Night was beginning to fall. The desert winters brought a cold chill to the earth in the wastelands of Arizona. The reprieve from the scorching heat brought about longer nights and with those longer nights had come a new and unknown terror. The mining community of Prospect, Arizona was smitten with a dark and unspeakable scourge. Recent disappearances could not be attributed to any known source other than a black shadow creeping into the town in the dead of night. The disappearances began with the elderly and helpless of the community, many of which had been found dead on the outskirts of town or in the middle of the desert pale as a ghost with blood covering their nightgowns. Peculiar bite marks appeared on their bodies as though they had been sucked dry by some fiend. Next, young children were whisked from their beds as their parents slept. Many of these bodies were never found.

“It’s been a week since the first attack Colonel,” said the town preacher William T. James. “My flock needs protecting. I am a humble shepherd. I am no warrior. I cannot defend my people from this evil that befalls them except for with the might of prayer and faith.” “I’m afraid that prayer and faith won’t be enough this time, Bill,” sighed Colonel Tobias Fredrerick Jones. “Faith and prayer may get your flock to heaven a hell of a lot sooner than they ought to if we don’t figure some defense or change for this here town.”

Tobias, old Toby or TF to some of his friends, had fought and served in the War of Northern Aggression against Billy Yank as a young man. The hardship, death, terror and violence of the war had left him a scarred and dangerous man. He was just sixteen when the war began. His father joined the Confederate Army of Kentucky out of an abundance of loyalty to his home, his community and his neighbors. They were but lowly shopkeepers, merchants for the townspeople. They didn’t own any slaves or want any.

Defending the soil that they had lived on for so long felt more important than any other idealistic conversation in Washington. His father had not cared for Jeff Davis or slavery for that matter.

He did not care for the war at all. He would have preferred to stay home, but duty did not allow this. His father was counted among the many casualties of the battle of Sharpsburg and shortly thereafter Toby was enlisted into the military following his eighteenth birthday and a growing need for soldiers.

Following the end of the conflict Toby had returned home for a time to nurse his wounds and recover. After a couple of very uneventful years he re-enlisted in the US Army and wore the blue coat he had fought against. He was shipped off to the west to fight the Indians and spread the glory of America. His experience and strategic prowess proved to be useful as he fought the hostile Indians. The Apache had proven to be a formidable and dangerous foe. He had fought many years and lost many men in the unforgiving desert of the Apache home. As he advanced in rank, he prioritized his men as his community and home having never wed and lived a solitary militant life. He was now aged and gray, retired from the Army and serving as the Marshall of a small and previously quiet mining community.

The preacher was a good man with a good heart but not a stout heart. His faith lay in the Bible and in the goodness of men. The goodness of men had failed Toby far too many times to put his trust in them.

“I hear what you’re saying Colonel,” said the preacher. “I just don’t know what to do. What can be done against such a thing. We’re not even sure what we’re really up against.” “We know that the attacks only happen at night. Nothing has happened in daylight yet so there must be a reason for their sneaking about,” replied the Colonel. “If it is some form of man or beast that terrorizes us we must take the proper shelter. We’ll hole up in the church tonight. All of us together. Everyone with a weapon. Everyone on the look out.” The townspeople sat nervously in the pews of the church looking over at the preacher and the colonel speaking discreetly in the doorway of the chapel. Murmuring and whispers spread across the room as each townsperson shared their fears. “My little Jimmy was taken two nights ago. I laid him down in his room and I told him to keep his window closed no matter what. I went in the next morning and he was gone. No trace of him,” gasped Mrs. Moira O’Malley as she began to sob into her husband’s shoulder. “It’s a terrible thing,” sighed Mr. Ivan Radovich. “There is still hope. My poor mother was found five days ago in the desert dead and covered in blood. Her body was a wreck when we found it.” “Our pequeno nino Juan Carlos slept in our bed last night terrified of what happened to Jimmy Senora O’Maley. I did not sleep at all if I could help it. I kept the candles burning and watched over mi familia. La cruz de Jesus in the window protecting us. I must have prayed a thousand Rosaries last night.” Senor Pedro Ramirez reached for the crucible around his neck and kissed his wife on the top of the head. “It was very frightening.”

Toby stepped into the chapel with the preacher and closed the door. The heavy latch falling behind them. The torches that would generally be lit in the town street were brought inside to provide extra light to the chapel and the townspeople. Candles also littered the building. If anything tried to get in they wanted to get a good long look at it. He approached the pulpit at the front of the chapel and addressed the remaining families. “Evenin’ folks. I know we’re all scared here. It’s something unknown happening round here. But with all this happenin’ quiet like in each of our homes, I figure it’s best if we do this together. We spend a night together here in the chapel. I see you all brought your bedrolls. That’s real good. We’ll keep watch for each other and we’ll see what happens tonight.”

“Will we truly be safe here tonight?” asked Ivan. “We don’t know what’s happening or why people are disappearing.” “This place has the biggest, heaviest doors in town so if it’s man or beast causing this terror we stand a better chance behind these walls. We’ve boarded up the windows except for enough room for us to look out at eye level. If something’s going to happen we stand our best chance in here together,” replied Toby.

“We will pray for our friends who have left us for Tucson that they will tell of our plight and send help,” said the preacher. “It’s a two day ride to Tucson. If they sent help back for us it should be here tomorrow.” “If they were able to make it through the night Padre. Hay un demonio!” exclaimed Pedro. “There is a demon in the night.” “Best thing we can do is keep our eyes open and stay on our toes, Senor,” Toby said reassuringly. “I’ll take the first watch down here. Father, you’ll want to take the first watch in the bell tower and you call down to us if you see anything.” The preacher nodded. Several hours went by without incident. The silence was eerie but for the sound of a breeze in the night. The preacher had climbed up the ladder into the bell tower, the three remaining families were asleep on the pews or across the floor of the building. As it neared one in the morning, the silence was broken with the sound of footsteps and what sounded like snarling. The preacher came climbing down the ladder. “There’s a group of people out there. They’re walking through the town looking in the houses,” he called over. “I’m not sure what they’re looking for.” “How many of them are there?” responded Toby hurriedly, standing bolt upright.

