I’ve been an agent for around 6 years now and no two day is the same. Last month I was escorting a high-profile ambassador from the airport to a World Peace conference, ensuring he wouldn’t get assassinated. This month I’ve been given a slightly different task. My agency, CKRUT Agency, had appointed myself and my partner, Agent Walker, to infiltrate a gun-smuggling operation. The plan was that I’d pretend to work for them, to get to know their structure and all that, and that Agent Walker would remain unknown and monitor their activities from the ‘outside’. Like, usually, he’d literally BE outside in a nearby van, gathering intelligence from a wire I’d be wearing, or taking photographs and so on.

It’s always been like that. I’d dive in, head first, wanting to be close and play a part in the action, infiltrating and acting undercover. That was the whole appeal of being an agent for me. Agent Walker is the complete opposite. He prefers to work behind the scenes, to compile and organise the evidence. I don’t think he likes to be in dangerous situations, which is pretty odd for an agent. I always joke that he should change career, that he’s not cut-out for this. He’s a great agent. He’s good at keeping me on task, at following the procedures and thinking logically. He always says to me; “Manny, you need to use your head. You can’t wing it, you always need a plan.” So, anyway, I’ve been working with these gun guys for about a month now, getting to know them, gaining their trust, and Adam has been outside recording the information. It’d all been going smoothly too, up until now.

“Patrick, it’s great that you're here. We have something you should see.” That’s my secret name, Patrick. The guy who’s just welcomed me is Gerard, the main man in charge of the illegal activities I’ve been monitoring. He phoned me like 20 minutes ago, saying that he has something he wants to show me. He wouldn’t say what. I was hesitant. Every time I get a phone call and an order to show up somewhere with no explanation, I panic. I always think they’ve discovered my identity. This time is no different. Right now, I’m shit scared. “Of course I’d be here. Yeah, what is it?” I said, trying my best to sound confident.

He turned on his heel and walked toward the back of the marvellous mansion. I followed him nervously around the front of the building and to the side, where there was a long, stone corridor with windows showing views of the lustrous grounds of the property. I purposefully kept a few steps behind him, hesitant of what was going to happen. He steered to the right and so I did the same. We went down some steps and through a small archway. I knew where we were going. There was a small basement located under the house that wasn’t actually accessible from the house. You had to go through the corridor. I hope that Adam gets some good info on this, whatever it’ll be. Somewhere along our walk, one of Gerard’s henchmen had joined us. Shit.

We got to the basement door and before going in, Gerard turned to me. “Look, kid. I know you haven’t been with us long, but I feel like I can trust you. Now, you can’t say anything about this, OK? Not until I’ve dealt with it anyway. You haven’t been with us that long, but I know who you used to run with, so I’m sure you’ve experienced situations similar to what you’re going to see now. But, just...stay chill.” Stay chill? This guy is 50+, and he’s saying stuff like ‘stay chill’?

“Yeah, sure. You can trust me. I won’t breathe a word.” I stated. Adam, you better be ready, man. This is going to be biiiig . Gerard opened the wooden door and we walked into the basement. It’s a smallish room and is different to most typical basements, in the way that it’s extremely well lit. Honestly, it feels more like a lair than a basement, or a dungeon. It’s quite creepy, which is weird because it’s so bright. The room kind of bends to the left a little, so you can’t see the contents of the room immediately, you have to go further into the room. I walked alongside Gerard before bumping into a wooden cabinet that stood in the middle of the room. What I saw before me had startled me so much that I’d forgotten to stop walking. The sudden movement of the cabinet caused a metal vase to skid off the cabinet. It landed on the floor with a heavy thud. Luckily, it didn’t break.

I told myself to bend down and pick up the vase, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of what was before me.

Gerard crossed in front of me and picked up the metal vase, placing it back on the cabinet.

“You OK there, Pat? I told you it could be a little bit of a shock. Come, let’s sit.”

He put his hand behind my back and guided me to a small sofa that stood directly behind the metal cabinet, so that when we sat we were facing the wall. Well, not just the wall. We were also facing a bloodied, beaten man, duct-taped to a ‘spinning’ office chair. The body was badly injured and blood dripped down onto the floor, but that’s not what had shocked me. Bruises had formed on his arms and face, but I wasn’t particularly phased by those either. Even the purple, swollen eye that couldn’t even open wasn’t that startling. It was the person that all those injuries had been inflicted upon, which had stunned me.

Adam. Shitting hell.

I gulped loudly which broke the silence and brought Gerard’s attention to me. He put his arm across my shoulders and leaned back into the couch.

“Pat, meet Adam Walker.” He spat. I was frozen. How in the hell… “We found him outside my house there. Andre, you know Andre, my head of security, well he said that there’d been a white van parked on the street opposite the house for the past week. He sent a few guys there to check it out, and guess what. This little rat was in there, recording us! He had all the set up; microphones, headphones, cameras, everything. We don’t know wht, we don’t know what stuff he found out, but we do know that he’s working for an agency.” He explained.

“Damn…” Is all I could muster. “Jamie, show Pat the ID.” Gerard snapped his fingers. The guy that stood behind me handed me a black, leather wallet with a small ID card in it. I analysed the card. Adam Walker, Special Agent. Property of CKRUT Agency. A picture of him and everything. Goddamn, Adam. I could feel Gerard’s eyes on me as I read the ID card. I shook my head and spat on the ground. “Goddamn agencies,” I hissed, “they gotta get into everything, don’t they? Annoying rats.” I tossed the wallet back to the henchman. Facing Gerard, I asked. “So, what now? What’s your plan with him?” I asked, trying to not seem interested. I didn’t want him thinking that I was soft or that I knew Adam, for mine and Adam’s sake. Gerard let out a long, deep sigh. “I just don’t know, Patrick. Don’t know at all.”

“Well, if he was part of some operation, his little agency probably knows that he’s surveying this place. If he doesn’t report back to them soon, I’m guessing they’re probably gonna send a lil’ search party out to find him. We can’t keep him here. They’ll know that he was around here so this is probably the first place they’d come. I mean, it’s probably a government agency, don’t you think? I reckon it’d be best if we let him go, for our sake, otherwise we’ll get a lot of heat from this shitty agency...Probably.” I finished uncertainly. The men glared at me, their eyes squinted and their arms crossed. Have I said too much? Have I been too precise? Shit.

Gerard broke the silence by standing up and striding toward Adam. “He’s right. We can’t kill him and we definitely can’t keep him here, otherwise we’ll have the whole government up our ass. Good call, Pat.” He praised me.

Thank God.

“However, we need to send a message-” Uh, what? “We need to let them know that we know. We ain’t gonna tolerate this shit. We need to make an example of what happens to rats who try and spy on us.” He growled, pulling Adam’s head back by his dark hair.

On instinct, I shot up, as if to object, but quickly stopped when I saw the puzzled faces turn toward me. Adam gave me a look, as if to tell me to stay calm. He knew as well as I did what would happen if they found out we knew each other.

“Uhh, how about if...i-if we interrogate him first? Y’know, get all the info out of him. Maybe we can convince him to, like, terminate their operation?” I suggested. Gerard let go of Adam’s hair, causing his head to fall harshly downwards, and walked toward me.

He got right up into my face, analysing my expression. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his hand reach behind his back. I’d been with him long enough to know that he kept a small handgun in the band of his trousers. “Do you know this piece of shit, Pat? I mean, you sure seem very interested in not hurting or killing the guy. You acquaintances or something?” He quizzed intently.

I couldn’t stop myself from stammering. “Wha...What? G-God, no! I ain’t ever met this asshole! I ain’t ever seen him before in my life!”

Marching back over to Adam, he gripped his chin and squeezed his face, pointing it to my direction. Addressing Adam, he asked him frantically. “What about you, huh? You know this guy? You seen this guy before? Maybe you’re working with him or something?”

Adam shook his head slowly. I stepped forward. “What is this, Gerard? Are you losing it? What do you mean ‘do we work together’? You’re talking crazy!” I scoffed, trying to take another step forward, but my feet stopped when Gerard pointed the handgun directly at my face. I put my hands up on instinct. “No, no. You know what? This does seem a little weird, don’t it? I mean, you have to admit it. You joined us, like, what - a month ago? Out of nowhere! And then now, for a whole week, this pig has been recording us? I mean, how would he even be able to do that? He’d have to have some insider to plant the mics and cameras and shit, right? And you, Patrick, just now, you seem to know an awful lot of ‘technical agency spy’ bullshit words. You working with him? Is it you who’s been setting up cameras, mics, recording us? Huh?” He pointed furiously with his gun. The henchman, ‘Jamie’, stepped up.

“Yeah, you got a wire under there, ‘Patrick’?” He asked, a hand hovering over his gun. I gave a nervous laugh and stared at Gerard.

“You’re paranoid, man! You’re crazy!” I tried to seem convincing. I could see the panic in Adam’s eyes now.

“Go on then, show me you ain’t wearing no wire. Search him, Jamie.”

Jamie walked up to me. I was in fight or flight mode, although I wasn’t really in a situation where I was able to do either. He was steps away and I had no plan. Damn. I looked over to Adam. Jamie extended his arms to search me and I took a chance. I grabbed the metal vase off the cabinet and brought it down on his head, causing Jamie to stumble back, stunned. I made a grab for his gun. I gripped it tight and aimed it at Jamie’s chest. I pulled the trigger and the deafening sound was accompanied with the wet splatter of blood landing on my face. His body slumped to the floor and I turned the gun onto Gerard. “Drop the gun, Gerard.” I ordered, though with no sense of superiority. My voice wavered like crazy and I felt my eyes tear up.

“What the shit, Patrick!” He raged.

“My name’s not Patrick,” I stated, taking a step forward, “I’m Agent Manny Richards and you are under arrest for gun-smuggling, assault and tax-fraud, among other things.” I stated.

His eyes filled with rage and his face turned a bright red. I was surprised that he didn’t start foaming at the mouth or that steam didn’t blow out of his ears and nostrils. He looked piiiissed. “So you do know this piece of shit? You RAT! You lying RAAAAAT!” He shouted, the gun shaking in his hand. I glanced at Adam who gave me a small nod.

“I never said I know him, I'm just an agent too. Gerard Goodman, drop the gun. If you don’t I will shoot.” I repeated. I knew he wasn’t going to, so that’s when I nodded faintly back at Adam.

Finding some strength, Adam drove his head into Gerard’s stomach, causing him to double over and drop his gun. I aimed, breathed steadily, and took the shot. Gerard fell to his knees and fell forward, a pool of blood flowing around his head.

