My parents refused to go to my grandfather’s funeral. I couldn’t believe the news. I was strangling my phone against my ear when Mom first said it. It left my mind a blank. I needed a moment just to process it. “Why not?” I asked. “You should *know* why. We haven’t spoken to that bastard since right after you were born.” It was embarrassing to admit, but there was some truth to that. As far as I could remember, they never had any birthdays or holidays with him. Any time I saw him, it was always because my aunt Lillian drove me to the estate. “Grand” was an understatement for his property. It was an isolated plot of land, miles away from any sign of civilization. As soon as we’d turn onto his street, the smooth pavement turned to gravel. Aunt Lilian was a cautious driver and thought that if we didn’t move slowly enough, there’d be a flat tire. And if that happened? We’d be stuck until our AAA came. Every time we crept down the street, I could hear the *crunch* of each shard of gravel. The tiny pieces of broken glass strewn about the road were just a rumor. But that was until my cousins and I took our walks together. We were too scared to walk to the forests that surrounded the estate, so the gravel street was our only choice. It was a routine for us every time we met at Grandpa’s. It was peaceful at first. The only sounds were our voices and the few birds around us. But one day, we stopped when our cousin Ronnie wasn’t keeping up with us. We knew he had a short enough attention span to be diagnosed with ADHD. And the fact that he was hyper-observant didn’t make a good combination. It meant noticing he hadn’t kept up with us, to watch something crawling in the acres of lonesome grassland. Or worse, whatever dwelled in the trees at the edge of the forests. The last time we took a walk down the gravel street was the easiest time we found him. Once we looked back, there he was, yards away from us. His pudgy body was bent over toward the gravel. It took a few minutes to walk to him, but Ronnie acted as if he hadn’t noticed us. I asked, “What is it?” He adjusted his glasses and replied, “Look.” All of us gave a closer look, and we saw a tiny, transparent, sharp sliver of glass. After that, we saw another. And another, until we noticed a tiny trail of it down the road itself. From there, we moved onto the tall grass, and noticed an old Yuengling bottle top, covered in bits of mud. We went back to the gravel—it made avoiding any glass shards a lot easier. As kids, we all saw this as a trail of sharpened fangs jutting from the earth, feeling for any fresh prey. We didn’t realize it was blatant neglect, just a reason to stay indoors. It made me shiver to be in the car when Aunt Lillian drove us. With each *crunch* from the gravel, I pictured one of the shards stuck in one of the tires. Any second, we’d be stuck on the middle of the highway. I couldn’t open my mouth until she stopped at my house. It had to have been the strangest thing in the world for a little girl to ask, “Can we look at the tires? Please?” Aunt Lillian and Uncle Sean gave each other a bewildered look. Then Uncle Sean turned to me and asked, “The tires? How come?” “The glass.” “What do you mean ‘the glass’?” I told them about the broken glass we found on the gravel and the tall grass. That was all it took for them to get out of the car and look for themselves. I must’ve given them a heart attack, but the car was fine. “Jesus Christ,” Uncle Sean muttered under his breath. “Now his drinking’s a safety hazard.” Then he said to Aunt Lillian, “You think with all his money, your father would hire a maid, or at least someone to handle that *yard* of his.” Lillian had to admit, “I *know* he has a drinking problem. But it’s only this bad because Mother passed away.” She told me, “I’m sorry, Honey. I’ll walk you up to your parents.” But when I got out of the car, Uncle Sean said, “They divorced. *She* divorced *him.* I’m surprised he even noticed.” She walked me up to the front door and gave a warm hello to them. I was staring at the ground, my uncle’s words echoing in my head. As a child, I didn’t have a concept of drinking or divorce. But I didn’t ask my parents. There wouldn’t have been a good reaction. Even though one of us could’ve been hurt, I didn’t feel like it was my business to ask what those words meant, or *why* Grandma left him. But I think deep down, I feared family drama. I remembered the conversation ending with Mother telling me, “If you don’t want to see your grandfather, you don’t have to.” Her words made it sound like I had the choice, but the look in her eyes said otherwise. They were telling me that I wasn’t *supposed* to visit the estate. It was the one way for the cousins to see each other back then. We were a big family, and unless the meet-up was at Grandpa’s, most of the aunts and uncles were too busy to keep in touch. And even then, they never said much to each other. There was always an air of reluctance about them. It was like they secretly disliked each other, but good manners stopped them from being honest about it. I didn’t think I needed to tell Aunt Lilian and Uncle Sean about this, but all the cousins had a reason to stay outside. It was a relief for us. The broken glass littered around the yard was a hazard, but we still preferred that over being trapped indoors. Avoiding the glass was easier than what waited in the house. After all, the yard had enough space to roam until Grandpap’s home looked like a beetle you could hold between your thumb and forefinger. So the glass couldn’t have been scattered throughout the *entire estate.* When we explored the outer parts of the property, there weren’t any more broken bottles that we saw. Even when we played games and hid in the grass from each other, there wasn’t a bottle top in sight. That was something to be thankful for. After the encounter on the gravel road, it gave us more reason to stay outside. But as the autumns waned, winters crept in. A blanket of snow would cover the estate, temperatures dropping to less than ten Fahrenheit. No matter how much we bundled up, we couldn’t stand the biting sting of the cold for long. And when the freezing winds were too intense for us to handle, the sight of the trees made us run back inside as fast as we could. The way they looked, especially with the sheet of snow, gave cousins Ronnie and Marissa bad dreams. Marissa was the youngest cousin, and the most imaginative. She was the one who had big dreams of being a world-famous painter one day. So it wasn’t surprising that her nightmares about the trees were the most vivid. Even when we were trying to comfort her, we had the close the curtains so she couldn’t see out the window. Steven, the oldest of us, looked like his face turned white as the snow outside. The wind always howled during the winter nights, and it was louder when I peered out the window. The dense forests around the property were bare all year ‘round. No matter how much it rained and shined, nothing ever grew on the branches. The bark was stained a deep grey, like a granite headstone. It was as if a horrible parasite drank every last drop of life from the trees. It felt like crocodile skin, with more wrinkles than an old man who chain smoked since childhood. The fact that they were still standing boggled our minds. But from the way they were misshapen, their branches looked like they were reaching for the house. They each had a pair of separated trunks that joined together. They were legs fusing to create a pelvis. In the winters, the snow was a thick, chalk-white skin over the trees. They looked humanoid, with enormous, stalk-like heads. Each of the trees would have anywhere from two to six stiff arms, always reaching toward the windows. During the night, the sight of them was the worst. If one of us had our blinds open, the moon shone enough to show their outlines. It must have been some illusion, but the moonlight reflected off the trees to make their legs look like they were inching out of the ground. But if we could ignore the trees and the cold, we wouldn’t have to endure the thin clouds of cigar smoke that riddled the whole estate. We wouldn’t have to think about the undercooked dinners. And we didn’t have to worry about Cousin Marissa sneezing to death from the layers of grime and dust. None of that could’ve been enough for my parents to cut him off though. Even in a home filthy like my grandpap’s, my parents wouldn’t disown someone over a problem like that. It was a forty-room house, but a few maids could’ve solved the issue. When I finally asked my parents about it, I should’ve seen the real answer coming. It was about the money. “Because that old bastard wouldn’t spend a nickel on anyone but himself,” my mother told me. “Before we had you, your dad and I weren’t doing so great. We had just enough to make rent every month and didn’t have a whole lot to eat. We had to watch every dollar we spent. We tried asking him for help—and *plenty* of times at that. We were pretty much begging him after your dad got laid off. But you know what he said?” “No,” I replied. “What?” “He said, ‘I had to work for everything *I* had. You and your siblings are alike. You only call me when you want a hand-out.’ And then he hung up on us.” I was silent. I had no idea what to say to that. Mother broke the silence and said, “And that’s when your grandfather and I stopped talking. But lucky for us, your dad and I dug ourselves out of that hole. I know I shouldn’t say things like this, but he wasn’t there much. Sure, we grew up with a big house and everything, but that wasn’t the same thing as having a mom or a dad. The estate was pretty big and had all sorts of lavish things, but behind it all? It was an empty place. If It wasn’t for your aunts and uncles, we wouldn’t have had much of anything. We were really all we had back then.” I was twenty-four when those two had their last chance to make amends. What she said lingered in my head the whole time. At any point, all it would’ve taken was for one of them to say, “I’m sorry.” But they were too busy building a wall of pride to keep themselves apart. On the last opportunity to make peace, when he was on a hospital bed for leukemia, Ronnie, Marissa and I were the first to meet at the hospital. It was strange to see them grown up as an appraiser and an actress. Part of my mind would always picture them as kids, no matter how old we got. After the three of us, a few of our aunts and uncles showed up with us. But not all the siblings came around. The entire time, I waited for them, looking at my wristwatch, talking with the other cousins, and watching over our grandpap. At first, I didn’t know what to expect when I first heard the word “leukemia.” But on the hospital bed, he didn’t look much different than when he was slowly limping around the house. His skin was pale as the snow that covered the walking forest on his estate. Lavender bags of fatigue hung under his yellowed eyes. They sagged like the skin on his arms and legs. There were still thin tufts of white and grey hair along the sides of his head. It was impossible to tell how long he really had left. It always shook me to the core that someone who’d been there for as long as I could remember wouldn’t be around in the future. And it shook me just as much that my parents meant it when they said they’d never see him again. I didn’t think they did, but neither came to the last hospital visit, nor the funeral. At first, I thought maybe my parents had their reasons. But that was when Grandma showed up. Despite their differences, she still came when she heard the news anyway. My grandpap’s voice was too weak to enunciate much, but it was the first time I saw him smile in years. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them both this happy to see each other. Grandma’s eyes welled up, and regret filled her voice. She squeezed his hand, and didn’t let go, even after he flatlined. The funeral was the first time I’d seen all these old pictures of him as a young man. Some were in black and white. Others were sepia. The black and white ones were formal pictures, with him suited up and his hair combed back to perfection. They had a strange, airbrushed quality to them. It was a kind of *je ne sais quoi,* but pictures like this had a hypnotizing feel to them. The sepia pictures were the more interesting of the bunch though. They were the first time I’d ever been shown how he made his fortune. It was a collection of him at archaeological digs. A few were around the outskirts of Egypt, Greece, and several other places around the world. It turned out my interest in ancient civilizations didn’t come from nowhere. The major difference though, was he managed to *travel* everywhere in his twenties and *sell* most of what he dug up. Aunt Lillian knew the museums those objects were in. They were out of the country, but I told her I’d go, provided the money was there. The idea of an inheritance never occurred to me until the siblings first mentioned it to the rest of the cousins and me. It wasn’t long after the funeral when we were called in to meet the attorney about how the estate divided between us. The siblings inherited the deed for the house. There was no question about it. What the *cousins* got—that’s what paralyzed us in confusion. “’To my grandchildren,’” said the attorney, reading a hard copy of the will. “’I bestow my revolver, and…’” He adjusted his glasses as if he couldn’t read quite right. He hesitated, realizing it wasn’t a mistake, and said, “’Hades’ Coin.’” He placed the gun on the table, as well as a small, black box. The name “Hades’ Coin” sounded familiar. It was a name that struck me, but I couldn’t remember where. Ronnie and Marissa decided not to take either. I wasn’t a gun person myself but didn’t see the harm in taking the revolver home. Only when I checked it did I realize it was loaded. I couldn’t figure out why my grandfather would want us to have his gun—and *loaded*, but it was too late to get an answer for that. I was more fascinated with the coin. Just from the look of it, there was no doubt it had a lot of years on it. After digging around online and in the local library, I finally remembered what exactly that object was. The coin was an imperfect circle, with a depiction of the Greek god Hades, and writing in Greek characters. It was an object believed to bring extreme wealth to the owner. It made sense, because what a lot of people didn’t know was, Hades wasn’t just the god of death. He was also the god of wealth. Since money was metal, metal came from under the ground, and he was the king of the underworld, it only added up that Hades was the wealthiest of the gods. I wasn’t exactly multilingual though, so the writing needed translation. At first, translating the characters into letters was a mistake. It only came out as nonsense. But as it turned out, the alphabet was also used as a numbers system, so I translated it the other way. The second time around, the string of characters came out as “14-6-18.” Other coins like this didn’t have a date engraved in them like this, so it must’ve been one of a kind. The value of it had to have been astronomical. But at the same time, I didn’t want to trade it for anything. Something about the coin made me feel as if I *had* to keep it. Going forward, it stayed on my person, no matter the circumstances. Going out with the object securely fastened on a necklace was essential as wearing clothes. A few days into the new habit, I thought about the money leftover in the estate. None of the cousins had an answer about it. Neither did the siblings. The only choice I had was calling the attorney. Once he picked up and I asked about the money, he gave me my answer. There was several million left in his bank account, and there were clear instructions for it in his will. My grandfather had every cent he had in the bank withdrawn and buried with his casket after the funeral. I was frozen in shock. I couldn’t believe it. That greedy son of a bitch held on to every penny, even after he *croaked!* What in the blue *Hell* were you going to do with millions of dollars when you were *dead!?* That was when I remembered what my mother said. She was hiding a lot of resentment. It wasn’t in her words, but I heard it loud and clear in her tone. And I started to think there was a *damn* good reason for it. Similar feelings crept into my skull and festered for weeks. I still couldn’t wrap my head around his money being buried with his rotting body. Why wouldn’t you *pass it on* to someone else? Over enough time, I gently let true feelings of hatred marinate and bubble inside. It’s what gave me an idea. I’d visit the grave, but late enough to when the cemetery was completely empty. I brought a flashlight, an empty backpack, and a spade shovel for the ride. Traffic was comfortably absent, but that was to be expected after three in the morning. Coming to a slow stop, I got out of the car, and walked under the arches of the cemetery entrance. It took a little time, but I found his gravestone. There wasn’t even a second thought as I struck the cold, hard ground with the shovel. I didn’t even think of the revolver back at home. All I thought of was doing with the money what that old bastard should’ve had the decency to do himself. It had to have been at least a half hour before I struck something solid. Once the sound of wood hit my shovel, I cleared the rest of the dirt, and found a door. I didn’t remember the casket being made of flat wood. But the coffin could’ve been a high-quality wood that started decomposing by now. But the door had a *lock* on it. It was a custom-made combination lock. Was it installed after the funeral service? Even when we saw the casket lowered, I never saw any kind of lock. It had to have been installed *after* the service. It was a complete waste of time. What was I doing out in the middle of the night, trying to dig up a family grave? He must have thought of everything. It was all just to spite us. But I remembered something. I looked at the coin that stayed around my neck and gazed at the three numbers. There was no way it’d work, but it was better than nothing. I spun the dial. My hand moistened with cold sweat. With each revolution, I looked around. There wasn’t a watchman in sight. After the first three spins to the right, my heart rose to my throat. Two spins to the left. I heard my own heartbeat, pounding in my ears. One more rotation to the right. I had the dial on the last number *perfectly.* I had to psyche myself up. It was time to try the lock. My fingers were trembling. A single, hard *yank,* and— It popped open. And I realized, he *wanted* one of us to come down here. He *wanted* one of the cousins to dig up his grave. But why? It wouldn’t matter once the door was opened. I expected to find a body smothered in money. But when I lifted the door open, I couldn’t believe it. My heart stopped in my chest. It took a moment to grasp what I was seeing. There wasn’t a body, or stacks of money. It was a staircase coated in mold and a foul stench I couldn’t identify. But I went down the creaky stairs with my shovel and flashlight anyway. The darkness of the hallway I was walking into felt like it was closing in on me. And as I reached the first fork in my path, there was a loud *slam* behind me. I turned and didn’t see the little moonlight down the staircase anymore. I was closed in. The corridor itself had to have been twelve feet tall and six feet wide. And the flashlight was enough to see what was straight ahead. At the fork, I went left. There was no way to tell how stable the corridors were. I walked slowly, thinking it’d prevent the place from caving in. Somewhere, there was a *thump-thump-thump* echoing all throughout. It was a distance away, so I still had time. I continued further down the hallway, following the turns. They came sooner each time, leading to a dead end. Going back and taking the right turn, it led to another fork. This time, it split into three different paths. Another *thump-thump.* But it as much louder—just ahead of me. I needed a better sense of where the Hell I was going. Shining my flashlight down the left and middle paths, I didn’t see much. The middle looked like a dead end, though it was hard to tell for sure. The real mistake was shining it down the right-hand path. I didn’t see what was at the end, but it wasn’t just emptiness. A shadow was against the wall. I couldn’t make out most of the shape. But it looked tall enough to barely fit in the corridor. It had a bulky figure and looked humanoid in its outline. But I didn’t have long. The instant I shined my flashlight down its territory, I saw it turn and move. Louder, booming *thumps* galloped toward me. I didn’t have any time to think. I sprinted down the left corridor and felt stronger and stronger vibrations in the floor. There was no way to outrun whatever was behind me. I felt it *inches* behind me. Fatigue was settling in fast. My body was about to give out. It felt like my head was about to rupture from the boiling panic. Clenching the shovel, I turned around and swung with all my strength. I only caught a glimpse of what was behind me before striking it in the face. Its whole body dropped to the floor. The massive *thud* was enough to make the whole place tremble. After the body fell, there was a *clang* of metal. It didn’t make any noise after that. I had to assume it was dead. Hitting it with the flashlight made me gasp. But the thing in front of me didn’t look like it was breathing. No doubt—it was close to being tall as the corridor itself, with enormous muscles, covered in bulging veins. Its figure wasn’t human. It resembled a gorilla more than a person. The arms were long enough to meet its feet while standing upright. Its body was perfectly bald, the complexion whiter than the moon itself. The eyes were the size of baseballs, with no space between them. Its brow hung down over them like a Neanderthal, just below the gash from the shovel. There wasn’t really a nose—only a pair of long slits above its mouth. But the jaw was what I stared at the most. It had three rows of small teeth, like those of a shark. A pair of canines sat in the front, jutting up enough to reach its cheekbones. Whatever this thing *was,* it was meant to tear through flesh and bone like a sheet of newspaper. Right next to it was the head of the shovel. But that was fine. Even if the shovel was cheap and badly made, it did its job. I stepped away and went further down the corridor. It snaked through a few turns, enough to make me think this was the wrong way—that running straight into the beast was the only path. But at the end of it was a door. There wasn’t a lock on the outside, or anything to keep me out. There wasn’t even a knob. A little push, and I was in. I found myself staring directly into another room. It had stacks or hundred-dollar bills, all surrounding the casket from the funeral. And that’s when I realized, whatever that thing was, it’s why we were given the revolver in the first place. A stupid mistake, but it wasn’t worth worrying about now. Filling the backpack with what money would fit, I heard a sound. The hallways weren’t quiet for long. There were more *thuds* from the monster as it got up and started walking again. But it wasn’t coming closer. It was moving *further away.* I had to move slowly again. The less I provoked the thing, the better. But I was ready to bash it across the skull again, even if it gave me just a minute to run. It didn’t come for me again like I expected. I found myself nearing the exit alone. But as I approached the staircase, the doorway back to the surface was wide open again.


