“Everything will come to me at the right time,” she thought to herself as she pulled the warm blanket even closer around her body. The room was cold, warmed only by the heat from the fire crackling in the fireplace; the sound of the wood snapping echoed through the room. She sat in a wooden chair, watching the raindrops slide down the glass panes of the window. Outside, the wind played with the leaves, sending them wherever it pleased. “Autumn has begun,” she whispered aloud and smiled. She loved this time of year. That moment when nature began to fall asleep, yet everything around was still full of colour and life. Autumn always meant a new beginning for her. It was a time when her thoughts calmed when she found inner peace. Her gaze stopped on a single raindrop slowly slipping down the windowpane. “How much longer will I have to wait?” she thought, even though she knew the answer to that question was not in her hands. Everything has its time, and she knew that better than anyone else. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She listened to the soft crackling of the wood in the fireplace, which soothed her. The blanket, which wrapped around her like a protective cocoon, shielded her from the outside world. But inside, deep beneath her calm surface, a feeling of anticipation simmered. Something was about to happen. Something that would change her life forever. She picked up a book, hoping to lose herself in the story, as she often did. She drifted between the words but couldn’t focus—her inner feelings overwhelmed her, and she was tense without knowing why. The rain was slowly subsiding, the droplets still hitting the rooftops, but not as intensely as before. She could no longer sit at home. Something inside her pulled her outside, towards something she couldn’t yet name, but she sensed it was waiting for her out there. Urgently, she prepared for a walk. She wanted to absorb the magic of autumn’s beauty, to feel the damp earth beneath her feet and the cold wind on her face. The soft blanket, which had shielded her from the chill until now, gently slipped from her body and settled back into the chair. The fire in the hearth was beginning to die down, so she carefully stirred the ashes and let the flames disappear entirely. Rosie, her faithful companion, sensed it was time for a walk. Her long golden fur shimmered with each step, like rays of sunlight, and her joyful wagging tail created a soft breeze that brushed against Emma’s face. Smiling, she fastened Rosie’s black collar, put on her warm jacket, and slipped into her tall boots with a feeling that something big was about to happen. When she opened the door, she was greeted by the fresh, cool air scented with rain. She closed her eyes and let the scent seep deep into her soul for a moment. Then she stepped forward. It was as if she were walking into the unknown. She stepped outside, Rosie excitedly running beside her. The grass was still wet, and she heard the soft water splashing beneath her boots with every step. The world around her seemed as if it had just awakened—droplets sparkled on the leaves, the air was fresh, and every breath brought her a new surge of energy. She felt how the walk was slowly freeing her from her inner tension, though that feeling of anticipation still bubbled within. They walked through the forest she usually visited, but today, it felt different. Something in the air was new, unfamiliar. She stopped for a moment and closed her eyes, trying to grasp the feeling. The wind gently caressed her face as if trying to tell her something. When she opened her eyes, she saw something in the distance that hadn’t been there before—a wooden bridge, old and worn, standing on the path she walked every day. With Rosie by her side, she cautiously approached. The bridge looked as though it had stood for hundreds of years, covered in moss and lichen, creaking with every step. It was strange. How could she have missed something so old and dilapidated? When they reached the other side of the bridge, something shifted inside her. She felt as if she had crossed a boundary between what she knew and something completely new. Rosie suddenly stopped and barked towards the forest. In the dark shadows between the trees, something moved—a figure, faint, as if it were merely part of the wind. Her heart raced. “What was that?” she whispered, feeling the chill creep under her jacket, though she had been warm just moments before. Something pulled her further, deeper into the forest, though she didn’t know what she would find there. Rosie, who usually ran about happily and carelessly, suddenly stiffened. Her body was tense, ears pricked, eyes fixed on where the strange figure had been. Her tail, which had been wagging just moments before, now stood still as if she, too, sensed something had changed. She barked in a deep, warning tone that Emma had heard only rarely. “Rosie?” she spoke softly and placed her hand on the dog’s head. Rosie didn’t move. She just stood there, as if waiting for something to come, her whole body tense, ready for action. The wind stirred lightly among the trees again, but this time, it wasn’t a pleasant autumn breeze. It brought with it a chill that penetrated to the bone. Rosie began to growl, a quiet, deep growl that Emma could feel under her hand. It was unusual—Rosie was usually so calm, so friendly. “What did you see, girl?” she whispered. Rosie suddenly moved as if receiving a silent command. She darted forward toward the spot where she had been staring earlier, into the dense thicket of trees. Her growling intensified, but she stayed close to Emma’s leg as if unwilling to leave her side for even a moment. The image of that vague figure still flickered in her mind. Was it something real or just a trick of light and shadows? Despite her growing unease, Emma stepped forward in the direction Rosie had taken. The air around her seemed to grow heavier with every step as if something invisible was holding her back. She pushed forward into the dense foliage, Rosie still growling softly by her side. As they drew closer, the wind suddenly stopped, and an eerie silence fell over the forest. The figure she had glimpsed earlier had vanished, but the strange encounter still lingered in her thoughts. Was it just a trick of the light or something more? Suddenly, she heard footsteps—quick and light. She turned and saw the silhouette of a man walking toward her from a distance. He was dressed in a long coat, moving like a ghost quietly and effortlessly. Rosie, who had been growling moments before, suddenly stopped and stared at the stranger. Her ears were still perked, but now there was silence, as if she, too, was waiting for the next move. “Who are you?” Emma called out softly, as the man drew closer within earshot. The stranger stopped just a few meters from her. His eyes were piercing, cold, yet they revealed nothing of his intentions. He held a small package wrapped in string. “I’ve been expecting you,” he said quietly, his voice sounding strange, as if it were part of the forest itself. Something about his tone unsettled her. How could he know who she was? “What do you mean?” she asked, while Rosie remained tense at her side. The man slowly nodded toward the package. “This package is for you,” he said. “But you must take it without asking why.” Emma didn’t want to take it; every cell in her body was sending warning signals. Everything inside her screamed, “Run!” She felt cold creeping over her skin, and her hands trembled. Curiosity overcame her, though, and she stepped closer to the man, ignoring the warnings her body was giving. With each step, the tension grew, and Rosie’s ears were pinned back, her tail signalling fear. Still, Emma refused to be deterred and moved closer to the mysterious stranger. She approached the man until they were within arm’s reach. The package looked harmless enough, yet it radiated something unsettling. Rosie stayed by her side, lightly growling, but she remained close. Emma reached for the package, her fingers hesitating for just a split second before gripping it. As soon as she touched it, she felt a faint pressure, as if warmth was draining from her hand. The man didn’t flinch. He just watched her with a cold gaze, as though he had been waiting a long time for this moment to arrive. “Now, you must go,” he whispered. “Go? Where?” Emma instinctively took a step back, still clutching the package. A creeping sense of realisation began to dawn on her—that she had embarked on a journey from which there might be no return. “What’s inside the package?” The man interrupted her with a look colder than the wind that had passed through them. “The answers will come in time,” he said monotonously. “But for now, you must go in the direction your heart leads you.” Emma glanced back at Rosie, who was still watching the stranger intently. The dog pressed against her leg nervously. Emma took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart, and then nodded. Something was pulling her forward. Maybe it was the unknown; maybe it was simple curiosity—she couldn’t tell. But she clutched the package tightly, as if it were the key to something she would never understand otherwise. “Alright then,” she whispered. She turned on her heel and walked in the direction that had drawn her deeper into the forest. She could still feel the man’s eyes on her back, as if he was following her even now as she moved further away. Rosie stayed unusually quiet beside her, but the tension in her body revealed that something was still not right. The path ahead of them, which led deeper into the woods, was growing darker. Although Emma had walked this path many times before, today it felt different. It was narrower, more overgrown, and with each step, it seemed more foreign to her. When they finally reached a small clearing, Emma stopped. She had never been here before, yet she felt as though she belonged. The air here was heavier, but it was filled with a strange energy. The package in her hand began to vibrate faintly. She looked down at it carefully. “What does this mean?” she whispered to herself as she gently untied the string. She opened the package, and what she saw inside made her freeze. Inside was a small, ancient-looking key. But something about it seemed familiar, though she couldn’t place where she had seen it before. Rosie started to growl softly. Emma turned, but this time, there was nothing behind them but the rustling trees. Still, she felt as though something—or someone—was watching her. The package was now open, the key held tightly in her hand, and her heart beating faster than ever—Emma knew this was only the beginning. The key had an ancient appearance, with delicate patterns that resembled something long forgotten. It emanated mystery. It seemed like it was made just for her. She was almost certain she had seen it somewhere before. Every detail of the key felt strangely familiar. The tension in the air palpable. Emma knew there was no turning back now. She was here, in a place that seemed to have been waiting for her. She lifted her eyes and looked around. The forest appeared the same, but something in the air was different—heavier, filled with a tension that slowly expanded with every passing moment. “So, what now?” she whispered to herself, her breath more shallow than she realised. Emma could feel her hands trembling, yet she couldn’t take her eyes off the key. Something urged her to take a step forward. Rosie followed at her side, still nervous, but obedient. And then she heard it. A faint scratching, as if something hidden underground wanted to be heard. Her gaze fell on a stone in the center of the clearing. It looked like an ordinary boulder, but as she stepped closer, she noticed engravings similar to those on the key. The stone was covered in age-old moss and leaves, yet the engravings on its surface remained clear, almost glowing. “Here it is,” she said to herself, feeling the key pulse lightly in her hand. She knelt beside the boulder and gently brushed away the moss. There was something like a slot—just the right size for the key to fit. Emma hesitated for a moment, glancing at Rosie, who now stood silently beside her, tense but ready. “Alright then,” she whispered, her heart skipping a beat. She gently inserted the key into the slot, and after a slight resistance, the key clicked into place with a soft sound. At that moment, the clearing changed. The air around her rippled, as though something in the world had shifted. The ground beneath her hands began to tremble slightly, but it wasn’t frightening—it felt more like she was awakening something that had been waiting for this moment for centuries. Emma stood up and stepped back. Her heart pounded, and Rosie began growling softly again. She didn’t dare approach the boulder. From the slot where the key had fit, a faint light began to emerge—at first barely visible, but gradually growing stronger until it illuminated the entire clearing. And then the stone began to slowly move aside, as if responding to a magical mechanism the key had triggered. Emma felt a shiver run down her spine, but she didn’t dare move. She knew she was on the brink of something unknown, something that would change her life forever. Beneath the stone appeared a small entrance leading down into the earth. Warm air flowed up from the opening, carrying a strange scent—like old books and ancient forests. Emma exchanged a glance with Rosie, who was still tense. It seemed as though the dog now understood that this was the path they had to follow. Emma stood at the edge of the opening. “What now?” she asked herself, though she already knew the answer. She had to go in. The package given to her by the stranger was now open, and its contents—the key—had unlocked a path to places she was meant to discover. She didn’t know what awaited her there, but an inner strength and curiosity pulled her forward. She took one last deep breath, looked at Rosie, and stepped into the darkness beneath the earth, leaving behind the forest, the bridge, and everything she had known until now. Her every movement was slow, almost ceremonial. The key in her hand now glowed with a soft light, illuminating the way. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she stood before massive doors that looked as though they hadn’t been touched for hundreds of years. Intricate engravings, glittered on their surface. She placed the key against the door, and with a deep, distant sound, they swung open. Beyond them was darkness. But in the middle of that darkness, something faintly shimmered, as if beckoning her closer. Emma knew she should step inside—she felt that this was the journey she was meant to take—but suddenly, she hesitated. Something inside her made her stop and think again. Once she stepped through, her life could change forever. What if there was no turning back? She stood at the threshold, her heart pounding wildly. She knew that what lay beyond was important. But was she ready to face it? “You have time,” a quiet voice spoke behind her. Emma jumped and turned. She recognised the voice. It was the man who had given her the package. He stood at the foot of the stairs, his eyes gleaming in the faint light of the key. “You can choose, Emma. Go forward, or turn back. But remember, once you step through, there’s no going back.” “What’s behind those doors?” she asked. The man smiled, but it was a joyless smile. “The answers you seek. But they are not answers that come easily. They may change everything you’ve ever known.” Emma glanced at the doors again. The shimmering light behind them called to her as if it were waiting. She knew she couldn’t go on living with the questions that had haunted her. But at the same time, she felt a fear of what she might uncover. Rosie nudged her hand gently. Emma realised she wasn’t alone. Rosie was with her. And even though the man remained a mystery, he had given her the choice. Emma took a deep breath, then stepped forward onto the threshold. But just as she was about to cross the doorway, she felt a sudden tremor. Her heart stopped for a moment, and then she heard something in the darkness beyond the doors. Faint whispers slipped into her mind, as if they were beckoning her closer. “You must decide now,” the man said calmly. “Before it’s too late.” Emma stood on the edge, still clutching the key in her hand. She knew that once she took that step forward, everything would change. But what if she turned back? What if she decided not to open these doors? There were too many unknowns. Her body trembled, her breath caught in her throat, as if something dark was squeezing her chest. Cold sweat trickled down her back, and her shaking hands could barely hold onto the key. Her heart raced as she looked back at Rosie, who was watching her silently, and then at the man. All eyes were now on her. And in that moment, she made her decision.