My hands shook violently as I lowered my gun and tucked it into my trousers. I hurried over to Adam. I knew there’d be more henchmen on their way. We had to leave, now. I started to untie Adam quickly, a relieved smile on his face.

“Goddammit, I was scared.” He murmured, as I untied the last of the ropes and cut the tape. “Thanks, man. I owe you.” “Damn, how did you even let them get you? You dumb asshole.”

“I don’t even know.” He said defeatedly, lifting a hand to his swollen eye. I lifted him to his feet and walked him toward the door. I glanced at him sideways, and with a smirk I said. “See, you don’t always need a plan. They hardly ever work.”


When had his knuckles gotten so knobby? They didn’t used to be this way - his knuckles. He was sure of that. There was definitely a time when the skin was smooth and taut over the joints, the lines thin and shallow. Now the bone protruded sharply beyond the fleshy parts. An old man’s hands. Deep creases wove between pink and white splotches, winding their way to his palms where they zigged and zagged, combining in places and separating in others like tributaries in an ancient river delta. On the fourth finger of his left hand, a pale depression circumscribed the area that had been occupied by his wedding ring for the past thirty-seven years. “Knobby knuckles,” he said aloud. The words came out raspy where he’d meant for them to be sing-songy. A croaky stream of hot air passing over a dried out, lethargic tongue. It sounded like the beginning of a children’s rhyme. Something that he might have sung a long time ago, perhaps while jumping rope or playing tag on some idyllic and idealized childhood playground that may or may not have ever existed. “Wobbly buckles. Cobbled hucksters. Fuckle, muckle, cuckhold, chuckle.” Waves of pressure emanated from behind his eyes. He shut them, blocking out what little light managed to squeeze between the thick hotel window curtains. The skin on his face felt flush and hot. He tried to remember the night before at the upstairs bar. To recreate what he’d said, what he’d done. Grasping at flashes, trying to piece together a coherent whole. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead and landed on his pillow. He opened his eyes. On the nightstand next to his still-made hotel bed, the sheets tucked tightly and covered in the thick duvet, stood the evidence. Four single serving bottles of Skyy Vodka from the minibar, a tumbler with half a finger of melted ice, his phone with the little red notifications light blinking, and the fourteen karat gold ring inscribed on the inside with his and his wife’s initials and the date of their wedding. He was still dressed in the slacks and white linen shirt he’d worn the night before, his wallet and electronic keycard secured in his pants’ back and left pockets, respectively. The expensive fabrics were wrinkled and covered in the smell of perspiration and deodorant and body odor and day-old booze. He had managed to get his shoes off, at least. Those were by the door, their laces still tied. He picked up the ring and attempted to slide it over his swollen finger, twisting and turning it. He groaned slightly. A narrow beam of mid-morning light crept across the far wall. On the other side of the curtains, a glorious view of the Magnificent Mile and Lake Michigan that would have impressed him at one point. Before he had become so jaded, perhaps. Above the queen-sized bed, a painting of the Chicago skyline hung, carefully selected by a team of interior designers and consultants to be utterly neutral and inoffensive in every way. At least he knew where he was. In his three-plus decade career with Barnes Partners he had stayed in more rooms just like this than he cared to count. Senior Partner, Head of Business Development, Platinum Elite, Million Mile Club, Diamond Circle, Medallion Plus, a duplex in a pre-war building on the Upper West side, a weekend house in Bridgehampton with a two-door Porsche next to a Lexus SUV in the garage, membership at the grass court tennis club that he never went to anymore. He’d worked hard for it. He’d earned it. Beijing, New York, Rio, London. Long stints on the road in identical hotel rooms and corporate board rooms and glass towers, all decorated the same international modern industrial chic. He’d once woken up in a panic because he couldn’t for the life of him remember where in the world he was, finally calling the front desk. “Where am I?” He’d asked the confused woman on the other end of the line. Singapore, it turned out. It would be another twenty minutes, at least, until the Advil kicked in. Once it did, he’d be able to stand up, take a shower, get ready for his one o’clock flight back to La Guardia. Until then, though, he had decided he would stay where he was, face half buried in the soft down pillow dampened with his sweat. The previous night, before he started drinking, he’d gotten a call from his wife that had ended in a fight. It was something stupid and inconsequential. It usually was. Something about money, and what to do with it now that they had everything. He’d pursued his career while he and his wife became roommates with little to talk about and seemingly nothing in common now that the children were grown and no longer occupied their time and conversations. She told him she wanted to renovate the kitchen and he’d said in a not patient tone, “again?” and then, “we just renovated the damn kitchen.” They did that a lot these days. Argued over inconsequential things. She told him he drank too much, which was true, but so what? He criticized the way she cut vegetables too thick or had too many pairs of heels. She’d called him controlling, a “tyrant,” as he recalled. He’d told her that all she knew how to do anymore was spend what he earned. “You have no idea how hard I work for what we have.” In retrospect, it was probably too harsh an assessment, but he’d hung up the phone in dramatic fashion, not giving her a chance to respond. Getting the last word mattered to him these days. It was a small victory. From there, he’d gone straight to the minibar. The first drink had been an angry one. He hadn’t bothered to use a glass. Just poured it directly into his mouth and swallowed it down in one shot. He had paced back and forth in the room, rehashing the phone call, thinking of clever and cutting things that he could have said. Maybe he would call her back. He‘d picked up his phone, typed in the password, started to scroll through text messages his wife had sent him, and then put it back down. He would take the elevator to the top floor bar, he‘d decided. There was a reception to celebrate the end of the Midwestern Bankers Association Annual Conference, where he’d been a keynote speaker earlier that day. The presentation he’d given – “Asset Allocation for Pension Fund Management in a Volatile Market” – had been well received. A room full of potential new clients and leads and new lines of business. He’d go up to the top floor and pretend to take in the view. Mingle a bit. Let people flatter him. That still made him feel good, the outside affirmation of being someone who mattered, who had some authority, who was at the top of his field. He’d go up and just see what happened. There was no harm in that. Maybe he would order a steak. He’d get it rare and eat it without worrying about what it meant for his blood pressure or cholesterol levels. He had earned that too. But first, he would have a second drink. This one he’d poured into a tumbler with a cube of ice. The warmth of the vodka spread from his stomach into his chest and arms. He got into the marble-tiled shower and masturbated. He got out. He put on a fresh shirt and stood in front of the mirror buttoning and unbuttoning the second one from the top. By then, the edges were dull. The second drink had put some space between him and his anger. He‘d poured the third and drunk it quickly. Had he debated pouring the fourth, or had he just gone ahead and done it without thinking? After that, he felt good. He looked good too. He undid the second button of his fresh linen shirt. He wet his hand in the sink and parted his salt and pepper, expensively cut hair. He still wore a thirty-three-inch waist, still had some definition in his stomach and chest and arms. He liked that he hadn’t let that go, like so many other men his age. He had been disciplined. He put his keycard in his pocket and stepped out into the hallway. He stopped and put his foot in the door, checked again to make sure he had the key, and then let the door close. The throbbing in his temples was showing some initial signs of subsiding. He rolled over in bed and held his hand above his head, hoping that by allowing the blood to drain he would be able to squeeze the ring back into place. What had happened, once he’d gotten to the bar? He needed to put it back together. Fill in the blanks. He’d ordered a drink. Another vodka, this time with tonic and a lime. He’d told the bartender to put it on his room account. He could probably get it comped. He was a loyal customer. He’d earned it. He’d made a mental note that he would need to have that conversation with the person at the desk when he checked out in the morning. The room had been lively. Conversations were louder than they needed to be, the volume of people who had been drinking. He had been to enough of these things to know how they went. They were a chance to get away. To leave home in St. Louis or Indianapolis or Columbus with the kids and the spouse and the obligations behind. To let loose just a little bit.

A woman had sat down next to him at the bar and ordered a glass of red wine. She was pretty. Not drop dead gorgeous, but pretty. Julia. Or was it Juliana? He couldn’t remember for certain. Mid-thirties, he guessed. She’d tipped the bar tender and taken a long sip of wine before turning to him. “That’s better,” Julia or Juliana had said, letting out a sigh and pushing a strand of dirty blonde hair out of her eyes. She’d turned and smiled at him and told him that she’d enjoyed his presentation. He’d pretended to be humble. She was from Milwaukee. “Not too far away. Just a couple hours’ drive. But it feels like such an escape to be here. You know what I mean?” He’d nodded and said that he did. She had given him a business card. He lowered his hand and felt his breast pocket of his shirt. It was still there, her business card. He removed it, straightened the edges, and squinted at the embossed lettering. Jennifer Dovers, Regional Director, First Bank of the Great Lakes, it read. Jennifer. That was it. Was it then that he’d taken off his ring? Or had it been earlier? He couldn’t remember. She was going home first thing in the morning, she had told him. He had put his hand on the bar, making a show of his bare fingers. What then? She’d finished her wine. She’d asked whether he wanted a cocktail. “Something sweet,” she insisted, “to celebrate.” She had smiled at him and waved toward the bartender. “Have you ever had a Malibu Sunset? It’s my favorite.” And rather than be a prick about it, rather than say that that wasn’t his thing, that he preferred aged whiskey or top-shelf vodka, he’d said ‘yes’. “Just as long as I can treat you to the next one.” Her hair had fallen back across her eyes, and she'd brushed it back again, tucking it behind her ear. In his darkened room, the phone on the table buzzed with a text message alert. He tried again to slide the ring into its place. He pushed hard. It still wouldn’t budge. They’d chatted a little while. He and Jennifer. She told him she hadn’t imagined herself at Bank of the Great Lakes. She’d been a theater major. But she liked the work well enough. It paid the bills. And she was good at it. She’d been promoted recently. That was the general outline of the thing. The details were probably lost forever. They weren’t important anyway. He guessed that she was only a few years older than his daughter. She was born on a Wednesday, his daughter, and he had been back in the office the following Monday. His managers had noticed that and rewarded him for it by making him a project lead. Across from the bar, through the gaggles of inebriated coworkers telling one another things that they’d almost certainly regret the next day, there had been a floor to ceiling window that looked out over the Chicago skyline. She’d said they should go and have a look, that her own room was only on the third floor and looked directly into the wall of the neighboring building. She was excited about it, about being away. There was something unpredictable about it, an element of danger in what had become a too safe life. This was all still new to her. She hadn‘t yet become jaded. Had he said ‘yes?’ Had he tried to kiss her there by the window, the lights of the city sprawling out before them? No. He was pretty sure he hadn’t, but he couldn’t rule it out completely. He’d certainly considered it, at a minimum. Was that who he’d become? A man who tries to kiss young women in hotel bars? A sad old man with old man’s hands and the second button of his shirt unbuttoned. And then what? What had he thought would happen next? Would they have sex, he and Jennifer? Would he have lain there next to her afterward and confessed everything? Would he tell her about his wife and his children? Would he have tearfully pulled his ring out of his pocket and shown it to her and told her how he and his wife had drifted apart, how his obsession over his job had cost him the only thing in his life that had ever really mattered? How all they did now was bicker? That he regretted it all? Would he warn her not to end up like he had, to go back to theater, to get out while she still could? The Advil was doing its trick. The ache behind his forehead replaced now with foggy dullness. He gritted his teeth and pushed hard on the ring. He grunted as the ring budged slowly past his knuckle and slid into its pale-skinned depression. He held his hand to his eyes and observed it up close. The skin on his knuckles was red and raw and scraped. The light through the crack in the shades glinted off the gold of the ring. He picked up his phone from the bedside table and typed out a text message. “I’m sorry about last night,” he tapped out. And then, “you’re right about the kitchen.” He pushed send. He put the phone down. Then he picked it back up and typed out another message. “I love you.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d told her that. He would get up and open the curtains, let the light in, appreciate the view. He would take a shower and change into some fresh clothes. He would check out of the hotel. He would pay his bill without asking for special treatment. He would go to the airport and catch his one o’clock flight to La Guardia. He would drink less. He would be less critical. He would help his wife renovate the kitchen. He would do better.


