‘Can you not set the house on fire, Alfie?’ ‘It’s just smoke!’ I yelled back to Abby upstairs, over the deafening beeps of the fire alarm whilst trying to unscrew it from the ceiling. Balancing on a dining chair, I fought the device. ‘Let me try.’ Though Curtis was taller than me, I couldn’t trust him with another task after he set the timer for thirty hours instead of thirty minutes. ‘You’ve done enough trying today.’ I growled, pulling hard. The noise abruptly stopped, as if to give space to my startled gasp. I fell, but the floorboards never struck—I was caught in Curtis’ arms. Catching my breath after the scare and relief, my heart pounded in my chest with such intensity I was sure he could feel it. ‘You okay?’ he asked, his gaze as soft as his whisper. His gentleness surprised me, and I stared at him for a speechless moment, before clearing my throat. I freed myself and reclaimed the ground underfoot. Things weren’t going to plan. Tossing the fire alarm onto the sofa, I dusted his floury handprints off my clothes and inspected the kitchen. My heart sank as I took it all in, the smoking, black brownie, the flour all over the worktop and the countless bowls and utensils piling to be cleaned. I threw a tea towel at Curtis.

‘Remind me, why did I partner with you?’ Curtis shrugged, tossing the cloth from one hand to the other. ‘Come on Alfie, it was either me or nervous Norman.’ He flashed a wide grin, and I swatted at the prickling along the back of my neck. ‘I’d be willing to bet Norman can operate a timer.’ ‘Relax. We can try again tomo—’ ‘We’re running out of time. Why aren’t you taking this seriously, Curtis?’ ‘Why are you taking it so seriously? It’s just a baking contest. If you’re that obsessed with Olive Garden, we don’t need a stupid gift card to go there.’ ‘It’s not about the prize.’ ‘Then what?’ My throat constricted. Last year, Abby had baked the perfect brownie for the annual baking contest, the kind on those TV shows. It all came so naturally for her—school, sports, baking. Even relationships. Of course she’d won.

And snatched up the ultimate reward. # ‘Wanna hang out after school?’ Curtis had asked. He dribbled the basketball, weaving it in between his legs. I checked my watch. Abby was planning to practise her baking, and whilst I didn’t care so much about the brownie or whether she had a chance of winning, I wouldn’t have passed on the opportunity to see her baking partner. ‘Think fast, Alfie!’ Before I could snap myself out of my daydream, the basketball crashed into my head. My breath forced its way out of my lungs as I lay sprawled on the ground. Amidst the floaty stars, Curtis came into view, his eyebrows drawn together with concern. I groaned as he helped me up. ‘Not today.’ No longer concerned if I was skipping eighth period, I mounted my bike and rode away. The tension in my neck slowly eased as I turned the corner of our street. When I pushed through the front door, Abby’s giggles greeted me from the kitchen. Her favourite apron hugged her waist over her simple cotton tee and blue jeans, and a dusting of chocolate and flour freckled her cheeks and Toby’s nose. ‘Give this a try, Alfie.’ I plopped onto the stool beside Toby. His scent, a sinful hot fudge, mixed with the chocolaty notes of the brownie; a decadent treat impossible to resist. He smiled with crinkled eyes. ‘Going to be a tough act to follow next year, but I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with, Alfie.’ # ‘I’m in charge of the timer today,’ I stated, tying Abby’s apron behind my back. Curtis nodded, resting his eyes on me. ‘We better get it right this time. I don’t want to be doing this every day until–’ The doorbell rang. ‘Could you grab the flour?’ I pointed to the top shelf, whilst heading to answer the door. ‘Hey Alfie.’ Toby’s bright smile turned my knees into jelly. ‘Nice apron. Is the baking competition coming up?’ ‘Y-yeah.’ I scratched the back of my neck as the heat rose in my cheeks. I stepped back to let him in. ‘Is Abby ready?’ Curtis cleared his throat. ‘Got the flour.’ ‘Thanks.’ I glanced at him, just long enough to notice his displeased look, before turning back to Toby. ‘Do you want a drink? She might take a while.’ ‘Alfie–’ ‘Sure, what have you got?’ I was halfway through listing the juice options when Curtis slammed a flour-stained glass of tap water onto the table in front of Toby. ‘Um… Thanks, Chris.’ ‘Curtis.’ ‘Sorry. Thanks, Curtis.’ Toby smiled. Curtis grunted, and grabbing my arm, dragged me back to the mixing bowl just as Abby jogged down the stairs. ‘Save us some of that award-winning brownie for later!’ she said before closing the door behind them. I stared daggers at Curtis. It better be good today. # ‘Come on, you are going to win with me.’ Curtis whisked the wet ingredients with the melted chocolate, while I set the oven to bake.

‘Let’s mix everything together.’ He pointed at the bowl beside me, a whirl of sugar, flour, and cocoa powder. ‘Bring that over here.’ Softened, I closed the gap between us, holding the bowl with both hands and trying not to laugh at the chocolate smudge on his cheek. I could never stay mad at him. Curtis raised an eyebrow, his glance a salty and sweet mixture. ‘You’ll have to sprinkle it over while I mix, Alf.’ ‘You know I hate when you call me that.’ ‘Why? I think it’s adorable.’ ‘We’re not five anymore, Curtis. We’ll be going to college next year.’ ‘Fine, Alfred. Can you tip that bowl so we can mix this already?’ I pressed my lips into a tight line, pouring the dry ingredients over the wet. An avalanche of powder plopped on top of the chocolate batter and a cloud of cocoa and flour erupted into the air. ‘Whoa! Slow down, cowboy.’ Moving behind my back, he pushed the wet mix right in front of me and his warm fingers grazed my hand as he held onto my bowl. I suppose it was better than having his elbow in my face. My scalp tingled as his body lightly pressed against mine, toned and supple, as he mixed the gooey confection. His scent, an earthly, intoxicating aroma of sweat and sandalwood, enveloped me. The air was heavy and charged; like before a storm. ‘There,’ he said and let go of the whisk. ‘Done.’ My glance fell onto his muscular arms, enveloping me on either side, his chest rising and falling against my back under his light t-shirt. I glanced up over my shoulder. Maybe it was the mesmerising way the light hit him, or how strands of hair fell into his face. Whatever it was, it… distracted me. ‘Everything okay?’ he asked, his lips tugging into a half smile as he regarded me. I shook my head. ‘Uh, I’m just… trying to remember how long to set the timer.’ ‘Never mind that.’ He looked down at me. I was still leaning into him; it was a perfect fit. Kind of like how it had always been for us growing up. Where I lacked in physical strength for sport, he made up for it with his natural athletic ability. And where he struggled in maths and science, he found a tutor in me.

The weight of his stare was the last ingredient we missed to reach the bliss point. In the world of baking, this was when the right combination of ingredients made the culinary experience both pleasurable, and…

Difficult to resist. As if reading my mind, he leaned in closer. My breath hitched in anticipation of what might happen next. The oven beeped, reaching its designated temperature. ‘Right.’ I gasped, ducking underneath his armpit. I reached for the baking dish, coated with a small layer of cooking spray and lined with parchment paper. With a quick motion, I grabbed the large bowl from in front of him, pouring the batter and smoothing it with a spatula. Curtis watched with narrowed eyes and crossed arms. ‘Uh, what was that?’ ‘What?’ His tone sharpened. ‘You just completely dodged a moment.’ ‘Don’t be silly.’ I shoved the baking tray into the oven, setting the timer. ‘Come on, Alf. You can’t be serious. What’s stopping us from—’ The front door creaked. ‘Something smells lovely.’ Abby and Toby entered the kitchen, his arm wrapped around her waist. A sinking feeling settled in my stomach, as if a knot formed to block the butterflies unfurling their wings to soar into flight.

I rubbed the back of my neck. ‘You’ll have the first taste when it's done.’ Curtis shot a bewildered look in my direction. If Superman didn’t have the ability to fire invisible lasers from his eyes, then Curtis did. ‘Seriously?!’ He stormed out of the house, leaving the mess of dirty pots and pans to be cleaned. Heat flushed up my neck as Abby and Toby gave me incredulous stares. ‘Need any help?’ Toby asked. I shook my head. Their footfalls faded as they ascended the stairs, and I worked to tidy the kitchen. Opening the cabinet to return the sugar, my mouth fell open at what I found.

Two eggs: a critical ingredient in a brownie.

Why would they be here?

In a brownie recipe, eggs acted as a binder, helping to keep the mixture together. Without them, everything would fall apart. And when the oven timer chimed, the brownie came out as expected. # I avoided Curtis the next day at school, and he too was still sulking, turning his back on me by the lockers. My stomach tied itself in knots, and by lunch he still hadn’t come over to talk to me. The events of the prior day rode a carousel in my head; replaying on repeat that one heated moment when he almost kissed me.

What if I let him?

The thought was both thrilling and tainted with guilt. I knew how it felt to get rejected in a vulnerable moment. But he sabotaged the baking. I wasn’t the one who needed to apologise.