“I’m not sure. It looks like maybe ten or fifteen.” “Get back up there and tell me what they’re doing,” Toby said as quietly as he could, raising over to the ladder. The preacher climbed back up the ladder and he could not see them anymore. “They’re…..they’re gone. No wait, listen.”

The silence was broken again by the sound of dirt crunching underfoot and a sort of snarling. Then it suddenly stopped. “Momma? Is that you? Are you in there Momma? Momma come out. Open the doors. It’s me Jimmy.” Mrs. O’Malley became fully alert. Her husband had to pull her back. The sound of her only son calling out to her had her in a panicked frenzy. She fought against her husband's grip as she tried to reach for the door. “Something’s not right,” said Mr. O’Malley. “Why didn’t he come back in the daylight? Who’s he out there with?” Toby looked out the window and saw one of them walking around the church looking for weak points. Then one of them came up to the window and stuck their face up against the window revealing in the candlelight and the moonlight bloodshot eyes and what appeared to be dried blood caked on their face. Their teeth were stained with it. “Stay back. Don’t open that door,” Toby called over to the O’Malley’s. “They’re not right out there.” “Come on Momma. It’s okay. It’s safe. You can come out. We won’t hurt you,” came little Jimmy’s voice again near the front door.

Pedro came over to look through the gap in the boarded up windows with Toby. He held his crucifix up to his mouth as he looked out the window and then one of them came to the window. It immediately pulled back. Pedro stepped back with it.

“Madre de Dios. It does not look natural. It does not look human,” Pedro cried out jumping back. “The devil is in its eyes.”

“How much longer until daylight?” asked Mrs. O’Malley. “When can I go see my son?”

“I’m afraid we won’t be able to leave the chapel before daylight. There’s too much risk and too much we just don’t know,” replied Toby. “It looks like it’s getting close to two in the morning. We should start to have light on the horizon in about three hours.” “Old Toby,” called out a voice from the streets. “I hear it’s you that’s holed up in that chapel like a rat.”

It could not be. He knew that voice but he hadn’t heard it in thirty-five years. It was the voice of a man he believed to be long dead. “Young Jimmy boy has told me all about your little Sheriff act that you’ve taken up in your retirement. A fine sight that’d be. You serving Billy Yank. Did they give the fancy blues and everything?” He peered through the window and saw El Carter. A man who he hadn’t seen since the bloody days of Gettysburg when they were both young and newly recruited into the Confederate Army. Toby had been forced to leave him as he was caught up in the wave of men retreating from the destruction. He hadn’t aged a day. “You’ve grown old, Old Toby,” he leered through the window. “Oh my God….Eli. What’s happened to you?” Toby said with horror. Eli punched through the glass and the boards ripping the nails from the wall as he did so and sending shattered glass throughout the chapel. “I’ve become more than you could ever hope to be,” he said, pulling his unscathed hand back.

Then he punched through several more times, ripping and tearing at the boards. Once he had broken through the boards he poked his head in through the window. In the improved lighting, dried blood was visible on his chin and stained across his coat. He reeked of death, decay and dirt.

From the corner of his eye Toby saw movement to his left and the preacher threw holy water on Eli’s face. Eli screamed and snarled, pulling his face back out of the window.

“Get back servant of evil!! Get back!” exclaimed the preacher. “This is a house of God! You cannot enter here!” Then all was silent again as shock and fear rose to a new level in the townspeople.

“Pedro, keep an eye on that other window. Ivan, watch the door. O’Malleys, you watch this window and keep quiet,” whispered Toby to the group. “With the window broken they’ll hear us that much more clearly.” He stepped aside from the window with the preacher. “What was that? What just happened?” “They are creatures of the night. A manifestation of evil incarnate. I did not believe the stories,” began the preacher gravely. “As a young man in the seminary I had heard other priests discuss the evil that could be found in the world. A lust for blood, violence and death. A waking immortality dependent on the consumption of human blood. An evil known as a vampire.” “So how do we kill it? What did you just do to Eli?” Toby asked, running his hands up and down the barrel of his pistol. “It is wounded by holy water but would not be killed unless it bathed in it. We do not have enough for this. It is also repelled by the cross and by garlic. We do have several crosses around the church but no garlic. A creature such as this,” sighed the preacher heavily, “cannot set foot on hallowed ground. It cannot enter a house of God and it cannot enter a cemetery. It will be repelled. So you were wise to suggest we remain in here for the evening.” “Why had you not made mention of this before?” Toby insisted. “I did not believe the stories. I believed them to be the paranoid and deluded imaginings of old men. I still would not believe it if I had not just seen it with my own eyes.” The preacher began walking towards the back of the chapel looking from side to side. “We must find a cross for each of us to hold out in front of us or wear on our necks. We must all be armed with the power of God.” “Right. That’s fine Preach but how do we kill them? How do we survive this if you say that they are immortal?” Toby said desperate for an answer, for something he could do.

“You must drive a stake through their heart or cut off their heads. Either of these will end the vampire. If you shoot them, stab them or otherwise wound them, their bodies may recover in time and with consumption of blood.” The preacher laughed and shrugged. “I’m surprised I still remember all this. I heard the other priests talking about it and one of them gave me this book on it here. He told me that I’d need it if I was going out into the desert by myself.” He pulled a book from the drawer of his desk in the back titled, “The Manifestation of Evil” with a cross on the book cover. Inside the book were drawings, prayers, what appeared to be personal inscriptions and steps to take. It was a copy of a guide of everything that was known about vampires documented in this book. “So what do we do next?” asked Toby. “Do you have any more of that holy water?” “I do have more, yes, but we don’t have a great deal. We could consecrate more but there is a limited amount of salt and water here in the chapel. We’ll have to make due with what we’ve got for the next few hours I’m afraid,” replied the preacher. “We’ve got movement over here Toby” called out Mr. O’Malley. “I can hear 'em coming.” “The preacher has some holy water. Very well,” came the voice of Eli through the broken window. The face of Jimmy became visible through the window. “Mama? Mama?” came the voice of the young boy. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin an ashen gray and dried blood covered his mouth and chin. He still wore the nightshirt he had been wearing in his bed in his parents home. “You want to see the boy again, huh Mama? You can’t hide in your church forever,” taunted Eli. “Come see us out by the old abandoned entrance to the mineshaft. We can all be one happy family. If you don’t, we may just decide that Jimmy isn’t good enough to be a part of our group. We may just decide to kill him yet. Think about it.” With that lingering threat he put the scared boy down on the ground and left.