Liam looked out over the calm sea and prepared his nets for the day ahead; the skies looked promising except for some gray, low hanging clouds far out to sea. “Aye, let this be a good day,” he muttered, “My press is as empty as a scoundrel’s heart.” “Mother,” he looked skyward “could ye see fit to bring me a wee bit of good luck today?” He often spoke thus to his beloved mother who had sung to him as a boy and told wonderful stories of Irish folklore. He was particularly fond of those tales which spoke of the merrow and morgens, enchanted mermaids and sea sprites, who occasionally encountered seafaring folk like themselves. “Shouldn’t fill the lad’s head with such nonsense,” his da would scold his mother lovingly, “sea life is hard enough.” “Ah, true,” she’d say, “sea life is difficult, and we haven’t much, but love, ah… love conquers all.”  But the stories and his mother’s beautiful singing filled Liam’s heart and built a strong bond between them. When influenza struck their small village, it took his mother when Liam was in his early teens. The pain of her loss struck the boy and his father hard, but they carried on as best they could. The boy learned the ways of the sea from his father, who passed away himself, only a few years later. His passing left Liam alone in their small cottage by the sea.   The sea became his life. From his earliest memories he recalled helping his father with their small fishing boat, repairing nets, preparing bait, studying the clouds for impending weather and the many simple tasks which made possible wresting a simple life from the sea’s bounty. His father had taught him that the sea could be a loving mother, bountiful, caressing, cool and comforting or as cruel as any childhood fable’s hag, temperamental and threatening, powerful and cold, suffocating and irascible.

He set out to sea, ignoring the distant clouds. The storm had come up quickly as many small tempests did in this part of the ocean. A massive school of fish passing his boat had distracted him. He had never seen such a rich array of fish, schools one following another. He had labored fiercely with his nets to keep up, hauling in the catch, one after another. This had gone on for hours. He lost track of time and place, greedily seizing from the sea this unexpected catch. It would be a grand payday ashore. Finally, he collapsed on the deck of his boat exhausted. Only then did he discover with alarm, how far he had drifted from his customary course. The clouds threatened an ominous storm. In fifteen minutes, the seas rose sharply. The sky begun pelting his small craft with walls of water. Then, from nowhere, a phantom wave lifted his boat like a great hand and dashed it into a deep trough between the waves. He felt his boat tear apart at amidships tumbling him into the sea. That had been hours ago. He clung to an empty piece of floating debris and kept afloat with a Herculean effort, part conscious part unconsciously. Liam was finally swept ashore in the night, on one of the small anonymous isles which dotted the sea.

In the dark, as his senses gradually returned, his focus fell upon his hands and aching limbs. God, I hurt everywhere . Then, Liam was distracted by the sound of music floating faintly in the air. Was that a human voice? It was a high-pitched sound, a cry like that of a child, or was it a song? It seemed like a familiar melody, echoing in the breeze from the darkness of the island beyond. “Hello, who’s there?” he called. His voice was unintelligible, a croak more than words. In reply, came nothing but the musical sound and the wind. He rolled onto his side and slowly disentangled himself from the rope handle of the locker. His hands, in excruciating pain, twisted this way and that to free himself. The roar of the surf filled his ears and he felt himself slowly ebbing in strength. He knew he could not pass out this close to the sea’s tide. He hauled himself on his elbows and knees laboriously up the beach, the sea sucking at the sand beneath him as he crawled toward the interior of the island, toward the sound he had heard invisible in the darkness. Finally, exhausted, he lay on dry sand, perhaps only ten yards from the surf, but as far as his strength could carry him. Then, he heard the sound again, a singsong voice drifting to him in the breeze. “Help me,” a small voice cried, “ Mo choimirce , help me, please…” Liam rolled onto his side, the sand grating against his skin, “Who’s there?” he called. There was no answer. He crawled another few yards and his hand encountered an object buried in the sand. It was smooth, firm to the touch. Liam traced his fingers along the exterior, feeling an irregularly patterned, textured covering. He found that it extended several feet sideways to his outstretched arm. Beneath the sand, the trunk of the object felt as if it flattened out like a wide tail or a fin. It was like the fin of a great fish.