“I’ve been having nightmares about my wife lately… I’m just… Well maybe I should tell you about them?” Alan said hesitantly. “Yes, that would probably be a good place to start. There is no wrong way to have a therapy session.” Collin replied. Collin was legally blind, he couldn’t see Alan but he could see shapes that were probably Alan. Clients had told him that it was off-putting that he couldn’t look at them or meet their gaze. Other clients had said that it felt reassuring. Collin couldn’t really control it so he didn’t let the criticism or critiques affect him. “Well, I mean, there are probably SOME wrong ways.” “Ok, that is fair, I just meant in the broad sense, I guess. Get back to these dreams though, don’t try to distract yourself.” “Oh, yeah… Let’s see… Alright, the first one then. My wife and were in the bedroom, not intimately but not whatever the opposite of that is either. It was just… Two married people, a couple living, you know? I don’t think we were really doing anything, dreams are weird like that sometimes. It isn’t always exactly clear what is happening until something big happens. She started itching her back, in a frenzy sort of. Really going at it. So I offered to help her. I told her to turn around and she did, she lifted up the back of her shirt for me to scratch against the skin. Get a better scratch, right? So she lifted up her shirt and I saw her back, it is covered in these little pimples, a serious outbreak. She doesn’t like to scratch my back because my back is kind of gross, in all fairness, she doesn’t like the feeling of stuff coming off under her nails. You know the stuff, little back pimples or blackheads or whatever and I have that stuff. She doesn’t so much, her back is normally smooth but I wasn’t going to, you know, I wasn’t going to complain about it. I started itching her back and I brushed over the first pimple and it burst under my fingers. I had scratched the head clean off, not on purpose but it happened and I kept going. I went over a few more, the same thing, but I started to notice something and I started to feel something. The stuff under my nails, like she said, but it was moving. I looked down and saw that her back was covered in these little worms with these little heads like the pimples, and they were crawling all over her back. I jumped back away from her and cried out, ‘Laura your back! Worms!’ and I was freaking out. I pushed her towards our bathroom across the hall and grabbed a towel to start wiping those things off her back. I started trying to catch them all under the towel and wipe them into the shower drain but then she started laughing. ‘Don’t be silly baby, those are just the glut-worms!’ She kind of giggled it out, even. One jumped from her back to try to get me and I caught it out of the air between two fingers, like plucking a grape. I smashed it between my fingers and my opposing hand’s palm, trying to work the strength of two arms at the same time. You know, an overwhelming display of force. So I pulled my fingers away from my hand to find that I had pressed too hard, cut myself. In my desperation to crush this thing I had sliced into my own palm. And I hadn’t even killed the dang thing! I could see it start burrowing into the cut in my palm, this little green worm with a white head like a pimple! I started digging into my palm to try to stop it, and it started hurting. I could hear her, Laura, telling me to not worry about it while I am trying to get a grip on this thing and pull it out of my hand. But yeah, I can’t get a grip and that was when I woke up. I woke up digging into my own palm with my finger nails for some imaginary worm that wasn’t there.” Alan and Collin sat there for a moment in silence. Collin staring at the far wall past Alan while Alan looked down at his own feet. “You mentioned that you’ve had multiple nightmares? What was the next one?” “You… Uh… You really want to know?” Alan asked cautiously. “Yeah, well, not if it has more bugs but yeah, maybe.” Collin replied. “Okay…. Well, this next one is shorter. So yeah, nightmare number two I guess. I don’t remember how this one started… I actually… the whole thing gets kind of shaky… Even the end is a little confusing maybe but it starts with me looking out my window and it is winter up to the gills outside. I know, y’know, we’re in the dead heat of July and I’m dreaming about snow so deep in my backyard that you could practically swim in it. But yeah. So I looked out my rear kitchen window that overlooks my back yard. And huddled at the far end of my fence was what looks like a big white dog, laying in the snow facing away from me. Shaggy as hell, fur longer than corn husks maybe. I looked back behind me to call my wife. ‘Laura!’ I called out to her, you know, ‘You have to check this out!’ So she got up out of the bed, I guess that we had been watching television in the bedroom before or something, and she came in to the kitchen. I turned around to point out of the kitchen window but the dog was gone. It had completely vanished. ‘I don’t see anything.’ She said before turning back around. ‘It’s gone now but I swear that the BIGGEST dog was just outside in the backyard!’ But she wasn’t listening, she had already started walking to the bedroom. After a couple of minutes I followed her back. The dream gets fuzzy again, I don’t know what happens until the next part but I know what happens next. I was standing at my bathroom window, I had opened it up, and I was looking out into my backyard again. Back in my backyard again, my eyes land on that dog. He was much closer this time though, maybe only ten feet away. I hissed Laura’s name, real low. “What?” she called back, annoyed but also low and I thought that she understood what was going on. She walked up behind me, quietly and she saw what I was looking at. I heard a sharp intake of breath and I’m still not entirely sure if it was her that gasped or me because it started to move. It slowly lumbered its great neck around, pointing its face at us, and the face that it had was not a dog’s face. It was the face of a man, pale and sick looking, eyes dead almost but it looked right at us. It snarled its face and snapped its teeth at the window in the blink of an eye. But me... I was already moving. I screamed and pulled Laura away from the window with me a bit but let go as I rushed into the bedroom to get my gun...” Alan trailed off for a moment. “You still have your gun?” Collin asked, leaning forward into the silence. He hadn’t realized how intense the story had been until just this moment. “Yeah… Should I… Should I not?” “We’ll get to that after, sorry, just a question, keep telling the story.” Collin waved his hand. “Ok… Yeah… So I was in the bedroom. And I keep my gun locked up, I know that isn’t great during emergencies but it feels safer that way. So I was fumbling with the locked cased, trying to get it open and I heard Laura call out to me. “Hurry!” She yelled, I guess that she had walked back to the window like some kind of maniac with a deathwish. “Its going around the house to the next window!” I got the gun and a handful of bullets and I was putting them into the cylinder while I was walking. I opened the door to the bedroom adjacent to the bathroom and I looked out through the windows but the thing was gone… It was already gone. And I guess that was when I woke up that time.” Alan said, letting out a long sigh at the end. “Geez, this kind of exhausting. Do I gotta tell you more of these? They are all like the last two.” “Like the last two? How?” “Well… So I told Laura about them and you know what she said? She said, ‘It sounds like I’m an oblivious idiot in all of these dreams, huh?’ you know? Like that… They’re all like that, where she doesn’t really get what's wrong until something bad is already happening and sometimes not even then. C’mon man, you’re the therapist, you should be noticing this stuff!” “Look, Alan, I’m not great at analyzing the themes of stories, I work with people, I’m good at people. But yeah, now that you point it out, I guess that those dreams do seem to be connected to that point… I guess my question for you is this, and I bet I already know the answer, has your wife still not talked to you about your attempted suicide? I mean, you’re even still keeping the gun?” “She… I think she blames herself… And so I haven’t brought it up and she has kind of ignored it too. Y’know, I’ve been out of the hospital for two months now and things are going… Well they’re going smoothly between us. I don’t know if I want to disrupt that just yet and she probably doesn’t either…” “Al, I’m just your therapist but I think you should talk to your wife.” “I’m afraid that she’s not going to see whats wrong.


(this story is based 100% off of a dream I had, I just thought it might make a fine story. All characters in this story are fictional. This is my first story, feel free to criticize and critique.) I was walking to school, thinking about whether I had finished the homework from last night. It was a Tuesday morning, around spring time of 2019. The school year would be ending soon. I pulled out my geometry homework, and looked to see if I had finished all the questions. I had finished them, but then I noticed that I hadn't written my name or the date. I quickly wrote 'Chris Allen, April 23rd'. I then looked at my phone- "shit, I'm late!". I ran the rest of the way to school, and I entered my first period classroom. My history teacher didn't seem to care that I was late. Once history class ended, I walked out of the classroom, but then the fire alarm started blaring. Everyone started to head to the doors to outside, but then- gunshots. Screaming. I ran the other way. I can run pretty damn fast but HOLY SHIT there were gunshots coming from both directions. I ran to the bathroom, I hid inside one of the stalls. I frantically locked the stall door. The bathroom door opens, and heavy footsteps march into the bathroom. The shooter kicks a stall door, then another, then mine, breaking the lock. I pounced onto him, knocking him to the floor. I sprint out of the bathroom as he gets to his feet. I run around the corner, and I hear ringing. The second shooter was standing in front of me. I look down. Crimson blood squirts from my chest. I hear him fire again. More blood. I cover my chest, blood covering my hands. I fall to my knees, then on my side. I feel no pain as I see the pool of blood expanding around me. My vision fades and I remember... my mother... I'm sorry... mom I'm sorry... My mind faded out I wake up in a comfy bed, and I get up for the morning. I felt... at peace. I had no worries, nothing to fear... I was just at peace. I spent a few days here. This was not the house I lived in, but it felt like home more than any other place ever had. Soon, my parents arrived. Then one of my siblings. But after a time here I felt... I was being taken away... I see my mom, my dad, and my older sister fading as well... I wake up. I get out of bed. I am in a hospital... one with fancy looking gadgets I had never seen before. A nurse walks in. "Hey you, you're finally awake!" "wait... what the hell happened?"I ask her I didn't see how the doctors could possibly have saved me. And what was that I saw? My parents and my older sister? "Well, we were finally able to bring you back! We also managed to bring back your parents and your older sister! You should thank the inventors of this great technology..." I was going to question her further, but she was called out of the room and ran out quickly. She poked her head back in and said "Oh, you can leave now. There's no reason to stay, unless you want to." She left in a hurry. I walked out. I saw my parents walking out of another room, and they turned and saw me. They sprinted to me and hugged me. Then my older sister, Maggie, ran over and joined the group hug. We were heading to a house, but I didn't recognize this route. As I looked out the windows of this oddly quite car, I saw that everything looked so... different. So... surreal. There were people with pets, but I had never seen those kind of pets before. The trees in the area seemed greener, as with the grass. Then I noticed... all the cars on the road were electric, not one gas car in sight. We arrived at the house. I had never seen any house like this one, but it was nice. It was like a queen anne house blended with Roman style. The grass was perfectly green, and there were no weeds in sight. My parents seemed to be at least somewhat used to all this, and my older sister seemed even more acquainted with it all then them. We walked inside. I hadn't really spoken to them on the way here, because I was just so confused. What the hell is happening? The interior of the house was fancy. It had the similar setup as a usual house, but all the materials used were just... better. The ac was nice, and the floor looked like wood and granite but felt soft and easy to walk on. My parents walked me to the dining room table, not saying a word. But they were not grim, they actually seemed overjoyed at seeing me, and maybe at something else. My mom began talking. " So, chris... I don't know where to start. What's the last thing you remember honey?" I replied as honestly as I could. "Well... I remember getting shot in the chest. Then I kind of felt like I was in a dream like state after that... then I woke up in the hospital." 'Ok chris. So how to put it..." My dad, a very straightforward person, decided to speak up: "Chris, you died. Then we died. Then Maggie died. Your younger brother is still alive. Now, the day you died was April 23rd. I didn't die until 2043, and your mother passed away in 2050. Maggie died from falling down the stairs, in 2059. The year is 2070 now, chris. You think you're 15, your body looks 15, but technically you're 66 years old. Your brother Mark payed good money to bring us back, with the technology of modern times. Do you understand now?" (The end, for now. There might be a part 2.