The townspeople looked around at each other, unable to voice what had just happened. The world had turned upside down, swallowed up by this desert darkness.


     It was a truth in my family about our gift though we didn’t always admit to it. Sometimes we were thought to be crazy until our dreams came to pass. At times we were avoided by the people around us and other times they came for aid.  My grandma told me a story about how her mother had awoken one night covered in sweat. She didn’t take the time to put on her boots or a coat, she just bolted out the front door to the neighbors. She watched through her window as her mother ran across the field looking like the ghost of some beautiful lady in her white nightgown, blonde hair flying in the wind. She returned that morning, her nightgown no longer white, but singed and blackened with soot. It took some time for her to get the smell of smoke out of her hair, but she managed to stop the fire before any harm came to the neighboring family or their farm. My great-grandma could predict the future with her dreams, but that didn’t always mean she could stop it. One day her husband had gone out hunting. My great-grandma Delila begged him not to go. She said he was in danger of being mistaken for a deer. He didn’t listen until a stray bullet whizzed past his head. He finally decided to heed his wife’s warning and head home. While walking across the back road to get home he was hit by a car. The driver had been injured and was found muttering about hitting a deer. My grandma Layla told me about her dreams and how her predictions weren’t as strong as her mother’s but they still came true with some interpreting. She always knew when her husband was doing things he shouldn’t. She tried to stop him before he gambled away all their money. He thought her predictions could help him at the track but she told him it didn’t work that way. But all it took was her pointing out the winning horse one time and he was hooked.

They had often fought about how she was lying about not being able to predict the winners. He thought she was trying to hold him back. He threatened to divorce her if she didn’t help him out. She agreed to the divorce. The day after it went through she went to the races, picked a horse and won more in one day than her husband had in the last five years.

Layla always maintained that it was luck, but her ex-husband never believed it. Since there had not been a prenuptial agreement she got half of everything along with alimony.

I asked my grandma if she had really been okay with him leaving and she said that there would be another man, a better one. She married that man a year later. He had come to town shortly after the divorce on business and met my grandma as she had lunch on a park bench. Before that day my grandma had never sat on that bench let alone ate lunch there. She said she dreamed of that bench the night before and that morning she went to that bench and sat there until he arrived. “Did you know what he would look like?” I asked her. “I never really knew what he looked like in the dream, it was more like a blurry figure in the shape of a man. All I knew was that he felt like kindness and warmth and home. He felt like a lifetime of happy memories and children I could pass my gift to,” she answered. And she did. She passed that gift to my mother and her sister. My mother in turn passed it down to me, the only girl in the family. It was only ever the women in our family who had it and over the generations it had diluted some, but it was still there. Some people dismissed it as “women’s intuition” but we all knew it was a bit more than that. I often thought that if it had gone back generations upon generations ago it must have been a truly powerful gift to behold. That my ancestors were probably thought of as witches or oracles, but it only went back as far as my great-great grandma. Grandma Layla said her grandma had made some money working as a fortune teller after coming to America, but she got more fortunes wrong than right. Layla said she had to otherwise something bad might happen to her. People were more superstitious where she was from and didn’t treat her right. Layla never went into too much detail. I think she was afraid I would reject my gift if I knew. There really had not been a reason for that, my gift barely existed. It worked more for convenience. I would dream about mundane things like if there was going to be an accident before I went to work. Nothing bad, no injuries, just traffic. I would hear a phone ringing in my dream five minutes before it rang and I would know who was going to be on the other line. I felt that, with how my gift manifested, my future daughter could look forward to a constant feeling of deja vu and nothing more. Grandma Layla said it could take time for my power to fully manifest, but I was now her age when her first husband divorced her, and older than my great-grandma when she stopped that fire. Even my mother had her strongest premonitions when she was younger than me.

She was stronger than me but still couldn’t stop the car crash. Grandma Layla said my mother saw it coming, she told my grandma about it, but she still couldn’t stop it. When I was old enough Grandma Layla told me that she saw it too, but she knew something that didn’t appear in my mother’s dream. She told me that if she had tried to change fate or if my mother tried to stop it that we would have all died in that crash. My brother, my father, and me. She turned the car just enough so that she took the force of the impact. I don’t know how she knew how to do that, maybe instinct, but she did. I ended up with a head injury and a concussion but was otherwise fine, the same with my father. My brother was in the ICU for a few days, we thought we might lose him too, but grandma assured us he would be okay, and that was all I needed.

I remember asking her why the accident had to happen, why there was nothing that could be done to change fate. She told me some things just couldn’t be changed. My mom’s fate was set in stone but ours could be changed at that moment. Sometimes destiny needs a little help and that's what we were for, that's what our gift was for, even if we can’t see it at the time. I understood her words but I never felt like they applied to me. My gift was so useless I couldn’t see how I would be able to help fate or destiny whatever it was, along. On the bright side I knew how and when I would be getting a promotion at my job. I knew when I should dump a guy or not bother showing up to the date at all, but beyond that I still hadn’t got those fortunes of doom and destruction my elders had gotten. I guess I should be thankful for that.

Some things I could change, but others, if I tried to intervene it would cause the event to happen, which was frustrating. I went along with my life and career trying to do what I could with my little talent. It was more for my mom and grandma than for me. They would have been heart broken if I turned my back on it, especially being the only one in the family now that could pass on that knowledge. I got ready for work one morning. I avoided wearing the heels I usually wore. I loved them. They hurt like a son of a bitch at the end of the day, but before that I was tall and confident. I woke with a kick that morning as I dreamed I fell down a flight of stairs at work. So I went with a more sensible shoe, thinking that that had been the cause of the fall.

I went to work a little early that morning. I had a meeting that day, I had been preparing for for weeks. My neighbor wished me luck as she left with her twins to school. I told her not to take Grant street. She listened, even if she didn’t entirely believe in my gift, she still would listen to an extent. The meeting went well and I walked confidently to the stairs leading down to my office. I could have used the elevator but it often got stuck and it took less time to walk than to ride down.

I began my descent when my shoe slipped on the edge of the stair. I lost my footing and before I knew it I was at the bottom of the staircase. I forgot that the reason I never wore these shoes was because they had terribly slick soles.