It was after the last lesson ended, when he stood in front of my desk as I was packing my books and cleared his throat. ‘Did Toby enjoy the brownie?’ he asked, his arms crossed. I glared at him. ‘Why do you ask?’ ‘Wouldn’t it be a shame if you couldn’t impress him?’ His voice, sharp with frustration, carried a tinge of hope. I gripped the edge of my desk and leaned closer to him, close enough to feel his breath on my face. ‘Then I would have to invite you over to make another one, right? Don’t worry. It came out perfect. We nailed it, even Abby agreed. Toby said it was the best brownie he had ever tasted.’ His jaw dropped open, eyes widened in disbelief. ‘But–’ ‘I set the timer right.’ As his eyes held mine, the corner of my mouth twitched. I was never a good liar. ‘Is that it? You don’t even want to see me after–’ ‘You hid the ingredients!’ I snapped, cutting him off. ‘Was that for a laugh? This contest is important to me, Curtis. I can’t believe I almost–’ I turned away, biting the sentence in half. For a moment, I really wanted to kiss him yesterday. Why did he have to betray me to further complicate things? ‘Almost..?’ ‘I wish I picked Norman.’ I pressed my lips together. His expression, one of curiosity and anticipation, faded. ‘You don’t mean that.’ I flung my bag over my shoulder and left without a word. # Before I could unpack my bag at home, Curtis stormed through the front door, meeting my eyes with an alert gaze. I hadn’t known it then, but it was just the right amount of concern and sweetness that I’d always return to. ‘Let’s try again, Alf! I promise to win the contest for you!’ I can’t believe I’m giving it another chance. Curtis got the bowls and ingredients out, by now moving confidently in our kitchen. But could he actually bake? ‘Trust me,’ he offered a forced smile as he lifted my apron over my head, and put his arms around me to tie it behind my back. It was strange, to have feelings half unsaid, half out in the open; both uncomfortable and safer than jumping headfirst into the unknown. ‘You didn’t make that easy…’ I mumbled, hoping he couldn’t hear my heartbeat or the wavering of my voice. If we talked this through, what would come next? What if it didn’t work out..? His stupid sabotage didn’t even bother me as much as it should have. Curtis gathered all the ingredients: sugar, flour, cocoa powder, powdered sugar, dark chocolate chips, sea salt, eggs, oil, water, and vanilla. Even more impressive, he measured everything with uncanny precision, not once checking the recipe. My mouth fell open as he worked. ‘Wait, how are you—’ ‘I told you we would win the contest.’ He winked, pointing at the measuring cup in front of me. ‘Pass me that, will you?’ A flush crept up my neck. His fingers brushed against my knuckles as he took the cup from me, sending shivers up my forearm. Had I been ignoring this all along? ‘Curtis, how are you terrible at maths?’ He scratched at his cheek, leaving a smudge of flour on it. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ ‘I mean,’ I said, pointing at the measuring cup, ‘baking is about precise measurements. Basically maths. How are you so good at this but not homework?’ He shrugged. ‘I could say the same about you. How are you so terrible at baking, but good at maths?’ He wrinkled his forehead at me, squinting his eyes, mocking. ‘Technically, if you hadn’t hidden the eggs from me, that last one would have been perfect.’ Curtis was never one who could win verbal arguments against me, so he would often resort to childish pranks to tip the scales in his favour. Before I could react, he swiped his finger into the bag of flour and wiped it on my nose. I jerked back with my mouth gaping wide open, a gasp escaping. ‘Oh no. Now you’ve done it.’ I dipped my entire hand in, and he darted across the kitchen island before I could come at him with it. I leapt forward, but he was too fast and moved out of the way, sidestepping around the table, towards the sink. I came at him again, this time successfully smearing flour across his face. Curtis grabbed my wrists. He’d always been stronger than me, so all I could do was laugh.

‘Is this funny to you?’ he asked, out of breath from goofing around. I grinned at him. ‘You look ridiculous.’ And somehow, for a brief moment, I’d forgotten all about the stupid contest. Or how I tried so hard to break free from Abby’s perpetual shadow of perfection, always failing. I couldn’t beat her grades, her athleticism, nor her baking. Hell, I couldn’t even compete with her for Toby.

Curtis stared into my eyes, and the mood shifted. Like the other day, his gaze travelled down to my lips. I held my breath. ‘Alfie,’ he whispered. He drifted closer to me, and I closed my eyes in anticipation. Abby and Toby chose that exact moment to arrive home. Caught off guard, my eyes sprung open at the sound of the opening door, and I instinctively stepped away from Curtis. Waited until they disappeared upstairs. Curtis closed his eyes and shook his head, letting go of my hands. Before I could think of anything to say to clear the air, he stormed out of the kitchen. # Curtis sat on the back porch, a solemn gaze fixed on the firepit in the yard; staring into the depths of the flames as if they held the answers to his current predicament. I sat beside him, rubbing my sweaty hands against loose-fitting jeans covered in flour.

‘Can we go back in time and stop me from almost kissing you? ‘Cause if we could, that’d be awesome,’ he mumbled. ‘Was it that insignificant?’ Curtis’s dark eyes were angry and hurt all at once, and I wanted—needed to do something. He’d been on the offensive this entire time, now retreating to defence. I didn’t want to put our bond through this tug of war. I took a deep breath, preparing myself to take a plunge into something new. But the universe had a funny sense of humour, because as soon as I shifted, the timer rang. Curtis sighed. ‘Better check on those. You know, to make sure we got the recipe right.’ He stood, but before he could go, I grabbed his hand. ‘What are you doing, Alf? We gotta get the brownies.’ I blinked, forcing myself to hold Curtis’ gaze. ‘They can wait a moment.’ ‘Are you high on flour?’ He laughed, but after all that happened, it sounded like he was on the verge of tears. ‘I–’ My face burned, but I relaxed my hand around his, and gathering my courage, stroked his palm. It was my turn to take a step. ‘We already got interrupted twice.’ Curtis’s mouth quirked up at one corner. He pushed my hand to one side, leaned close and kissed me hard. Shock rolled me; the sensation sending shivers down my spine. I never knew how much I craved this. It’s beyond me, how we didn’t burn that brownie. In the end, all it took was the right timing.