The sky was pitch black except for an occasional star winking through the passing clouds. With no moon or light of any kind he tentatively let his hand stray along the object in the opposite direction. As he stretched his hand along the figure, the firm scaly fin merged into soft velvety skin. As his fingers traced the skin from the tail, the form shifted beneath his hand. It was alive! He felt a shiver as he slid his hand up the skin, realizing it was the back of a woman. Long tresses of silken hair now slid through his fingers. Then the creature spoke. “Please sir, I beg you, do me no harm. I need only be returned to the sea, which is my home. For this, I will grant you any three wishes your heart may desire.” Liam was stunned. He momentarily forgot his pain, hunger and thirst. He was spellbound by the sudden realization he had happened upon a live mermaid. Was this one of the merrow his mother had spoken about? He squinted into the pitch blackness but still could see nothing of the creature before him. “Are you real?” Liam croaked, his voice strained from weakness. “I can’t see you.” “As real as you are,” the creature replied. Her voice was ethereal, a soothing, mellifluous lilt. “When the dawn breaks, you will find water and sustenance. But before the sun fully emerges I must be returned to the sea. The storm washed me far ashore and I have become trapped on the land. Will you help me?” Liam, his spirits buoyed by her beautiful voice, responded. “ Begorrah. I have little strength after my ordeal, but ‘twill be a pleasure to do as you ask.” He once again traced the mermaid’s skin finding that her fin had become entangled in the roots of a large trunk of driftwood. He tore at the roots which bound her and after a short struggle he was able to free her. He didn’t know how he found the strength, but Liam managed to stand. He carefully scooped the merrow up in his arms and carried her back toward the sound of the surf pounding against the shore. He bore her into the sea until he was waist deep and gently let her go. By now he saw the light shimmering at the horizon as the sun was rising in the eastern sky. Before him was the merrow, swimming and frolicking in the sea, ten or so yards away. Looking at the beach as the light illuminated his surroundings, he saw bottles of water bobbing in the surf and strewn along the beach. He waded to shore and greedily drank his fill, feeling strength return to his body. “I have promised you three wishes to repay your kindness and that shall be your reward,” the merrow sang as she swam up to Liam, now languishing on the sand. “Well, to be safely home to my friends and simple cottage, that would be my first wish,” Liam replied with a smile. “That you shall have,” she replied sweetly “and what else would you want?” “Well, I suppose, to be rich and successful beyond my wildest dreams, to own anything my heart desires,” he laughed. “Is that not what every man dreams?” “Done,” she responded with a smile, “And your final wish?” Liam looked at the mermaid, who now in the dawn of the brightening sky was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. “I have no wife, with whom to share these things,” Liam began. “For my third wish, I want you to come with me, to my home, be my lifelong love and companion. This would bring me the greatest joy.”            The mermaid looked at him sadly. The first two wishes I can grant, but a union between man and merrow can never be. We are from separate worlds and are meant to be of different forms.” “Nonsense!” Liam insisted “Love can conquer all, m’ ma always told me. You will be my wife and be cast in human form. That is my heart’s desire!” “Very well,” the mermaid replied, in her soft, lilting voice. Liam opened his eyes. He found himself lying in bed, rich satin sheets and fine linens covering him. About him he recognized his simple fisherman’s cottage, but now transformed. Everywhere he looked he saw piles of gold coins and jewels and the finest furnishings he could imagine. He was home and wealthy beyond imagination! Then his bedroom door opened and the merrow, now a beautiful woman, cloaked in rich, luxurious raiment, entered the room. “Good morning, husband,” she sang sweetly, in that voice he heard in his dreams, “I hope you are feeling well. How shall we spend this fine day? Perhaps, down by the seashore?” “My wonderful, loving wife. Nothing would please me more. Let us first breakfast and then celebrate our new life together.” Liam’s heart swelled with joy and wonder at his good fortune. He threw aside his covers and bent to swing his legs over the bedside. Only then did he realize, that below his waist he bore a long, silver scaly fin, which twitched gently as he beheld it.


Note: Contains references to sexual harassment and bisexual relationship. Elisa was slowly walking through the church hall, approaching the stairs leading up to the church balcony, carrying a bag full of printed sheet music. As of late, the balcony had been her second chosen home, a place to withdraw to or even to lock herself up from the outside world during practice. She yearned for the safety it provided from external impulses, and the clear advantage of not being seen even while being heard. She was acting as a partial replacement of the respected minister of music and organist Mr. McLeod, after he had succumbed to the complications of pneumonia. The post of worship organist (occasionally involving singing as well) was created for Elisa by Pastor Daniel Morrison. This part-time service was rewarded with a certain sum, but her full employment was that of music teacher at the private school of a neighbouring town.  Pastor Morrison’s wife, Bessie, who took over the duties of minister of music after Mr. McLeod had passed away, was primarily responsible for organising musical service and directing the choir. Bessie had also introduced Elisa into the ceremonial aspects of worship music and conducted rigorous practice lessons with her. Pastor Morrison – an energetic man in his late forties, whom she had known since adolescence and called him Pastor Dan in private - greatly appreciated Elisa's “precise skills” as he put it, as well as the “meticulous care with which she executed her musical duties”, as he wrote in his recommendation of Elisa to the council of elders.. This was the first time Elisa would play all through the communion service – earlier this was also reserved for Bessie. Despite her devotion, Elisa did occasionally find Pastor Dan’s preferences odd. He seemed to have a hang-up of not allowing any secular music to be played during church services, not even classical instrumental pieces such as a slow concerto movement, despite having had some musical training himself. The explanation was that such pieces were originally composed as entertainment music, and were reserced for the concert hall. Elisa found this rigid distinction rather strange, but she complied. She suspected that Pastor Dan's views echoed those of Bessie, who had on numerous occassions voiced the same views with an even stronger conviction. Pastor Dan also had a specific attitude concerning clothing and made Elisa wear modest outfits during services, as she was to set a good example. This meant wearing only skirts or dresses reaching below the knee during worship. Now Elisa was fine with dressing in this manner, being a naturally modest person herself, and this tradicionalist attitude provided something of a strong framework for her often wandering, reflective mind, as did the hard work she had to put into becoming an organist and singer. For that particular service in early March - so close to her approaching birthday - she was wearing a classical white shirt with a sweater, modest black skirt, black tights and flat-heeled shoes. She had her shoulder-length light brown hair down, with a single braid in the middle reaching slightly below the back of her neck. Elisa’s parents had moved to Aberdeenshire from the Lowlands due to her father’s job when she was exactly half her current age of twenty-eight and about to start grammar school. Everybody called her the “Lowland lassie” for years and it took her quite a long time to start fitting in, which was partly due to her inward-turning and shy nature. Elisa was an only child, Pastor Dan and Bessie had helped her a great deal to fit in to the local community. Her father was an oil rig engineer and was frequently away for weeks if not months on the North Sea, especially during yearly maintenances. Her mother, on the other hand, had lately begun having episodes of depression, possibly due to emotional issues and her husband’s long absences, which left Elisa concerned. Elisa’s mother could not be present at the service due to digestive issues, which left Elisa with a sense of regret. As she was walking down then aisle and arrived at the back row, she spotted Isabel, her best friend and confidante within the congregation. Isabel's father was Jamaican and her mother was from the Dominican Republic - hence her Spanish mame -, but they had settled in Scotland. As her parent's had divorced when she was ten years old, Isabel was brought up by her mother. Both she and Elisa had a way of being strangers to their surroundings, but Isabel was native to the town, although seen as somewhat exotic with her looks and her inclination to give free flow to her emotions - as she had once said, she possessed "the essence of everything Caribbean". Yet as she was speaking the local accent, the locals were considering her more “of our folk” than they did Elisa. As a freshly graduated psychologist, Isabel was prone to be acutely aware of human weaknesses inside the church, and Elisa often had to hold her back, lest she can be regarded as a freak. Given their different temperament, they complemented each other as two pieces of a mosaic. Elisa’s eyes met those of Isabel, who waved to her friend cheerfully, then bid Elisa come closer and handed her a paper note. Then they exchanged a few words, and finally Isabel whispered “fingers crossed”, putting her two fingers in a cross and touching Elisa’s equally crossed fingers. Elisa always appreciated such small gestures of encouragement since she needed plenty of that. As she started mounting the stairs and was hidden from the eyes of the congregation by the balcony wall, Elisa unfolded the sheet of paper, which had only one sentence written on it in Isabel’s familiar handwriting: “Time to put down that burden at last, I see you are being consumed”. Elisa paused and folded the paper in four, quickly putting it into the pocket of her cardigan. She felt a strange sinking inside her stomach so she was thankful for the shelter that the balcony’s wall provided. The congregation was slowly becoming hushed and she pulled out the relevant registers of the organ to create the “worship tune”, then put out the hymnal. Then she quietly pulled out a score book of Handel’s arias and slid it under the hymnal.