I laid in a crumpled mess at the bottom of the stairs. I heard a loud repetitive “tip-tap” of feet running toward me. Several people came to my aid. Some tried to help me up while others insisted that I shouldn’t move. My head was killing me. I felt a large goose egg protruding from above my right eyebrow. One woman grabbed a bucket as a nauseated feeling crept up my throat. Another woman called for an ambulance. I tried to assure them I was okay, but I wasn’t. I don’t recall it but apparently I had lost consciousness for about ten seconds. At the hospital the doctor told me I had a pretty severe concussion and my ankle was sprained. He had asked about an old injury he saw on the x-ray of my head. I told him about the crash. He seemed concerned about that and told me I was to stay overnight for observation and that I should be okay to leave the next afternoon, if nothing went wrong.

I tossed and turned most of the night. They gave me something for the raging headache but everything still hurt. They didn’t want to give me anything that would be a sedative in case something happened. A nurse checked on me every hour or so. I could feel her watching me try to sleep. Finally I dozed off for a couple hours.

I awoke drenched in sweat with tears streaming down my face. I saw something horrible in my dream- no - in my nightmare. The heart rate monitor they had me attached to was going off like crazy. A nurse and a doctor soon entered my room in a panic.

“Are you alright?” they both asked as the doctor went straight to the monitor to access the issue.

“I-I’m fine. I just- I need to get home right away.” “I’m sorry but I don’t think that would be wise,” the doctor responded. “Then I need an officer to go to my neighbors apartment.” “Why would you need that?” “Somebody is going to hurt them,” I blurted out. “How do you know that?” “I had a dream. My dreams always come true. It's a family thing.” “You believe your dreams foretell the future?” I hardly ever let people know about my family's gift, mostly because of the condescending tone that was delivered upon me. This doctor had an especially patronizing way of speaking, but that might be the doctor in him. “Look, I’m sure your neighbors are fine and that it was simply a bad dream. You did have a serious fall with a head injury and that can cause such a thing to happen.” I wasn’t convinced that he believed that. After checking my vitals both he and the nurse left. I grabbed my cell phone and dialed 911. I explained the situation to the operator, making sure to omit the details about my prediction. Honestly I wasn’t really sure what was going on. I had never had a dream this vivid, but I knew it would come to pass if I didn’t do something about it.  They did a wellness check, but nothing came of it. The family was just fine, a little shaken from being woken up to an officer in the middle of the night but otherwise fine. This was the first time I had doubted my talent. It was so real like every other dream. Maybe I was missing something.

I was discharged the next day. I caught the elevator up to my apartment. It was early in the evening by the time I got home. I tried to recall the dream, it was horrifying. A man had broken into my neighbors apartment looking to steal anything he could. I heard a gun go off several times. There was blood everywhere. That man had killed them all. Maybe it was just a dream, I did have a head injury. Who knew how that would affect my ability. I recalled the dream again trying to think of any detail I missed. It had been raining in the dream which didn’t make sense since it had been sunny for days with no cloud in sight. I made myself dinner and tried to shake the last twenty four hours off. I dozed off for a few minutes after eating. I had only been asleep for about five minutes before I heard a knock on my door. I listened for another and...nothing. I looked down the hall of my building, I didn’t see anybody. My head must have been worse than I thought. If that were true I couldn’t trust my abilities.

I sat down to watch some t.v. before bed when I heard a loud crack of lightning, then another crack, not lightning. A full downpour sounded through my apartment. Rain! I limped to the door, (ignoring the sprained ankle) thrusting it open in time to see a man I had never seen before about to enter my neighbors apartment. I saw in his hand, a gun. I didn’t know what to do, I was a bit shocked that my vision was about to come true. The strongest vision I had ever had. He stopped, staring at me. I panicked as I grabbed the fire alarm just outside my door. There was a loud explosive sound and then my whole body felt numb. I watched his feet run past me and then another set. It was my neighbor’s husband. He pressed against my shoulder as his wife dialed 911. Another ambulance ride in less than two days. I was told that I was lucky that my neighbor was a surgeon. He knew how to slow the bleeding down just enough for the ambulance to make it. I was told I was luckier still that the bullet had just missed my heart. I was in the hospital for a week. It took a while for everything to heal. In time, the head injury I had sustained the day before healed as well and with it my visions returned to what they were before, well, maybe a little stronger. My neighbor went on to save countless lives. Lives that may have been cut short if that intruder had accomplished his goal. I later found out that his children followed in his footsteps going into medicine. I remained friends with the family.

The night before my daughter was born, I knew trouble was coming. Like his father saved me, the son saved my daughter after a difficult labor. I don’t know if I had really helped fate or destiny along that night, but I taught my daughter what my grandma taught me, even if her talent was little more than deja vu.