Her earliest memory in life, was a set pair of blue eyes glaring over her. The pair of eyes belonged to her parents. From the time she was born, she could only remember them watching her. They nurtured her when she was an infant, for she could not move on her own. But when she began to talk they touched her less. And when she could bathe and feed herself, their touch evaporated all together. Her parents still fed her nutritious meals, but they never ate with her. They just sat there, on the other side of the table, observing her with their ocean blue eyes… They never spoke to her, though at night she could hear them mumbling to each other, in a corner of their room. She would sometimes – after they had enough of inspecting her sleep – wake up in the middle of the night and press her ears to their bedroom door and listen to them speak. She would try to distinguish her parents between the set of voices. It was difficult for they sounded perfectly equal in pitch, tenor, and treble. The voices were beautiful in tone, pleasing to the ear, and pure to the soul. In the long run, she never actually paid attention to the words they spoke – just their foggy tones and whispered jargons. She could never tell when one would stop speaking and the other would begin… Even though she was eight-years-old, she lived in a safe enough neighborhood that her parents let her walk home alone from the bus stop. That day when she came home from school and opened the front door to find them hanging from the living room ceiling beam – blue eyes still vibrant in the fading evening and their expressions wore the usual dullness that remind glued to her parent’s visage. She did not see anything amiss. Her parents were staring straight at her. It was just another day to her. So, she walked around her hanging parents and placed her things away in her bedroom. Then exited using the same route she entered and across from where her parents were rotating irritatingly slow – where a dining room table sat and a cleanly placed snack was waiting for her, as that was the norm. However, on this day a thick note card was on top of her sandwich, which read: Our loves, when you finish your snack, please pick up the phone and call the police. Please, you must understand, we did this for you. We love you more than anything in the world. Even more than we love one another. So that the rest of your many lives may not be met with jealously and hatred by us, we took the matter into our own hands before we did something dreadful to you. Remember, we love you and always will. Goodbye . After she read the note, she looked at her second face and shrugged her shoulders, then did as her parents instructed. When she called the number the lady on the phone asked what the emergency was and the girl could not answer the question – because there was no emergency. She told the woman on the phone that her parents instructed her to call the police and that this was the only number she knew for the police. When the lady asked where her parents were? The girl said that they were watching her as they hung from the ceiling: “necks an odd shade of purple” the girl stated. “It looks like a strange bruise,” she finished. The woman on the phone made a sound that the girl did not recognize and then the lady said that help was on the way. When she hung up the phone the girl was confused, why did she need help? About five minutes after she called, there was a heavy banging on the door. She opened the door, after asking who it was, and police officers rushed into the house. The men saw her parents hanging and either gasped and stared at her or looked away entirely. She noticed that her parents’ eyes were a bit faded now and that their skin took on a grayish tone and it seemed strange to her. Then suddenly, she was carried out of the house by an officer who sat her on the hood of his car. The man’s voice was soft, and she realized that this was not his natural tone, for it was still rough and seemed as if he was trying to comfort her. The man asked about the event that took place in the house, and the question confused her. She told him that, “nothing happened. It was just a normal day”. Now the officer seemed taken aback, and he said calmly that their siblings were dead and they’d never see them again. After he said this, she looked onto her second pair of eyes and saw that it was rubbing its sockets as water ran down its cheeks. She told the officer that they were not her brother and sister, but her parents. The officer looked at her with wide eyes and she did not know why. Then, suddenly, her chest began to hurt and the sides of her face were completely wet… It was not long before she moved into her Aunt’s house. The woman lived in a large two-story house that was filled with filth. The color inside was the same as the color outside – brown. The house was stuffed of old boxes that had useless items inside. The air was brimming with the stench of death and waves of smog-like-smoke throughout. The boxes littered everywhere made it hard for the girl to maneuver around without stumbling or tripping over them… Her Aunt was the example of chain smoker. There was never a moment in which she did not see her Aunt without a cigarette in her mouth. As soon as one finished, her Aunt would have another waiting to take its place. The smoke from the cigarette circled around her, always, as if a cloud followed her whenever or wherever she moved. Her Aunt even slept with it in her mouth. The girl watched her Aunt once while she slept on the recliner. The woman held it in between her dried cracked lips throughout the night, and it never fell… Everyday, her Aunt would look at the girl with disgust, and she never knew why and never cared to ask. Her Aunt never spoke to the girl, like her parents, but unlike them her Aunt would not feed her. The woman would only glance at her as she walked into the kitchen, in the torn and stained nightgown that she wore always; her Aunt would go into the fridge, which was filled with cigarette cartons and tapioca pudding, and eat the pudding right in front of her. The girl would watch her Aunt take spoonsful of the pudding into her blackened mouth, the cigarette hanging on the edge of her crusty lips. The girl would, of course, always eat her breakfast and lunch at school and stow away some food from the cafeteria in her bag so that she could have something for dinner. But when the weekend came, she would sneak into the kitchen at night and take a pudding and share it with her other body until Monday came. It was not until two weeks after living in her Aunt’s home that she had finished exploring the hovel. She found in her Aunt’s unused bedroom a purse lodged underneath the bed that was full of crisp rolls of twenty-dollar bills. The girl counted over five thousand dollars. Therefore, when the weekend came around again the girl would sneak into her Aunt’s room and take two twenties, then leave her Aunt’s and head for the convenience store two block from the house. The girl would get whatever she wanted to eat, but always made sure to get a fruit and vegetable like her parents advised her to always do… Her Aunt never left the house nor would she ever go up the stairs where the girl slept, in one of the less stocked rooms. The woman would always have someone deliver a mountain of cigarette cartons and tapioca pudding once a month. The male that brought her Aunts toxins would always, after organizing them into the fridge, give the girl a little pouch of candy and take her to get a hot meal wherever she wanted. As the year passed on, the girl always wondered why her other faces cheeks would gradually always become a bright red when it looked at the overgrown boy, but her own checks never turned the same shade. Her Aunt would speak to him only when they argued about the woman’s unhealthy way of living, and the male would sometimes tell her that what she was doing was not living at all. He would yell at her Aunt, saying that she was not even taking care of the girls, that they were taking care of themselves and that children should not have to do such things to survive. He carried on, saying that he would claim custody of them if this continued. Her Aunt would laugh at him with her ash and gravel infused vocal cords, saying that he was not mature enough to take care of the girl. Then the boy would storm out like a tornado that blew together out of nowhere.… On one of the days the boy was to come by and drop off another load of her Aunt’s poison, three weeks had passed since her 11th birthday, the girl had just come back from the convenience store and was in her brown Tetris room. She was sorting out what she would eat throughout the day when suddenly she heard a booming sound, that was followed by a foreign screech, originating from down stairs. She walked halfway down the stairs before she saw the boy. The front door was almost off its hinges and the boy was seated on top of her Aunt, a pointed silver kitchen knife in his hand, which he repeatedly brought down into her Aunt’s chest. Red liquid splattered onto the male's face and raked down as he repeatedly continued to stab the immobile woman’s body. The blade entering her Aunt’s flesh sounded squishy at times and hard at others. The audio of the blade’s motion was stuck in the girl’s mind. She walked down the rest of the stairs and slowly headed toward him. The girl’s feet were bare, so when she felt the warm liquid between her toes, it surprised her. The male noticed her suddenly and then smiled the warm smile he always gave her. He said that she was free to do whatever she wanted, her Aunt could not do her any more harm. She wondered about what he had said. The girl did not understand him, because her Aunt had never harmed her in anyway. Her Aunt did nothing for her. The boy looked away from her and continued with his stabbing of her Aunt’s now open heart. She did not know what to do, but she was starting to feel hungry, so she went back upstairs; however, her other body did not move. Her other body stayed there, watching the boy stab her Aunt's body. She was shocked at first, because that had never happened before. The girl had to pull her other body up the stairs and then when she was in her room, she ate what she had bought from the store. About ten minutes after she went upstairs, she heard sirens towards the front of the house. So, again, she went down the stairs, and saw that police officers were trying to pry the boy off her now unrecognizable Aunt. When the officers finally pulled him off her Aunt, one explained to another that a neighbor heard a loud noise coming from the house and called the police. One of the two officers put handcuffs on the boy and screamed, “how could you do this to your mother?” The boy just laughed at the officer as he was dragged out of the house. The other officer noticed her and looked at her with wide eyes, the way the other police officer did, the one who told her she would never see her parents again… The next day the girl was brought to her Uncle’s house. It somewhat surprised her that so many of her relatives, that she has never meet, lived in the same region she did all her life with no interaction until now. Her Uncle lived in a beautiful one-story home encased in large glass windows that could be controlled to darken into black when privacy was needed. When her Uncle first saw the girl, his face twisted slightly and then told her to remove those rags that she wore and get in the tub immediately. She complied with his demand, but internally she was alarmed by his sudden agitation. Afterwards, she stepped out of the scented bath and her Uncle dressed her in colorful outfits that, in his mind, expressed her personalities… Her Uncle lived with a man named James. Her Uncle and James were business partners and very close friends. James would always feed the girl delicious homemade meals and pat her on the head. The warmth she felt always made her feel uncomfortable and confused her. As her weeks turned to months the girl noticed that James, unlike her Uncle, was a very quiet man with stoic expressions and her Uncle would sometimes stare at him with bright hungry blue eyes. At moments like these the girls’ chest would feel tight and constrict her breathing, the opaque color her Uncle’s eye would shine would in turn remind the girl of her parents, and water would stream down her cheeks… At times James would ask the girl to help him cook, and she would always be bothered by her other bodies actions. She enjoyed it partly, because James would look at her or her other face calling out names, and then tell her to do two separate things. She found it to be perplexing. Her Uncle would do the same thing; he would ask Jacky to get the clothes out of the dryer and Janet to clean up the room. It always amused the girl that she could separate from herself, and not do or even think the same things, but have two detached thoughts. The girl would watch her other body clean her room with a frown on its face and wonder if it wasn’t happy because it was not a part of her at that moment… In the middle of the night, sometimes the girl would get up to go to the bathroom or get something to drink, on the way she would pass by her Uncle’s and James’ room. On random occasions, she would press her ears to the door and listen to them sleep. Other times, when they were still awake she would hear strange sounds coming from the room. One night when she was going to the bathroom, her Uncle’s door was slightly open and she peeked inside. The girl was confused by their actions. Her Uncle was in a chair half dressed in tight black shiny pants that had holes cut out of it and James was standing next to him in the same outfit. Then James would put a ball in her Uncle’s mouth that tied around his head. James would lock her Uncle’s hands and feet to the chair, and then kneel beside him and inject a golden liquid into her Uncle’s arm. Her Uncle would unexpectedly slump down into the chair, and his eyes would fade, like a light bulb losing its charge. The girl watched with confusion and fascination, but soon realized that she still had to use the bathroom and left. When she came back the door was fully closed, and she could hear strange noises coming from the room... One day when the girl was walking back from the bus stop, thirteenth birthday candies chiming in her bags, she suddenly smells the invading sent of smog and smoke toward the direction of her Uncle’s house. When she reached the house, the girl saw her Uncle outside, watching it burn down. There were two red plastic containers on the illuminated grass with him and a pistol in his hand. The girl watched him. Tears raking down his face as he talked to himself. Her Uncle said that he couldn't live like this anymore. He said that he loved James, but he could not give James the kind of love that he needed, and said that it was time to end it. The girl looked at the house when a sudden scream came from inside, then she saw him. James was in the living room with everything inside on fire, including him. James ran straight for the large window, his blackened body hit it. The clear glass then faded to black, instantly, and cracked in three parts. The screaming stopped promptly, then the glass warped and shattered. Her Uncle dropped to his knees then took the gun and put it to his temple. He looked back at her and said that he was sorry and pulled the trigger. Red droplets splashed on the girl’s cheeks. The girl looked at her other face and saw water running down the sides. “What are we going to do Jacky?” the face questioned. The girl grabbed her other body and said it was going to be alright, assuring herself, as she held the body to her. “But we’re alone again,” the face mumbled against her chest. The girl said that she would always be there for it, and that could never change, they would always be together. “Forever?” her other face asked as it looked at her. The girl said forever and squeezed her other body. Forever...


