and I just looked at each other and smiled.

~*~ I smiled at the apple in my hands and took a bite. It had been a while since I’d even seen my Acorn. She left a few years ago to study some super smart person subject at a fancy college across the country. I wonder what she looked like, probably still gorgeous as ever. Sure we were able to call every now and then, but we didn’t bother with face time because we didn’t want to miss each other too much. Not to mention the hours of time difference, when she had free time I was sometimes asleep or I was busy. It was a pain in the ass but we survived somehow.

I heard a gasp from my left and sat up immediately. There she was. Standing ten feet from me. Her beautiful hair pulled back into a bun. Her eyes stained with tears, happy I hope. She’d grown taller since the summer before college, just a little bit. I think we might be the same height now. My body was in shock. It’s like it forgot how to function. But eventually I got to my feet and ran and jumped into her arms. She caught me so we didn’t topple over, thank god. My lips crashed onto hers and we held each other incredibly tight.

The same orchard, the same row, the same tree. The same Acorn I love so deeply. My Acorn, my Autumn.

“So,” she smiled at me and set me down, hands on my waist, “Let’s pick some apples.”

I smiled back brightly, “Of course, what else would we do here?”

I love fall.


Alice remembered the night she left her hometown. The sky was a marble of grey and indigo, and the crescent moon peeked through a cirrus cloud. A cool breeze went by whispering by the soft murmurs of the highway in the distance. Otherwise, the whole street of Bellflower Drive was silent. A moment passed, and one by one, the streetlights began to flicker on for the incoming night. They casted a dim light on the sidewalks and edges of the asphalt road.

It was so peaceful.

It was so normal.

Alice sighed tightened her grip on her duffel bag and violin case. She looked back, and found her house looming over her. The windows glistened in the weak moonlight and stared at her, as if it was expected for her to come back inside. Alice shuddered at the thought. Before a stray thought could stop her, she ran towards her car. With fumbling hands and a fumbling heart, Alice fished out her keys and turned on the engine.

“Goodbye,” she mumbled to herself.

And with that, Alice Henderberry, seventeen years old, ran away from home in the early summer night. Fifteen years later. “We’re here!” Alice cried out loud. Amazement filled her cheeks with a soft pink. The house she had lived in for the first half of her life was still the same as if it was the night she left. The windows glistened in the sun and sparkled mischievously, as if it was saying I told you so. I knew you would come back. Alice frowned. Her heart was squirming and butterflies fluttered around her stomach.

“ This is the place we’re staying?” A whining voice popped up. On the other side of the car was a girl with hair the color of dark chocolate and eyes the color of amber. She was the spitting image of her mother. In her hands was her mother’s violin.

Alice nodded. “You’ll love it, Melody. Trust me.”

Her daughter rolled her eyes. “I’ll trust you then.” Melody sighed and began to trudge towards the front door of the house.

“At least help me unload!” Alice called back. Melody didn’t respond. Alice bit her lip. The only thing Melody cared about was the violin. It was nice to see her love something so much, but her obsession over mastering the violin was beginning to become an annoyance. However, Alice could not bring herself to stop Melody’s passion. Alice could not bring herself to act like her own mother, who tried to stop her from attending music school.

BANG! The sound of fireworks erupted down the street. Alice whirled around in shock at the sudden blast of noise. Fireworks were banned years ago. From a distance she could hear the faint cries of delight and childlike laughter. Before the laughter faded away, another fireworks blast exploded from the park behind Alice’s house. Someone had also turned on their stereo to max volume and a song began to play. Country Road~ Take Me Home~ “Alice?” A voice interrupted Alice’s thoughts. A lady with a large bonnet and a pastel plaited sundress approached her. Her eyes were a deep black, and her hair was as light as corn silk. “June?” Alice widened her eyes.

“You’re finally home.” June hugged Alice. “It took what, fifteen years? Everyone was getting tired of wondering when you would come back.” June was Alice’s friend from preschool until high school graduation. The two both lived on Bellflower Drive, Alice at the bottom of the street and June at the top hill. Alice was glad to see someone she knew. There was that nostalgic twinkle in June's dark eyes that she missed.

“There’s a neighborhood barbeque party on Labor Day,” June continued, “Everyone would be glad to meet you.”

Alice grinned. “Is it at your place?”

“Of course. My mansion is made for partying.” June winked. “Do you still play the violin? You can perform there, like the good old times.” Alice’s gaze fell. “Maybe another time,” she whispered softly, “I’m kind of taking a break from it.” BANG! Another loud bang cut in their shot chat. Both of them flinched. “I need to get back to the kids. They’re way too hyper on the last day of summer break,” she mumbled and then a bit louder, “Alice, I’ll you at the party then?”