December 6, 1941

A bright blue sky for a hundred miles west ended the day. Cool mountain breezes, from the snowcapped Sierras, blew across the lowlands. A short hike to the edge of town, Alex and John searched for the house known as “Decay and Splendor.” Hidden among a neighborhood of pines, the gothic manor sat empty and foreboding. Boarded-up windows and tangled vines hid a once beautiful home fallen from glory. Dead leaves scented the air and swished along a buried sidewalk as they approached. Statues and figurines of white marble peeked out among the overgrown brambles.

As they approached the gothic structure, birds flew in and out of the tower. Old newspaper covered the windows under fallen boards. Alex felt eyes watching him from a hundred directions. The “yeeek” of the weathervane drifting in the breeze sent many young men running home. No one had been brave enough to stay one night in this house.

“Should we go in?” asked Alex.

“Sure, why not,” said John.

“What if we slept on the porch? No one’s ever done that before.”

“Alex, I’m going inside with or without you.”

Rumbling came from the east, where storm clouds stretched across the sky.

“Do you want to sleep outside in that or do you want to come inside?” asked John.

Alex hesitated, his legs trembling. To the west it was calm and sunny. “Should we go home and do this next weekend,” Alex asked.

“Come on, we better get inside before it rains.”

“Look at those clouds. It might be safer if we went home, John.” said Alex.

“We’d better get inside before the rain starts. It’s starting to get cold, and I want to start a fire.” John walked up the steps.

“Go ahead, when the fire is lit, come and get me. I’ll stay out here a little longer.”

The thunder reminded Alex of rocks in a barrel rolling down a hill. Lightning flashed in a tall tower of clouds. Dust devils picked up leaves and whirled them around the courtyard. Warm air clashed with cold, and the storm winds howled around the lonely house.

The thumping of John’s boots were almost as loud as Alex’s heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“John, you’ve got to see these clouds,” said Alex. The sun faded orange along the horizon, as this thunder boomer crept closer and closer. Animals quieted their noises and prepared for the rain.

“Alex,” said John

Shaken back to the present, Alex spun to see John glowing in the light of his lantern. Fear gripped him in anticipation of a creature reaching out to tear him limb from limb.

“I almost died.” shouted Alex, clutching his chest.

John looked at Alex, amused. “I called you from inside. The fire is going. Let’s get out of the cold.” Heart racing, Alex grabbed his bag and headed up the steps and inside.

Green paint flaked free of the house and mixed with the leaves and trash blowing around the porch. “Are you sure this place is safe? It won’t come falling down on our heads tonight, will it?” said Alex.

“No, it’s over a hundred years old. Built with the best wood money could buy. Look, would I do this if it weren’t safe?” John jumped down three steps to the floor, holding onto the banister when he landed. Thunder boomed as he hit the floor. The timing couldn’t have been better. The house shook with the vibration as the storm hissed rain outside the open door. Eyes wide open, Alex slammed the door shut and barricaded himself against the frame.

“Never do that again.” he said.

John grinned. “It was good timing. I didn’t know. How about we sleep in the dining room tonight?” John said. “Right next to the fireplace.”

Alex stood paralyzed from the waist down. Listening to rain slapping the sandstone beneath the gutter sent chills up his spine. Witches tapped on the windows and snakes hissed right outside the door. Cannon balls covered in flames rolled down the halls, crashing into everything. It's all he could imagine.

“It’s a storm Alex. Come on in.”

A lightning bolt, bright enough to highlight every room, followed by thunder, exploded outside the house. Alex jumped across the floor and slid to a halt. Grabbing his bag, he ran to the fireplace and plopped on his knees, trembling, holding the pack for safety. “Why, why, why, why, did I agree to this? What was I thinking? I want to go home," he said.

“You’re going to be OK. There are no such things as ghosts," said John. Sliding out his sleeping roll and untying his pack. John went about his work setting the example of calm under pressure. Nerves of steel, that’s what he believed in, like his father said; “With nerves of steel you can handle anything.” Alex didn’t believe him. He sat there and trembled, gripping his bag.

A nest of spiders, disturbed by the heat of the fire, ran from under the mantel and up the chimney wall to the ceiling. Up into the darkness they ran, ten, twenty, fifty, and then they vanished.

Alex sat like a statue, crushing the contents of his bag against his chest. I’ll wake up covered in spider webs. They’ll suck my blood dry, he thought.

“Hey Alex, are you going to sit there all night?” John waved his hands in front Alex. Shadows from his fingers loomed across the room. Alex could see John's fingers even after he closed his eyes. He opened them to see John’s grinning face staring back at him. “You’re fine, you’re safe with me.”

Alex lightened his grip on the bag. It tipped to the floor.

Five minutes later, everything was laid out. They made their sleeping rolls like boy scouts. John, in his sock feet, sat and ate a Hershey bar while Alex contemplated all the ways he might die that night.

“You should have brought something to eat,” said John.

“I did, but I’m not hungry.” Alex looked sad. He listened to the rain outside, the fire snapping, and his courage draining away. “Why did you do this? Why did you bring me here, John?” asked Alex.

John froze mid-bite. He looked at Alex. The heat from the fireplace warming his face. Through the orange light, he could see his friend was pale. “Look, we’re about to turn 17. The world needs men with confidence. Men who can face their fears and not blink. Do you understand?”

Alex understood. That’s what "Boy’s Life" was teaching him and the Boy Scouts. He unpacked a chunk of cheese and looked into the fire as he picked at it. I want to be a man. He thought. Raindrops fell through the chimney and hissed around the fire. Alex looked at John. He always felt stronger with John. They’d been friends their whole lives. Alex gnawed at his food. His round cheeks regained their color. Then he became emotional.

“John, what’s it like to have your dad around?” asked Alex

John crumpled the empty Hershey wrapper and tossed it in the fire. “You miss yours, don’t you?”

Both their fathers served in the Great War together. Both their families lost relatives during the Spanish Flu. After these two were born the country fell into a depression and Alex’s father left to find work. It'd been several years, and he hadn’t returned.

“Yeah, I miss my dad. He wasn’t here to teach me things like your dad.” Alex became quiet.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” said John.

Watery eyes looked up.

“I never had a brother, and I always felt like you were one to me.” John grinned. This comforted Alex. A heavy sniff and he and John stood up to explore the house.

Old mouse droppings lay among thick dust now scuffed by their boots. The place was old and musty, but not rotten. Kids told stories about people lost inside forever. They said the basement, meant for animal sacrifice, was bloody and full of shrines. Feral cats would stare at you from the fireplace or atop the stairs. Their glowing yellow eyes watching your every move.

A constant tap, tap, tap came from a room down the hall. Alex and John went to investigate. Room after empty room showed nothing but peeling wallpaper and bare floors. Alex looked behind him as much as he looked ahead. The feeling someone would appear over his shoulder at any moment; scared him stiff. Down the hall, a cool breeze blew cobwebs along the ceiling. Step after step they moved through the darkness.

John felt brave, but Alex’s heart beat harder and harder.

“What do you think it is?” asked Alex.

“Only a leak in the roof.”

“Do you have a knife or anything?” asked Alex

“No, why would I have a knife?”

“I wish I had a knife.” said Alex

“Why?”

“So I could give it to you,” he said.

John looked at Alex from the corner of his eyes. “Lets go.”

Easing their way down the hall, the bathroom door was half open. The noise came from inside. Pushing the door, its hinges creaked, and the lantern filled the room with a yellow light. Rain dripped through a broken window on to the floor. “See, it’s nothing.”

Turning back, Alex lunged across John’s path. Sudden movement in the darkness came at them like the wind. Alex braced for impact when a sheet of newspaper hit him in the face. Alex’s mind knew what it was, but he couldn't believe it. John grabbed the paper and pulled it away. Alex stood motionless, eyes closed, waiting to die.

“Thank you, Alex.”

John crumpled the paper and tossed it on the floor. Together they breathed a sigh of relief. Foot steps and howling wind were all the boys heard as they walked from room to room. Back downstairs by the fire. For a moment the two sat silent.

“You know, you saved my life back there.” said John.

“How, from the funny pages?” said Alex

“It’s not the point. Did you see what you did?”

“No?"

“When you thought we were in danger, you threw yourself in front of me to protect me from getting hurt.”

“So?”

“That’s the point. You didn’t know what it was, but you sacrificed yourself to protect me. That’s the most brave thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

Alex sat up straighter. “You mean it?”

“Yes, I mean it.” John ran a hand through his hair. “You're the bravest person I know.”

Alex smiled. “Yeah, I’m not scared anymore. Let's go down to the basement and see what’s down there.”

“Lets not get too brave.” said John.

Rain, interrupted by thunder, calmed to a steady gentle rhythm. The fire popped and smoked, raging brighter with new logs, then calming to red embers. The night and its symphony of sounds relaxed the boys. Lying on their backs, listening to the rain, they waited to fall asleep.

“Alex, do you remember what we learned in history this year? Do you remember what Thomas Paine said?” Alex looked confused.