TW: This story contains mental health issues, physical violence, and gore. The sights and sounds that decorated the dark skies made me sigh in contentment. I breathed in deeply and moaned at the smell of freshly wet soil. A gust of wind blew past, and I shivered but did not draw my jacket closer. Instead, I removed it and my beanie and tossed them onto the bench as I passed it. For several seconds, I watched as people walked by. Most had umbrellas, but those that did not used whatever they could to protect their heads. Shielded and exposed alike stared at me like I was some weirdo for enjoying such weather. Truly, though? I didn’t care. So long had I been stuck inside that prison of a house that I yearned for some time in the open air. The kind of weather didn’t matter to me, so regardless of what happened, today was sure to be the best day I’d had in a long time. I saw a flash from the corner of my eye and turned to face that direction just in time to see a lightning bolt hit the ground. My instant next thought was to rush there to see what the ground looked like where it had hit. After all, it didn’t seem far away, and how many people could say that they got the chance to see such a thing? As I approached the town gate, people tried to get my attention. Whatever for, I neither knew nor cared. All that mattered was getting to where the lightning hit. Not far outside of the gates, I paused to admire the flowers. The wind whipped them back and forth, and I gasped as I knelt, worried they might break from the extreme force. But as I felt around beneath them and up and down their stem, I realized it was a foolish notion. There was little chance they would succumb to the wind’s violence. I stroked the side of one with my hands to wipe all the dew from it. Its absence made me appreciate how deeply the wetness enhanced the beauty. A sound from the small moat that surrounded the town drew my attention, and I peeked over the bushes to see a strange-looking fish jump out of the water and fall back in. It swam to the shore, and I swore it placed itself partially onto the ground to spit something out of its mouth. As I stood, it fled back into whatever hidey-hole it came out of. I walked through the bushes without caring that the thorns tugged at my leggings. Thankfully, I’d chosen to wear thicker stuff, so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. When I got there, I saw a small seashell on the ground, and I had to wonder how the fish had held such a thing in its mouth. It was at least three times the size of the mouth of the biggest fish I’d ever seen. My hand touched something chilly as I knelt, and I glanced down to see a shiny new fork. Who tossed aside a perfectly good piece of cutlery like that? I chuckled and used it to brush my hair as I’d read that princesses did. An image of a muscled fish with hands and feet came to mind, with the seashell in front of it like a shield while its other hand brandished the fork like a pike. The thought made me giggle, and it so made me wish that magic existed. Sadly, it didn’t. And even if it did, such a drastic change wouldn’t be worth the cost. For some reason, I gingerly picked up the two items and placed them in my pocket. It made me eager to complete my current task so I could return to my friend and tell her about my adventures with the Fish folk. As I stood, my gaze landed on the torches that marked the entrance to the village and how they flickered and steamed. I’d helped prepare the heavily oiled rags for today, so I was confident they wouldn’t sputter out. But based on how soaked and cold I was for only a few minutes outside the barrier, I was beginning to doubt their longevity, even with the thorough job I’d done. So, I watched them for several minutes to ensure their functionality. When they continued to burn bright, I was more than satisfied the oil would win and turned my attention away from the fire before it consumed me. Though it pained me to do so, I knew If I continued to stare at it much longer, I’d miss out on whatever secrets the lightning-struck tree held. It was so easy for me to get lost in the movements of the flames, and oh! The sound of the fire as it crackled never ceased to calm me, especially when I was nice and toasty warm inside with this gorgeous weather outside. Though one time, many years ago, I got so lost in the beauty of a campfire that I almost fell into it. My friend had luckily been there to pull me back. Out of nowhere, the wind blew and blew and blew for nearly thirty seconds straight. It was so strong that I had to shield my eyes to protect them. When I opened them, one of the torches had been snuffed. Well, then. That definitely wasn’t a good sign. My heart pounded as I worried about what had happened. Or worse yet, what was to come. I didn’t want my thoughts to turn to the what-ifs, so I again began to head toward the distant tree. With each step I took, my boots sank inches into the ground, and pulling them up took a lot of effort. It made me thankful I’d listened to my gut instinct and chose not to wear running shoes. I began to giggle with each step I took, making the squelch sound as different as possible per step. Finally, at the tree line, I realized I couldn’t hear any frogs, crickets, or other creatures that liked this weather. The realization of it sent a shiver down my spine. Usually, the only time nature was this quiet was when something drastic had happened to the habitat. It was known as ‘the calm before the storm’. My eyes picked up on smoke just as its foul stench hit my nose. As I was trying to get the taste of it out of my mouth, a wolf rushed out of the woods straight at me. It seemed more scared of whatever was in the forest than it was of me, but it was definitely still afraid of me due to its last-second evasion. Behind the wolf came several more, along with deer, birds, squirrels, and other forest denizens. Several creatures I saw were wounded, which made me question whether I should go further. My feet began to move unbidden, and after several steps, right at the threshold of the forest, I felt something strange. It was as if the air tightened around me and then exploded with pressure. Once the feeling passed, I gasped and nearly dropped the items that were now in my hands. The two items I picked up earlier and daydreamt about were now reality. A huge, well, normal-sized shield of the same pattern as the small seashell the fish had spat up. And the random fork beside it was now taller than my head and made of sturdy steel. I was still so shocked by the magic of the situation that I jumped when I felt something brush against my leg. When I glanced down, I sighed in relief when I saw it was just one of the wolves. It looked at me and then at the forest before it whimpered. If I didn’t know any better, it was almost as if it wanted me to save it. Them. But what could I possibly do? I was nothing in the village, with no real talent except my wild imagination. How would the magicked items help me when I didn’t even know how to use them? Or how to wield them against a fire? Unless…There was a foe within who was the cause of all this that I was meant to slay? My heart skipped a beat at the chance to be a hero. After I took a few deep breaths, I entered the forest. Several minutes later, I could feel the heat on my skin and hear the much louder and scarier sound of the fire. Right now, it was more deadly than beautiful but still just as majestic. I couldn’t help but marvel at it when I finally saw it come into sight. From nearby, I heard the pound of hooves, the rustling of leaves, and the snaps of twigs as the slowest of the animals finally made their way to safety. Once they were gone, the only thing I could hear aside from the fire was that of a woman as she screamed for help. Without hesitation, I lifted the shield before me and rushed a hundred feet to and through the wall of flames. Almost fifteen seconds passed before I made it out of the flames. Hindsight told me that had been a stupid choice because only my front had been protected, and not very well. How had the fire barely damaged me? Was it some side effect of the weapon or shield? Why did I even entertain such notions when I knew magic didn’t exist? Quickly, my eyes scanned the forest for the source of the screams. The epicenter of the fire had to be here somewhere. Wait. Epicenter? What? Fire exploded outward from its source. This clearing should also have been filled with flames. Instead, it was as if it were untouched, except by a single thin row that led to a tree that seemed like it would fall into ashes at any time. At first, I saw nothing around the tree, but then I noticed a slight movement. There was definitely someone there. As I approached the tree, I almost retched at the smell. Not of burnt flesh or wood, but that of fetid meat. I walked around and sniffed the air every couple of feet. Eventually, I discovered the smell came from the thin line of flames. It burnt bright and strong, using what had to be blood as fuel. But the real question was: what kind of blood could cause that reaction? A memory came to me then of a story I once read of a Hag named Lehte, who was very skilled in magic but loved to play corrupt-a-wish. Whatever you asked for, she would twist it to ensure she got the most benefit. Her blood had smelled of poisonous, rotting meat as well. It was unlikely this person was her, but even if it wasn’t, surely there were no Hags who used their magic for good. That’s why they were referred to in such a demeaning fashion. As much as I wanted to turn around and let the flames have this woman, I knew she was why I was here. Everything about today had led me here. All of it had to have a reason. A purpose. Perhaps this storm, unlike any they’d experienced before, resulted from this woman’s wounds? Maybe she’d even caused it, and this was all an act to lure people in? When the woman’s gaze fell upon me, I shivered. The woman pleaded and made the usual desperate offer people gave. One that offered anything in exchange for what they wanted. Whoever it was must have thought I would be as easy prey as anyone else. But because I had the advantage of seeing through the Hag’s disguise down to the monster within, she couldn’t trick me. After several moments of silence, the woman’s eyes widened, and when she straightened, her demeanor was no longer that of a helpless damsel but that of a predator as it stalked its prey. Again, the Hag offered a boon in exchange for aid. This time, it wasn’t to save her life but to get enough power to face down someone named Vat, who had taken most of her powers. The Hag needed the old magic of the forest to come anywhere close to surviving the encounter. Several seconds of silence passed, and the Hag looked down at my hands. Her eyes glimmered with desire, and she clearly wished to change the bargain. I knew what the Hag wanted, and she wasn’t about to get it. Before she could speak, I used the shield to hit her in the face. The action stunned her, but she quickly recovered. Unfortunately for her, not quickly enough. By the time she was preparing to retaliate, my weapon had already been rammed into her gut. She lashed out with her little power in feeble attempts to push me away, but I held firm. Shouts could be heard from all around me, which I found strange because I was alone in the forest, aside from the Hag. Why did my arm continue to move? It was still, but it felt as if it moved back and forth, and strangely, each time it moved forward, it was as if it pierced flesh again. The shouts grew louder, but I pushed them down even harder as I twisted the weapon in the Hag’s chest. When life left the Hag’s eyes, I flew backward. Oh? Had I been granted the gift of flight in exchange for saving all those people and animals? From saving the forest? It took several blinks of my eyes to realize what happened. I felt someone touch my arms, and I was so shocked at what I saw that I allowed them to do so, which resulted in cuffs being placed on me. All I could see just then was my worst enemy, stabbed over thirty times in the chest with a fork. Beside her on the ground lay a trash barrel lid. A smile crossed my lips, and I spoke. “Checkmate, Jenny. Now, you can never hurt anyone ever again.”