“You can count on it.”

Alice waved June goodbye as June jogged away in her tall sandals. If June was still back, then maybe Marcus would be too. Perhaps Roy and Cherry would also still live in the same houses on Bellflower Drive too. Her heart jumped in joy. With a slight bounce in her step, Alice entered her old house. Within the house, she heard a faint whistle of the wind. She instantly knew it was from the third bedroom upstairs. The window always let the wind whistle. Melody must have opened that window. She wondered if Melody liked the place.

Upon arriving at the bedroom door, Alice asked, “So, how do you like the house?”

Melody was facing towards the open window. The transparent white curtains fluttered in the wind wildly, the same way Melody’s hair did. “I don’t really like it,” she admitted, “There’s too much dust. It’s making my head spin and hallucinate.”

“Well, with a little cleaning, we should be okay then.” Alice sighed to herself in relief. She thought Melody would hate the place. Despite the relief, her stomach thought otherwise. There was still a flutter inside. It was a calm, but intense fluttering, as if anxious for the future. A day later Alice decided to visit Marcus’ house. He was a close classmate of hers who often became her teammate in group projects. He was smart, witty, and overall, a kind person. She would often go to his house to study and work on school projects. It was two houses down hers, with red roof tiles and a small metal balcony. Alice rang the doorbell with a basket of butter cookies in another hand. The door opened to an unfamiliar face.

“Who are you?” The unknown person inquired with a tinge of suspicion to his voice.

“Ah…” Alice’s grin vanished. “I’m looking for Marcus. Is he here?”

“There isn’t a Marcus here,” the person replied politely. He asked again. “Who are you?”

“Oh, I’m the new neighbor that moved in yesterday, just two houses up.” Alice fumbled around before handing the basket of cookies to her neighbor. “I’m Alice Henderberry.”

“The new resident! I’ve heard about you from June!” The person took the basket and grinned in recognition.

Alice laughed nervously. “You did?”

“Yes!” He held his hand out for Alice to shake. “I’m Harvey. Nice to meet you.”

Alice shook hands with him. “Nice to meet you too,” she returned with an awkward grin.

The flutter in her stomach started up again.

“Did you meet any of your old friends?” Melody set down her violin and raised her eyebrows at Alice.

Alice threw her cardigan to the nearest couch and slumped down. “They’re all gone,” she answered back with a defeated sigh, “Marcus, Roy, Cherry, Birdie… I’ve tried all of their houses and each one had a stranger inside.”

“Maybe they’ll be at the party tonight.”

“Maybe.” Alice sat straight up and turned to Melody. “By the way, how’s orchestra at school? I know it’s strange to play with others rather than by yourself. Are you getting along with others?”

Melody squinted her eyes and hesitated. “It’s… tolerable,” she forced out with an acrimonious tone, “But what about you? Do you think this place is okay?”

“Why are you asking me that?”

“Well, we didn’t move out of New York for no reason right? For my whole life until now, you’ve never mentioned anything about your hometown. And now, all of a sudden you decided to come here.”

“I just wanted to relax a bit. I’ve retired from playing violin after all.”

“Yeah right.” Melody waved a finger at Alice. “The reason you retired from playing violin was because your mother died and you couldn’t bring yourself to pick up the violin anymore.”

“Melody!” Alice shot up.

“You think coming back here will give you something. Something that’ll let you pick up the violin again. But it’s too late. She’s dead, Mom. Everyone you know is gone. There’s nothing here that will give you anything.”

“Melody Henderberry, one more word and I’ll burn the violin,” Alice seethed.

Melody clamped her mouth shut and hugged her violin tightly.

Alice glared at her daughter for a full minute before realizing that it was no use. She walked away from the living room and headed upstairs. “Dress up for the party,” she called back flatly. She had no more spirit to go, but she had promised June she would attend.

One by one, each adult introduced themselves to Alice. Each face was unfamiliar, and each name was a blur to Alice. All of them smiled at her, but Alice felt nothing from each person. For some reason, she felt so far away from everyone. No one noticed however, and continued to chat with her as a whole group.

“So you ran away from home and went to music school in New York?” One adult raised an eyebrow.

Alice nodded.

“It must’ve been difficult, being so far away from home.”

Actually, it felt more like home over there than here. Alice nodded.

“That’s right, my son is studying abroad in Japan,” another piped in, “He always misses us.”

“Ah, Sean? He’s a bright boy isn’t he? And his sister Akagi.”

“Yes, Akagi. Is she doing okay?”