“It’s from ‘The American Crisis.’ Do you remember? ‘These are the times that try men’s souls.’” Alex looked over at John, then understood. John grinned. “Yes, you remember, don’t you?”

Alex looked up and confidently said. “Yes, my favorite line was: The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.”

Lying prone, John raised his hands in presentation to the world around them and said. “We are in this house on the edge of town. Tonight we’ve faced our fears. Tomorrow we will be men.”

“Do you believe that?” said Alex.

John’s fingers crossed and settled on his chest. A deep sigh, but no answer. “Do you ever think about what the future will bring?”

“No, I think about summer, and baseball.”

“My dad always said to go with your gut. My guts are telling me somethings coming.”

“Do you mean like a fart?”

Laughter echoed off the walls. A large peel of thunder sounded in the distance. Uncontrolled hysterics warded off any fears. Gasps and chuckling followed by yawns and stretches settled between them.

“John, do you think we will ever be as great as our fathers? I mean, will we get called upon to live the life they lived?”

“If my gut is right, yeah, I think we will. Someday. Besides, if history has taught us anything, it’s that it will repeat itself.”

“Do you think we will have to fight the Germans again someday?”

Lying with one hand behind his head, John looked at Alex. “That’s what my gut is telling me. Someday, we will fight the Germans again. My dad keeps telling me it’s important to go camping with the scouts, he’s even teaching me how to shoot at groundhogs. It’s like he knows something isn’t right.”

“Do you think he could teach me how to shoot? I’ve never shot more than a sling.”

“I don’t see why not?”

“I miss my dad.” said Alex “If he were here, do you think he’d have anything to tell me like your dad?”

“Sure he would. All dads are like that. They want their kids to make the world a better place.”

“Do you think we can make the world a better place?” Alex asked.

“I’ll tell you like my dad told me. You can make it better, or die trying.” Alex grinned and relaxed for the first time that night.

Steady breathing broke the silence. Light rain patted the roof. A warm fire and full stomachs ended the night.


She had done it a thousand times, a thousand for sure. she did it every time her parents were very busy at work, every time she missed her, every time at celebrations and festivals. She had always loved to go there and cried a lot of times too, to stay there for more time. Here was she sitting in the back seat of the car, her mother on driver's and father next to her mum, doing the same thing, going to her maternal grandparent's home once again. "When will we reach there?" She asked her face gloomy and voice shaky with the tears she was holding back. "and for how long to we will have to stay there?" It was not often that this girl cried, for she was too bold to cry she thought... but today was different, a lot different. "I think it'll be three or four hours at least" said her father whom she called daddy. Soon they reached the house. She met her grandpa who lived on the ground floor, talked to him for a while not even once smiling unlike she'd done on all other trips she remembered from eternity. She climbed the stairs to the upper floor. Checking all the rooms, she couldn't hold her tears back so she ran to the restroom. looking in the mirror began to sob like a poor little baby starved for a thousand days. It was true, her grandma was gone for sure. She rested in peace everyone had told her in the recent days that had gone by, although fifteen she hadn't believed then a bit. No she wasn't mentally unfit but losing someone she had loved like her own life, known since she was born, for she was the first one to hold her, was gone now forever never to meet again. All of it on her birthday. It was true, she had lost her grandma on the day she got her and this burned down a hole in her heart. the restroom was miserable, with all her grandma's things still intact, the shampoo she used lay there on the shelf, still there but she was gone. She knows she would meet her again but what pains her the most is that she doesn't know when and that that her sixty year old grandma far from any illness died in a pandemic the COVID 19 pandemic and though she caught the infection from her grandma when they last met, she couldn't go to see her in her last days. She was still crying when suddenly came a knock at the door "Hey love what are you doing in the restroom since so long?" It was her mother. "come out we need to tell you something important." "Coming." Said her while wiping her face. She reached the lobby where all were sitting and silently sat on a chair with her face down in order to hide her bloodshot eyes. "Love, you're gonna be a sister" said her mum "what??" reflexed the poor girl looking straight up to her mum. "Its a girl due on 18 Feb.." Declared her father proudly. And yes, that was very straight nine months from when her grandma had died and very much on grandma's birthday indeed. The months passed with a lot of cries for the poor girl for she loved her grandma too much to be happy for a still unknown girl and the day came at last when the nurse at last gave a happy cry, "It's a beautiful girl". The newborn girl had the same blonde hair the poor girl's grandma had unlike her and her mother's and all family to take account of she took hold of the girl, her very own sister who was born on the exact same date that the woman she loved the most, her grandma had been born, promising to God that she would make the little girl as generous and lovely and loving as her grandma was. And so the tale continues but with a little change, the poor girl is no more poor and miserable but as happy as her grandma had loved to see her. G.H. Dumont


Mr. Forma’s eyes pointed in opposite directions behind his huge glasses. He was covered in a blanket and shivered as he spoke, a sickly smile on his face revealing his weird teeth. Other than being strangely unsettling, he was polite: he had apologized for the warmth of the room already. “In the future, people will worship the algorithm like they used to worship God.” I wiped the sweat off my brow. The heater was going full blast in the little apartment. I took a seat and drank another glass of lemonade. “You big on computers, Mr. Forma?” He smiled again. “Indeed I am.” “I bought my nephew a computer this summer,” I said, trying to make conversation. “One of those Commodore ones. He says he likes it.” He always had that smile. He smiled like a goddamn loon. I didn’t like him. A reclusive millionaire that lived in an abandoned motel by a random highway... And his eyes - I know he couldn’t help it, but the fact that he never really looked at me was unnerving. Finally he spoke. “More primitive than a baby’s first abacus compared to the computers where I am from.” “That’s right, you claim to be a time traveller.” Forma tapped his glasses and grinned - as per usual. I chuckled. “You are a difficult man to get an interview with, Mr. Forma.” I reached into my bag and pulled out his board game from the mid-60’s: The Unspeakable Tale . It plunked heavily on the little wooden table.

“It was even harder to find a version of your board game that hasn’t been destroyed.” This time he laughed out loud - a kind of bark that slowly turned into a wheeze. “Have you played it? It’s Turing complete.” “I tried to play,” I said, drinking some more lemonade. “It’s a little complicated for me.” “Oh, come now miss Robertson - don’t play dumb. You had to have gotten to at least level thirty-one to decode the location of-” he gestured around him “-my home.” “I suppose that’s true, Mr. Forma.” I didn’t tell him that a dozen other reporters were helping me with it including Jonathan. I still needed to thank him - he figured it out almost completely by himself. Mr. Forma continued. “It’s more advanced than any computer around today if you follow the storyline. It can tell the story of my home. You can play it alone or with five-and-a-half billion others. You can turn on all the lights or none.” I pretended to take notes then leaned forward. “What about the disappearances of the people who played it?” “What about them?” I thought about it for a second. “Well they all had played the game for months, apparently becoming obsessed with it. One of them was from around here: Gerald Hessted spent a hundred thousand dollars getting more sets until his house was filled with it, and then he just... disappeared.” Forma continued his smile. The shadows in the little room were disconcerting, and it was still extremely warm in there. “My board game follows an algorithm, miss Robertson. You know what that is, do you not?” I nodded. He continued. “If you play the game long enough, you’ll unravel the pattern - the algorithm. You’ll be able to play it without the pieces. You’ll learn the forgotten history of the future... as Mr. Hessted did.” That was an interesting quote: I wrote it down. “Can you tell me the story of where you claim to come from? Of your home?” He shook his head, his smile fading a little. I hear the door behind me opening and his goon standing there. “I believe our interview is over. I hope your article is successful. I made sure the parking lot is well lit for you, miss Robertson.” I drove home with what notes I could gather along with the game I brought with me. Already the name of the article came to me: ‘ The History of the Future: A Rare Interview with a Reclusive Genius .’ I pulled into my driveway and called Jonathan again to try and thank him for his assistance with the game. He still wasn’t answering - I’d try again in the morning. I then swooped down to my typewriter and tapped out the title. Forma hadn’t been heard from in a decade: He was a suspect in a few of the disappearances, but nothing ever came from them. A title was good enough for now , I thought as I turned on the tv in the living room. It had only been a few hours but Forma’s old photo from when he was part of the Manhattan project was on the screen. “ Reclusive millionaire Thomas L. Forma has issued a statement saying that he will now only take interviews and win ten thousand dollars from persons who reach level thirty-seven of his popular, yet banned, board game, ‘The Unspeakable Tale.’ Out of publication since 1979, ‘The Unspeakable Tale’ is now the most sought-after game—” *Click* I wandered back to my typewriter and started at the beginning. Mr. Forma was only twenty-two when he joined the Manhattan Project. He grew up in a New Jersey suburb. The government was very tight-lipped about how such a young man joined the prestigious group of physicists.

Mr. Forma himself said that he sent intriguing notes and blueprints to some of the members. Over the years, Forma began to embellish and claimed that he was a time traveler intent on changing the past. “He never said if he was changing the past for the better,” I wrote as I said it out loud. Curious detail to leave out of one’s personal history if someone was going to be so outlandish , I thought . I took the box out and just started looking through the pieces and the hefty manual. The setting of the story was a fantasy - a dead world where you and your team are the last survivors of a race of creatures who could warp the world to their wishes. The ‘board’ pieces themselves could be fit together in myriad ways, constructing a new world for the players to play in, but it always hinted that there was a “correct” state - a ‘canon’ version to play the game if one wanted to. I wrote up a quick explanation of how to play the board game when I looked at the clock again: nearly eleven at night. I looked out the window to the edge of the suburb where the woods started. A thought entered my head about Forma but I dismissed it. No, he wasn’t a time traveler , I told myself. Yes, he’s very clever, but that doesn’t mean he’s from the future .

I kept staring into the woods and watched the trees slowly move back and forth in the wind. The stars were blinking in the night and for a moment I felt unmoored.