She watches as the checkers of green and brown become dotted with matchbox size cars driving down the black strips of highway around the tiny boxes that she knows are houses. She watches as the plane takes its turn to begin its descent to the airport. Her excitement is contained into a bright smile as she watches the plane decend, beginning the trip that she had always dreamed of and had gotten for practicaly nothing. She had saved her money, tidbits of change and loose bills. She had often refrained from digging into that money to go out with the girls or on nights when she wanted to splurge in order to avoid cooking for one. She had sacrificed her morning lattes and had made her coffee at home. There were some funny moments when she had tried to duplicate some of her favorite morning beverages and had failed epically. Disasters that she had often posted on her social media for a laugh. She often did things like this because she liked to live life on the lighter side of things. She did her best to not get worked up over the little things because it left her drained and hating the world that she was living in. After all of her cutting out the unnecessary things out of life, she had finally saved enough to take the vacation that she had always wanted to take. Even better, she had found it for a much cheaper rate which meant that she had extra money to do some extra sightseeing while she was here. Everything had worked out better than she had hoped when she originally started looking at what she would need in order to go. As she made her way into the airport she felt as though her feet weren’t touching the floor. This was the lightest she had felt in a long time and she could feel the excitement fluttering in her stomach as she made her way through the airport to find the vehicle that was there to pick her up. It was at the entrance, marked Enchanted Getaways. She rode quietly, relaxed for the first time in a year. She heard the radio announcer start his spiel and heard him announce the next song following it up with, “You’re listening to Enchanted Getaways radio.”  The next song that played was a familiar one, and she happily hummed along as it played. She was thinking about everything that she had needed to do in order to make this a reality. She would have preferred to travel with someone, but she hadn’t dated anyone in almost two years and she had worked extra hours and grabbed some shifts at the local diner in order to make this happen. She was alone. Part of her was saddened by this thought and the other part knew that it wouldn’t matter once she was lounging on the beach with a cold fruity drink in her hand.  As they pulled through the entrance to the resort, she noticed the bright red, yellow, pink, and purple flowers that lined the drive with the spacious palms that dotted the landscape. She could hear the light music from the car radio as the window whirred quietly down and she breathed in the fresh air of the tropical paradise that she was going to be spending the next week relaxing in. The driver pulled to the front of the hotel that she would be staying in and climbed out of the driver’s seat. He opened her door and took her hand to help her out of the back seat. The smile that played across his lips was slightly knowing and disturbing. He nodded to her as he made his way to the back of the vehicle to get her bags. She turned slowly taking the scenery in around her. It was magical and breathtaking and everything that she had dreamed about. The colors were striking and bright. The flowers that lined There was a warm breeze blowing in from the ocean and she took a deep breath, enjoying the scents that tantalized her nose. There was such a mixture of the salty sea air, the flowers, the food, and as she walked into the hotel lobby, she felt the cool from the air conditioner hit her bare legs. The lobby was spacious and filled with potted plants, cool lights, plush furniture, and the sparkling bannister that curved up and around, surrounding the cool crisp white marble stairs. She couldn’t believe how lucky she had gotten, finding this company and this much luxury for the bargain that she had gotten it for. She had felt that the questionnaire that she had filled out was a little ridiculous, but she had filled it out enthusiastically because the price was absolutely unbelievable. She couldn’t believe her good fortune when she had stumbled across the bargain of a lifetime. She found her way to the massive front desk and informed the gentleman standing there that she was ready to check in to her room. As he handed her the key to her room, he informed her that the person she would be sharing her suite with had already checked in and was in the room. She froze. There were a million thoughts racing through her mind. The loudest one that was screaming at her was, what in the world this guy was talking about. She didn’t have anyone that she was sharing her suite with. She had booked this to get away from everyone. She questioned the clerk behind the desk about this, and he smiled as he asked her, “You scheduled a vacation with Enchanted Getaways , this is how it’s done.” “H-h-how what’s done?”, stumbled out of her mouth. “How did you book your stay with us?” “I did it online. I found it, fell in love with the price, answered some questions, and booked it.” It was in that moment that she learned that she had signed up to meet her possible soul mate. All the questions that she had answered led them to a match and then she had gone on to book the vacation of her dreams. She now understood what it meant when the box had popped up that stated, ‘ We found your match! Please continue to book your room .’ Now here she was about to go to her room and meet a complete stranger that she would be spending the next 7 days and 6 nights with in the same hotel room. Her heart was pounding as she and her bags made their way to the elevator that would take her to her room. As she exited the elevator and made her way to the door, the butterflies that had danced around her stomach and gave her a sense of excitement when her plane had landed, had now started to only flutter weakly, as they do when you sense dread. She felt as though there were a thousand that had chosen to fall and just lie there. Their wings fluttering weakly as they waited to die. They now felt heavy as any weight. They just sat there heavily weighing down in her stomach. She put her key in the slot and as the light begin blinking green, he opened the door. His hair was dark and his eyes were crystal blue. His face was round and inviting and he was smiling as he welcomed her in to the room and began showing her around the suite that she had booked just a short month ago thinking that she would be spending the week alone, enjoying the quiet and the salty sea air. She now understood how she had gotten the room for such a bargain. The man that was giving her the guided tour had been billed the other half of the room. He stopped in front of a set of French doors and his deep voice told her, “So, my name’s Mike. What’s your name?”


If you knew where to look, you could see the curtain slightly move as Cleo jogged by the house. Anxiously sitting by the window with her morning coffee, notepad ready to take down any observations, Madison leaned forward to catch her first glimpse of Cleo that day. Mornings were only a fraction of the daily routine that Madison had built around her neighbor. There was just something about Cleo that had her enthralled. Two months ago, the movers had just closed the moving van’s door when Cleo had bounded over to greet her new neighbor. What a first impression she made with her vibrant green eyes and jet-black hair with pink tips. She was the person that everyone liked after a few moments in her company. Her smile was honest, holding nothing back. She exuded confidence and gained trust without any effort or guile. With a flash of inspiration, Madison decided she needed to be more like Cleo. She yearned to be a better version of herself, and Cleo would be the guideposts she would follow. Being shy and withdrawn was all that Madison knew, so watching from afar was how their friendship would have to be for now. The more she watched Cleo, the more she slowly morphed into her, but not around the neighborhood. No one should get the impression that Madison was trying to copy Cleo. She was taking charge and trying to improve her life. Once she was away from the neighborhood, things were different. Cleo’s walk was now Madison’s walk. Effortlessly she could imitate Cleo’s mannerisms and even had her tinkering giggle down. She couldn’t help but notice the difference when around other people. Finally, people in her office would wave at her, and invitations trickled in for lunch and drinks after work. As a reformed loner, she couldn’t believe how her luck had turned. Madison wished she had met Cleo earlier so her life could have been different. Madison walked by her hall mirror and admired herself. Her eyes popped with the green contact lenses she had started wearing. Mostly they were worn out to bars or nightclubs where she could sense glances and looks coming her way. Once the contact lenses were in an innate sense of peace and confidence came over her. She liked to think of it as the Cleo effect. Spending the afternoon going through her recent clothing purchases, Madison tried to decide what to wear for tonight. She matched up the outfits to the photos she had taken of Cleo as she left her house. The clothes were easy to find online, but the accessories were turning out to be a problem. She just had to focus and spend more time on this part of her endeavor if she wanted to be successful. She had zoomed in on the photos and sent some along to the jeweler to see if she could have duplicates made. Daily she checked her inbox to see if an estimate for the work had arrived.

After half an hour of indecisiveness, Madison went online to see what Cleo wore out last night. There was sure to be a shot of her on social media. Madison had started to follow a large group of Cleo’s friends, so she always had snippets of her life to review ardently. She was amazed at the number of friends Cleo had, but why should she be when Cleo was the perfect woman. Madison was confident that soon she would be in a similar situation, surrounded by admirers and friends.

The day progressed quickly as she took the final steps of her transformation. Last night she had styled and dyed her hair from mousy brown to stunning jet-black. Her skin wasn’t as pale and flawless as Cleo’s, but she had the foundations and powders to tone down her blotchy skin. Now she just had to add the pink tips. As she started swirling the dye mixture, she heard a high-pitched scream. She ran to the front of the house to look out. Her head swiveled up and down the road, but she didn’t see anything. Across the street the light went out at Cleo’s house. It didn’t appear anything was amiss. It was probably the teenagers a couple of houses down fooling around again. She called out for her device to start playing her Cleo playlist. It was all the songs she had heard while walking by Cleo’s place over the past few months. Madison hadn’t liked some of the songs at first, but they had grown on her. She turned the music up loud enough to hear in the bathroom, and back to her pink tips she went, practicing her responses to all the compliments she was sure she would be getting soon.

It didn’t take long before her timer went off, and it was time to wash and blow dry her hair to see how it turned out. Madison gawked at herself in the mirror, knowing her metamorphosis was complete. She excitedly put on her new outfit and stood in front of the full-length mirror with her hand on her hip like she had seen Cleo do so many times. Madison’s phone rang, and she answered to hear her mother hysterically saying, “Thank God you answered Madison. I was so worried!” “Calm down, Mama. What were you so worried about?” With a harsh whisper, her mother responded, “It’s all over the news about the serial killer striking again.” Madison shook her head in confusion, “What serial killer?” With exasperation evident in her voice, “The man going around killing the young ladies. Darling, I keep telling you to follow the news, but I swear you never listen. Put on the television. Another innocent girl was murdered right on your street.” “Ok, Mama. I’ll call you back.”

Madison hurried over to the TV and put on her local station. Breaking news was coming on, and the anchor started with, “New details have just emerged on the women who have been victims of the recent killings. All victims, including the one found earlier this evening, have been green-eyed women in their early twenties with black hair and pint tips. The killer is being referred to as the “Pink Tip Chopper.” Let’s go to Matthew Greaney on scene at the most recent crime scene. Matthew, what more can you tell us?” The reporter grimly stared into the camera, “This is a somber day as another woman is brutalized at the hands of the Pink Tip Chopper.” Madison stood up when she recognized the homes in the background of the broadcast. She slowly walked to the window to push aside the curtain and pull up the shade to see the police cars across the street and crime-scene tape which cordoned off Cleo’s house. Madison screamed and dropped the curtain before running to the bathroom to vomit. She slowly got up from the floor, and the green contact lenses came out. With shaking hands, she reached for the scissors and hacked off her newly added pint tips. She started the shower and scrubbed her face with boiling water to remove all the traces of her transformative makeup. She washed her jet-black hair over and over again, trying to get the color out and back to her natural brown.

When she emerged into the steamy bathroom, she wiped the condensation from the mirror and looked at herself. She had never been so happy to see plain, boring Madison staring back.


It was dark inside the casket. Quiet. Cozy even. The priest reached up and lowered the head piece until the latch pin clicked for the last time. The organ’s draw went muffled. Snotty sniffles and tissued sobs. Familiar voices saying  such nice things. The clacking of wedding bands on the glossy wood above. He still smelled like pipe tobacco and orange peels, the foxed pages of old storybooks, just like he always had. She would cling tight to one leg, and ride on his shoe down the long hall to his library. He'd laugh and call her a spider monkey. Daddy never let her do that. Daddy was never around. "Daddy is a piece of shit," Mommy would say.  She would slump into him there on the buttoned brown leather sofa, the walls lined to the ceiling with leather bound books. He’d read aloud as long as she could stay awake. That was the deal. He’d let her smoke a plastic bubble pipe while he read about Bilbo, Snow White and Annabel Lee. The smells were a lullaby for her. Even in the enclosed silence now. She wrapped her arms around his leg, put her thumb in her mouth and fell asleep.