She kept rewinding in her mind and recalling that particular day six months earlier. It had been maybe áll right for someone to gently run a hand over her hair while sitting close and listening to her rehearsing. Resting a hand longer on her shoulder was already more confusing, even as a sign of affection. However, placing a kiss on her hair and sliding a hand down her back, all the way below her waist, made her to instinctively freeze and stop playing, although she was took astonished to protest. She excused herself ín her usual mild manner and hastily left the room. All this came from someone whom she respected, and whom she had to meet regularly afterwards. She felt that even the words of private apology the next day for ",inappropriate touching" left her wondering about the “why?” which had not been answered ever since, and she was eager to have that answer. She had only confided this to Isabel, who was furious to hear what had happened. Isabel told Elisa that she had become a victim of sexual harassment, even if the incident was never repeated, and that for her part, she would have instantly slapped that monster. It took some time before Elisa managed to hush her friend by saying that the matter was more subtle than that. Elisa for her part was not furious, only confused. However, flashbacks kept coming back suddenly, as do recurring asthma attacks, due to the lingering question that tormented her.

Pastor Dan started his sermon, which was about the liberating power of spoken confession of transgressions and building trust with God. When the sermon ended, the congregation sat in silent anticipation of the last musical piece tehát was usually a freely chosen sacred aria, and Elisa slowly took out the aria score from under the hymnal and opened it at “Lascia ch’io pianga”, “Let me weep”, an aria from the opera Rinaldo. She solemnly started playing the introductory chords, feeling herself being carried away by the music. Her clear soprano voice was resounding all over the church walls that had not heard secular music for a long time. When the aria ended and the congregation started dissembling, she sat in excited anticipation. Soon she heard the soft creaking of the wooden stairs and her heart started racing at the sound of women’s shoes, with their wearer clearly in a hurry. She spotted Bessie Morrison, a woman in her early forties, with hazel eyes wearing her auburn hair in a loose bun. Elisa turned to fully face Bessie. She knew, however, that whatever her thoughts about “inappropriate” music in the church, Bessie was not very likely to vent her fury. Rather, she would display an attitude of composed disapproval.

“I wonder what prompted you to sing an opera aria, Elisa”, Bessie said, in a surprisingly calm voice, but Elisa could feel some edge to it. “Were the people not comfortable with it?”, Elisa asked. “Well… On the contrary, they said you were really singing from the heart, only the fact that it was in Italian came as a surprise to some… But let’s not wander away from the point. How did it occur to you to perform that, knowing that secular music should not be played during worship?” Elisa was getting completely calm by now and she was quietly fixing Bessie with her deep blue eyes. “Does it make sense to say it was intended as a message?” “A message? What do you mean?" “Think about the subject of the aria: a distressed character pleading for liberty.” “Let me be blunt: is this about you feeling like a captive?" “Maybe, but it's really not about myself. Bessie, remember what happened half a year ago?” “Oh dear”, Bessie sighed and grabbed a spare chair nearby to sit down, close to te organ where Elisa was seated. “How could I not remember? But I thought my apology settled everything and it never happened again. Trust me, I deeply regret what I did, and I’ve had inner struggles countless times.” “Yes, in a way your apology was sufficient, and your general good image was never shattered in my mind… But one thing I couldn’t get was your motive to do what you did. You know, I felt like something long hidden was suddenly bursting out. And frankly, the last thing I expected was such a thing coming from another woman. It feels like there is something behind this that you don’t even admit to yourself.” Bessie sat silently for a while before uttering her response. “Elisa, there is nothing I can’t admit to myself, but I can’t admit it to others, not in my circumstances.” “Do tell me what it is, I promise it will stay between us.” “Well, okay… I… I am bisexual. Can you imagine a pastor’s wife publicly coming out about this?” Elisa could barely conceal her astonishment: “And… did you ever have a relationship with another woman?” “Only once, at college. We were wild and bold and reckless. I fell for a fellow student, we often played chamber music togerher with her and it went all the way to physical intimacy. We used to be intimate with operatic arias playing in the background. But I was not promiscuous if that's what you mean... When I converted, I realized that this were incompatible with Christian teaching, and when we got married with Dan, out of guilt I persuaded him to banish even classical secular music from the church altogether. I haven’t listened to operatic arias since then, they reminded me of my past." “I see, but then why did you .. touch me like that?” “Oh, Dan and I had sort of an ebb in our marriage, and I sorely missed physical intimacy. As I sat near you, the situation reminded me of that girl I was in a relationship with, and my self-control went to off mode. I regretted what I did as soon as I came to my senses. All the while I had had great appreciation for you, this is why I’m still full of shame for causing you distress. I failed miserably.” Elisa looked deeply moved by what she had heard and after a few seconds, she continued: "Look Bessie, as I said this is not just about me, my confusion is something I'm trying to handle. But I hope you don't mind me saying, I do feel there is something holding you captive. You're better than this, and deserve liberty, for sure. But I have a feeling our incident brought you closer to freedom." "I don't think I get you", Bessie said with carefully uttered confusion. "Let me explain. One can attach a label such as molestation or sinful conduct to our incident, and frown on it. But I believe that's not the point... Have you ever asked: 'Hey desire, what got you here and what do you want from me?'  Now finding the answer is, I think, the real point, and first you had to face the desire at all." It was now Bessie's turn to be moved, as her shaking voice made it clear: "I've never thought you care for me that much, Elisa. I should surely come to terms with this struggle." "Bessie, I owe you a lot... And yes, I do care for you anyway." "Elisa, there's one more thing I have but I'm not supposed to tell. If I did, it would turn everything upside dowm." Elisa nodded knowingly. "I think I do know what that is, Bessie, but I guess I would struggle to give even the right response if you spoke about it now... In any case, I'm happy for you since I now see you did not mean to molest me. And even more because you've come so close to becoming free." Elisa pulled her chair closer, stretched out her hand and put it reassuringly on the other woman's arm. Then Bessie spoke: “So you don’t think I’m a monster?” Elisa shook her head: “It should be obvious how I feel by now, but no, I never did. Your apology already told me you're not a predator. Look, we both need a bit of healing and reflection, too. But do consider how to treat the part of yourself that you've been hiding. I suggest you try to speak to Pastor Dan about your past, he has a right to know about it, and together it will be easier to work things out. As for the rest that we spoke about, it will be forever locked here... and here", Elisa said, pointing first to her forehead, then her heart, smiling. Bessie had been biting her lips during the conversation to prevent bursting into tears, but now she was able to produce a faint smile. “Elisa, I am so thankful. Did you… ever consider going into counseling?” “I’m afraid I’m too much absorbed by music for that, but I will think about this”, Elisa said with an expression of tearful relief. They got up with Elisa closely following Bessie, and walked down, only to run into Pastor Dan, who told them: “Oh, here you are, you two. I’ve been wondering what you've been up to.” Elisa was the first to reply. “We had... er... a need to share a few things. But we also talked about today's closing piece." “Oh, I see… Yes, the choice did seem odd to me…” Elisa could hear Bessie’s voice from beside her: “It’s all right Dan, Elisa had a purpose in choosing that aria, it’s about craving liberation. She should just choose something in English in the future, so the congregation can understand it. " After a few seconds of pause, she added: “Dan, I’ve been thinking about relaxing our rules regarding music. Not everything suits worship but secular music can also be uplifting If chosen right. I would also like to draw Elisa into this." "Bessie, I trust you on that. I have no objections, If that improves the quality of service. Has Elisa agreed?" "Bessie didn't mention this earlier but it's fine with me", said Elisa with a smile. As the worship hall was now empty, they left the church. Elisa took a cordial leave from the Morrisons, then headed for the nearby park where she was to meet Isabel.

Suddenly Isabel jumped out from behind a tree with a “peek-a-boo”, then asked Elisa: “How did it go?” Elisa did not immediately reply, she glanced down thoughtfully for a few seconds, then raised her head and looked straight into Isabel’s eyes. “Poor Bessie, she was hit harder by all that than I was”, she said in a calm tone. “Did you have a talk, then?”, Isabel asked with a questioning look. “Yes, it’s all settled. I clearly see she's no predator and she has my full trust." While uttering this, she glanced firmly into Isabel’s eyes, her look suggesting that she would not disclose anything else on what they had talked about with Bessie. Isabel remarked: “Elisa, I’ve never seen you giving this look. You used to be do restless and now you seem to be firm like a rock. For others, it can take months to change this much. I speak from experience.” Elisa smiled gently, then asked Isabel if she could help her enroll to a course in counseling. “Wow, sure… Girl, you keep amazing me.” “Thank you so much. Now come, it’s time for dinner and Mum has finally agreed to have a guest, let',s not make her wait any longer”, Elisa said, gently pulling on Isabel’s arm, and they walked off to her home