Bacon And Lanarous Cizon and Dorron sat down in the comfort of their wooden dining table which specifically represented the dining for two near the fireplace on the perfect night which was dark but loud by the deafening sounds of thunder and rain, the best time to fill tummies with deliciously prepared meal and slip in the comfort of warm and cozy sheets. The smell of the soil outside was soothing but their noble wooden cabin loved the smell of freshly prepared turkey bacon savored with melting spices covering every inch, with the pinch of red chili flakes and pepper, served exclusively on beautifully carved glass plate, and complimenting hot Lanarous Delight, bluish green in color which tastes like Vanilla and Chocolate, quite famous in the town of Costerwoods nearby. Cizon and Dorron were highly excited to taste their mouth watering dish which they have been preparing since afternoon and they wished to enjoy every single moment with their dinner. “This is going to be fun”, said Cizon excitedly rubbing his hands together and looking at the meal. “This is the best part of the day”, said Dorron who settled himself rightly in his chair. As they hastened to have their first bite there was a loud knock on the door. Cizon and Dorron looked at each other, this was unlikely because it was dark and rainy outside, and the town of Costerwoods was already in deep deep sleep, but there also was an explanation for the same because it was likely that someone might have lost their way and is looking for a shelter in this extreme weather. “Should we open the door?”, asked Dorron and he looked with suspicion at Cizon. “Not before we hide our meal, I am not sharing that”, said Cizon. “Me too”, said Dorron as he stood up, took the plate and hid their Turkey in the oven back in the kitchen while Cizon somehow managed to hold the glasses along with the bottles of Lanarous and hurried to the kitchen behind Dorron but by this time there was a second knock on the door. Dorron then marched swiftly to the door and unbolted it, his eyes were amazed to find an eyes pleasing girl standing at their door, her eyes were enchantingly blue, and the face was a perfect oval and red hair added to her beauty. Even though she had her cloak hood on, the frills of her dress still dripped rain water; she looked scared and obviously was alone. “I apologize for showing up this late at your door but I did not find the way to the town, it is raining and I do not find it wise to roam in the woods alone”, said the girl in her sweetest but shaky voice. Dorron was lost looking at her and did not speak for another 10 seconds, after which his mind reminded him of her sayings. “Oh! Do not apologize my dear, step in for it would be our greatest pleasure to serve you”, said Dorron. “Who is it Dorron?”, asked Cizon in an echoed voice as he walked behind Dorron and finally his eyes met that of their late night intruder’s. His jaw dropped but the eye contact did not last long. “Make way for the noble lady Cizon”, said Dorron as he simply pushed him back to the wall, Cizon came back to his senses and the girl helped to put in a faded smile. “Close the door will you Cizon?”, said Dorron as he hurried to guide the girl to the fireplace not wanting to miss any moment with her, “I must give her something else to slip in”. Cizon took the hold of the doorknob but before he closed, his attention was caught by a dark figure moving inside of the woods at some distance, he did not look at it for long as he knew it would have been an animal living in the same. Cizon bolted the door and hurried back in. Dorron in meantime gave her the clothes and she rushed to one of the rooms on the second floor to change. “We must give her something to eat, she must be hungry”, said Dorron as he was enchanted by the girl. “Are you talking about serving our meal?”, asked Cizon with desperation. “Yes of course”, said Dorron as it was obvious. “I will cook something else for her but that, I am not sharing”, said Cizon. Before Dorron could speak however, the girl stepped down, wearing Cizon’s clothes, her hair were still wet but she was much comfortable to smile nicely. She walked up to the brothers and said, “I shall thank you for having me, I would have died otherwise”, “Mention nothing of it but are you hungry please tell me”, asked Dorron. “Yes, although we finished our dinner I will prepare something nice for you right away”, said Cizon quickly. Dorron looked at Cizon with the look of disappointment but then looked back the girl and smiled. “I am embarrassed to say but yes I am a bit hungry”, said the girl. “You will have to wait a bit”, said Cizon after which he disappeared in the thin air. “Warm yourself up dear”, said Dorron as he stretched his arm, showing way to the fireplace. The girl settled in and by her side sat Dorron, both on the floor. The girl constantly looked into the burning ambers whereas Dorron was looking at her in moments. Cizon joined them a little later with the bowl of soup in his hands. The girl took the bowl with happiness and smiled at them. “So”, said Cizon as he tried to start a conversation, “What is your name and how come you ended up here?”. The girl heard the question with calmness as if she knew it was coming all along. She took the sip of the vegetable soup and said, “My name is Amber, I live in the town of Costerwoods, I was going to visit my uncle who lives on the other side of the mountain Virago but I lost my way after twilight, and it began raining and rest is before your eyes”. “Poor you, poor fate”, said Dorron simply. Cizon however kept on looking at the girl, who in a little while returned her gaze to the ambers in the fire. “I will leave, the first thing in the morning”, said Amber with a smile, “you have been so kind”. “Make yourself at home dear Amber there are no problems”, said Cizon with a smile. There was a complete silence for some minutes and Cizon grew restless at last he spoke, “We must take your leave now Miss, I hope you find your way easy, call us if you need anything, we will be one call away”. Amber smiled lightly and Cizon helped Dorron on his feet who did not want to leave the girl but his brother, second time in this evening ruined his moment. They both marched upstairs, and even though Dorron knew that Cizon was right about everything in this night he still was mad, but however chose not to speak and walked quietly into his room just opposite of Cizon. Cizon was restless, the rain still poured and as much as he liked sleeping in the coziness of his sheets in rain today something was unusual, he thought the reason behind that was because he was hungry and stomach growled from time to time, but the uneasiness suggested otherwise. It was dark and the candle flames were dying. Cizon slept for half an hour but it felt like a minute, as if he never slept, his throat however was dry and he needed water. Cizon slipped his feet in his night slippers, opened his door and quietly walked downstairs. The fire in the living room was exhausted, and Cizon made sure that his footsteps were not heard for he feared the disturbance in the sleep of his brother and the guest. His feet were moving towards the kitchen but in the darkness of the living room, he saw something moving outside the house in swift movements through the curtains of the windows in thunder lightning, he tried to ignore it. The late night intruder was however nowhere to be seen, Cizon reached kitchen and his heart sank, he froze at the sight of what he saw. Amber was sitting like a beast on the table, her hands clutched the meat of the turkey bacon and she ate like monster, with every strike of lightening she looked more horrifying. Cizon thought he was hallucinating for a moment lightning struck him directly but it was no hallucination, he quietly ran to Dorron’s room and knocked as quietly as he can. “Dorron, Dorron open the door”, he said in hushed voice. Dorron finally opened the door but he was sleepy and could barely understand anything. “What is it that got your wand in a knot at this hour Cizon?”, asked Dorron as he rubbed his eyes. “The girl, Amber she is a witch, or a beast I don’t know but she is not what you think”, said Cizon as he entered in and closed the door behind. “Monsters are not that pretty Cizon, you just have been dreaming”, said Dorron. “No, I went down to fetch water, you have got to believe in me she ate our bacon”, said Cizon “She must have been hungry”, said Dorron. “Not that hungry, she looked like she will even eat you and me”, said Cizon, quickly, he was gasping and sweating. “Let’s do this, I’ll go downstairs with you and we will settle the matter”, said Dorron who was sure about the nightmare that he thought Cizon had. “It is not safe, we must lock our doors and avoid danger at all costs”, said Cizon Dorron, took him by his hand and tried to relive him, he then opened the door and led Cizon out. “Bad idea, bad idea”, said Cizon with a cracking voice. Dorron and Cizon quietly walked down the stairs but to Cizon’s horror everything was perfectly fine, as it was on the first half of this night, the room was warm, the fire was alive in the fireplace and the Amber sat in front of the fire. For a moment Cizon thought he really did dream, but his intuitions told him otherwise. Dorron walked up to the girl who still stared at fire and said, “My brother had a nightmare about you, we are not used to strangers you see”. The girl was quiet for some seconds but at last she said, “One must not take in everyone, showing up their door”, her eyes fixed on fire. “I am sorry I did not understand you”, said Dorron going a little close to her. Cizon’s heart was thumping loud under his skin he knew something bad was coming. Girl looked at him quietly, then in one instance, she grabbed Dorron’s collar and barked at him, Dorron got confused and scared and tried to go away from her. Ambers’ grip was however powerful and there was no easy way to avoid it. Cizon ran to help Dorron but Amber got the hold of his arm, Cizon and Dorron were putting their utmost force and the arm began slipping through her hand, but to add more pain she scratched the whole arm with both of her hands wand long nails. The bond was broken with a loud jerk and Cizon crashed on the wall, Dorron however ran to the front door, Cizon’s head messed up, but heart skipped a beat or two when he saw Amber coming towards him with her tangled body. Dorron unlocked the door and opened it wide in haste, his way however was blocked by another monster, it was an inhuman spirit, made up of nothing but darkness, ready to suck in every ray of light or happiness, it growled on Dorron and before he could understand anything, the spirit growled angrily at him and galloped him completely. Cizon’s sense gave up, his brother was gone, a monster stranger girl was coming for him and an inhuman spirit waited for him at his door, he stood up as soon as he could and ran upstairs, he did not know where to hide or where to go, the images of his dead brother were flashing before his eyes, he threw himself towards the window of his room, and even though it was high, he still made his mind for making a big jump but the inhuman spirit spread his wings growling at Cizon below on the water logged ground, it was the moment of utmost horror, he closed his door, but it was soon smashed by Amber, looking nothing less than a possessed soul, she came nearer and nearer to Cizon and as he looked out of the window, the Inhuman spirit he found was now at the level of second floor, looking like an angel of death waiting for Cizon to give up. Cizon accepted his fate and sat down with his head between in knees, crying and waiting for death when he heard Dorron’s voice. “Cizon, Cizon”, it called. Cizon then looked around him and the voice grew louder. “Cizon, wake up our dinner is ready”, said Dorron as he walked past Cizon sleeping near fireplace in their living room. Cizon opened his eyes, but he was sweating with fear, he looked around his house and his heart received the sense of utmost satisfaction, everything was fine, Cizon knew he was dreaming. Dorron asked Cizon to help him decorate the table and he with high excitement joined. Cizon and Dorron sat down in the comfort of their wooden dining table which specifically represented the dining for two near the fireplace on the perfect night which was dark but loud by the deafening sounds of thunder and rain, the best time to fill tummies with deliciously prepared meal and slip in the comfort of warm and cozy sheets. The smell of the soil outside was soothing but their noble wooden cabin loved the smell of freshly prepared turkey bacon savored with melting spices covering every inch, with the pinch of red chili flakes and pepper, served exclusively on beautifully carved glass plate, and complimenting hot Lanarous Delight, bluish green in color which tastes like Vanilla and Chocolate, quite famous in the town of Costerwoods nearby. Cizon and Dorron were highly excited to taste their mouth watering dish which they have been preparing since afternoon and they wished to enjoy every single moment with their dinner. As they hastened to have their first bite there was a loud knock on the door!