*** John Logan Lindenbocker the Third was lost—and late. And on top of that, he’d just absconded from an ice cream truck hit-and-run. He took a hand off the yoke of his Tesla Plaid, powdered his nose with the little glass bottle hidden in Lizzy’s carseat, swerved into oncoming traffic and slammed the car into ludicrous mode. He locked his elbows, bracing himself.

“Initiate warp drive,” he said, his eyelids opening to their anatomical limits. The baby gurgled as the digital numbers in the dash blurred and the car topped a hundred miles per hour. Viscous droplets of fudgesicle streamed across the bumper like sideways tears. He blew passed a line of cars before an on-coming semi blared its horn, forcing him back over into his lane. He had an obligation to make an appearance at the funeral. He’d already missed the probate, but the will was verified. He was rich—richer than Scrooge McDuck. “Your paw-paw always said I’d be late to my own funeral, Chickadee,” he told his daughter, searching her blankets for the bottle of cocaine. “Turns out it might be his.”

Little Lizzy hiccuped and cooed as they crested the onramp bridge overlooking the freeway and slowed to a crawl. He looked into the distance. Mile after mile of glinting windshields—bumper-to-bumper all the way into the smoggy skyline. Hot liquid frustration welled up in his throat. The inside pocket of his funerary jacket buzzed. The banner said Mrs. Bossy-Boots . He’d been meaning to change it to Mrs. Bitchy-Boots. He slid the green button across the screen and put the phone to his ear.

“Yes, I know. I’m late.”

“Maddy’s missing.”

“ Missing ? What do you mean? I just picked up the other little monster. We’re on our way now.” “The funeral is over. Everyone is at the graveyard, John.” Her voice was rushed, jittery. “You were supposed to be here. I thought you were here. I thought you had her.” “I don’t have her. I’m fighting traffic trying to find the place.” He switched hands. “I’m sure she’s just playing hide and seek or something. Graveyards are perfect for that kind of thing.”

“I’m scared, John.” But he already knew that. He could hear it in her voice. “Oh God, why did I ever count on you. I should have never counted on you. What was I thinking?” “Look,” he said, regrouping his thoughts. “Remember the time she stole one of your pregnancy tests and filled in both lines with a marker and showed everyone in her first grade class?”

“This is not a joke, John. We’ve looked everywhere for her. The pallbearers are carrying dad through the graveyard as we speak. I don’t know what to do here. Where are you?” He fought back feeling like a piece of shit. It was a super power. His super power. “Is this like the time I couldn’t make it to the hospital? Are you overreacting? Did you take your pills this morning?”

There was a pause. He could feel her thoughts racing, scanning through every possibility.

“No John, this is not like the time you missed your daughters being born. It’s not like the pregnancy test. It’s not like anything that’s ever happed before. There are hundreds of people here. There must be a dozen funerals today. There is a literal sea of white kidnapper vans. I’ve been weaving through labyrinths of florists, caterers and landscapers.” “Oh, and let me guess, you’re just certain she’s hog-tied in duct tape inside one of them,” he said sarcastically. Is that it? She’s probably playing hide and seek in the headstones, Kate.”

“We’ve looked through half the cemetery. This place is massive. Your uncle Jack is panicked. I’ve never seen him like this before, John. He’s announced to the police and anyone else who will listen that—” “Police?” “Yes, the police. Jack’s telling everyone who will listen he’s giving your father’s beach house to whoever finds Maddy. The whole place is in total chaos. Detectives have cordoned everything off. They’re conducting searches of all the vehicles. I’ve never even heard of police actually doing their jobs like this. But I have a bad feeling she’s already gone, John. Like she's somewhere we can't get to.” Her voice went high pitched. He could hear the tears welling up.

“That beach house is my entire inheritance!” he shouted. “I just wrecked the Plaid trying to get there on time.” “John, you missed the probate and the reading.” She was crying now. “Your father named his brother soul beneficiary. Everything is up to Jack now. He has the final say.” “Well I was supposed to get the house in Malibu.” “You are so selfish,” she was cry-yelling now. “I can’t even—why am I even—” The phone beeped three times and went dead. *** He floored it over a dirt patch and onto a frontage road, veering over a cattle guard onto a vacant state highway that lead him through vast farmlands of alfalfa. Tin windmills and rusty barbed-wire whizzed past.

“We’ll find our own way, won’t we, little Chickadee? Everyone hates daddy. No one appreciates how hard he works. Well, Daddy deserves that beach house. It belongs to Daddy. We’ll get there and find Maddy. We’ll show them Daddy's not a piece of shhh-poopoo.” He looked down to see if she was awake. "Shhpoopoo," the little girl mimicked. A cloud of dust came into view above what appeared to be the mirage of a brown river. This is strong coke, he thought. Are those cows? “COOOOOWWWWWSSSSS!” He slammed on the breaks as the cows grew bigger and bigger engulfing his vision. He braced for impact, the second car wreck of the day.

*** John woke sailing high above the river of brown cows. In the passenger seat, Lizzy cooed and laughed, slapping her tiny hands together. “That’s daddy’s girl,” he whispered through a bloody nose, and sighed with relief resting his head on the steering yoke. After a minute, he crumpled the airbag down, rolled the window down and stuck his head out the side window. The car was teetering like a see-saw on top of a dead cow. All he could hear was the clanking of tin bells and distressed mooing. He put the car in reverse and revved the engine hard. Nothing. the wheels spun endlessly in the air. He put in drive and juiced it again. Nothing. “Appears you’re high centered on one of my twelve-hundred dollar heifers,” a twangy voice said. He looked up at a white-haired woman wearing a cowboy hat saddled on a giant black horse. A small child wearing an eye patch and a pirate’s bandana hugged her around the waist and peered in wonderment with one unobstructed eye. He had a Sharpie beard and a gold hoop earring. John shook his head struggling to make sense of everything.

“Twelve-hundred dollars?” he muttered.

“S’right,” she returned. “Not counting the other twelve-hundred she was in the middle of delivering.”

John looked down again. The head of a calf was protruding from the dead cow’s backside.

“If you can deliver it alive,” she said. “I’ll only charge you for the one.”

John swung his head around assessing the situation. “Daaa-da,” Lizzy said. “Is that a baby?” The cowgirl asked flatly. “Yeah,” John replied as if nothing were the matter. “She’s fine. She’s... just fine. She’s a trooper. Can I get you to take her for a moment,” he said unbuckling her carseat. The glass bottle fell to the floorboard. “You need an ambulance,” the woman said.

“No, no. That’s not necessary. We’re both fine,” he said. “We come from a long line of… troopers.” The woman dismounted carefully with what must have been her grandson. John passed Lizzy through the window and made his way carefully out of the car. "I need to find my daughter," he said. "She's lost at my dad's funeral. The police are already there." "You need an ambulance." "We're really ok. Look, I'll pull this calf... out, and you help us get to Mesa Valley Cemetery." "That's just around the bend from here," the old woman said. *** He rolled up his sleeves and his forearms disappeared up to his elbows. He fished around for a moment. “Like this?” he asked, looking up at the woman.

“Yes,” she said. “Get hold of anything you can and pull.” He did as he was told. The calf’s eyes were half open, still. It did not seem to be alive. He clenched his fists around what felt like legs, dug his heels into the dirt and heaved backward. Nothing happened.

“It’ll take a might more strength than that,” the woman said. He readjusted his body and pulled with everything he had. The calf budged one rib at a time rippling out in slow motion. Finally its body slid loose all at once, and it hit the ground with a thud that would have knocked the air of it if it had had any.

The calf immediately stumbled to a stand, wobbling on its new legs. It seemed to struggle not only to stay upright but also to see in the light of the world. Its eyes were still glossed over with a kind of fuzzy innocence. John couldn’t help but stare into them. They were so soft and ethereal, as if they reflected the light of some other world. As if the creature had carried something over with it, something ineffable. He dropped to one knee, mesmerized by the new born. And he felt a sense of something awkward well up inside him, something he’d never felt before. He wanted to protect this creature, to feed it and never leave it, and always make sure that nothing could harm it. He reached for his phone and found the screen shattered and the aluminum backing bent in the middle. He just wanted to share this moment with someone. Kate? Oh, God, Kate. If only he could call her and explain this to her. Make her understand how sorry he was for missing Maddy and Lizzy's births. For not being there today. For being an unrealiable piece of… “Looks like you’re having a moment there, cowboy. You want to finish the job first? Reach in there and pull out the afterbirth?” The cowgirl asked from atop her steed.

John dropped the broken phone and turned toward the dead mother, his car still teetering on top of it. The umbilical cord lay sopping and gray on the dirt. Her eyes were half open, tongue hanging limp between yellowed teeth. He felt his heart drop.

“Yes, I’ll do it,” he said, hardly able to think through this fog of emotions. Everything seemed so incredible. So beautiful to him in that moment. He reached a hand inside when the car suddenly shifted. The back end hit the ground, rolled backward and the front tires slammed against the dead cow’s body. A jet stream of hay-colored shit and afterbirth fired out of her backside. John screeched and tumbled backward over the dirt. When he finally stopped he just lay there, both defeated and awed. *** When he came out the cornfield, John was wearing a tattered bathrobe he’d robbed off a scarecrow.

“Suits you,” the cowgirl said. He looked down at a giant embroidered rooster.

“Yeah. Thanks.” He said.

She’d fashioned him a sling pouch out of what she could salvage from his soiled shirt and fit little Lizzy snug against his back.