It was a normal day in the Aegean Sea for Poseidon. Or so he thought, little did he know his trident would be stolen from a certain few people. In Poseidon's palace. "WHERE IS IT?!" he thundered. Triton, his godly son, just swam in and asked "What's happening? Why's dad so angry?" Delphin, the dolphin god and one of Poseidon's most trusted advisor said "Big Man's lost his trident, if we don't find it fast, he'll tear up the entire Aegean Sea!" It was true, because since Poseidon was the sea god, the sea usually reflected on his emotions. Since Poseidon was so panicked, the sea was beginning to become very stormy. "Hmmmmmmmm. Who could have stolen a trident?" wondered Triton. "Dunno man, but I think it might be one of the gods playing a trick on Poseidon. Of course, what kind of lunatic would mess with Poseidon out of all the gods? He's literally one the strongest gods in existence!" Triton knew. Only a few gods would dare challenge Poseidon. His siblings were the only ones who would dare play a trick. He doubted it was Hestia, but the others would be likely. Zeus, Hades, Hera and possibly Demeter could have taken Poseidon's trident. But why? "Come on, Delphin. We need to ask the other gods if they know where Poseidon's trident is." They went to Zeus first, who was in the Olympians throne room listening to some boring wind presentation. He was happy for an excuse to have a break, even for 5 minutes. However when the two gods asked about Poseidon's trident, his eyes went into thinking mode. "You know", said Zeus "I don't have Poseidon's trident, but I did sense some godly aura in Spain. Maybe that's where Poseidon's trident is." "Thanks Zeus!" said Triton. "We'll check it out!" At the bottom of Mount Olympus. "Ok, well we know it's not Zeus. But what kind of god would go to Spain out of all places? "I dunno man, but let's check it out." They went to Spain. "I know my father's trident is here." Triton said. "I can feel its aura." "Look!" Delphin shouted from the river. "Over there!" Two hairy dwarfs? or something was carrying the trident over their heads. They leapt over the roofs of houses and headed straight towards one of the moving boats. "Delphin! Quick!" Triton was running now, and Delphin was swimming towards the boat with the hairy dwarfs and Poseidon's trident. Quickly Delphin knocked the boat over, and the hairy dwarfs and the trident went spilling out. Triton lunged for the trident. But the hairy dwarfs regained their balance mid-air, grabbed the trident and disappeared. Triton missed the trident and landed in water. Delphin asked "What happened to those hairy dwarfs?" Triton said "I don't know, I've never seen anything like that." he admitted. Triton annoyingly thought of where the hairy dwarfs would try and go. Let's go ask one of the other gods. Maybe they know who those hairy dwarfs are, and where they're going. "Wait! Look, they left a book." Triton picked it up. It read, Book of Farming. Property of Triptolemus. "Who's Triptolemus?" asked Triton to Delphin. "He's one of the minor farming gods. His home base is in Venice, Italy. "How about this. I'll go visit Triptolemus for information, while you track down the trident and those hairy dwarfs." "Ok!" said Delphin. Then Delphin disappeared into the North Atlantic Ocean, and Triton hoped he'd be able to track down those sneaky little thieves. Triton then went to Venice, Italy. That was the easy part. The hard part was finding where Triptolemus was. He decided to poke around, and hoped he'd have some good luck. Meanwhile with Delphin: Delphin had swam across the North Atlantic Ocean, only stopping for short breaks because he knew his boss needed his trident real bad. A tsunami had already destroyed the coasts of Turkey and Syria, and Delphin wasn't eager for another one. Finally Delphin saw land, and found out he had swam directly into New York City. Then he saw them at last. Those sneaky little dwarves were on top of the Statue of Liberty. Normally he'd have respect for these smart creatures. But since they had boss's trident,  he couldn't afford to go easy on them. Only one problem. Delphin may had been good at swimming, but not so good on land. He was clumsy since he had no legs, and he couldn't climb something as high as the Statue of Liberty without something bad happening. Plus those dwarves were fast and sneaky. They'd see him from a mile away. No, the only way he could get to the dwarves is if he lured them close to the water, where he would be much more powerful than the dwarves. He studied the dwarves. After watching them for more than an hour, he concluded something. The dwarves liked, no loved shiny stuff. They had shiny daggers, trophies, gold coins and other stuff. Delphin looked for something shiny. Only problem was, he didn't have any shiny stuff. Suddenly Delphin had an idea. He morphed into a human and shouted "OH NO, MY PRECIOUS GOLD COINS HAVE DROPPED INTO THE SEA!" "HOW WILL I EVER GET THEM?!" The dwarves obviously heard. They practically scrambled down the Statue of Liberty and leapt into the sea. Delphin changed back and chained them to a dock in the pier they were at. "Who are you sneaky little thieves?" Delphin snarled. The dwarves looked at each other. And suddenly burst into tears. "Please don't kill us!" they chanted. "First." Delphin said. "What are your names?" "I'm Passalos and my brother here is Akmon." "Now can we go please! We'll never steal from you again!" "Two more questions", Delphin said "One. Where does Triptolemus live?" "La Casa Nera! Calle Frezzeria!" Now can we leave?" Delphin said "One more question. You had a trident, WHERE IS IT?" The two dwarves looked at each other sand said "Please don't kill us! But we lost it!" The two dwarves burst into tears again. "Fine, fine. But do you know where the trident is?" asked Delphin. "The two dwarves exclaimed "We touched it, then thought, please bring us to land! and it took us here. But we lost it, and the shiny book!" "If you give us the shiny book, we'll help you find the trident!" Delphin narrowed his eyes. The dwarves didn't seem too trustworthy. However Delphin NEEDED that trident. "Fine. I'll go to Venice to find the book. When I have it, I'll tell you and you meet me back here with the trident. Remember, no trident, no trade." The dwarves exclaimed, "Deal!" Delphin sighed. Another long swim through the North Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea to Italy. He said "Triton, the locations for Triptolemus's base is La Casa Nera, Calle Frezzeria. I'll meet you there and tell you what happened between me and the dwarves." "Ok, on my way to the locations you gave me." See you soon Delphin!" Delphin began his long swim to Italy. Back with Triton: After 4 full days of searching, Triton had no luck finding Triptolemus. Suddenly Delphin sent some locations and a message saying he was swimming back towards Italy. Triton decided to scout the locations Delphin gave him, so that they would be prepared to meet Triptolemus and in case if anything bad happened. The next morning, Delphin finally made it to Italy. After Delphin had a long rest, they knocked on the door where Triptolemus was supposed to be according to the dwarves. Delphin had told Triton everything about what had happened. "But if we don't give Triptolemus the book, how will we bargain for information on the trident's whereabouts? I don't trust the dwarves, and I know you don't either." Delphin said, "This is out best bet." Suddenly Triptolemus answered. "Who is it?" he asked, looking at Triton and Delphin. "Permission to enter please?" asked Triton. "Granted!" said Triptolemus, looking a bit confused. Triton sat down and showed him the book. Triptolemus went from confused, to surprised, to grateful. "Thank you!" said Triptolemus. "How did you get this from those nasty dwarves?" "We bargained for it." lied Delphin. "Ok, so anyway, what can I do for you?" "Do you know where Poseidon's trident is?" asked Triton. "Oh, I know." said Triptolemus. "Those pesky dwarves stole it. I saw it dangling from one of their pouches." "No, the dwarves don't have it anymore." admitted Delphin. "Can you help us locate, please?" asked Triton. "Why, sure!" Triptolemus answered. Then suddenly looked confused. "It's supposed to be right here?" He said confusingly. Then the dwarves busted in, Passalos tossed the trident to Triton, while Akmon snatched the book out of Triptolemus's hands. "GIVE ME MY BOOK!" shouted Triptolemus. "You." he snarled at Triton and Delphin. "You've been working with those nasty dwarves!" Triton and Delphin made a break with the trident, but the Ttiprolemus's chairot blocked the way. Triptolemus himself however, was too busy chasing the dwarves to care about Triton and Delphin anymore. "Your welcome!" shouted Akmon from a distance away. Triton stabbed one of the snakes from the chariot, and the chariot veered away, and Triton and Delphin both jumped into the Mediterranean Sea, and swam away. They reached Poseidon's palace, but it was pure chaos. However, Poseidon was renewed with joy when he saw his trident. He raised it up and said "PEACE TO THE SEAS, FOR I HAVE FOUND JOY, BECAUSE MY TRIDENT HAS BEEN FOUND!" On the steps of Poseidon's palace, Triton and Delphin received one last message from the dwarves. Hey, Passalos and Akmon here! We escaped the wrath of Triptolemus with our new shiny book! But we have one more confession to make, especially to Delphin. We didn't lose the trident, we just hid it on a nearby ship so you wouldn't find it, and so we could get out book back. When we found out you were going to Venice to see Triptolemus, we assumed you already had the book there. So we followed you on the ship we stored the trident with. Thanks for the shiny book, and if you ever need a pair of thieving dwarves, you know who to find! From Passalos and Akmon.


The townspeople fled in terror.

Their homes ablaze like hell incarnate, their fellow men and neighbors slaughtered, king skinned and beheaded - in that order - there was not a drop of defiance or bravery left. They all scrambled for their lives before the Dark Prince’s destruction. “Flee, pathetic insects,” bellowed Merciless, the Dark Prince. “Flee and spread the word of my great power!” His mighty form loomed over the mortal town like a monolith of doom; a crown of lightning adorning his head, a shroud of dying clouds his cloak, fear, and despair his armor. Merciless was a demi-god, an heir to the throne of darkness and he was having a field day. “Let it be known that there is no one great enough to oppose me…” He laughed as he waved a hand at the fleeing people. Half of them burst into flames, their bodies burning away in a flash, leaving only clothes and shoes behind. Merciless reveled in his power, laughing. The people ran faster. “Yes, feel the doom I bring-” “Merciless!”

A sudden voice boomed across the skies, shaking the land. “Come, lunch is ready!” Merciless stopped his manic laughter and turned towards the black clouds in the sky. “Coming, poppa!”

His voice changed from a demonic growl to a child’s excited babbling. His form also shifted from an incomprehensible avatar of destruction to that of a boy with a sparkle in his eyes. He dropped from a few hundred feet in the air, where his massive form was just a moment ago, and landed in the middle of a fiery street in a three-point landing, sending cobblestone and firewood flying. He ran past the fleeing people, who looked at him with a mix of horror and confusion. “Later, mortals!” Merciless snapped his fingers, opening a swirling vortex of a magical portal in front of him and jumped inside.

He came out at the other end, followed by some debris and a stray dog. The portal opened straight to the kitchen where his father, Dark Lord Devastatus, was managing several pots and pans over a hearth’s fire.