Twenty-seven. It was hard for her to believe. To Bella, it seemed like it might turn out to be just another autumn evening a lot like the rest before it, yet not. She only knew at that moment she couldn't bear any more boredom. The slender brunette wore a red, strapless dress, a modern ‘Jennifer Aniston’ haircut, and an enigmatic expression. If I'm gonna go out , i t will be in style, she thought to herself. So, sticking her foot off the edge of the flat roof, she tested the air...but just as quickly pulled her lifeline back in. The next time the bottom of her black stiletto pushed out, it went a little further over the ledge than she'd planned, as if it had a mind of its own. Her heart, as if on cue, began to gallop. The idea of instant death thrummed like a soothing binaural beat in her head, but her pulse, by then, was pounding in her ears, sounding a little like the snare drum Billy Bassett had played for the high school band a decade earlier. Taking risks had always made her feel more alive when her emotions were dull. During those moments, she could breathe in life and death, and more importantly, the in-between, but this time, her collapsing foothold on life became too terrifying. She teetered, pulling back just in time. Instead of the expected rush, there was dizziness, nausea, and panic. So, it occurred to Bella then that she maybe she wasn’t out on the roof to end it, but to feel something… Imagining how she must look out on the roof's edge in a red dress and high heels sent a fit of laughter to her thin, red lips, which she’d just painted only an hour before. But when the laughter faded, her thoughts shifted... Maybe a little vodka and juice could give her a little more nerve? But courage for which one? Death, Life, or that strange "in-between" she now felt in her soul? She thought on how she used to have a life. One that was worth something. She used to be busy, even popular in high school. Now, she just had an office on the third floor and an empty apartment. So much had changed since she graduated. She’d considered a fancier roof for this overly dramatic event, but her dullness had caused her to end up there instead. Perched high above everything and with such a nice view in front of her, she could now clearly see it, The place where it all went wrong. It was not even that far at all, just a few blocks away...where Brian had proposed to her on the day of their graduation. He’d bought her a ring and presented it to her on bended knee on the football field after the commencement, the same field where he used to play each time they had a home game. She hadn’t married him though. She'd wanted her freedom. Now, there were times she regretted it. All she had now was herself and her cat. Two divorces and a place to work. Their daughter would be 9 now. Bella went back to breathing the memories in and out. Keeping them at arms length for the moment, afterward deciding to go home so she could drink the remaining ones down like watered-down whiskey. Fifteen minutes later she was slipping the key into the door to her apartment, finally home at last, realizing she must have been crazy to even think of doing such a thing. To forget her foolishness, she poured herself a large glass of Chardonnay. Of all people, she should always know life was precious. But thinking of precious, fragile life made her wonder Just what name had the agency given their baby girl all those years ago? What would she look like now? She knew she would have been a terrible mother, anyway, just like her mom was. She reminded herself for the hundredth time it had all been for the best. Yes, it was futile to even ask questions about the child she would never know. On her dresser, the invitation still sat... She picked it up and read it aloud, Mocking its formality. “Bella Franklin, you are cordially invited” it said. “Cordova High School Reunion, September 17 th , 2020.’ “Be There or Be Square.” Couldn’t they think of something more trendy? Tonight, she sure wasn’t up for any small talk, bullshit, or competition. And what if people started asking her questions she really didn't want to answer? Just then, the phone rang. It was “the” Taylor Flynn, class president. Sweet, perky voice, the proverbial sugar, spice, and everything nice. “Are you coming to the reunion tonight? You have to!! You and Brian will the main attraction, Miss Prom Queen 2010 .” “Nah, I think I’m feeling a little off tonight.” “Girl, you just gotta come! All the gang will be there. Good times!” Hanging up the phone, Bella couldn't decide. Should she go to the reunion or just go to bed? But then she thought, “What’s a few hours gonna hurt? I’m already dressed.” She walked in the door to the high school gymnasium where everyone was exchanging pleasantries and recreating memories of old times. A cozy atmosphere seemed to pull her around from person to person. Belle was the delicious tray of hors d'oeuvres that everyone wanted to taste. Basking in her former prom queen glory, she became the person she was before everything had gone horribly wrong. Old memories came flooding back, mostly good ones and even a few of the naughty. Like the time she and Ron Pickett had went under the bleachers to make out and it went a little too far, and the time she cut Mr. Gardner's class to spend the day with Brian doing something else besides learning. “It’s your birthday today, isn’t it, Bella?” her high school bestie, Ashley Green, interrupted her thoughts, speaking in her perpetual cheerleader voice. “Girl, we’re having cake and ice cream in the back in honor of your 27th, and we all chipped in for a pretty nice gift.” Bella’s cheeks turned light pink, then she smiled meekly,  ‘Oh, Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” Secretly, though, she was delighted. Later, standing with her friends on the sideline, Bella hadn’t planned to dance until Brian, in a surprisingly shy way, asked,