The little boy appeared from behind his grandmother holding what looked like a dandelion. He grabbed her around the leg and clung there, resting his bottom on her boot. She took a few steps like that and the boy laughed. He held the dandelion out in John’s face. “Wish,” he said.

“Wish?” John repeated. He squatted down to the boy’s level and took it. He thought a minute, then held it up, pursed his lips and blew. Fuzzy seeds went everywhere. Then the boy pulled the plastic sword from his shiny red sash and offered it John.

“He-ur,” he said. “You kuh hab it.”

“Even a five-year-old can see you’re in need of some serious assistance, mister,” the old cowgirl said. He slid the sword into the belt of his bathrobe and looked around for something he might trade and realized he was holding his car keys. Instinctively he handed them to the boy.

“Don’t speed,” he said, and then he stood up and offered the woman a handshake. She sniffed at the air around him with a curled lip, gave him a slant-eyed look and reluctantly shook it. Then she limped over to her horse with the boy still clinging to her leg.

In that moment, something clicked inside John’s brain. A high-pitched ringing flared to life somewhere far off and sped towards him as it got louder and louder. He’d seen Maddy do the same thing with her paw-paw a thousand times. The ringing got louder and closer until it seemed to come from everywhere all at once. It filled his head vibrating at penetrating decibels, threatening to destroy the world if he didn’t see what was right there in front of his eyes. “Oh my God,” he finally said. They turned to look at him. “Oh my God! I know where my kid is!” He threw his arms into the sky. “I know where my kid is!” He shouted. They stared blankly at him like the lunatic he clearly was. *** A yellow front-end loader with a shovel full of dirt revved slowly over the pristine grass between headstones until it was hovering over the open Lindenbocker grave. What remained of the crowd took several steps back. The shovel fell forward with a mechanical clank, and dirt spilled down into the hole covering the rose-laden casket. The dozer then backed up, swung around and lifted another massive shovel-load of dirt.

Everyone seemed too shocked to cry. In the distance all around, police officers and people dressed in black searched behind gravestones, up in trees and along the foliage.

No one even noticed the gallant cavalier, bathrobe-clad, riding horseback waving a plastic sword over his head. A single naked dandelion stem bowed from his chest pocket. He dismounted and adjusted the sling around his back where a tiny bald head poked up.

“STOP! Stop everything,” he shouted, positioning himself between the grave and the shovel. “What the hell are you doing,” came a familiar voice, and Kate came running up to him. She took Lizzy gently out of the makeshift sling. "What the hell is wrong with you!" “Maddy’s in the—” he stopped himself.

“Maddy’s in the what,” Kate screamed. “Where is my daughter?” John jumped into the grave and began pushing dirt over the sides of the casket, piling it against the walls until one end was entirely visible. He fumbled with the latch pin until it popped open. Everyone gasped. John stared for a long moment over the face of the man that lay there. There he was. Now no more. The man who fought to teach him virtue and success. John knew every line and wrinkle in his face, knew what each one meant when it creased with the emphasis of some emotion or another. A furrow of disappointment. The crow’s feet of a hearty laugh. He fell back against the wall of the grave, his breath heaving out in sputters. His eyes clenched shut, tears forcing their way out.

Maddy crawled out over her paw-paw.

“Hi, Daddy!” She said as if she’d just walked into the kitchen. John’s breath caught in his throat. “Oh, Maddy!” He whispered, and the sobs started again. He grabbed her and pulled her to him and she hurried her face in his robe. “Oh my God. I’ll never let you go again. Daddy promises.”

She looked up at him. “Ok daddy. But why do you smell like shit?”

A dozen sobbing faces looking down at them all burst into laughter at the same time. John looked half shocked and then laughed despite himself.

*** When he came up out of his father’s grave, John Logan Lindenbocker the third was carrying his daughter on one leg.


Lauren sat in a circle with the other freshmen who had gathered for the orientation day festivities, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her neatly pressed blouse as they waited. This moment was months of hard work in the making. Lauren had fallen in love with the university unexpectedly the prior spring during a trip with her high school band. It was her state’s oldest university, and though not on her original list of considered institutions, she was unexpectedly charmed by the historical campus. Owing to its pre-automotive era construction, the university had no streets and students were required to traverse the paths by foot or bicycle. Despite the important role this placed on the footpaths, their layout was, at best, chaotic. The earliest design of the university consisted of a large central hall, a small church and cemetery which resided in the centre of the grounds. Throughout the years, a spattering of now centenarian trees were planted across the campus, and buildings were added to suit the needs of a growing university. Owing to a respect for the historical significance of these sites, all structures and plant life had been maintained where possible. As she lagged behind her band peers, Lauren observed that the footpaths were a complex network of new and old trails. While many paths connected to existing structures, some directed to sites that had been long vacant, and others elaborately curled around or were broken down by expanding trees.

Although the path appeared to be a navigational nightmare, Lauren noticed the ease with which others strode towards the brick buildings. Groups of two or three would emerge from the trees and disappear in buildings or down sloping paths, their laugher lingering in the distance. Prior to that trip Lauren had been prepared to give up the clarinet in favour of laboratory instruments. Science had been her school passion, and she had been looking exclusively at universities which specialised in pharmaceutical sciences. Yet when she returned home that night she reflected on the old cemetery, the smell of steamed oat milk drifting from cafes onto the footpath, the students little older than herself chatting, as though peers, with proper adults. She thought of the generations of important people who’d walked the old paths, and badly wanted to count herself among them.

Lauren has been revisiting and amending this memory all morning. She had contrived a long list of questions she was likely to be asked by her new peers, and she wanted to ensure her answers adequately captured the enthusiasm she felt towards her new life and interests at the university. In preparation for her first day, she’d spent the summer disposing of her awkward and childish belongings and transforming into the role of university freshmen. She had transitioned to full vegan and redid her wardrobe in sustainable fibres. She’d spent the weeks prior to moving on campus researching the nearest (and best) op shops, and had found some fantastic used bookstores within walking distance of her dorm. The weeks leading up to her move felt painfully slow while she dreamed of cosy evenings spent studying in cafes, and weekends filled with exploring the historic corners of the campus. Lauren leaned against the old oak tree towering above the group. She knew from her investigation of the university’s website that it was a rare white oak, planted by a graduating class in 1899. Such species only last roughly 100 years, and Lauren appreciated the privilege of being counted amongst the decades of fresh-faced newcomers that were inducted under its branches. “Who wants to begin by telling us their name and their major”. When Lauren returned from her band trip, she quickly learned that the University did not offer pharmaceutical sciences. Undeterred, she took inspiration from the leafy oak prominently featured in the cover photo of the information package mailed to her house. “Lauren, environmental sciences”, she announced to the group.

“in fact”, she continued, “I selected that major because of this very…” “Clare, English lit” interjected a tanned girl to her left. “Excited to be here”, she said in a tone indicating that she was not. The group moved on and continued introductions until the last of the group had spoken. Student orientation leader, a somewhat frazzled looking girl a few years older than Lauren, then gave the group a few moments to chat amongst themselves before they began the campus tour. The circle jumped around with the usual sort of questions. “where are you from?”, “what class are you most excited for?”, “are you staying off campus or in dorms?”. A moment of awkward silence arose and Clare abruptly turned to Lauren. “Environmental sciences”, she said, “If you could be a tree, what type of tree would you be and why?” “Oh! I suppose… I don’t know “ Lauren responded shakily. “I’d be a pineapple tree” Clare responded. Lauren processed this while a few snickered. “I don’t think pineapples grow on trees”. “I used to spend the summers at this this resort in Seaside called Pineapple tree”, Clare continued. “they had this like massive tree statue out front. It was this major silver shiny thing, with golden pineapples hanging off it”. “Wait, what!” a freshmen in a Vans 1966 beanie interjected, “I’ve also been to Pineapple tree”. Several others began chiming in. It seemed as though more than half the group had spent time at Pineapple tree, Seaside or one of the neighbouring coastal vacation towns in their state. An excited chatter overtook the group as students began pairing up to chat about their beachy experiences. When Lauren interjected with the odd fact or correction, she found her words lost amongst the chatter. Her gaze shifted towards the original university chapel, now retrofitted to house a Quiznos. Lauren’s family had never vacationed at the beach. Her mom didn’t like the sand, and Lauren did not care for the sun exposure. Eventually their leader interrupted the discussion and rose the group. Lauren trailed behind the chatting students as they began their introduction to the campus. She already knew the paths, and she knew a good deal more than their guide about the local trees and shrubbery. At the end of the tour Clare and the few of the other approached Lauren. “We were going to grab some burgers if you’d like to join?”. Lauren had not prepared an answer.