I want... to forget. The thought repeats itself as I take another swig of hard liquor. It does little to numb my senses; I laugh bitterly. I sit at the far end of a downtrodden bar where not even the blinking neon lights can reach me. I shouldn’t stay in one location much longer; I know what happens when I do. There’s a storm growing inside me, and I can’t control it. I get up to leave, but just before I reach the door, it happens: my eyes flash with a quick burst of lightning contained within the depths of my pupils. Nobody notices; they’re all too busy screaming in panic as they watch one man plunge his knife into another man’s abdomen at the other side of the bar. I may not be holding the knife, but I’m the guilty one to blame here. Even so, I did my best to make the wound non-lethal. However, this doesn’t satisfy the thunder within. I step outside and walk down the back alleyways to try and avoid more people. To my (or rather, their ) misfortune, I cross two strangers walking down the narrow alley towards each other. I rush behind some boxes and try to gain control, but the tornado is howling inside me. My eyes flash again, and suddenly one of the dark figures pulls out a gun and points it at the second shadow. “Give me all you’ve got! Right now!” shouts the gunman. The target shrieks and fumbles for his wallet. The gunman isn’t happy with time-wasting and knocks his victim to the ground with a punch to his temple. He then proceeds to take anything of value and runs away. I sigh in defeat. I already know that I can’t avoid making bad things happen. I pass one more person before I reach my apartment: an old homeless woman who lives on the corner of my street. “Hello, May,” I say gently as she reaches out for my hand with a tired smile. “Hello, dear.” I look at her directly this time. In a daze, she watches the flashes of electricity deep within the depths of my eyes. She can see the pelting rain, hear the thunder roar; she feels the hurricane. With that, her hand falls from mine as she slumps backwards. “I’m sorry, May.” Finally, the tornado dissipates. ***

Days of calm go by, and I attempt to live on as best I can. I try to avoid people mostly. But even if I were to isolate myself in my apartment, I could inadvertently bring down a neighbouring building if I’m not careful. So instead, I decided to go for a walk to a nearby park. I like watching people be happy. I enjoy the sound of laughter as people spend time with their friends and family. They look joyful as they enjoy picnics on the grass or run about with their pets under the sun. I’m envious of the bonds they share. “Watch out!” I quickly focus and catch the tennis ball flying at me before it hits my face. “I’m so sorry about that, haha. Looks like I was a little off aim.” Before me stands a young woman. She wears a sheepish grin as she runs her hand through her short brown hair. She’s athletic and wears clothes to match. Her eyes are hazel green. “You can’t harm me,” I blurt. “Sorry? Haha.” “I mean, no harm done.” She laughs again, and her voice is like a sweet bell chime. My focus is momentarily distracted by a large border collie who suddenly jumps up at me with excitement for their ball. “Ah, and this is my beautiful fur-baby: Miya,” she says, as she pats Miya all over in delight. “My name is Eve, short for Evelyn, and yours?” She looks at me with an expectant smile. I shouldn’t be here. I start to walk backwards as I reply. “My name is Micah.” “Well, stay for a while, Micah,” she says as she pulls me by the arm towards the park’s centre. “Let Miya and I make it up to you by having some fun!” Before I know it, we’re playing fetch and drinking coffee together. She talks a lot, but I like that. I learned that Evelyn is a recently graduated pastry chef with plans of owning her own bakery. She’s lived in the city with Miya for four years now. She’s also known to be a little clumsy. In time, the clouds bring an overcast to the sky and the threat of rain. The rumble of thunder starts, and I walk Evelyn towards the train station. But then it happens: lightning strikes behind my eyes just as we are waiting to cross a busy street. Suddenly Miya’s lead snaps, and she dashes out in front of an oncoming car. Evelyn screams. I rush to Miya’s side and gently pick her up without hesitation. She’s bleeding, and her back leg looks badly broken. But she’s still breathing. “Let’s take her to the emergency vet,” I announce as I lead us towards my nearby apartment, where I keep my car. Evelyn continues to cry, even as we sit and wait outside the operating theatre. “I don’t know what I would do without her, Micah. She’s my whole world. I’ve never felt alone these past four years because Miya's been by my side.” “Your bond is special,” I say, letting her rest her head on my shoulder. “I feel like my love for her could overfill oceans.” “It definitely could,” I reply softly as I gently place my hand over hers. ***

I avoid Evelyn after that. She calls me, but I don’t answer. Weeks pass. I continue to cause misfortune. Every once in a while, I find myself wandering the halls of a different hospital. I make my way through the Oncology Ward and stand outside patients’ hospital rooms like Death himself. I only take those who are old or terminally ill. However, I’m aware that the more ruin I create, the longer I have between the storms. Perhaps now it would be safe to see Evelyn for a short while? The following day I call her, and she insists I come over to her apartment. She doesn’t sound mad at my absence; rather, she seems happy to hear from me. “I can’t leave my place right now. But just come over, okay? I’ll send you my address.” She hangs up before I can protest. I suppose it’s the least I can do. I arrive, and she greets me with a hug. I can smell her hair; it’s a mix of honey and banana. Her apartment is colourful and filled with light. It feels warm and comfortable. A stark difference from my grey concrete walls and sparse furniture. “I’m happy you’re here, Micah. I know things got a little heavy last time, but look.” She nods her head towards the lounge room. There sleeps Miya in an overly large and soft dog bed. “They had to remove one of her back legs, but she’s doing well. She’s still gaining strength to walk on three legs, so I wanted to make sure that I’m here for her.” Evelyn pauses in reflection. “Thank you for saving her, Micah,” she says as she squeezes my hand. “Don’t thank me, please,” I strain, averting my gaze from hers, “but I’m glad she’s okay.” “Why don’t you have a seat on the couch, and I’ll bring us refreshments?” She walks into the kitchen. It’s only now that I notice how sweet the apartment smells. She must have been baking. “Here, I want you to try this new raspberry cream profiterole I’ve been trialling.” I take a bite. It’s sweet and delicate, just like her. She giggles. “By the look on your face, I’d say the recipe was successful. Only... you missed some.” She leans over and licks a tiny bit of cream off the corner of my lips. I feel a different type of electricity within me now. I look at Evelyn’s lips and lean over to kiss her properly. The kiss deepens as we grow more passionate. I run my hand over her shoulder and down her back. She takes my hand and leads me to her bedroom. For once, I can feel my heart beating. Afterwards, as I get dressed, I notice a photo of Evelyn and an older man on her nightstand. “Oh, that’s my grandaddy. Unfortunately, he passed away yesterday after a long fight with cancer.” Evelyn's voice goes sadly quiet. I feel a cold shiver run down my spine. “What hospital was your grandfather staying at?” But I already know the answer. “The one across the river? Why’s that?” “I... I have to go.” “Micah, wait...!” She reaches for my hand, but I back away so fast I knock over a lampshade. I feel sick. “This is never going to work. I made a mistake, Evelyn. I’m sorry. Just forget me.” I turn and all but run out the door. ***

I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore. I get in my car and drive north for hours. I abandon my car at the side of the road and hike to the densest, most remote bushland I can find. I unleash the lightning in my eyes and create an uncontrollable inferno around me - a hurricane of fire. It’s raining debris, trees are exploding in flames, and my clothes are melting. Nevertheless, my body does not burn. One hundred and fifty years, and I still don’t know what I am! Am I a god or a demon? Why can't I age nor die? Why do I only bring death and misfortune? What misery! It was different at the beginning; over 100 years ago, I felt no remorse. I’ve killed thousands under the guise of wars. I’ve stolen babies’ last breaths from their mothers, created diseases, destroyed entire cities, and for what?! The guilt just continues to crush me. “I want to forget!” I close my eyes and concentrate. I hold my fingers to my temples and flash my eyes one more time. I fall to the ground among the wounded animals. I begin to lose consciousness and fade into oblivion.