“May I have this dance?” Though the same age as her, time hadn’t been so kind to him. He walked with a bit of a limp from an old football injury, but it didn’t make him any less handsome.

Across the room, she noted a couple of her old girlfriends had gained several pounds and some of the guys had lost some their previous hunkiness. Time is cruel , Bella thought to herself. It could only get worse from there once everyone passed their prime. As for Bella, she’d always thought she'd rather die young than lose her wits or her looks. She realized that was another part of what put her out on the ledge. Knowing that each day would rob her of her beauty, steal away her previous opportunities, bring her a step closer to the end. It hit her suddenly that she'd rather step into life, death, and the in-between with full force, enjoying both the "now" and the "not yet" to the fullest than to be dragged away kicking and screaming on her final day. It was on the dance floor she released those thoughts, And began to feel again. Her thoughts were not racing anymore. She was beautiful and alive, connected to everything. At the end of her drive home, she stepped out on the slightly wet sidewalk... The drizzling rain kissing a sweet pattern onto her skin. She stood there a few moments, letting it wash over her. And thinking how this birthday could have been an ending but instead became a new beginning. She now felt clean. Full of new hope. Praying silently that she could feel like this forever, Bella knew the tide would eventually roll back in and carry her with it. For better or worse.. But for now, she was 27, And fully at peace.


Got time to chat, Caro? Jen… well… not really … mmm … what's up? They're at it again! What now? Caro! Complaining that they don't know what's happening. Complaining that you chose favourites. Complaining. Complaining. Complaining. Yup… Don't you find this depressing? Nothing is ever good enough for them. That's one of the reasons I chose you to be on this committee, to be receiving this training, so that YOU, as a peer, could facilitate some of these growing pains. So, you're dumping this on me? No, Jen, I'd suggest you bring Rachel into your confidence, she's your go-to person. Now, not to be rude, but, I have tonnes to do before I head outside for recess supervision. Bye. *** Oh my God, do I have to do everything? Such a ship of asses. You complain that you don't know what's happening, so I'll 				      share every god-damn bit of information. There! *** Hey Jen, what'd you think of this? Mmm…hmmm. Sure, whatever I'm so pissed I'd like to stick a spiked d—— up their asses. Huh. Caro?!

*** Hi there, Caro, I'd suggest you keep your sexual fantasies between you and your hubby. Oh, haha, Jen must have been chatting with you. Thanks so much for helping smooth over this latest brouhaha. *** Hi Hannah, you okay?

Isn't that rich! I know all about the d—— comment. Get out of my face! Christ! Jen must have spilled the beans about my comment. Shit-shit-shit! I'm so done! *** Hey there, Jen, I need to talk with you, in PRIVATE.

Okay. In PRIVATE! Caro, I want her here as support.

Are you okay? No, not really.

I'm figuring out that you got some support from the staff. Is that helping you feel a bit better? Hmm … your words hurt. Gosh, Jen, that was never my intention to hurt you. Well, let's just say it hit a nerve. I did come this morning to talk with you about problems with my husband and you just pushed me out the door. What do you mean — when you came this morning about staff complaints? I didn't know. Usually, you're there for me… So not today, and I'm sorry.

I accept your apology. *** Hi Laney, I have something to tell you. I privately said something, in confidence to Jen, which she has shared with the whole staff and their union. It'd be great if you could come here before the end of the day so we can meet with Jen to move forward. Caro, certainly, I'll be there in about an hour. Take care. *** Jen, I've spoken with Lainey and she's coming to meet with us before the end of the day. I've rearranged your timetable so that you are free from the class and supervision.

Caro, I appreciate this. *** Welcome, everyone. Caro called me inviting me here, this afternoon, to figure out what our next steps will be.

I want to take full responsibility for my words, which caused Jen to feel uncomfortable. Although I did not intend for Jen to respond this way, I apologize yet again. Caro, it's water under the bridge. Jen, how wonderful of you. So, looking forward, with this initiative, let's pool our brains and figure out a path to success.