1175 As I wrap a shawl around my shoulders, I catch my reflection in the mirror. Lines etch my face whispering of a life long-lived. I shake my head and leave my small home. Neighbors nod to me in greeting but say nothing and that is the way I prefer it. Especially today. Today was not a day for talking but for remembering. Even if I was the only one who did. 1135 The echo of the dropped platter rings in the hall. Everyone looks at me. I do not look at them but drop to the floor. I’m supposed to be invisible; not drawing attention to myself. I scramble to pick up the fallen fruit as the conversation in the hall grows again. I am already forgotten. A pair of boots enters my vision, followed by knees. A hand holds out two dropped apples. In the reflection of the polished tray, I see the blurred image of a man. I glance up at him as I grab the apples. “My apologies, my lord.” I speak quickly, hoping to avoid any scolding. “It was an accident. No harm done.” He helps me gather the fruit. When the tray full once more, he stands, taking it with him. No knight should be helping like this. I stand, and make to take the tray but he does not let go. “I am Sir Alfred.” I’m not sure what he wants me to do with that information. I’m a servant; not his equal. Like everyone else in the room, he should be ignoring my existence until he was in need of something. “This is the point where you tell me your name.” The corners of his mouth pull up into a smile. “Sarah.” I reach for the tray again and this time he lets it go. He inclines his head. “It’s nice to meet you Sarah.” He turns away and I’m left watching him go. 1175 The hill is steep. It takes a long time and a great deal of energy to climb. Time I have, but these days my energy is lacking. Each step takes more effort than the last one but I plant my walking stick and continue on. No hill will stop me. 1135 This hill is going to kill me. I just hope it does before my arms fall off. Already they ache from carrying a picnic basket for the hunting party. I glance at the men struggling with carrying tables up the hill. At least I’m not one of them. “Quickly!” Master Collins shouts. “Quickly. We need to be ready before the lords and ladies are done with their ride.” “Maybe they should ride slower.” A servant girl beside me mutters. I press my lips together, trying not laugh. She catches my look and grins. I can’t help but smile back. “I’m Mary.” “Sarah.” I say. “What are you carrying?” “Blankets. The heavens help them if they feel a small chill.” She rolls her eyes and I bite back a giggle. “And what about you?” “All the bread.” It was surprisingly heavy. We crest the hill and we both give a sigh of relief. We look at each other and laugh. 1175 Wind whips at my skirts, tugs at my hair, and stings my face. Still, I press on. 1135 Lady Carin storms through the kitchen gardens. Mary and I exchange wide-eyed looks. The lady was known for unpredictability. As changeable as the wind, I’d heard others whisper. Furious as a storm one moment and as gentle as a breeze the next. “You two.” She points at us as if she were the queen of the country. And considering we were only servants, she might as well have been. “What are you doing?” Mary glances at me and then answers. “Pulling the weeds, my lady.” Lady Carin drops to her knees. I stare at her in horror. Her lady’s maid will have a field day if her dress is stained. She merely lifts an eyebrow at our stunned looks. “Which ones are the weeds?” I silently point to one. She nods and starts pulling; acting as if this is the most natural thing in the world for her to be doing. Mary shrugs and we both go back to work. 1175 I crest the hill. Standing atop the hill is a tall stone. Most in the village don’t know why it’s here or what it means. But I do. And it means everything to me. 1135 “Father is a fool.” Lady Carin mutters from her spot on the bench; her chin perched in her hand. The day is warm and we are all outside under the shade of a tree. Neither Mary nor I say anything. Mary weaves flowers into a garland for the summer festival while I work on stitching a sleeve together. After the day in the kitchen garden, Lady Carin had appointed us as her personal servants, claiming we were the only two she had ever met who had taken her in stride. There had been quite the to do though when she had announced it- everyone protesting from her mother to the chamberlain while the other servants gave both Mary and me dirty looks. Lady Carin, however, had stormed and everyone had bent to her desire. “No comment?” She asks. I lift an eyebrow at her. What were we to say to that? Sir Alfred stalks over to us, his hands clenched, and his jaw tight. He’s a distant cousin of Lady Carin’s but they look like they could be brother and sister. “You father is a fool,” He announces in much the same tone as Lady Carin had. The lady gives us a look, as if saying, “See? I’m not the only one.” I shake my head and focus on the stitches. I have no desire to undo them later because of my lack of attention now. Sir Alfred paces in front of us. “He is going to get us all killed.” “Or worse. Married.” Lady Carin’s nose wrinkles in disgust. I had seen her potential suitors and I heartily agreed with her. All of them looked at Lady Carin like she was a piece of meat they were ready to devour. “Marriage won’t stop the coming carnage.” Sir Alfred says. Mary’s brow furrows as she lays aside a finished garland. “What do you mean?” “The battle lines have already been drawn. Whatever side my lord chooses, will only determine who we are fighting against.” I glance at my lady and she nods. “So either way, we’ve lost?” Mary asks. Sir Alfred nods and my stomach twists. War was coming to Tingel Castle whether we wanted it or not. Now, all we could hope to do was survive. 1175 I trace the markings on the rock. The Tingel seal and our names. The only known survivors. It had taken Alfred days to cut deeply into the rock to ensure that the markings would not easily be worn away; that they would withstand the test of time. A testament to the ones who had survived. Carin, Alfred, Mary, and Sarah. 1135 We stand on the hill watching Tingel burn in the distance. We had had no warning. The castle had been set on fire. So many of the escape routes had been cut off by our enemies. But Sir Alfred and Lady Carin had known of the castle’s secret passages and had gotten us out. A miracle. But now it was only the four of us. Lady Carin, Sir Alfred, Mary, and me. 1175 I close my eyes and off up a prayer of gratitude. We had survived that horrendous night. We had hidden, later fought, but most of all we had lived. 1135 It has been three nights since the attack on Tingel. Three nights since we had all lost everything save each other. I cup water in my hands, disturbing my reflection in the stream. It’s the closest thing anyone had to a mirror these days. We all look horrible- tired, hungry, dirty, and grief-stricken. “Do you think we’ll even make it?” Lady Carin’s voice is soft, gentler than a breeze caressing a face. We all look at each other. It would be so easy to give up. Turn ourselves over to Tingel’s enemies and die. “I’m not giving up.” Sir Alfred says. “Me either.” Mary crosses her arms determinedly. Lady Carin looks at me. I smile softly, a truth settling deep in my heart. “We’re going to live.”


The sun went down some time ago. I can’t remember when. I'm always nervous, but this fire is warm. There were poplar trees beyond the camp before. Now there are shadows in the twilight. The tree limbs creak as they bend to the wind and some reach down to tickle my tent. I hope they’re still tree limbs. There are things out there, snapping twigs and shifting the darkness, but for now they're at bay.

I’ll stay by the fire. I'll be alright. To pass the time I sit on this log and think about home. The white farmhouse with the red barn at the end of the pasture where my dog waits. When I get there I'll scratch him behind the ears. Inside, somewhere upstairs, I'll hear the creak of footsteps on the old floorboards. She'll call out: "Is there a stranger in the house?" and I'll smile and say: "Intruder!" Then I'll see her face: tanned skin and sun bleached hair, slanted smile and bright green eyes. She’ll look down from the banister at the top of the stairs. If I'm still home, then I never left. That's how I pass the time as I stare into the fire. When the morning light arrives and the poplar trees come back I'll move on, keeping the eastern sun on my right ear. Someday I’ll get out of these woods. Someday-- A drop of rain lands on the back of my neck.

Is there a stranger in the house? The shadows sway in the breeze. Then something crashes through the dry underbrush behind me. I look that way, but I don't see-- Another drop, this one on my forearm. Goosebumps line to my shoulder. The rain starts to fall and the fire hisses. That thing in the darkness is quiet, waiting. I'm up, tossing my blanket in my pack. I leave my tent behind me, put on my hat and glance at the drowning fire. Go ! I grab my flashlight and point it toward the tall poplar I used as a marker to set up camp. Away from the sounds in the darkness. Go ! I run into the woods, stumble, stop and listen. Crash, snap from behind, like an echo. It's following me. I try to think about the farmhouse at the end of the pasture. A wagging tail and her face at the banister. There's a stranger in the house. I can make it out. I can get home again. So I run, but my legs are blind. Something thrashes in the woods to my right and feet pound the ground to my left. Something else cries in the night, a lonely howl. Just go . Think about the farmhouse and go . I come to a river and moonlight reflects off its surface. I stop to notice the rain letting up. The clouds have cleared and the moon is full.

This current is too fast to cross. Which river is this? Which way is north? No matter now. Pick a direction and go . I turn to my right, following the current. A tree branch snaps ahead. I try to stop but slip in the mud and drop my flashlight. No ! I shut my eyes, cover my ears and shake my head. If it wants to come and get me, now is the time. An owl hoots to my right. The river roars to my left. And I'm still standing. Take a moment. Breathe. Come up with a plan.

I set down my bag, bend over and feel for the light. When I find it I'll point it in the direction of the farmhouse. I’m fine. As I open my eyes again I see darkness. Clouds have covered the moon. The river is hiding. Something scurries away. Something else approaches from behind and knocks on a tree, crying out like a jackal:

"GO! GO! GO!"

Then it, too, runs away, its cries softening in the distance. " Go ! Go ! Go !" I don’t like these woods. The flashlight was right there . Why did I have to drop it? Why did I have to come here?

Why did I have to leave? My hands move mud, hoping for the cold touch of metal. The underbrush shakes behind me. The river is loud. It's all so much. It's all too much. I back up a step and my foot slips into a drop off. My other leg fails and I can't catch myself. I grasp at the air as I fall. The moon comes back out. I close my eyes and drop into the river.

This is it. I'll never feel any of it again: the morning sun lifting dew off the pasture. A wet dog returning from his run through the field. Chickens in the barn. A hot coffee brought to me on the porch by the woman I love. No plans for the day but to watch it pass by. Together. As I hit the water, something emerges from the woods. Then I'm under. The cold is piercing. My skin is numb and my blood feels like it’s on fire. The current is strong so I tumble and strike a rock with my hip. I’m blind down here, but I see stars and a white farmhouse as I slip away. The darkness descends like rain, blotting out the farm, blotting out the stars in my eyes until a hand grabs me by the arm and pulls me out of the water. It drags me up the bank, back into the darkness, back into the woods. It stops for a moment, but I can't fight it. I don't want to. I keep my eyes closed and it picks me up, hoisting me over its shoulders. It runs and I hold on. Its skin feels like fiberglass but I don't think about anything now.

After a while it lets me go. I fall to my knees, dry again. I open my eyes and let tears fall to the detritus. There's a light nearby -- a fire next to a big poplar tree. And my tent. My pack leans on a nearby stump and my flashlight sticks out the side pocket. Twigs snap behind me as the creature slinks back into the darkness. I don’t know how to leave this place. The sun went down some time ago. I can’t remember when. I'm always nervous, but this fire is warm.