“What’s to eat, poppa?” “Hey, what did we say?” Devastatus groaned. “Wipe your feet and wash your hands! Damnation knows what you’ve been up to in the mortal realm!” Merciless sighed. “Yes, poppa.” He rolled his eyes and shuffled his feet across the tiled floor. “On the rug, boy!” “ Sunshine !” Merciless cursed and walked to the door where a rug lay on the floor. “Why bother wiping my feet when I can just flick a finger and clean the whole house with my power?” Devastatus, wearing a white apron and a cooking hat, lifted a finger while shaking a frying pan, back toward his son. “First, we do not curse in this house. I don’t want to hear any words related to positivity, beauty, or the divine source of illumination in the mortal realm. Got it? Second,” he flipped something in the pan, evoking cries of mercy from the food, “if you rely on your powers too much, pretty soon you won’t know how to wipe your hiney without them. You’ll be Lord one day, son, and as such, you should learn to be independent.” Devastatus finally turned around, giving his son a meaningful look. “Yes, poppa,” Merciless said, head bowing. He looked at his father’s majestic cloak and quietly wished his would be as cool. Skulls from various beasts and races hung from it, metal spikes, chains, blood-red embroidery, and bone-white horns. Looking at his cloak Merciless found only some dried leaves and broken twigs stuck to it, dirty from running through the woods. “You brought a dog?” “It followed me through the portal,” Merciless said, only now noticing the four-legged creature running around and barking.

“Sloppy.” “You called for me.” “You shouldn’t be opening portals when someone can follow you,” Devastatus said. “What if it was an Archmage? Or a renowned Hero? One of the - ugh - the good guys ?” “Poppa, eww!” “You made me say it, boy!” “That’s disgusting!” “If you’re not careful, they can sneak through the portal and crawl in your bed, whispering positive affirmations in your ears.” Merciless’s breath caught in his throat. “Poppa, I’m losing my appetite!” Devastatus smiled. “Too bad. Maybe you’ll be more careful next time.” Merciless walked to the table and climbed on a chair - which was some thirty feet tall, made for a more majestic form than the one he was currently wearing. The table was likewise high up in the air, like a tower for feasting. “Why do we have to be like this,” he said, feet dangling. “This form that the mortals use. Why can't we be big and awesome all the time?” Devastatus sighed from below. “Did you not listen? You shouldn’t rely on your powers all the time! Like me, I’m cooking this lunch, instead of imagining it into existence. It’s quite a relaxing activity.” Merciless sniffed. “What are you making?” “Deepest darkest secrets, seasoned with a pinch of coriander and misery. Mother’s favorite.” Merciless heard his stomach growl. That sounded delicious. “After you’re done eating,” Devastatus said, voice shaking the whole kitchen, “I have a surprise for you. A gift for your first fully grown fang.” Merciless’s eyes widened at that. A gift! What could it be? “Ooo, is it a hydra’s egg? Ooo, or a pocket planet? Ooo, ooo, or maybe-” “You’ll see. Eat your secrets. You need the nutrition.” Devastatus hovered up to the table with a tray of food in his hands. Merciless could hardly pay attention to the meal as he was eating it, the anticipation of a gift too great. “Did you find a Titan and brought it back to life?” “Don’t eat with your mouth full, son. Also, chew your food, don’t just absorb it into your being. As Dark Lord, you’ll need to learn the customs of mortals if you are to reign dominance over them.” Merciless chewed, then swallowed. “What is it then?” Devastatus smiled. “It’s a toy.” Merciless nearly dropped the fork. “Not just any toy. A very special toy. One that I got when I was about your age and played with it throughout my whole childhood.” “Is it a void? Empty, dark, and cold as death itself?” Merciless crossed his fingers. Devastatus chuckled. “You’ll see. Eat.” Merciless dug into the food, devouring it as fast as the mortal conventions allowed. He bit down on a piece that wasn’t cooked enough, still a bit raw, and not wanting to insult Father he spat it out under the table, hoping the Dark Lord wouldn’t notice.

The braking below stopped. Merciless glanced down and again remembered that the dog was still there. It sniffed the bit of food, then ate it. The dog’s whole body transformed. It started to grow, both in size as well as in the number of limbs, heads, and tails. Wings sprouted from its back, its eyes rolled backward and were replaced by mouths with razor-sharp teeth. Merciless observed in silence as the creature rose behind his father’s back. Devastatus raised a fork to his mouth, then paused.

“Merciless?” “Hm?” “Did you feed the dog your food?” “Um… no.” “Merciless…” “It accidentally fell from my plate.” “You know our food isn’t for mortal creatures.” The monstrosity behind Father opened it’s many mouths and roared, breathing fire from some mouths, spitting acid from others. “Can we keep him, please?” Devastatus didn’t seem amused. “Oh, but look at him! He’s literally eating his own limb!” “Fine,” said Devastatus. “You brought him here, you take care of him. If I find but one pile of poo…” “You won’t, I promise!” “We’ll see.” “May I go now? I ate everything.” “You may. Your toy is waiting for you in your room. Have fun!” Merciless jumped from his chair, three-point landing on the floor, and opened the portal to his room. He ushered the dog monster to follow. “For the last time, Merciless, use the door-” Merciless already jumped through the portal. Devastatus sighed. “That boy is pure evil.” Then he smiled. “I’m such a fortunate dad.” *** “What, in the name of warmth and happiness, is that ?”

Merciless stared at a small metal cage resting on his bed. There was a tiny hut inside it - obviously shrunk - some dirty hay, rocks, and a few dried up trees. Amongst all that, a pathetic-looking creature sat on a stone, misshapen clump of hair flowing down its back, a bushy grey beard covering most of its face. The creature sat with hands on its knees, legs crossed, eyes closed. A human, the size of a fork, only much thinner. “Is this some joke?” Merciless approached the cage and crouched to inspect the human up close. It didn’t smell that well. “Hey, human. Are you alive?” The creature didn’t move. Merciless shook the cage, toppling the dried trees. “Hey! Answer me!” Silence. The human sat on his stone, motionless. Merciless sighed. “Dad always had the weirdest sense of humor. Dog, look, your first treat.” He reached to open the cage door. The human suddenly opened his eyes and spoke in a raspy voice. “You don’t want to do that.” Merciless yelped and backed up. The dog-monster roared behind him. “You’re alive, then,” Merciless said, frowning. “I can fix that.” His hands ignited with a black flame. “I know where your mother is,” the human said, his voice calm. Merciless blinked, the fire vanishing from his fingers. “What did you say?” “I’m the one that imprisoned her. I almost brought peace to the world… if only I hadn’t forgotten about your father. And his wrath.” Meciless’s heart began pounding. “You know where my mom is?” He could barely remember her from his father’s memory transfer. He never met her for himself, she was taken away when Merciless was but a young, unconscious blob of evil, floating in the Pool of Desolation. His face darkened. “What have you done to her?” “I rid the world of pain and suffering,” the human said, shrugging. “But evil’s roots are deep and I only made things worse. Now, your father rules the lands.” “Sunshine!” Merciless cursed, clenching fists. “Who are you, human? My father never spoke of what happened to Mother, why should I believe you?” The human jumped up on his stone all of a sudden, slamming a hand at his chest, eyes fixed on Merciless. “I am Antonio the Handsome, hero of the free people, vanquisher of darkness, the bringer of light! I am the one destined to rid the world of all evil, bringing an era of peace and prosperity! I-” “Yeah, yeah, alright,” Merciless waved a hand. “You’re one of those , then. Ugh, no wonder you smell so bad.” He pinched his nose, waving a palm. Antonio ground his teeth. “Just as pompous as the Dark Lord himself.” “Thank you,” Merciless said, grinning. “You know, you are the stupidest human I’ve ever met. Do you know why?” “Amuse me.” “Because you thought you could defeat my father. Now, look at you! Cramped up in that cage, old and overgrown with… whatever those are-” “-hair-” “-with no hope of escaping. Antonio the Handsome ? I know humans are pathetic, but I didn’t know you are such poor liars.” “I’ve been locked up in here for fifty years, boy!” The man stomped a foot on his stone, pointing a finger at Merciless. “Let me out and give me my armor and weapon back, and I’ll show you just how pathetic I am!” “Alright,” Merciless said. Antonio blinked. “What? Really?” “Sure. You’re my new toy and I want to play with you.” “Just like that, you’ll let me out and give me back my stuff?” “On one condition,” said Merciless. “You’ll tell me where Mother is first.” Antonio chuckled. “I’d rather die.” “I’m sure you would, but this is the realm of the gods. Here, you are immortal. You’ll spend eternity in that little cage, amusing my whims and playing fetch with the dog over there.” Merciless threw a thumb pointing at the dog-monster, whose heads barked at each other. “I can endure it.” “Are you sure? Humans aren’t meant to live forever. Your body is already decaying after fifty years, pretty soon you won’t have one anymore.” “But, you said that I’m immortal here…” “Exactly. But your body isn’t. So you’ll spend eternity as a cloud of thought, unable to do or say anything, just floating around in your tiny cage, watching the bars rust. Sounds cool, huh?” Antonio didn’t answer, but his eyes glared at Merciless. “You said you imprisoned my mother. Where is she held?” Merciless placed a hand on the cage, as to squish it. “ Where? ” Antonio smiled. “You won’t like the answer, boy.” “I don’t like you , human.” “First, release me. And return to me my armor and weapon.” Merciless studied the man’s eyes. He considered going to father and asking him about Mother and Antonio and everything that happened before his birth. But then again, Father gave him this man as a toy for a reason. Perhaps he wanted Merciless to discover the truth on his own. “Fine. You can’t escape unless I open a portal, anyway. Dog, watch him. If he tries anything, eat him.” The dog-monster roared in agreement. Merciless opened the cage door. Antonio stepped out and onto the bedsheets. “My stuff,” the man said. Merciless snapped his fingers. Antonio’s rags transformed into a shiny set of armor and a beautiful two-handed sword appeared in his hands. The man’s face bore an expression of disbelief and awe. “Now tell me,” Merciless said. Antonio seemed lost in awe for a moment. “I thought I’d never again be-” “Tell me where my mother is!” Antonio jumped into a defensive pose, meeting Merciless’s eyes. “She is in the heart of every man. The only way to imprison her and keep her from destroying the world was to merge her soul with that of all humankind. I robbed us of our innocence and purity, planting the seed of evil within. But a little poison is a good thing, as it helps you fight off a snake bite.” “What?” Merciless frowned. “That makes no sense. There’s no seed of evil in humans, they’re just pathetic.” “That’s the truth, boy,” Antonio said, slamming his visor down. “As I’ve promised, I will now show you just how pathetic I am!” He jumped up in the air, armor starting to glow, the sword blazing with white fire. For a moment, his form seemed to grow larger, becoming a fully-sized human again. But the moment was cut short, as a bolt of black lightning struck Antonio down and burned him in a pile of ashes. Merciless turned around, noticing Father standing behind him. “Good work, son,” Devastatus said. “I tried getting that information out of the man for fifty damn years! The bastard refused to speak!” “Poppa, I’m confused,” said Merciless, looking at the smoldering ashes. “Is what he said true? Is he the hero who defeated and imprisoned my mother?” “It’s true, my son,” Devastatus said, placing a hand on Mercielss’s shoulder. “Please forgive me for not telling you, but it was best you didn’t know until you were old enough.” “I’m old enough now,” he said, looking up at his father, jaw tightening. “You are. And now we know where your mother is.” “In the hearts of every man,” Merciless whispered. Father nodded absently. How in the blazes are they going to get her out from there? Would they have to collect all the hearts from all the humans and cold-press the evil out of them, concentrating it in a barrel, sculpting Mother out of the mass? Or did that mean that every human was actually his mother now? Those were some disturbing thoughts. Merciless crossed his arms and frowned. “Worst toy ever.”