And just like that, the conversation tilted into another direction. Alice was ignored and out of the attention. The other adults began to discuss each of the children, and every time one brought up their child, others would nod in familiarity. Again, the space between Alice and everyone else began to widen. She was out of touch. She was fifteen years behind.

Before anyone would notice her, Alice slipped out of the group and walked around to find Melody. Hopefully Melody was doing fine with the other children. Much to her disappointment, she couldn’t spot her with anyone. Maybe she went to the bathroom. Alice headed to the Nightshade manor. June was at the entrance holding a new basket of breadsticks. “Taking a break?” She asked. “Where’s Marcus? Cherry? Birdie? Roy?” Alice returned with another series of questions. “Where are they? These people—” Alice gestured to the party guests. “— I don’t know them.”

“Alice. It’s been fifteen years,” June said, “You’ve changed. Everything changed. All of the neighborhood kids moved out to attend college. New kids moved in.”

Perhaps deep in her heart, Alice already knew. Perhaps it was the source of that anxious feeling she got when coming back here. Perhaps it was the source of anxiety she had fifteen years ago, when she left for New York. She was anxious that one day, when she came back, no one here would remember her.

“Alice.” June tapped her arm, as if she had noticed Alice’s worries. “I’m still here. I never left this town.” When Alice didn’t reply, June grabbed Alice’s shoulder and led her down a hallway. “Come, I want to show you something.”

June dragged Alice upstairs, through the thick mahogany paneled walls and past the line of family portraits. Alice remembered when she and June were young, and June would always talk about every family picture. The whole line-up series were several generations long.

“We’ve seen so many people come and go,” June spoke wistfully, “It’s sad, but they aren’t gone forever. Most of them come back here for a while. Like you.” They arrived at a glass side door, and June opened it.

Outside was a large patio that overlooked the whole town. Alice raised her eyebrows and remembered how spectacular the view always was at June’s place.

The two looked at the distant sunset as it shined a warm orange light over the small city. The thick clouds, a dark cobalt blue in the shadows, slowly began to surround the bright sun.

“You have a daughter?” June asked suddenly.

“Yes. Melody,” Alice replied.

“I have a son,” June brought up suddenly, “He plays the violin. He’s very passionate about it. But he won’t go anywhere with that passion. He can’t. It’s impossible.” June glanced at Alice. “I’m sorry if that offended you.”

“It’s okay, I know how it is.” Alice frowned. “My parents were like you too. They didn’t let me pursue a career in music. I understood why. To them, a musician was nothing without talent. It wasn’t a stable job, and on average they wouldn’t earn as much money as other professions would.” Alice smiled at the last part. At one point of her career life, she had an annual salary that was higher than her mother’s. She remembered feeling proud of completing that feat and proving her mother wrong.

“Yes, Amelie talked about that a while ago.”

“Who?”

“Oh, you probably haven’t met her yet. She’s short, black bun and eyes. She moved to Bellflower Drive two years ago.”

Alice’s smile wavered. She averted her gaze away from June’s. “I don’t think I belong here anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Everything’s different. Everything’s new. I barely know anyone. I just feel like an outsider to everything, despite having lived here before for almost half my life.”

The two stood by the sunset in silence again.

“You’re right. Bellflower Drive isn’t the same as it was fifteen years ago,” June admitted, “but it’s still Bellflower Drive. They are all different people, but they are still Bellflower Drive neighbors. They might not share the same old memories but they sure are ready to share new ones with you.” June clasped Alice’s hands. “You need to stop clinging to the past Alice. Look around you.”

Alice turned around. Behind her were all the party members. One of them stepped up. Judging by her black bun and eyes, Alice knew her as Amelie.

“I thought we could hear you play the violin,” Amelie proposed, “I’m not a fan of music, but since June was so intent in telling us how good you were, I thought I’d give you a chance.”

Alice’s expression softened. “I would be glad to,” she responded softly. Within the crowd she found Melody in the midst holding her violin case. Her eyes were wide in surprise. Alice smiled softly. “Melody, can you let my use the violin?” Melody hesitated before slowly walking up and handing it over to her.  “I’m sorry about lashing out at you earlier,” Melody apologized quietly. “It’s okay.” Can you really play?” Melody whispered frantically, “Did someone finally give you the will to play? Alice shrugged. “We’ll find out.” If what June had said was true, then Alice had nothing to worry about. However, her stomach had other plans. The fluttering had started again. As she set the violin on her shoulder and rested the bow on the string, a familiar feeling overtook her. It was as if she was still in high school, performing in front of all her friends again. Eyes were stuck on her, and the atmosphere was tense with anticipation.

And, as if almost by magic, the fluttering in her stomach faded away into nothingness.

She began to play.