A gateway opens, light flashes, a portal stands before us shimmering a pearlescent white. A subtle reflection of a different reality emanates from the paper thin opening in space time. We look deep inwards, seeing this same reflection within ourselves, an emanating energy that seems to liquify reality. The particles and matter around the portal shimmering. We are shimmering with the same vibrancy that is seldom perceived, if ever. Yet now it is stark, it seems as though in the portals presence we open up from the inside and begin to dissolve into vibration, into pure energy. We reach our hand towards the portal and our hand begins to dissolve into the same vibration. Emanating from the core of us and simultaneously from this portal a subatomic reaction is occurring, like all the particles are getting excited and are breaking free from the bonds they are in, the matter dissolving into pure formless energy. This is the only way we know how to describe the sensations being perceived here now. We step towards the portal and soon enough our whole being is enveloped in the sensation of vibrancy and formlessness. An incomprehensible weight dissolved away, like all the emotions stored deep have dissolved away, a lightness of infinite magnitude has enveloped the formless form we now are. We step through. Here Now, the space is pure white. We look in every direction and see nothing except pure whiteness, every direction is the same colour, white. We look at ourselves and see nothing except pure whiteness. A subtle yet profound feeling exists here, an expansiveness, an openness, a sense of unity and oneness between all things. Even though all things seem to be imperceptible, the sensation is clear, the sense is clear. There is no separation. We realize that this space we are in is everything, yet it is everything as it manifests at the end. Once all the matter of the whole universe has collapsed back into the universal energy that lies at the centre of the black hole. We realize that this portal has taken us through time, all the way to the end of the universe as we know it. When everything has literally been united back into the oneness of a singularity, where infinite density exists in no-space. Or where infinite space exists without density. There seems to be no true way to describe this place, it can only be illustrated using terms that miss the point, terms that don't encompass the profundity and magnificence of reality as it is Here Now. We realize now that we are not alone, there is life here, yet the life seems to exist in us, or we are the life that there is. We are the life that there is and there is no life outside of us, there is no separate self. There is no-self. We are a selfless embodiment of all that is, the whole of the universe is Here Now, and it exists all on the inside. We smile, a smile-less smile, but it seems to be something of a new beginning. A universe is born. From the opening of the smile energy emerges, form begins to manifest, worlds, galaxies, super clusters all come into perception. A whole universe has bursted from us, from the smile-less smile. Unknown to us, we step into this new universe. Here we are again. Same place. Same portal. Same Being. Yet we are born anew, with the whole knowing of who we truly are. With the experience of infinity in our heart and mind. We Be Here Now. We Be Here Now.


Mother was ill again. Mother was always ill. Lying in her bed, her face pale, her black hair spread across the pillow like seaweed floating on the ocean. She would be fine by tomorrow. It had been this way for years since I was 15 years old. This was what my life was. An endless cycle. One week she would be fine. Shouting at me, screaming, barking her orders, crying and emotional. The next she would take to her bed. Lying there so still, not making a sound, barely breathing. I would brush her long hair across the pillow till it shone like silk. Paint her lips crimson and rouge her pale cheeks. Mother always liked to look good, no matter what. I never called the Dr when she got ill. Mother did not trust them, and she never had. She blamed them for killing my father all those years ago. She told him not to see Dr Green. To take his poison pills as she called them. Things were never the same after my dad’s heart gave out. The heart of the family just stopped beating; we all died that day. Before that we were a real family, the kind you see in a magazine, smiling and happy. We took vacations, we played games and I went to school. All the dreams we had, my future and potential I had perished with him. Mother spiralled into depression after that. She drank. She stopped going out, eating even cleaning the house. Stopped caring about me, about anything. She still always had her crimson lipstick on. I think mother has died. She is no longer breathing, her chest still, and the gurgling noise had stopped. I wrap her in the bedsheet nice and tight and hoist her limp body over my wide shoulder. I carry her to the back garden that was once her pride and joy. Placing her gently into the waiting black, gaping hole. Dark night surrounded me as I gently shovelled the earth over her still form and lay her to rest. Finally, at peace and with my father again. I say a quiet prayer for her soul and go inside. I have a busy night ahead of me. I carefully packed the waiting backpack with duct tape, a knife and mothers crimson lipstick. Slinging it onto my back I head towards the front door. On route, I pass the pinboard hung on the wall in the hall. It is full of photos and newspaper clippings featuring pictures of my mother. Her pales skin, dark hair and big eyes looking back at me from every photo. For some reason, the newspapers never seemed to get her right. Calling her Mellissa or Mara. Mothers name was Emma. The headlines all announced she was missing or kidnapped. She was never missing; she was always here, with me and I was taking care of her. I lock the front door as I leave and walk towards my panel van. Being careful to not step any of the six graves of my mother as I cross the manicured garden.


He screamed and he screamed, and he wouldn’t stop. The angry beast in the closet – Vakum, destroyer of dust, rearranger of furniture and perforator of eardrums – had roused himself from his long slumber, and he was mightily displeased. His tone rose to a high whine, then shifted to a muffled squeal. Oh no, he’d devoured one of the plastic bags, his nemesis. He did hate getting tangled with those. At the first sign of his displeasure, I took myself to my usual hiding place, the far corner of the bedroom, and concealed myself there. This always worked – if I got out of the way, the appeasement ritual, of Kli Ning, would go more smoothly. I couldn’t perform the ritual myself. That was a human thing, a sacred dance done on two feet, approximately every seventh day in the afternoon. Objects would be dragged around the room to appease the creature named Vakum, who was then ushered into the empty floor spaces to eat from them. These floors were festooned with debris that he so liked to devour into his ravenous, flat mouth. He’d be wheeled to his dinner like the Lord of the house he was, and he’d eat and eat until his belly was full. Or so I assumed. I’d never witnessed more than ten seconds of this performance they called Kli Ning, because it was so horrifying. I knew, when the humans raised their voices and shouted, “Company’s coming!” at each other, or, “Your mother’s arriving at five?! or, “You didn’t tell me your friend was stopping over! For God’s sake, you need to tell me these things! It’s a disaster in here!” The ritual would be especially panicked and even more fervent than usual. But the humans were not at home, and so Vakum was not appeased. He shrieked away in his closet and no one came to release him. I cowered in the far corner of the bedroom for twenty minutes, digging my claws into the bedspread to ease my fears, yowling intermittently, hoping that if he heard my cries, Vakum would be merciful towards me. I fluffed my fur into a fearsome spiky arrangement I used to warn off enemies. I arched my back and raised my tail. But Vakum could not see me, and so this was not useful – and, after all, what could I do against this angry beast, who was so much more powerful than I was? Vacuum was relentless in his wails. Gods, he must be angry. But why? I began to understand the reason. My humans had not appeared in about seven days, which I had not minded, but apparently, Vakum had decided that he minded greatly. They’d left me food, and water, and had someone check in on me a few times, but I didn’t like her, so I hid from her. Seven days, I mused. The humans had performed Kli Ning before they left. So that was it, then: he was angered because he had not been fed according to schedule. If the humans did not perform Kli Ning, one of them usually started shouting about it before they brought out Vakum and gave him a quick turn around the apartment. Then the shouting human would say to the other human, "I'm sorry! I just get stressed out when it's dirty in here!" And the other human would say, "I know. Come here and give me a kiss." The important thing, the thing that seemed to cause stress upon both of them, was that they had not fed Vakum in a timely manner. I had previously thought Vakum was something like a more powerful cat, who didn't even need to move on his own, but who had somehow enslaved the humans to do his bidding and roll him around the house so he didn't need to exert himself whatsoever. If I hadn't enjoyed running, jumping, and playing so much, I might have attempted to do the same, to simply yowl at the humans until they did what I wanted without lifting a paw to help myself. But now I understood. Vakum was no animal, but truly a god: he was more powerful, even, than an indoor cat. He needed a sacrifice of crumbs, and dust, and to know that the furniture had been moved around the floors. He would be especially hungry after his long imprisonment, and if I wanted to stop him from killing us all in his anger, Vakum’s wrath must be appeased. I knew what I had to do. I was not human, but I could move things around – off windowsills, at least. I’d been practicing my vertical jumping for years, and now it was time to put it to use. I streaked into the living room, my fur in a riot of fear, and leapt as high as I could towards the ledge. I couldn’t usually make it up here, as the radiator was too slippery for my paws to gain purchase, but desperate times call for heroic measures. I landed on the radiator, and then, scrabbling frantically, managed to wedge all four paws against it surface. I leapt to the windowsill, knocking into one of the large green leafy things in my way. It fell to the floor with a smash. There were so many of these tall green growing things on this ledge – why did the humans prize them? They did nothing, and the humans wouldn’t even let me chew on them, which at least would have made them useful to somebody. So they might as well be sacrificed to the angry god before he killed us all in his fury. I batted down another of the green things, which shuddered, then bobbled against the windowsill and finally tipped over, scattering black earth all over the soft rug below. Good: the floor was covered in debris. Vakum would be pleased about that. For good measure, I sacrificed the third green thing to the floor as well, feeling a sense of relief as its container smashed into fragments and the greenery blended with the dirt in which it had been planted. One never could be too generous when appeasing an angry god. It was very important, I knew, to move heavy objects around the room for Vakum. I could not move chairs or other furniture. But, perhaps Vakum would be so hungry, the humans would have to feed him on the tabletop as well as the floor. And I could cover the table with food for him. There was a clear glassy thing on the table which always sat there. Sometimes the humans put sprigs of dying greenery into this thing – another sort of offering which was replaced every so often, given to other invisible god in propitiant ritual. Unfortunately, the glassy thing was empty now, meaning there were no additional objects to scatter over the tabletop. I brushed my side against its surface, knocking it over. As it rolled along the table, I whacked it with my tail for good measure. It smashed to the floor with a piercing crack. Excellent – there were many shards of glass for him to eat, now. I hoped Vakum liked glass. Best to find more things to offer, though, because he was still shrieking away in his closet like a beast cruelly chained. I couldn’t stand it another minute. Ah, yes, there should be dust – Vakum needed dust. That was something I knew he liked to eat. In utter desperation, I ran to the thing the humans called “get away from there!” and dug my claws into its thick fabric. I shredded it wildly. Its fibers flew from my paws and hovered in the air before gently falling to the ground in a satisfying pile. There – I’d made dust, and a lot of it. What more could I do? But no, Vakum was still howling, his guts belching, his voice hoarse. Oh no. Oh no. Was the roof going to fall on my head? I ran to the far corner of the bedroom, and in my desperation, I peed there. I didn’t know if he’d like that or not. I can’t even pretend it was something I decided to do consciously. I’d just about lost my mind with fear. And then, in answer to my fervent prayers, there was a scraping sound at the front door. Two voices, voices I knew well, were talking to each other, yelling above Vakum’s roar. “What is that sound?” “Is that the Vacuum? Why on earth is the vacuum running right now?” “Did the cat somehow –“ The front door creaked open. I tore, wildly, towards its freedom. “Hey, Petey!” greeted the human as I streaked past him. “What’s going on, buddy?” I don’t know what those words were supposed to indicate, except that the humans were untroubled by the promise that Vakum was going to imminently destroy everything around him. I hissed and yowled and ran into the shrubbery. “Petey! *Come back here*!” And then, from inside the apartment, came an even more highly-pitched scream than the one Vakum was making. “PETEY!!” shrieked the human. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” \\\*\\\*\\\* It was all right, in the end. Just as I’d thought, the humans released Vakum and treated him to an absolute feast, like none he’d ever eaten before. He roared around the rooms of the house for an entire hour, belching in his satisfaction. I hid in the bedroom as the humans yelled many things at each other about what I’d done to save us all. “The vacuum must’ve scared the cat, when it turned on in the closet somehow, and he went crazy.” “Well, no kidding, he did. He turned into a little tornado. He must have been totally freaked out. How many plants did he knock over?” “All three of ‘em. Darn it, now I’ll have to repot them. Most of the stems of my violet are broken and he trashed my peace lily. I hope they’ll live. And he broke my nice vase, and he – oh no. Oh, come look what he did to the couch… “Oh my God.” “*Petey*.” “Petey.” I heard my own name and licked my paws in satisfaction. They must be thanking me that I’d saved them from their god’s wrath; that I’d prepared such a great feast for him, to spare them the trouble of scattering their own crumbs on the ground and festooning the floor with dust when they arrived home. They would have been tired, and would have only prepared a meager meal for him, instead of this lavish spread I'd arranged. “He hasn’t done anything crazy in the bedroom, has he?” “Doubt it. He usually just hides there quietly.” “Should I go check him, or –“ “Nah, leave him alone until we’re done. He should be fine there.” I sniffed at the spot where I’d peed. I wondered if they’d take Vakum there to eat that, too. I couldn’t wait for all the head-pats I’d get in reward. I wondered if they’d open their special cans of nice food for me. It seemed only justified, after all my efforts.


Charlotte wondered if she should ask him to stop. She saw her little sister Megan struggling, failing to get his hands off her mouth with her tiny hands. It was Megan’s third birthday today. They had just finished unwrapping all the presents and settled a fight over a tall Elsa doll their dad had gifted them. Girls had agreed to keep the doll between their twin beds in the shared bedroom. Charlotte looked at the doll and decided to get Olaf for her birthday. 'Megan would love that too', she thought, her eyes back on her sister. Megan had stopped struggling. ‘Daddy, is Megan okay?’, she asked her dad. ‘Yes honey. She is. She is sleeping’, he said as he waked over to Charlotte’s bed. ‘But her eyes are open and…’, she paused, something was different about her dad, his face looked like the ‘scary man’ from the park who stared at them while they played on the slide. ‘Her eyes are open, and she is staring at the ceiling’, she said pointing at Megan. Megan lied motionlessly on the bed; her hazel eyes wide open, pointed straight at the ceiling. ‘Yes Cherry, she is okay. She is with Mommy.’, he said looking around for something. Charlotte sensed that something was wrong, ‘Daddy, are you okay? Are you going to do the same thing to me like Megan?’. Startled by her question, he looked at her and moved closer. Kissing her on forehead he slid her in the bed. Her fragile presence was dominating. 'Stay here sweetheart, Daddy has to finish some work downstairs. I will be back in few minutes', he said as he got up from her bed. His wife’s severed head rested on their coffee table right next to the couch. Her body was lying on floor, headless. The expensive rug was soaked in a pool of blood spouted from her neck where her head was once attached. He didn’t remember cutting her head off. He didn’t even remember getting a knife. He looked at her head, her golden hairs flowing on the coffee table. She deserved what she got, he thought. Bending down, he picked up the sharp knife covered in blood from the soused rug. He had the whole plan ready to dispose of the bodies and then file a missing persons report. He no longer has to worry about taking care of the unworthy. The images of the guy from the park standing at his door with a letter in his hand flashed in front of his eyes. The letter lied there, next to his wife's head on their coffee table. The letter. He remembered, blacking out with rage and never reading it. Hurriedly, he opened the letter. As he read, his rage turned to despair. He had done a mistake, a grave one. ‘Daddy, is everything okay? Where’s Mommy?’ Charlotte called walking down the stairs. ‘Yes. I did a mistake but I am always going to be with you’, he said with an eerie smile. Charlotte was standing looking in the living room, her face full of fear and terror. Looking into her dark eyes for a moment, he slid the knife across his throat. Charlotte screamed as blood splurged out her dad’s neck. His body fell on the ground with a thud right next to his wife’s headless torso. The letter, still in his hand soaked in their blood from the carpet. ‘A five-year-old was found hiding in her bedroom closet, alone and scared, in a home with three dead bodies. The bodies were discovered by the girl’s biological father, a cop, who was at their house this morning to speak with the parents. The biological father said in his interview to us that he will continue to fight for custody of the surviving child. Police also mention that 'a letter' was recovered form the crime scene.


"They're Back"  He pushed firmly on the sewer grate until it popped out. The greasy bars usually made his hands dirty, but this time Ben wore a pair of rubber gloves that he had discovered on his last trip. The butterfly knife in the front pocket of his mud-stained jeans he had found the first time he had come up to search for food. The need for protection had been a more immediate concern than the need to keep his hands clean. As he pulled himself up above ground, Ben quickly noticed that something felt different. The scene of destruction before his eyes was the same he saw every time he emerged. The piles of rubble where houses once stood, the broken glass in the street and the pieces of metal strewn across front lawns were not what caught his attention this time. It was the heat. It should still be cold outside. By his count, it had been seventeen days since the February 5th attack. That would leave at least another month until it normally began to get warm, he thought. The thickness of the air had already begun to form beads of sweat on Ben’s head as he considered his next move. He must go on, Ben decided. He hadn’t determined the cause for the heat, but he couldn’t let it prevent him from finding food. He imagined the disappointment in Angela’s face if he came back empty handed. Only crumbs remained from the bags of peanuts and beef jerky he brought back last time. And Skylar was already complaining about being hungry again. Slowly, he made his way toward the alley that remained between two rows of demolished houses. It didn’t provide much cover, but it still felt safer than walking down Main Street, where some portions of the road remained partially illuminated by flickering street lights. Once in the dark alley, he crept in the direction that had led him last time to the remains of a convenience store. After crossing three blocks and taking a left on Seventh Street, the route he remembered from his last trip, Ben ducked back into the alley. That was when he noticed the noise. Had it been a typical day, he might have overlooked it, but Ben’s senses were on high alert during his scavenging missions. He heard a faint, steady hum that sounded like a machine. It began to get louder as he continued on to the next block. This was the block where he had discovered food last time, and Ben decided he should stick to the purpose of his trip rather than investigate the noise. He looked upon the site where before a Grab ’N Go convenience store had operated. It felt like years since he had walked through its doors to the greeting of the friendly old woman who worked the cash register and exchanged two dollars for a pack of gum, but in reality it had been just a month. Now, mounds of charred wood, steel rods and shards of glass piled high. He stepped around the side toward the back, where the remains of what must have been a storage room sat covered in ash. Black plastic boxes lay under a mess of debris, which he cleared off before opening the closest container. Inside the box, he found dozens of tin cans packed in neat rows. He picked one up and observed the label. *Chunky* *Beef Chili,* it read. They would have to eat it cold, but he knew the meat inside would already be cooked and would satisfy their hungry stomachs. He put two in the back pockets of his jeans and four in the side pockets of his jacket. Walking back to the front, Ben continued on in the direction he had been going rather than turn back. He didn’t like taking more time than he needed to get back to his family, but the noise had piqued his curiosity. It became louder as he continued on. He followed the sound until he came upon a bridge crossing the train tracks. The bridge was illuminated on its left side by a bright, orange light that came from the same direction he heard the noise. When he reached the peak of the bridge and looked out, he saw it. A pulsating red sphere the size of a house filled the clearing in the distance. It looked like a miniature version of the sun had fallen out of the sky and landed on the surface of the earth. Its color changed between shades of red and orange as it throbbed like a heart, sending visible orange waves into the air that appeared to be heating it. Ben wiped the sweat from his eyebrows as he peered out at the strange object. Suddenly, a black figure appeared in front of the sphere’s light. Ben crouched behind the wall on the side of the bridge and looked over. The figure began to get larger, as if it was moving toward him. Frozen with a feeling of dread, Ben knew he should get off the bridge and run back, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from the light and the growing figure before it. As the figure came into view, Ben saw the light reflecting off metal that covered the figure’s body and head. The figure was tall, at least twice Ben’s height. Its head swiveled around and two laser-red eyes beamed directly at him. It saw him. Ben began to run, and a burst of fire shot out of the figure's arm. The flaming ball flew over the bridge where Ben had just been. More bursts followed and he bolted back down the street, his heart pounding. When he had crossed to the next block he looked back. He saw the figure standing on the bridge where he had just been. He gasped and slipped into the alley before it saw him again. Sprinting down the alley as fast as he could, Ben jumped over a piece of rubble and felt one of the cans fall out of his jacket pocket. He couldn’t stop to retrieve it, and he continued to run until he came upon the block where he began. He found the sewer he had emerged from and quickly crawled in, putting the grate back in place behind him. Still panting, he began to scurry back down the tunnel that had brought him there. His knees splashed in puddles of mud that he was in too much of a hurry to avoid. Finally, he returned to the clearing in the sewers that had become his temporary home. Angela and Skylar sat huddled in the corner under a blanket as he approached out of breath. Their eyes wide open and staring at him, he knew they could immediately tell something was wrong. He decided he couldn’t try to lie to them about what he had seen. “They’re back,” he said.