He placed a slice of avocado on the plate next to the poached eggs and toast. He set the plate on the serving table and rang the bell. The waiter came over and picked up the plate. He closed his eyes for just a minute. Being the chef of one of the best five-star restaurants in the country was exhausting. He was working on one of his new recipes when he heard something vibrating against the counter. He thought it was his phone but didn’t see it anywhere. He focused back on the dish adding lemon zest to the mixture. It was several minutes before he heard the vibration again. What was that? He wondered as he went looking for the source of the vibrations. After a minute, he found what was vibrating. It was an electric knife. That was odd but maybe the batteries were old. He turned it off and went back to his recipe. This was going to be one of his best dishes. He added some vegetable stock to his pot. It began to boil. The whole kitchen smelled delicious. He finished the dish and sent it out.         He was cleaning up his work station when he heard the vibrating again. He went over to the electric knife. It was turned on again. How could that be? No one else had been in the kitchen since he turned it off. He shut it off again and went back to cleaning. A little while later, he was working on a decadent dessert, when he heard that vibration again. He was starting to become uneasy. He walked back over to the knife only to find that it had moved from where it had been. This was extremely odd. He reached for the knife when it darted towards him. He jumped back. The thing was possessed; it had to be. The waiter walked through the doors at that time. “Marty, this thing is trying to attack me.” He said, keeping his distance from the counter. The waiter came over and looked at the knife. “Sir, are you feeling okay?” He put a hand to his forehead. Maybe he had been working too long or maybe he was losing his marbles. “I think I’m going to go home early.” Marty looked at him, as if maybe he were sick. “Would you call Joanna and see if she could cover the rest of my shift?” “Of course, sir. Go home and get some rest. I do hope you feel better.”         He went home, took a hot shower, and poured a glass of wine. He sat down in his recliner. After drinking the whole bottle of wine, he fell asleep in his chair. Images filled his mind of the knife chasing him. It was definitely one of those dreams where his legs were stuck in mud, and he couldn’t run fast enough to get away. He woke up drenched in sweat. He couldn’t go back to sleep after that. He didn’t usually watch much T.V. but tonight he flipped through the channels. It seemed like the only thing that was on was SYFY shows involving robots. He finally turned the tube off and went to his library. He thought about reading but most of his collection was horror or suspense. Finally, after several hours, he went to bed. He was able to sleep a little bit without any dreams.         His alarm went off way too quickly. He dragged himself out of bed and wasn’t sure he really felt like himself. He chalked it up to not sleeping the night before. He got dressed and headed back to the restaurant. As soon as he walked through the door, he heard the vibration of the knife, but then it stopped when another employee walked in. It was all in his imagination. It was all in his imagination. He steered clear of that part of the kitchen though. And when he was alone, he swore he heard the vibration of the knife. There were times it even sounded like it was moving across the counter. It was all in his imagination. He almost had himself convinced too, until he felt a sharp stabbing on the side of his foot. When he looked down, the knife was literally trying to saw through his shoe. He screamed and jumped up on the counter. A group of employees rushed through the doors. The knife instantly went dead. The color had drained from his face, and he noticed that he was bleeding from his foot. The other employees were shocked by his response but were even more shocked when he explained what had happened. One of them came over, picked up the knife and took the batteries out of it. They finally convinced him to come down off the counter. As he looked into each of their eyes, he saw something that scared him but also made him mad as hell. They each had the same look of unbelief and concern. They thought he was going crazy. It was when their boss came up and suggested he go to the hospital, that he lost all control. He sank to his knees and began crying. He repeatedly stated that he wasn’t crazy, that the knife was after him. Finally, Joanna came over and helped him calm down. She then helped him to his feet and out the back doors.         She went home after several hours of hysteria. She had bandaged him up and given him some medicine to help him sleep. He was finally tucked in and sleeping when she left. She was worried about him but figured that he just needed a goodnight’s sleep. She hoped that he would be alright.         He woke up feeling more like himself, but he hadn’t forgotten the trauma from the day before. He had regained control though and was ready to prove his point, and possibly face his fears. He went to the restaurant. It was before opening so he would be by himself. That was both good and bad because he could maybe prove that without prying eyes but if he got into trouble, he’d have no one to help him. He walked towards the knife. Someone had cleaned the blood off. With unsteady hands, he put the batteries back in. The knife instantly turned on and began moving towards him. He reached over it and turned it off, but watched it for a long time. After a minute, the button flicked on, and the knife began to move towards him. He shut it off once more only to watch it turn back on. He wasn’t crazy. The knife was chasing him. He shut it off and took the batteries out.         Joanna came in early. She had a feeling that she needed to be there. She found him in the kitchen, the knife was laying on the counter with the batteries out. “Can you do me a favor?” He asked with a strange calmness in his voice. She felt uneasy but agreed. He put the batteries back in the knife, but it didn’t do anything. “Will you leave the room but stay where you can see in?” She sucked in a deep breath and agreed. She walked out and peered through the window. As soon as she left the room, the knife came to life. It began skittering across the counter towards him. She watched him turn it off, and watched the button move on its own to turn back on. After a few minutes, she walked back in the room. The knife went still. He took the batteries out. “I’m not crazy.” He said with the same calmness as before. She shook her head. No, he wasn’t crazy. Without another word, he gathered up the knife and the batteries and headed out the back door. He threw them in the dumpster and closed the lid.         He was always skeptical when he was around an electrical knife, and there were times when he swore that he heard the vibration, but he wasn’t crazy.


Manticore (n) - /man(t)iˌkôr/ - A legendary creature having the face of a man, the body of a lion, and the tail of a scorpion. “Hi. My name is Manti,” I say in a friendly tone of voice while slowly extending my hoof so as not to alarm you. We shake, firmly but not too firmly, while maintaining strong eye contact. You tell me your name, and I immediately repeat it back to you, and then offer up an innocuous comment about the weather, or the venue decor, or perhaps even a positive compliment about your attire, just to get the conversation rolling. I ask you questions about yourself and make sure to repeat your name three times. The repetition aids memory retention. As we talk, I face directly towards you with my shoulders square and hooves firmly planted in a wide, open stance - confident but not aggressive - making sure to smile and maintain continuous eye contact, at least until I notice your eyes darting about the room, as you take a half step backwards, your hips angling for escape. I recognize that you’re ready to leave the conversation, but I don’t take it personally. This is a party so I stay positive and graciously allow you to exit the conversation. Even in my imagination nobody wants to talk to me. Let’s try this again. “Hi. My name is Manti,” I say in a friendly tone of voice. Except I speak with a deep husky lisp, my words slurring together in a fuzzy growl so that you have trouble understanding me. Have you ever tried speaking with three rows of teeth? It’s not easy, which is why nobody ever invites a shark to join a high school debate team. I slowly extend my hoof so as not to alarm you, except as I do so, my tail naturally swings out and up to one side, an automatic balancing act that seems wholly unnecessary for a four-footed creature like myself. Resembling a scorpion about to strike, you get a frightening view of my curved needle-like stinger, a hypodermic syringe protruding from the final bulbous segment of my scaly tail. If you resist your natural fight or flight response, you’re likely to notice that I’m offering up my left hoof, a violation of the customary right-handed greeting, and an unfortunate quirk due to a nasty wound on my front right leg, a token of my brief stint working construction. You tell me your name and I immediately repeat it back to you and then promptly forget it. Despite my human shaped head, mostly covered by a large unruly main of stiff hair, my brain is quite small and my memory, among other things, suffers mightily for it. Which is why I must constantly remind myself to smile, even as my toothy grin - remember I have three rows of teeth - seems to scare people off more than anything. But I do maintain excellent eye contact, like an apex predator zeroing in on its helpless prey. It’s my best quality. I wonder why I ever get invited to things, until I remember that I don’t actually get invited to things. But somehow an invitation was extended my way for the party tonight, hosted by Sassy the Sasquatch - we were passing acquaintances back when we were both homeless and living in the woods - in her fancy 34th floor penthouse apartment unit in the heart of Midtown. Quite a step up, even for a bigfoot. I heard she hit it big as an Instagram influencer, though I’ve never bothered to look her up. The building is one of those new mixed-use high rises that seem to pop up every other day, advertising luxurious living while delivering thin walls, shoddy finishes, and a whole host of amenity spaces that nobody actually uses. I arrived at the building an hour early. I’m not usually the punctual type due to my documented memory issues, but I’ve been mentally preparing myself for the last week, and if I had waited any longer, my nerves just might have exploded. I circle the block 27 times - I counted - until the proper hour arrives, and then continue to circle the block 43 more times, for a grand total of 60 blocks worth of wasted gas. I’m aiming for fashionably late, but overshoot the landing by about 30 blocks. By the time I made it to Sassy’s apartment door, the last unit down a long impossibly overlit corridor, I’m now 3 hours late, which only serves to compound my anxiety. The fluorescent pendant fixtures are blinding, the light endlessly bouncing off the eggshell white walls, reminding me of the proverbial tunnel of light you pass through before you die. Too bad I can’t die. “We manticore’s are immortal beings,” my mother used to tell me before she passed away from breast cancer. Anxiety must run in our family because she was always too scared to get a mammogram and I can’t once recall her going to the dentist. That third back row of molars really requires professional cleaning. I stood at the threshold, listening to the muffled sounds of the festivities inside, leaking out through the doorway. Is that a unicorn? You can always tell by their deep baritone laugh - ladies love the laugh almost as much as the horn. And if I’m not mistaken, that high-pitched chattering sounds like a bunch of leprechauns - stories of their drunken debauchery is stuff of legend. And I couldn’t help but notice small pools of water tracing a trail from the elevator to the foot of the door, soaking the purple shag ‘It’s Getting Squatchy in Here!’ welcome mat - the tell-tale sign of merpeople. But now I need to focus on the onerous task before me - knocking on the door. It’s a difficult equation for my tiny man-head. On the one hoof, I could knock and be let into the party which is a good thing. On the other hoof, I could knock and be let into the party, which is not such a good thing. On the third and forth hooves, I could just turn around and leave and no one would be the wiser. Except for that ridiculous welcome mat. “Hi. My name is Manti,” I say to myself, in the friendliest tone of voice I can muster, trying to psych myself up. “Hi. My name is Manti. Hi. My name is Manti,” I repeat over and over again, until the words bleed into a single guttural growl. “Rrrww my raarrw is rwhrhr rawwrh.” Repetition aids memory retention. If I can just remember to be friendly and positive, maybe I can suffer through tonight without any cataclysmic blows to my already fragile mental state. I raise my hoof to knock on the door and commit to my fate, only I accidentally raise my right hoof and now my old construction wound is staring me in the face, the thick lumpy scar tissue seeming to expand and contract across my leg, until it is all I can see. I turn around and start back down the hallway, my spiked tail held low in disgrace. I can’t do it. It’s just too difficult. As insecurity and self-loathing play games in my head, I barely notice the corridor in front of me visibly darkening, a shadow looming, obstructing the light. I look up and see a large creature, far larger than myself, lumbering towards me, it’s long neck and tail sweeping side to side in a graceful serpentine motion like a gently snaking stream, while it’s mammoth torso advances slowly like a tank on the battlefield, it’s short thick legs shuffling steadily underneath. It could only be one thing - a sea monster - something I had only heard rumors about in passing. “Hi. I’m Nessie,” the sea monster called out in a friendly tone of voice, her voice melodic as if she was singing me a lullaby with each word. “I’m Manti,” I mumbled-growled as we approached each other. “Pleasure to meet you Manti!” Nessie sung, compressing herself against one side of the hallway, leaving a thin corridor for me to squeeze through. “Bet you can’t guess what I am? It’s a little game I like to play with new friends.” Are we friends, I thought to myself. Was it that easy? “A sea monster?” I ventured as I took a deep breath and plunged forward into the narrow void space she had left me.