“All flights have been delayed,” the monotone announcer repeated over the loudspeaker on New Year’s Eve. Gregory Mason sat on the rigid plastic chairs with his feet propped up on his backpack, “I’m not about to lay on the filthy carpet like the other waiting passengers. I’ll just sit here,” he thought.

Greg waited. And waited.

An eternity seemed to pass by as he waited alone in the crowded terminal.  The snow that began as soft flurries an hour ago now fell down out of a black sky and showed little or no signs of stopping. Tired of staring out the window at the jet-less gate, Greg closed his eyes. To rest them.  To escape from the crowded terminal and to find some peace. To be free from the crying children and the chaotic chorus of complaining wanna-be passengers and feel alone for a few moments.  But his closed eye didn’t block out the Christmas music that played over the loudspeaker system broken up only by a new announcement of another flight delay. Greg thought, “Hey, this must be the third time I heard Bing Crosby sing, ‘I’ll Be Home From Christmas.’ I didn’t make it home for Christmas. And now it looks like I’m not going to make it home for New Years either.”    Since their original flight had been cancelled Greg was issued paper tickets. He folded his in half, stuffed it in his shirt pocket and tapped it for good luck. Opening his eyes, he pulled the ticket out. He examined it as if it would change the situation. Perhaps looking at the ticket, and reading the flight number and departure time would magically cancel the delay and allow him to fly home. It was like holding a lottery ticket in your hand when the man on the TV reads the numbers on the ping pong balls as they drop down the chute into position.  You watch the TV and you read your numbers. The man on the TV announces the numbers out loud, in case you missed it, and you wish that you had those numbers on your ticket.  With his airline ticket in hand the toneless voice announced, “Flight 007 to Decatur has been delayed for an hour.”  Terrific that’s my flight. Another hour. At this rate I won’t be home until next year! Greg stuffed his ticket back in his shirt pocket and stared off with narrow, silent eyes through the window where the jet was supposed to be parked ready to take him home.

A new chorus of moans erupted from the waiting room. A cold breeze filled the room. That’s when Greg noticed her. She walked in front of him. She grabbed the empty seat next Greg, threw her carry on bag on the floor, and parked her feet on top of it. She turned toward Greg and smiled.

Greg smiled back. “She looks familiar,” he thought.  He felt the room get a little colder. “Terrific,” he thought, “they cut the heat down, we’ll freeze to death before we got out of here.” Turning to her, “Don’t you just love it?” Greg said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Excuse me? What did you say?” “The weather”, Greg stammered as he played with armrest, “and now if feels even colder in here - don’t you just love it?” She answered him, “I’ve been freezing for hours. I can’t seem to get warm.” Dressed in a wool crewneck sweater, she clutched a knitted scarf around her shoulders. She shivered. Greg looked at her. There was something about that gesture that was familiar. Tilting his head, he thought, “I must have seen her somewhere before. But I just can’t place it.” The airport voice announced once again, “Flight 007 to Decatur has been delayed for an hour.”

Greg noticed her wince when the announcement came across. In her hands was a piece of paper, a ticket that resembled the one he had stuffed in his shirt pocket just a few moments earlier. “Are you flying to Decatur?” Greg asked. I am.” She answered, “Yes, trying to get home.” “Me too. I grew up there. What about you?” She smiled, “I live in northern California now. But I grew up about 2 hours south of Decatur.” “I guess I didn’t know her from high school,” he thought.  Like a police detective questioning a suspect he bravely pushed on. He padded the armrest separating the two seats, “Where did you go to college? I went to Penn State for agriculture.” “Did you play football there?” He sat up straight and smiled. His voice grew deeper, “Well, I did play on the practice squad. What about you?”

“Nope, I didn’t play football,” she laughed. “I went to the University of Illinois. Computer Science Major.” “What do you do with a computer science degree?” he asked. “Get a PhD.”

Feeling a little intimidated, “Oh, from Illinois?” “No, Stanford.”

He turned his gaze back out the window confused as to why she looked so familiar as he watched the snow cover the tarmac. He smiled as he thought, “Well I guess I didn’t know her from college.”

The airport voice announced, “Attention, Attention. Flight 007 to Decatur has been delayed for an hour. When we have more information we will make another announcement.”

People paced back and forth down the isles between the rows of seats trying to burn off nervous energy. Amid the large crowd Greg felt invisible.  Scattered around the terminals waiting area, positioned above their heads and suspended from the ceiling, were television sets. Each TV was tuned to the weather channel. Some would be passengers stood with arms crossed staring at the screen. The weather girl, dressed in a slim red dress smiled as she highlighted the terrible storm.  “Winter storm Lucian,” she said, “will spread snow from the Cascades of Oregon and Washington into the central Rockies through New Year's Day. Salt Lake City could pick up an additional 4 to 8 inches of new snow by this evening. This will impact travel on interstates 15, 80 and 84 in northern Utah. Flights across . . .” Tuning out the weather forecast she asked Greg, “So, how long have you been waiting here?”

“I’m not sure any more. It feels like an eternity.” She shook from the cold. “I just can’t seem to get warm.” The weather girl vanished from the screen and a new reporter appeared. 	He stood in a snow field the color of chrome.

Dressed like a Muscovite, he announced, “A few moments ago, Flight 007 from Salt Lake City to Decatur crashed on its final approach.”  While he talked, the camera shifted past him to the burning wreckage in the field of snow.  Flames broke the night sky.  The camera focused back on the news reporter with the burning jetliner aflame in the background. “I have a statement from the State Police. They are reporting that there are no apparent survivors.”

People poured around the TV sets looking and listening for details.  Those in the waiting room heard the announcement and rushed to find a TV. The moans of tired, frustrated travelers turned to moans of grief for those on the jet and relief that they were not on that jet. The soft moans gave way to a solemn quiet as they listened for more details. Crying replaced the quiet. Strangers hugged one another in sorrow and in solidarity. Greg looked over at her in her seat and she was gone.  Vanished.  Her empty spot next to him was all that remained.  Then he felt the cold.

An extreme cold like he never felt before.  And he found himself in the field of snow and blood and fuel and flame and destroyed jet wreckage still strapped to the seat next to her holding hands.


Chad hefted himself over the final ledge, heaved his weight up and over, until he could flop his chest to the ground, and sort of wiggle the rest of the way. He wore lightweight armor, which seemed like it would make going up a mountain easy, but then he remembered steep mountain hikes weren’t easy in jeans, let alone metal. “How’s it goin’?” Wanda’s disembodied voice came from the magic mirror in Chad’s heavy pack. “Geez… us… I need… a minute… fuck…” Chad panted. “You need to work out more.” Wanda commented. “Thank you, Wanda!” Chad exclaimed. He struggled to his knees, and then gathered the strength to get to his feet. He could see the carved stone entrance of the ancient cave. Almost there. They were so close to home. He was exhausted and his heart pounded in his ears between ragged breaths. He thought he’d be used to physical activity since he played football and track back home, but it was nothing compared to long walks interrupted by dumb animal murder. Speaking of which… He heard the shuffle of movement in front of him, squinted to look for the source of the noise, saw nothing, and was knocked on his back. It was like he got hit by a car. The wind was knocked out of him and he wanted to cry. He knew what it was. A chameleon-goat, one of those weird camouflaged mountain-goat lizards. They weren’t particularly vicious, but they were territorial, and no one knew where their territory was, because they were always goddamn invisible. Well, not 100 percent invisible, once you knew what to look for, you could see it a lot better, like Predator. He turned to look at the ground and saw dirt over transparent hooves clopping towards him. The shimmer was faint, but he could make it out. “Okay, goatie, let me get back up.” Chad rolled himself back and forth a little to gain momentum. By the time he got onto his side, hooves smacked him onto his back, and pressed him down.

He was in trouble now. He dreaded the next part and struggled pointlessly under the chameleon-goat’s weight. He reached for his dagger but the armor restricted his movements. “You want I should help?” Wanda asked. “No! It’s a goat, that’d be like using Meteor on a Slime.” Chad said, tried to get up again, and failed. What looked like a mass of pink bubblegum ejected from midair and smashed into his face. He was treated to a sticky, slimy, tongue bath. This was the part he dreaded. It smelled like a mixture of rotting meat and skunk spray. Drool dripped down his face when the tongue retracted. Chad spit saliva out of his mouth and blinked it out of his eyes. He could see the bearded leathery face of the goat, and the strange cone eyes that darted in separate directions. The goat didn’t exactly have a color, it was kind of a silvery translucent mirage. The chameleon-goat bleated spittle at him. “I get it! I’ll go!” He finally rolled onto his side enough to tip the creature off. “Blaaaaaah!” The chameleon-goat bleated again, stumbled off, and kicked up dirt. Chad tried to track it with his eyes. With a final burst of strength, he got to his feet, and struggled to pull the foot-long pole device from his pack. He grasped it, but his knuckles brushed past Wanda’s mirror, and it was like touching ice. He flinched and the collapsed spear flew out of his grip. It bounced away and telescoped open near the creature. It turned silvery visible in surprise, ran blindly into Chad, and Chad fell forward this time. When he hit the ground, his forearm snapped the creature’s neck, and it started twitching abnormally. “Oh, no, oh, I’m sorry.” Chad stood back up, while he watched the poor creature struggle. It’s fur and skin bloomed shades of green, brown, tan, and gray, like a bad art project. “Better finish it off.” Wanda suggested. Chad sighed. He knew it was best to put it out of its misery. “’Cause I don’t know if you’ll get the experience if you kill it by accident.” Wanda added. “Thanks, bae.” Chad went to his spear and picked it up. Before he could stab the creature, a giant black hairy leg extended from his pack, and stabbed the goat’s head. Chad swallowed as a second equally large black leg sprout into reality on his other side, and small three fingered claws on the end of the spider legs gripped the carcass and pulled it towards Chad’s face. He held up the spear to block the disgusting goat before it touched his body. “Come one.” Wanda urged. “I’m hungry.” She apparently fed through him and he was sick of it. When he chose to revive her as a spider-summon-goddess-thing, he thought that she’d be like Spider-man instead of a giant half-spider demon. Now he was stuck in a stupid pact and part of their vow was warm blood. Even before she became a giant spider, he never planned on marrying her, but now they were trapped in a horrific symbiotic relationship to survive. “Can I cook it this time? This one might taste good if it was cooked.” Chad insisted. “Open up…” He heard her insist. A human hand slid out from his pack, pressed against the back of his head, and gingerly tried to shove his face into it. He held his breath and dug in.  He drank from the leaking vein Wanda had opened for him, like the worst Capri-sun. It tasted like dirt, fish, and pennies.  The blood was maroon, and smeared all over his lips, nose, and chin. He started to dry heave and turned his head away to get some air. “More!” Wanda insisted and smashed his face into the goat like it was a wedding cake. Chad wanted to cry, and inhaled some wet dog smelling hair. After pausing a few times to dry heave, he managed to get the liquid down, and Wanda let the goat drop. He heard her make weird clicks, something he thought meant “happy” or “pleasure”.