This is the last time I'll see this place. I'm writing this while riding the last trip of the Southern Tracks. Not many people know of this railway – in fact, most of them look at me like I'm crazy when I even mention such a route – but I know about it. When I heard it was shutting down and doing its last runs tonight, I had to take one last trip. No one ever checks the cars on this route; no one cares enough. I've been able to ride this millions of times without once being caught. I'm not the only one, either; once, a few years ago, I met a rather lovely old, blind man sleeping in the car that I hopped on who told me stories of the way the world used to be; another trip, I came across a kind young woman in the most extravagant black dress you have ever seen, with rich silky ribbons and glittering jewels that shone in a way that I had only ever read about in stories, and she had no idea how she got aboard the train! “One minute,” she had said, all those years ago, “I was on my way to downtown, and next thing I know, I wake up in the hay in some...” Well, I'd rather not repeat what else she said. I'll miss this, though, watching as the dark fields and rolling night hills zip past beneath the waning moon. My mom used to tell me to be wary of the night time rides, as you never know where you were going to end up. She was a smart woman, and for years I never once touched the midnight Southern Tracks train. Then, one day, they found her dead by the noon Southern Tracks train. I'm still not entirely sure who “they” were, exactly, but I'm rather inclined to believe them; she was never the best at telling the difference between noon and midnight when written down. I've only been going on the midnight train rides ever since. I'm not sure I recognize this place anymore. Of course, that's one of the joys of travel, seeing new places. But, I don't think I've ever seen a place in all of these train rides where the night feels like all there is; I can't even make out the tracks below the train. In fact, I'm not entirely sure the train is on any tracks anymore. I'm not sure where this train is heading. I'm not sure where \*I'm\* headed. In fact, I'm not quite sure how long I've been on the Southern Tracks now. Maybe there's a stop not too far from wherever I am now. I can see the hills again now. The same, rolling ones, illuminated faintly by a waxing moon in the otherwise void of night. I know I shouldn't, but I can't help but smile as I reminisce on the past with this train. This is the last time I'll see this place.


"You're not losing your mind, it's being stolen." "I'm sorry, what? Who's this?" A terrible night out, some shitty-ass drugs, and a weird phone call. At least Giles now had an explanation for the weird flashing images he'd been seeing. "I'm Leyla. I'm with the government. We've been following—" "Hey, no man. Leave me out of this. I didn't do nothing." "We don't care about the drugs. Something worse is happening. More importantly, your life is in danger. You've been seeing clear visions of your memories, yes?" "Um... yeah," Giles said. The images *were* getting to him, to be honest. Ecstasy wasn't supposed to do that. "And you thought you were getting molly, yes?" "How do you know this?" "There's no time. We have one hour to get the drugs out of your system, and hopefully get some clues on who's doing this. Walk out across the street. There'll be a black van. Get in so we can save your memory. We'll need it." "You're crazy, woman. Don't call me ever again." Giles hit the red circle icon and stuffed his phone into his pocket. It'd been a really weird night. That woman knew an awful lot about him. But there were some pretty intricate scams going on these days. Yet... Giles walked back into the club and dashed across the dance floor, making his way past the poles and into the dimly-lit VIP section. "Mike! Hey Mike!" Giles yelled. He pushed past the bouncer, who promptly stiff-armed him. "Let me in, man. I got a pass." After seeing the circular glow on Giles wrist, the bouncer reluctantly stepped aside. "Mike! Hey look here!" His friend's eyes were rolled back into his skull, and it took a couple of takes before Mike seemed to recognise Giles. "Hey man! This is some pretty good shit!" Mike said. "Where did you get our stuff from, man? Do you remember the dealer?" "Huh? Man I'm so high right now. I love you, bro!" "Listen to me. Things seem a little dodgy—hey, let me go! I told you I have a pass!" The bouncer from earlier had a firm grip on Giles' tricep, one that felt impossible to shake off. The large-set man leaned in, almost as if he wanted to whisper to Giles, but then he proceeded to speak into the microphone on his jacket. "Yes ma'am. I have him right here. I'll bring him out," the bouncer said. "What are you doing man? Hey Mike! Tell him to lay off. Mike!" Then the lights turned on—or at least they seemed to—and for a moment it was Katie, his girlfriend, who was holding his arm. *What the fuck?* \# "Why do you always have to go out with Mike?" she asked. They were in his room. He was dressed up, ready to go out, and she was in her pyjamas. "He's nothing but trouble. And *you*, you promised me you'd stay in today!" "I do whatever the hell I want!" Giles yelled. His memories again. This happened just a few hours ago. Every time he had a flashback, it was as if he was transported right back there. Even his acid trips from before were less vivid. These were memories, not hallucinations, because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't change the course of his actions. It was as if his life was on replay, and he was just a first-hand observer. He wanted to stay. Going out was a huge mistake, but the events continued to unfold out as they'd happened. He didn't want to say what was coming next: "You're just a bloody drag, do you know that? You're nothing but a nuisance in my life!" The look on her face, those tears—his heart ached the first time he saw them. It ached even more now. Giles slammed the door behind him, leaving the image of a hurting Katie—arms to her chest, hands scrunching her shirt, lips quivering—behind. The slammed door turned into a car door. \# "I'm sorry we had to do this, Giles. We had to act quick." A lady in a button-up shirt and slacks sat before him. They were in an SUV of sorts, the seats facing each other. "Wha? What's going on?" "I'm Leyla. You're losing your memories, bit by bit. We're here to help. I'm going to need you to trust me." "No. No, let me out! What's wrong with you people? I'm not going anywhere with you!" Giles reached for the door and yanked at the handle. Locked. That didn't stop him from trying again. Recognising the futility, he finally resorted to pounding on the tinted windows, yelling his lungs out while at it. Leyla didn't do anything to stop him as the vehicle sped off. He pounded, and pounded, and pounded. \# "You gotta pound it right here," Giles said, as he hammered his fist on the vending machine. "Sometimes it acts up, but I know how to get around it." The lady beside him giggled. Giles had had his eyes on her since she walked into the convenience store. He never believed in love at first sight, but one thing was for sure, he'd found the love of his life that day. Honestly, this was his first time even seeing this damn vending machine. But when nothing came out after she'd stuck her dollar bill in, he knew that there'd never be a better chance to get to know her. "Well," she said, "looks like I'm never getting my soda." "Um, yeah. By the way, has anyone ever told you that you have the bluest eyes in the world? No wonder the sky's so grey." The stranger continued smiling. That was a good sign. "Terrible pick-up line," she said, "but I'll bite. Name's Katie. What's yours?" "The name's Gi—" "Paging for Denise Smith. Paging for Denise Smith. Please come to counter number four, I repeat, counter number four. Your son's looking for you." \# "Paging for Doctor Richards! We've got another one!" "Huh, wha?" White lights blinded Giles' eyes, and he'd made the transition from moving car to moving stretcher with no recollection of anything in between. In his lapsing consciousness, all he could make out were masked faces and fluorescent lights zipping past him. "Mister, Davis? Giles Davis?" "Yeah, that's me. Where... where am I?" "You're fine, Mister Davis. We're gonna need an emergency contact. Do you have anyone we can call?" "Katie. Katie Wils—" \# "Giles? What happened? Are you all right?" "What?" "It's me. Are you okay? Are you hurt?" "I... I don't know." Giles turned around. He stood outside a duplex unit and it was dark out. He was Giles Davis, he went to Dougherty Valley High School, and graduated from the university of California. That's all he knew, for now. "Let's go home," the woman said. "Where am I? Who are you?" "Giles," the look on her face turned dour. Somehow, it felt like he'd knew her for ages. "Giles, it's me, Katie. Someone called me to come get you, said you were in trouble. Giles, are you all right? You're scaring me." "I'm sorry... I really don't know who you are." "Giles..." tears streaked down her cheeks. "Your eyes though... they're so *blue*. No wonder it's so dark out." The woman cried even harder, much to Giles' confusion. But one thing was for sure though—he'd found the love of his life that night.