“Sea creature,” she quickly corrected, her broad smile never dimming. I slipped easily past her long swaying neck until we were shoulder to shoulder, our broad frames wedged against each other. “Monster is an offensive word. We prefer the term ‘creature’. But you’re correct. I’m the one and only Nessie of the Loch Ness. What are you?” “I’m a manticore,” I replied meekly. “The one and only as well. At least as far as I know.” Our combined girth had pinned us both. We were now a corridor traffic jam struggling to break free. “Well isn’t that something!” Nessie laughed, her giant belly expanding to further pin me against the wall. I began frantically wiggling my body back and forth, trying to worm my way forward inch by inch, taking advantage of each of Nessie’s exhaled breaths. She didn’t seem to notice my discomfort, that smile seemingly plastered across her face. “So what’d you bring to eat?” Nessie asked, holding up a large crockpot proudly. “This is ole’ Nessie’s patented chili con carne with my own secret ingredient. Do you know what the secret ingredient is?” I gave a grunt as I squirmed forward, my shoulders now inline with her hips. Nobody told me we were supposed to bring food. “Love. The secret ingredient is love with a capital 'L'. Not my love of course. But I found a couple down at the VA married for 65 years, through multiple affairs, domestic spats, a couple brief stints in prison, some hard drugs, and raging all-night shouting matches that were the stuff of legend. Stay married through all that and tell me it’s not true Love. Anywhoooo, they both ground up quite nicely with the beef. It makes the chili extra spicy you know.” Nessie held up the crockpot again like a prized possession. I nodded, half paying attention. Nessie didn’t seem to have much control over her tail, much like myself, and as I worked my way past her broad hips, her tail snaked back and forth, smacking me in the face. I tried to flatten myself and duck under it, but couldn’t shimmy my way down low enough, each tail swipe like a hammer beating me backwards. “Where you headed?” Nessie asked, oblivious to my struggles. “The party’s this way.” “Down to my car,” I said, struggling to think of an excuse less embarrassing than the truth. “To get...my own dish. I forgot it in the car. It’s a casserole.” I waited for her tail to swing wide and then made one colossal final push, squeezing free of her considerable frame, tripping and flailing forward into a heap on the floor. “Dang it. I was hoping it was shredded cheese. It’d make a great topping to my chili.” Even her disappointment sounded like a songbird welcoming the spring, I thought as I regained my bearings. “Cheddah makes it bettah you know,” she continued. “I forgot to bring any and we all know Sassy is lactose intolerant. Or at least she pretends to be.” Free from Nessie’s embrace, I barrelled away as fast as I could toward the elevator. Nessie’s head craned around to watch me leave. “Well, hurry back up,” she called after me, “I heard that the Leprechauns were putting on a raffle with some lucrative payouts.” I rounded the hallway corner to find an empty elevator cab waiting for me, and as I squeezed myself into the cab and the doors began to close, I heard Nessie mumbling happily to herself, “Of course they only trade in bitcoin these days, cashed out that pot of gold years ago.”

I make it down to my car and collapse in the front seat, an odd mixture of relief and self-loathing immobilizing my thoughts. I sit there for a long time, staring blankly ahead, thinking of everything and nothing all at once, racking my tiny brain to try to figure out where I went wrong. Maybe I just wasn’t ready to get ‘squatchy’ and maybe I’ll never be. Finally, just as I’m about to start the car, a face materializes next to my window, coming out of nowhere. It’s Nessie again, her long neck curving down, her broad smile once again staring me in the face. I roll down the window hesitantly.

“I couldn’t help but see you sitting out here, like you were about to leave, which would be quite a shame. I have excellent eyesight, you know. Saw you up there from the balcony.” I looked up in the direction Nessie was pointing and could just barely make out what appeared to be a dragon and some fairies congregating on one of the penthouse balconies. “They’re about to put on the light show. Wouldn’t want to miss that.” “I’m sorry. I think I need to leave,” I mumbled in defeat, too dispirited to even offer up an excuse this time.

Nessie smiled and shoved a plastic container at me through the car window. “Here. If you’re leaving I packed you a to-go cup of my famous chili. If you come across some shredded cheese, it makes a great topper.” Nessie paused, what was surely a rare occurrence for her, and I felt her eyes boring into me. “Everybody needs a little taste of love now and then. Even monsters like us.”

I looked up and we locked eyes. Her smile seemed even bigger than before. “It was lovely meeting you, Manti. Always a delight to meet a new friend,” she crooned as she turned and lumbered away, disappearing into the building. I sat there motionless for another long moment, wondering how it came to pass that the famed Loch Ness Monster had just personally hand delivered me her very own homemade chili.

“Hi. My name is Manti,” I whispered to myself as I got back out of the car.


Saving the Fate of Coffee Express

By: Haripriya

 “Do you think... people are going to visit our coffee shop?” I asked, looking at my mom.

“I

know  that people are going to come... it’s just that, maybe right now is not our time.” my mom told me, trying not to sound worried.

“No one has been coming to our café for almost a month!! We are losing that much money! MOM!!" I paused glanced at my mom, angrily, who had a blank expression on her face, staring in to nowhere,

"Are you even listening to me? You couldn’t pay the rent, or any bills!” I yelled with pain and worry.

“Yes, I am listening to you. It’s just...well, people are going to come. I know it. Now, you go play outside... and I will figure everything out.” my mom told me.

I wish she could just understand that no one was visiting

Coffee Express  anymore because of the coffee shop downtown. It was fancier and had more options. It also had more staff members to help the place run quicker and the customers get their coffee and snacks nice and hot. I get that we don’t have any of those things, but... there had to be other reasons why no one was visiting out place!! It was so unfair! I can’t believe that people would do this. The worst part is the manager of

Coffee Express  threatened my mom by saying that if no else comes in the next 2 weeks, they were going to close and he wouldn’t pay my mom anything, and he won’t let us live here. My mom couldn’t say anything. She had nothing with her, other than me. She worried every day, but whenever I asked her, she would hide her fear and tell me to be hopeful. She expects that everything will come to her instead of persuading people, and advertising people. She thinks that all good will come to us when we haven’t done anything to figure out why the other café is getting so much publicity. I told her that we need to devise a plan to figure out what is better with them, and we could do something even better to improve our shop! But no, she won’t even listen to what I have in mind. All she cares about is trying to look innocent and helpless in front of everyone.

Well I would always ignore her when she would say, “Good comes to you when you need it at most.” because that saying wasn’t true neither logical at all.

What did make sense is me trying to figure out what made their shop better than ours and try to use that to attract more people to our café. Now that was a solid plan.

Of course, my mom wouldn't  listen to me when I tried to persuade her about doing this. So, I just had to figure out what it was all by myself. Now you see, that was the hardest part. Not just coming up with a plan, but to also execute it properly. That was the real key of doing this entire mission, and if that didn’t work, we would be stranded in the streets. That is the last thing which I would want to happen to us." Every day I would think about our lives and would just go, “Wow... I can’t believe it. This is how our lifestyle is.”