He tried to smear the blood off his face and spat out light maroon saliva until his mouth no longer had moisture. His stomach was queasy, but his strength returned. He refocused on the mossy carved entrance of the cave. There was a message in a mystical language he couldn’t understand. They looked like normal letters, but the top spelled out Achtung. Probably something in Elvish.

 He took a deck of cards from his pocket that kept track of his skills and abilities. Each card automatically updated with his stats and it helped remind him how do some of the more difficult magics. He flipped through them, found his webbing ability, and the summon conditions. He memorized it and walked into the cave. It smelled like mold and dead animals. The cave floor was smooth, and his boots made a metallic echo as he walked towards the inner chamber.

“Let’s get out of here. I am super tired of this world.” Chad muttered. “Aww, was football less stressful?” Wanda asked. Chad pursed his lips and refused to show how angry the comment made him. He reached into his belt pouch and took out a glass vial with a small invasive species of fairy. He pressed a button down on the lid, crushed the small creature into a pasty glow, shook the vial, and it glowed brighter, like the worst glowstick. He thought he heard a tiny scream but tried not to think about it. Dead fairies disintegrated into a sparkling dust, and people realized they could use this to produce a light that lasted up to a week. Chad originally asked for a flashlight, but the shopkeeper didn’t seem to know what that was.

He walked down the corridor and ducked under webs with varied success. He continued until he saw the faint glow of the entrance to the inner sanctum and stopped at the wooden frame of the door. He called up his personal webs that emerged from his fingertips. He stepped inside, and pressed his index finger against the doorframe, sticking the silk.

The sanctum was a library. He was surprised, he thought it’d be some sort of dank cave, but it reminded him of the Beast’s library from Beauty and the Beast, with three stories of shelves and an ascending system of ladders and catwalks. Torches with blue flames cast flickering shadows around the room. Towards the center was a patient, pale, white haired figure in a crisp black suit. He looked like a sort of modern-day Death. Lord Gaunt. He sat on a large black armchair and read from a large tome. A side table next to him was filled with a stack of books, a goblet, and a bottle of wine. To his right was a long stone table with two black wood chairs and a chess game set up. Lord Gaunt closed the book and looked up. He gave Chad a chilling smile.

“Ah. A child.” He pressed the tips of his boney fingers together and leaned forward.

Chad walked the near invisible string from the wall, pulling thread out of the tip of his finger. It was like someone was tugging out a stitch and it was rather uncomfortable. Chad pushed his finger against another point on a bookshelf to create a place to continue the circle. They watched each other. Chad made slow movements around the perimeter of the room, as he dragging his index finger along, lookin’ like a weirdo. After three minutes of this, Chad nearly came back to his starting point, and the man moved. There was a flicker and he was suddenly in front of Chad. A breeze buffeted his face from the speed. “Oh no, that’s fast.” Wanda said unhelpfully. Before Chad could finish, the man grabbed Chad by the throat, and picked him off his feet. Chad clung to the man’s hands, unable to do anything against the much stronger man. There was a blur of motion, and Chad’s butt slammed into one of the black wood chairs. The chess pieces on the table wobbled and nearly fell, but Lord Gaunt’s hands flew out in a blur of motion and replaced all the pieces before they could topple. Chad was nauseous from the trip and dry heaved a little. “Knock that off, child, we’re playing chess.” Gaunt said. “No, I hate chess.” Chad moaned. He rubbed his throat and coughed. “Were you going to destroy me with a summons? Was that it?” He asked with mild amusement. “Uh, yeah, I would have kicked your ass.” Chad said hoarsely with confidence.

“I’m not the sort of person you ‘fight’ though. That’s why I have the game set up, to give you a fighting chance. Mowing down insects isn’t challenging or exciting.” “Okay, hear me out. Let me do the summons thing and I will be happy and win.” “Child, there’s no spell or creature that can fight me, I do want you to understand that.” He waved his hand over the chessboard. “With this, you have a chance.” Chad laughed. “I’d like to not to. When my brother told me the horse moved in an ‘L’, I flipped the board up, and punched him in the dick. That’s the level of skill we’re talkin’.” “And your plan would have worked?” Lord Gaunt smiled. “Yeah, easy.” Chad said. Lord Gaunt extended his hand and smiled. “By all means.”

Chad got up, and half-jogged back to where he left the last thread. He took his pack off, put it on the ground, opened the flap, fished for the correct vial, placed this and his cards next to the pack, and then went to the wall to complete the circle.

The threads started to glow when connected, and Wanda’s mirror rose from the pack. It shuddered, struggled into the air, and then shattered with a loud crack. It left a jagged black void in midair and Wanda crawled out, spider leg first. From the waist up she was a topless tan teenage girl with small breasts and black hair, but below this was the crimson hourglass patterned abdomen and hairy black legs of a giant spider. She used to be shorter than him but was now around eight feet high. Chad thought she used to be attractive before the bottom half of her looked like Shelob.

“A spider summons.” Lord Gaunt commented. “Are you going to try and poison me?” He said this in a way that led Chad to believe poison would not work on this man. “Sure.” Chad said. “Wanda, sic him!” He pointed at the creepy old man. Wanda stepped towards Chad, bent forward, picked him up by his shoulders with her two front-most legs and human arms, and plunged her sharp canine teeth into his neck. “Fuck! Ow! Not the plan!” Chad tried to struggle, but her grip was strong. His arms were pinned to his side, and his strength drained as he quickly developed anemia. It hurt, but the flaring pain also released numbing endorphins that spread as he lost blood. As his vision faded to black, she loosened her grip and he fell- Wanda dropped Chad and accidentally kicked his limp body when she turned back to the pack. His blood tasted so sweet, like she bit into a juicy watermelon on the first day of summer. She had mixed feelings of ecstasy and panic, but concentrated, and snatched up the vial and deck. She uncorked the potion with her bloody teeth and bent back to his lifeless body. She grabbed him with two of her legs, tipped his head back, put the bottle in his mouth, and made him drink the zombie water. After she thought he had enough, she spun him into a web, pulling the thread with two legs from her abdomen, and skillfully manipulated him into a white cocoon.  After this, she dropped him, and flipped through his deck of cards.

“Blackest Widow?” Lord Gaunt guessed the spell being set up, while he patiently watched the scene play out. “I’ll admit it’s a strong physical boost, but I think you’ll find it… lacking.” She held out a card, shook her head, and smiled. “Tears of a Widow. I can change one aspect of reality.” Lord Gaunt laughed a little. “Going for an instant kill? Clever, but it won’t do anything to anyone above a Titan. And you won’t last long with your host dead.” “Didn’t say I was using it for an insta-kill.” Wanda gestured to the table behind Lord Gaunt. Instead of a chessboard was a tv, PS4, and two controllers. The plasma screen flicked on and the PlayStation startup tone played.

“Wanda! Fuck you, Wanda!” The muffled voice yelled. “Get me out of this, Wanda, I’m claustrophobic, Wanda!” Chad struggled, but the silk webs held. The cocoon looked like an egg that refused to hatch. Wanda made a quick slice with a clawed leg, and Chad’s fingers pulled against the sticky threads. “Get me out of this!” He whined. Wanda bent over to give him a hand. “Shed skin.” Gaunt muttered. It was a technique that cured the host’s ailments and that included zombie status. Chad himself didn’t know if it would work, but he was willing to gambit his life in order to escape this world. He struggled to his feet, covered in a mess of silk. No matter how many strands he pulled, he somehow never seemed to be rid of them. He tried to walk and fell face first. Wanda sliced the webs between his legs, to help him a little. “Alright, so, now we can play.” Chad said and stood again. He pat Wanda on the human belly as he passed. “That’ll do, spider.”

“I can eat you.” She said and folded her human arms across her chest. “What did you do?” Lord Gaunt asked. “I changed the game. You guys are playing Call of Duty instead of chess.” Wanda explained. She was the one who originally came up with the idea. Chad was a terrible chess player and there didn’t seem to be a way around the game, so they found a way to change the rules. “Oh.” Lord Gaunt said. He was at a loss for words. He was bound to the rules of the world and the ones he set in place and couldn’t back out of a challenge. The old man looked at the television like it was a foreign object. Chad picked up a controller and went through the menus to get to the game. “Ready?” Wanda asked. “What do I-” Lord Gaunt asked, half transfixed, half bewildered by the technology. He didn’t fully understand what was going on. “It’s a game, he’ll set up a match.” Wanda grabbed the second controller with one of her claws and placed it in the old man’s hand. “Use this button to move, use this to look around, and this one to shoot.” She directed. “Go!” The match started before Lord Gaunt fully understood. He walked into a virtual wall, the camera looked at the sky, and then rotated.

“Wait, how do I-” Lord Gaunt asked, looking from his fingers to the screen. Chad’s character walked up to Gaunt’s, shot him at point blank range, and the custom match ended. The screen declared Chad the winner. “We win.” Chad smiled at a glaring Lord Gaunt. “Get us out of this stupid world.” “Us?” Lord Gaunt asked. He placed the controller down, more amused than upset by the loss. “I can get you out, but she’s an aspect of this world now. She cannot leave.” Wanda gave him a pained look. “Chad… We’ve been through so much together, and I know you love me, and I understand if-” “Don’t care, leave, leave, leave, leave.” Chad said, snapping his fingers at Gaunt.