The ship went down on the 30th of July, 1945. Most of the men weren’t fully awake, but I was already aboard a lifeboat. The captain should go down with his ship, but these were strange circumstances. I knew what was in the water, and I knew there weren’t enough lifeboats for everyone. There weren’t enough life jackets either. “Captain?” an officer said, their identity was hidden in the dark, and their voice was overwhelmed by the screaming. The sky was as black as the inside of a squid's belly. “Down,” I said. We dropped to the sea, cutting a wave in half. It drenched us to the bone. Sharp intakes of breath from everyone aboard, but we held back cries of shock. The tang of salt water was on my lips, and was all I could smell. “Stroke,” called Dobson. My officer had passed out oars to six men sitting along the lifeboat’s perimeter. “We’ve got to clear the undertow.” The Indianapolis was three quarters underwater. How long since she was ripped apart? Ten minutes? The beast struck portside, bit right through the hull, then starboard. It gutted the Indianapolis, spilling her innards into the sea. An officer rowing beside me was shivering violently. I politely but firmly took command of his oar. It was slick with ocean spray, and the cold bit my hands. I grit my teeth and rowed. My oar hit something hard on the surface of the water, and I hollered; not quite a yelp, but a sound no man should hear from his captain. The company looked, then turned quickly away, as if cowardice was catching. *They don’t know*, I realized. *They have no idea what’s below us. They think it was two torpedoes, or they don’t know what to think.* I glanced into the black water. My oar had brushed against a scrap of the ship’s hull. Seeing the viciousness with which the metal had been ripped apart did not assuage my fears. *Some monster’s teeth did that*. Meanwhile, the men who hadn’t found lifeboats were hurling themselves from the Indianapolis. Most wore lifejackets but I saw plenty without. All screaming. One overfilled lifeboat had tarried on deck too long before dropping. It disappeared into a sucking whirlpool when it couldn’t escape the undertow and reemerged shortly, upside down. Some of the men who had been tossed overboard appeared on the sides, shouting, but some remained underwater. “What happened?” one officer asked in a half-whisper to another. “Japs, I reckon,” came the reply. This second man spit into the water. Official blame would be laid on a Japanese crew if word of the Indianapolis ever reached shore, and they might even take credit, but our enemy wasn’t responsible for the wreck. We had been capsized by something larger and hungrier than an axis submarine. I wouldn’t tell the lifeboat what I had seen unless I had to. My breath came in rasps from the effort of rowing. I began to cough. One of the officers took the oar from me. “Thank you, sir,” I said. The man was soaking wet, glimmering in the pale moonlight. He did not spare me a word or glance. I could understand his actions well enough. I would be court martialed for negligence if we ever got back to America. This worry was distant in my mind. Our mission was top-secret; therefore, it was unlikely anyone would come looking for the crew of the U.S.S. Indianapolis before we were dead. *We delivered the parts. The monster was too late.* The ship disappeared into the depths. I judged thirteen minutes had passed since the first strike. The beast had sunk the ship, and our meat served for the spoils of victory. I saw we were a safe distance from the undertow. “At ease men. Save your strength.” We were also far from the hordes of swimmers, and needn’t fear them clamouring aboard and capsizing the lifeboat. “What say you officer?” I asked Dobson. “I was looking over the deck when we were struck but I did not see what hit us. The Japs?” Dobson started to shake his head, then caught my eye. “Aye captain. Without a doubt, the goddamned Japs if you’ll pardon my language.” *There’s another who saw*. “Nothing else it could be?” I asked, measuring the officers. Most were still determinedly looking away from me and in flash of rage I found myself hoping they saw the creature in the waters they were so fixed upon, but the feeling passed. “Nothing else,” Dobson echoed quietly. He had to repeat himself to be heard over the screaming. Such noises should have stopped, the men who were going to make it off of the Indianapolis were swimming or aboard a lifeboat by now. A pair of men exchanged wary glances, but held their silence. A man’s memory is not so concrete a thing as we like to think, and affirmation from both myself and Dobson would convince these two—who had seen something perhaps, but could not say exactly what—that they had spied a submarine after all. “Holy mother of god!” shouted Peters, a Private, aged twenty. Peters pointed towards the wreckage. Ten-foot-high waves tossed the moonlight back and forth, making men and debris difficult to distinguish, but I spotted him. Fifty feet from our lifeboat, a huddle of men in lifejackets had broken, propelled by terror, away from one of their number. The fellow left behind was bobbing comically, buoyed by his orange life vest. It appeared he was in shallow water, not the Philippine sea, bouncing his toes off of the bottom. A wave caught the strange man and flipped him over, exposing his fate. Everything below his navel was gone, torn off by a beast in the water, and he continued bobbing upside down. Thankfully, we were a distance away, and could not get a close look at the circle of gore. “Shark! Sh—” an officer began to shout, but I lunged across the lifeboat to clamp a damp hand over his mouth. “Nothing we can do,” I muttered. “Easy there. Don’t want to panic the others.” We drifted all night. I wish I had the shame to say it was impossible to find sleep behind the screams of my crew, which went off with haunting regularity throughout the night, but I did. It was not fitful or long sleep, and I opened sore salted eyes to a pink sun. The water was thick with navy blood. It was as if the ship itself had been a living thing, and the sea monster had torn away flesh and bone instead of metal. Shredded life jackets floated among the wreck. There were dozens of men huddled together, bobbing in the water. Some were asleep, all were pale as milk. I turned away when I saw one man, life vest and all, jerked beneath the waves. He cried out in shock—he had been sleeping—before the water cut his cry out of the air. Another man drifted forward to fill his space. “Morning captain,” said Dobson. “Did you sleep?” I asked. He shook his head. Peters, seeing I was awake, said, “Permission to ask the captain a question?” “Granted” “Was our mission top-secret?” “Yes.” I admitted, against protocol. “When can we expect rescue? Did a distress call go out? “There was no time,” Dobson interjected. “Not a quarter hour between the first torpedo and the Indianapolis going under. Goddamned Japs.” Peters nodded, but he was still looking at me for an answer, so I gave one. Our vessel sloshed on the waves. “The U.S. navy will come though Peters. You’re going to get thirsty before they do. Hungry and wet and cold enough for a lifetime I expect, but you’re going to make it out of this fine.” “Captain’s right,” Dobson interrupted. “just fine.” “I saw it,” Peters whispered. He was beside me, only I could hear him. “The beast sank us because of the mission. It was the bomb captain.” The same thought had crossed my mind. “Best keep that to yourself,” I said, not unkindly. “Best not to disturb the men. His eyes were ghost’s eyes. Peters was beyond hearing me. “I thought it was a shark,” he stammered, “but when it got closer… tentacles, and a thousand eyes.” I nodded, hoping he would stop. Some of the officers were listening. “It was the bomb,” he whispered. The sun climbed from the horizon three more times before rescue came. Of my 1,195 crew, only 316 survived. The rest were pulled below, some by sharks, most by another. I was found guilty of negligence. I am writing from prison. I hope Peters was right: that the beast was sent to punish us for our part in the atom bomb, because the alternative—that the monster is lurking in the water—is unbearable.


I was sick. Weak. Dragging my past along with me, my old name, my old identity. No one had bothered to watch as I changed, no one had heard my quiet comments, hidden beneath layers and layers of the unchangeable past. They. The simplest of corrections. The shortest of sentences. But it spoke of stories, of pain that I could never quite articulate. A second. That was all it had taken to change everything. One second to say it. Five to realise my mistake. Ten to hear the screams of resentment. Thirty to get up and run. One hundred and twenty to find the keys to my car, climb in to leave. But none to look back. I had overreacted, that was true, but I had been suffocating. I was always going to leave, to find another place to live, to breathe in air that had not been tainted by the harsh glares of others. I had simply been given an opportunity. My car window was open, the trees dashing past me, filling in the gaps I had left behind, whispering to each other, to me. You can’t go back. Not now, not ever. I knew that. I did. I did. But if I did, why would I act so brash, I was never one to make spur of the minute decisions. I had a plan, I had sorted it all out. But caution was thrown to the wind in that one second. Those five. I couldn’t go back. I didn’t want to. The wind howled beside me, silencing that tear soaked laughter that spilled uncontrollably out of me. I was ridiculous. I could not erase my past. But I could try. I could make a new name. I could get a new job, buy a new house. I could stop running. The laughter silenced. When I thought about it, it did seem quite appealing, to find a home in a town hidden within these trees. The trees that held my secrets. My pain. I started to yell. Not screams, but words. Everything I had felt in those years hidden away, all of my insecurities out there, dancing with the leaves. One I started, I could not stop. The words kept coming, speaking of thoughts and feeling I had tried my hardest to ignore, the ones that I had buried so deep down that I had forgotten they were there. Suddenly, I was so glad I had left. The world was waiting for me. A nameless person on their own. A nameless person who paused on the side of the road. Who got out of their car and stood in the middle of the road. A nameless person. Hannah. Vex. The name was a whisper, I was not sure if I had even said it, but it was there, and I liked it. Vex. Louder this time. Vex. A yell disappeared into the sound of the forest. Echoing over and over in my mind. Mingling with the world, a proposition, a question to whoever was watching over me. Anticipation prickled under my skin. The universe let out a breath. A sound of acceptance, a moment of freedom. I was making my way though life, forging a new path for myself. There was an empty ache settling over my heart, but it was almost silenced by the relief. I was still sick. But I was getting better.