Complaining was not going to work. Nobody was going to help us get more publicity and customers, so the entire fate of

Coffee Express  and our life depended on my two hands. I needed to find the perfect excuse to get out of the store for once and go downtown, but... what would it be? What should I tell her? I didn’t know, but I was sure to figure out an excuse sometime later today. After all, my mom’s café was very important to me and I cared about it. Even if I was potentially going to get in trouble, it was going to be worth it.

I thought about what I would say for a lot more time. Turns out that trying to come up with a smart, logical, and thoughtful excuse was a lot harder than I thought it would be. But soon enough, I did think of a great one.

“Hey Mom, can I go to the park and possibly make some friends?” I My mom did know something weird was going on with me, but as always, she agreed. Now, it was time to execute the real plan. I was excited that I forgot to say ‘Bye’ to my mom. I was too excited. I was so sure that I was going to find the secret that made their café attract more people.

But it turns out that I didn’t need to do that because, well I looked down at the colored floor. It was filled with different colors and types of leaves. It was like it sprinkled the floor.

WAIT A SECOND, SPRINKLED!! THAT’S IT!! We need to make new Autumn flavored drinks and we can top each one with many different types of sprinkles!! Yes!! We could make a lot more drinks, and even limited addition snacks, and deserts!! YES!! THAT IS WHAT WE CAN DO TO BOOST A LOT OF PUBLICITY!! I need to tell mom, and the manager about this! I can almost feel this plan working! All we must do is buy a lot of flavors and other supplies and we will have our new line of drinks and pastries! Another thing we must do is make a lot of posters, signs, shoot advertisements, and spread the news about our new drinks and this could really save

Coffee Express ! I can’t believe that this entire time the answer was all around us!! Not just for Autumn though, we need to have seasonal snacks and drinks for each season! This way we can let the customers try new things and at the same time have different food choices that will make all the customers wait for something totally unique and simply delicious!!

My mind had almost blown with such an amazing discovery. Now, all I had to do was convince my mom to do this. Soon, I went back inside the shop and told my mom about my new idea. I told her that it would be fine if she took a little time to think about this. After all, it was a big decision to make.

After some time, as I had hoped, she agreed, and we had officially introduced out new line of autumnal drinks and pastries. I had to squeeze my way outside because of the rush we had after my discovery. I couldn’t believe this had worked!! I can officially say that we have saved the fate of

Coffee Express .

~The End~


There once was a warrior who didn't want to kill the dragon, not because the dragon had been his wife before transforming. He would have had every right to refuse the King's proclamation. Nor was it the fact that he, himself, was subject to the same curse that had caused his wife to turn. No, the true reason he didn't want to kill the dragon was simply because dragons are cool as shit—and he rather liked transforming into one and going on rampages with his wife. They would fly over the beautiful countryside and barrel-roll through the skies until a town caught their eye. She would give him a knowing look and off they would go, swooping low, delivering some hellfire to the residents of some sleepy town. Oh, the fun they had! And laughs aplenty. After satisfying their bloodlust, they glided to a lush glade and basked in the afternoon rays while picking the occasional shoe or pitchfork from their dragon teeth. Life was good and the killing was easy. But eventually, he would morph back into human form. The first time this happened, he was lying next to his dragon wife staring at his human hands where, moments before, claws of immense power were his to wield. He felt small and weak. She snorted and nudged him away. He stumbled backward, trying to find the strength to stand on shaky legs. As she fixed her gaze upon him, sadness stirred within him. With a few mighty flaps of her wings, she was gone. He fell back to the ground and wept. On most occasions, the warrior would stumble back to the village on his own power, but this time was different: the King's appointed constable picked him up on the outskirts of a dense forest. The constable described a terrible scene:. Fire and screaming. Chaos was delivered by some fearsome flying creature. The King in a fevered panic. The warrior stroked his chin as if contemplating the King's plight, but inwardly smiled. My lovely wife, how I love thee. The constable stared intently, awaiting his reply. The warrior nodded grimly. He had no intention, however, of tracking down and slaying the dragon—not his wife, anyway. The King's court was in considerable disarray since the attack. Some of the royal banners dressing the cracked western wall were still smoking. Others were charred and tattered. Well done, my sweet wife , thought the warrior as he approached the bottom step of the King's throne. The King issued instructions and equipment to the warrior, as well as a small regiment of soldiers. A secret mountain pass loomed ahead. He easily lost the soldiers, discarded the ornate armor, and set off to find the specter who forever changed his wife into dragonkind. He encountered many obstacles, not the least of which was his hunger: smoked pork sandwiches danced on the periphery of his taste buds. The warrior set up camp north of the King's domain, high up in the rugged mountains where he built a small fire. As he roasted two boulder vermin on the spit, he scanned the valley below for signs of activity. A bird of prey flew below him and screeched as he lost sight of it. He directed his attention back to the crackling vittles, gently squeezing the meat between his fingers to test for doneness. Nodding to himself, he began to eat. Halfway through his meal, he heard a twig snap. Silently, the warrior rose and drew his blade. * * * In the darkest recesses of a secret mountain lair, a bloody assassin drags himself to his master's feet. The specter seizes him, much as one might a rag doll, enraged that he would lead the warrior to her front door with his blood trail. The specter flings the assassin against the wall and thus concludes his service to her. She knows the warrior will be here soon. So much to do! With an enchantment, she alters the web-covered cave into a dazzling ballroom. Live music echoes through the chambers as phantom court dancers gracefully spin and bow. The specter even re-creates a chocolate fountain in the center of the dining hall. It's a bit much, even for a specter. A mountain storm whips up as the specter awaits the warrior's arrival. Some time passes, but the warrior hasn't shown. The specter gets bored. Maybe he was injured in the altercation with my assassin. Or fell from a precipice? A win! Perhaps he lost the assassin's blood trail and will never find my lair. Another win! But who am I fooling? This is the warrior we're talking about. The guy who just barely escaped with his life, and only a partial transformation spell, when I changed his wife into a dragon. Nah, he's pissed! The specter must have nodded off because she didn't even see the warrior enter her lair. He was over by the punchbowl, slurping the enchanted drink like a parched peasant. He glanced back at her. She rose to meet him and smiled. He projected only loathing. The specter could read his mind. Many images—so much pain and anger, especially the memory of the time the warrior and his wife had sought the specter's help in destroying the King after that fateful decree. She peered deeper into his mind and saw a scene of the warrior's son riding into battle, riding to his death. It was not in her power to restore the life of his son. Instead, the specter offered immense power to the couple. His wife accepted without hesitation. He, however, sensed deception. Stumbling back, he received only partial transformation. At the moment his wife was being changed into a beast, he knew the specter intended to keep him as her own dragon pet. The warrior tossed the crystal punch goblet and it shattered into a thousand pieces. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic and stepped towards the specter. She projected into his mind the futility of trying to destroy her; she was, after all, a phantom. The stare-off continued until a wicked grin appeared on her face. The specter moved to the center of the room and with a sleight gesture, transformed the cave into a tacky game show set with three portals to pick from. The warrior crossed his arms and clenched his jaw. Specter was now adorned in a rhinestone evening gown. Making a sweeping motion with her arm, Portal One lit up and opened dramatically to reveal a scene portraying the King's ruin. The castle was reduced to rubble, the King lying under the debris, while the specter and the warrior sat atop the slain dragon—his beloved wife!—toasting the moment with golden ale. In front of Portal One, the angry warrior slashes wildly at the image. Specter tilts her head and shrugs before theatrically motioning to Portal Two. The second scene shows a dazzling white washer and dryer combo, with wondrous new features like high-efficiency spin cycles and temperature-sensitive fabric settings. Portal Two sends the warrior into a frenzy, violently stabbing at the image until he pants like a wolfhound. He tosses his blade to the floor and rests his hands on his knees. Fury is exhausting. The specter waits for the warrior to regain his composure. She gestures to Portal Three, but he waves it off as if to say give me a moment, will ya? When the specter finally reveals the third option, the warrior stands with mouth agape: the sky is filled with dragons circling the King's ruined castle. The warrior smiles warmly when one of the dragons swooshes past. My sweet wife! We will yet be reunited. The specter considers the warrior, knowing his heart's desire—knowing what he would sacrifice to be with her. The warrior drops to his knees and puts out his hands as if to receive this dark enchantment. Specter transforms into a swirl of black smoke, scales, and horns. She pulls the partial enchantment from the warrior as he screams. * * * It's been a minute since the warrior was fooled by the specter. He can no longer transform into a dragon and rampage with his lovely wife, but knowing that she's up there somewhere—flying free, without fear of the King's army hunting her—is a comfort. And she has lots of company now, since all the kingdom's people were turned into dragons…except for him. Life is funny that way. As he lives out the rest of his days, hiding from these dragons, he can only hope that when his number is up, it will be his dragon that catches and consumes him. Only fitting, since, even now, she consumes his every waking thought.