Annabelle vs. the Monster Under the Bed “OK, Belly, it’s time for bed.” Mommy closed the book she’d been reading and stood up, plopping Annabelle on her feet. Annabelle really wanted to hear the rest of the story, but she yawned before she could complain. Maybe Mommy was right. Annabelle started to skip down the hall to Mommy’s room before she remembered. *“Big girls sleep in their own beds, Annabelle,”* Mommy had said. *“Don’t worry about monsters. I’ll check under the bed and keep you safe.”* Annabelle had pinkie-promised Mommy that she would sleep in her own bed tonight, and everybody knows you can’t break a pinkie promise. Annabelle had only made that promise after Mommy said she would let her wear her Batgirl costume to bed instead of her jammies. Batgirl was brave, and Annabelle wasn’t afraid of anything when she was Batgirl. At the end of the hall, Annabelle took a deep breath and turned into her own room instead of Mommy’s. She glared at her pretty, white bed with its fluffy, pink comforter. “I *am* a big girl,” she grumbled. “Yes, you are.” Mommy came into the room behind her. She smiled and gave Annabelle a hug. That always made her feel better. “I’m so proud of you.” Annabelle smiled. She liked making her Mommy proud. She took off her hearing aids, or “ear buddies,” as she and Mommy called them, and brushed her hair. Mommy tucked her in, and they said their nighttime prayers. Then it was time for Mommy to check under the bed. Annabelle’s tummy gurgled, and she shivered. She snuggled deep under her covers and refused to be scared. Even if there was a monster under the bed, her Mommy could take him. “No monsters under there!” Mommy announced. Annabelle was happy at first, but then she remembered something. Benjamin at school had said that grown-ups can’t see monsters. She pouted, and Mommy laughed. “I promise, Belly, no monster is going to get you.” She kissed Annabelle on the forehead and tucked the covers more tightly around her. “Love you, Princess.” “Love you too, Mommy.” Mommy turned out the light and shut the door, leaving Annabelle alone for the night. The room looked different in the pink glow of her nightlight. Shadows seemed to dance on the wall, the floor, and the ceiling. Annabelle felt her tummy gurgle again. She squeezed her eyes shut tight. “I’m a big girl. I’m not afraid,” she whispered to herself. She pulled her blanket over her head. Then she heard it. There was a soft rustling noise under the bed. She tried to ignore it. Mommy said that sometimes when we’re scared, our imagination tricks us. Annabelle didn’t think that was very nice of her imagination. She tried to force herself to fall asleep, humming “Let It Go” over and over in her blanket cocoon. It was no use. The rustling kept getting louder. Suddenly, Annabelle was angry. This was *her* room. Who did this monster think he was? She was a *big girl*. More than that, right now, she was *Batgirl.* Annabelle kicked off her covers and hopped onto the floor. She crouched down and glared into the shadows under her bed, hands bunched into angry fists. “Hey, turd-butt!” she hissed, not wanting to wake Mommy. “This is *my* room. I’m not some baby you can scare off. I’m FIVE!” She thrust her palm forward, fingers spread wide. “You have to leave, right now. I’m not afraid of you!” Big, orange eyes blinked open in the dark, and Annabelle jumped back. She didn’t scream, though. She was startled but not scared, because the eyes weren’t actually scary. They...they looked like a cartoon! “You’re not?” A small voice whispered. At least, that’s what Annabelle thought it said. It was hard to tell in the dark, when she couldn’t see its mouth move. She told the monster to *wait there* and ran to the dresser. She popped her purple, sparkly ear buddies into her ears and turned them on. “What?” She asked. “You’re not afraid of me?” “Oh! Nope!” Annabelle popped the ‘p.’ “I’m a superhero. So you better go scare some other kid.” “But I don’t want to scare anybody,” the monster grumbled. Annabelle sighed, exasperated. “Look, can you just come out here? I’m having a hard time hearing you in the dark.” There was a shuffling noise. A bright green hand flopped out from under the bed and then another. They almost looked like paws, Annabelle thought. They were fuzzy, with four stubby fingers tipped with tiny claws. She saw its arms next. They were long and yellow, skinny like noodles. He pulled himself out from under her bed. The monster stood in front of Annabelle, orange eyes blinking owlishly in the pink light. He was shorter than she was, with a fuzzy red body shaped like a big potato. His arms reached all the way down to the floor, where his green hands rested next to his bright green feet. Annabelle couldn’t even see the monster’s legs through his fur, he was so short. She burst out laughing. The monster frowned. He turned to go back under the bed. “Well, if you’re just going to make fun of me…” Annabelle felt bad and stopped laughing. She didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. She grabbed his soft, green paw to stop him. “No, don’t go, I’m sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t mean to laugh. Benjamin just said monsters were big and scary, and that they ate little girls because they have cooties. But you’re not scary, you’re cute!” Annabelle thought the monster blushed under his fur. He even seemed to smile a little. “Who’s Benjamin?” he asked. Annabelle shrugged. “A boy at school.” “Well, Benjamin sounds stupid.” Annabelle giggled and clapped her hands over her mouth. She wasn’t allowed to call people ‘stupid,’ but maybe the monster’s Mommy said that was okay. “What’s your name?” she asked. The monster looked confused. “I don’t think I have one of those. Do you?” “Of course! I’m Annabelle,” she said. She had never heard of somebody not having a name.“If you don’t have a name, what do your parents and your friends call you?” “Oh, I don’t have any of those either,” the monster said. That made Annabelle sad. She wanted to give the monster a hug, but she knew it wasn’t polite to hug people without asking. She guessed the same was true of monsters. Then, she had another idea. “I can be your friend, if you want,” she said. The monster perked up at that. “Really?” Annabelle laughed. “Of course! We can play games and tell each other stories.” The monster grinned. He had two big teeth, one on the top and one on the bottom. “That sounds like fun!” “You’ll need a name,” Annabelle said. Annabelle loved naming things. She had named her puppy, Leo, and all of her stuffed animals had their own names too. She looked at the monster for a few seconds, thinking hard. “I think you look like a Roger!” Annabelle did a motion with her hand when she said it, her first and second fingers crossed. The monster looked confused. “What is that?” He made the same motion with his paw. “It’s your name!” Annabelle did it again. “Roger, in sign. Sometimes it’s hard to hear people talk, so I use my hands to talk too. Like this: Your name is Roger!” The monster watched her hands move with wide eyes. “That’s so neat!” he said. “Is there a sign for Annabelle?” “Yeah, I’ll teach you!” She showed the monster how to sign her name. He grinned his two-toothed smile. “You’ll have to teach me how to say more things in sign!” Annabelle smiled. “Of course, Roger!” She suddenly realized she hadn’t asked the monster if she could call him that. “Is that OK? Do you like that name?” “Oh!” the monster exclaimed. He’d been so interested in learning the signs that he had forgotten. “Yes, it’s a very good name. Roger. I can be Roger.” “*Awesome*.” Annabelle said, emphatically. “I’m glad that you’re not a scary monster, Roger.” Roger laughed, a low, pleasant, rumbly sound. “Me too!” She and Roger stayed awake for a little while longer. They sat on the floor and played with Annabelle’s stuffed animals. She showed Roger her ear buddies, and she taught him how to sign more words. She told him all about kindergarten, and her Mommy, and her puppy, Leo. Before long, her eyes started getting heavy, and she leaned more and more to the side. She almost toppled over, but Roger caught her with a noodly arm. “I think you should go back to bed, Annabelle.” Annabelle pouted, but she knew he was right. She couldn’t stop yawning, and she had to get up early for school tomorrow. “Will you come back tomorrow night?” she asked, hopefully. “Of course! Now that I have a friend!” Roger said. He helped her stand up and tucked her back into bed. “That’s good,” Annabelle sighed. Her eyes were already closed. “I’m glad I met you, Roger.” “Me too, Annabelle,” he said. “Sleep tight!” He patted her hand with a big, fuzzy paw. Annabelle smiled, and Roger slid back under the bed, to wherever monsters go to sleep. Annabelle couldn’t wait to tell Benjamin that he was wrong at school tomorrow. And Mommy would be proud of her for making a new friend! No longer scared of monsters or the dark, she drifted off to sleep to dream about new friends and big, orange eyes.


There’s a small tight knit community where people grow their own food, sew their own clothing, and take care of their children. The community is tucked away in the foothills on a fair sized lake. The lands are fertile and there is nothing the towns people are ever in need of. In fact there’s generally an overabundance of supplies. The elderly and children aren’t forced to work but everyone does their share. It is not uncommon to see even the adults playing in the field with their children or swimming in the lake in the middle of what would be considered a work day. Across the lake there is a very large castle. It is old and unmaintained but by no means is decrepit or falling apart. The towns people have grown up for generations looking at but never visiting the castle mostly because they never had the need and there was no obvious way in. There were occasional whispers about who had lived there and why they never ventured out or how they got their food. The towns people also grew up under instruction to maintain a curfew of sundown. Never once would they step out of their homes after the sun had set and before it rose the next morning. It was unspoken and everyone followed the rule without question. It wasn’t something they were taught it’s just how it had always been and was never up for dispute. Due to this there was no need for external lights on their rustic stick built homes. But light spilled out of the open windows onto the streets. Homes only had simple door locks usually consisting of a simple piece of wood across the back of the door. And in all honestly were only there to keep the door from blowing open in the night, windows were wide open and contained no glass but had wooden slats to keep the larger animals of the night from crawling in. There were shutters for cooler nights or when it rained. If you looked closely you could sometimes see a light on in the castle as well. Sometimes it was in the eastern tower and other times it was in the middle of the castle. The light was from the twins living in the castle. They had always lived there from before anyone could remember. Every once in a while they could be seen walking on the walls of the castle but nobody had ever spoken to them or seen them up close. They were brother and sister but from such a distance none of the towns people could describe them in any more detail. Their father hadn’t been seen in nearly 10 years and their mother was a mystery to everyone. Nobody knows when the family moved in but they had been there for as long as anyone could recall. The twins were in their mid-twenty’s at this point. On one of the cooler nights of the year after the sun had set and all of the towns people had gone to bed, first one, then a second small torch appeared at the base of the castle. The torches presumably carried by the twins slowly made their way closer and closer to the town and just at the edge of the town they stopped for a moment and one departed to the left side of the street and one to the right. They moved slow as if they were trying to go undetected but nobody was watching because they were all asleep. Simultaneously the torches dipped and touched the walls of the first home on either side of the street. The fire slowly grew but the twins just moved to the next house and again touched the torch to the walls. They did this until every house was on fire and they had made it to the other side of the town. The twins then proceeded to walk up onto a nearby hill that overlooked the burning town. On this hill there were two rectangular hole. They stood next to the holes and turned to look at the glow coming from the town. From their distance the twins could hear screams and cries for help but not one towns people opened their doors or left their homes. Slowly the cries disappeared and only flames remained. Those eventually began to dim as well and for the first time since reaching the hill the twins moved. The smaller of the two turned around and faced the hole and placed the torch on the ground next to it revealing a neatly placed coffin inside. She carefully lowered herself with a little help from her brother into the coffin and without a word closed it. The brother covered up the coffin with the shovel and dirt placed next to it. He then proceeded to crawl into his own coffin and close the lid. He closed his eyes and waited. A few minutes passed without a noise when suddenly the sound of dirt falling on the lid of the coffin could be heard. Seemingly unstartled the brother listened until he could no longer hear anything but his own breath before falling asleep.