Lainey, as you know, they do complain about almost everything and this isn't any different. It seems that Caro brings out this response in them. I've shared this with you many times before today. Hmmm… yes… So, Lainey, I'm thinking, after a chit-chat with Rachel, that she and I take more of the lead with the communications. Perhaps, the same information coming from us will be better received by them. Wow! Jen, great thinking. I can certainly see why you chose Jen and Rachel, Caro. Good choice. Jen, the bell will soon be ringing and unless you want to be ambushed with questions about why you look so sad with such reddened eyes, how about we get you to a private space, away from prying eyes? Caro, as usual, you do take such good care of us. F—- off! *** Ah, Caro, sit yourself down, it's just us. So … quite the day! I need to know exactly, word-for-word, what you said to Jen, in what you thought was private, Uhhh … I'm mortified … she's always, over the years, been a trusted confidante … well, in the public use kitchen, just she and I … I really don't actually recollect saying these words, but I now remember: 'I'd like to stick a spiked d—— in their asses.' Mmm. Am I going to lose my job? Get fired? Ah, Caro. I doubt that. You must have been feeling very stressed … I … I … can't do this any longer … nothing … nuh … nuh … nothing is ever okay, good enough, they fight me constantly. I give up. I surrender. Now, now, Caro. I need you to look after yourself. That is what is most important at this time. Well, Lainey, I do have a doctor's appointment for tomorrow morning. I've made all the of the arrangements, a lead teacher, my day plans for teaching, the day organized and covered for my admin duties. All covered, all … I'm a bit worried about you, right now. I'll tell the Admin Team that too. I am on your side.

Mmmm … uh .. ah … yup … Give me a call tomorrow after your appointment. Okay? Yup. *** Welcome to this information-gathering meeting. I am Superintendent Bren, the chair for today. Hi Samid, nice to see you here for Caro. At the end of the table, hello to Superintendent Lainey. Finally, sitting beside me, from human resources is Karmen. So our goal today is to gather all of the necessary information to move forward with positivity and achievement. Caro, I understand, from a confab with Samid, that you have a few notes to share with our committee. The floor, so to speak, is yours. Ooooh, mmmm … I would like to start with a public recognition that the words I chose to say, in supposed confidence, to a staff member, Jen, were utterly and completely unacceptable and not consistent with my professional record. Over the past seven years, as Lainey can attest, and as she has supported, and before her, Dane, the staff, led by one particular person, have consistently, persistently, unceasingly opposed, reported, blocked, … uh … me … my initiative … again, again, again. Mmmm … huhuhuh …. Ohhh …

Caro, that, is, let me be blunt, the new realities of ADMIN. It seems you are unable, not able, incapable … Pardon me! I am not some newbie. I have been in this role for decades, at several, sites, yet now, in this one particular poisoned workplace … As I said, before, I WAS INTERRUPTED … this, Caro, is the reality, albeit changed from when you first started in this role, this is NOW! *** Good morning, Caro, Lainey, Karmen, and via the speaker, Samid. The Exec Council has met and decided on the follow-up to the APS incident involving Caro and Jen et al. I will turn over the meeting to Lainey, like Caro's immediate supervisor. Mmmm … ah … Caro … I invite you to read along as I read aloud the letter to be included in your professional file … … Two days without pay … wow … I've read in the Blue Pages worse things and they didn't … So, that is what brings me here, today, to start counselling with you. It's a shit-storm!


(READER DISCRETION ADVISED) THE NORTHERN LIGHT WINDOW It was six in the morning, and I lay there wide awake not being able to sleep. I looked out the giant windows in the bedroom to see the streaks of orange and pink painting the pitch-black sky. It was one of those days, the days where I feel every inch of my existence being questioned by things even so trivial and unimportant. the days where even the slightest touch could set off a chain reaction of explosion and break dams mightier than the ones known to humans. It was one of those days. the ones where the dark cold hand grips my throat and rips the air out of my lungs. I lay there pondering the reason behind my existence and not even the loud shriek of my alarm could shake this feeling off. it was now 7.30, it means I have to take my place amongst the normal functioning part of society with a smile plastered across my face. my family could have died, my house could have burned down, my babies could be dying but I will still forevermore hear - “ why don't you smile more..” it was raining today, the world already seems cold, dead, and dark. today it was a few shades darker. I got dressed slowly, not being able to breathe, it's still a mystery how I got myself dressed when all my limbs weighed almost a tonne. as I walked out the door heading to the bus stop I realized I was quite literally dragging myself. The commute had always been the difficult part. there are several times during the commute where I’ve wished the bus would just digest me, or the ground would open up and swallow me. and on several non-fantasy-ical notes, wondered if I could just get down and leave- leave the bus, leave the city, leave all this behind, take the roads I’ve never travelled and the risks I’ve never dared… all in the hunt for happiness. I often have thoughts of running away to any random place. I see buses and cars going to places I do not know and I have almost all the time wanted to board them and go nowhere. Often I look at buses, achingly, and wish I could leave whatever I was doing and board them with the couple of hundred bucks I have stuffed in my pocket and start afresh. it is worse when the buses read the names of the places that I remember from my past. and I am yet to figure out what about my life I hate so much. And on some days I’ve come very close to the answer- the answer would be staring right at my face, but I lack the capability to accept it. the bus slowly fills with people and as they all board, they greet me - as I am just a familiar face they’ve seen for the past 3 years. I board there, get down there, sit here, and smile this big. it's painful to think that the people we see every day are the ones with whom we never initiate a conversation. and the people who we care about the most are the ones who distance themselves from us. and in my case, neither love nor life and nor the loves in my life has been so kind. A few minutes later, I have successfully reached my workplace and am still standing firmly on both my feet. if no one was around, I’d pat myself on the back. as I gain the courage to walk indoors, a woman hurrying to open the door before me and spills her beverage all over me. She looks over agitated and asks me if I am okay. I was visibly taken aback. she softens her expression, apologizes and asks if I am alright. to be fair… not really. I’m glad someone asked. I nod my head faintly and she shoves me to the side and proceeds to march inside. I reached the elevator without disappointing any more of my fellow human beings. seeing the elevator empty and feeling blessed, I walked in and leaned my head against the cold metal walls. Before I could breathe out a sigh, a wave of people almost drowned me and pushed me to the back of the elevator. I see a few familiar faces, a part of aches for the human interaction but the other part knows too well the kind of ‘interaction’ I’d get from these particular humans. fate once again decides to play a luckless hand and makes them notice me. What five minutes yet seems like hours pass by as they so kindly describe my physical condition to me over again in a seemingly distasteful manner. I give them a tight smile and exit the tin can. I walk into the floor and feel happy to see the warm, kind, and wrinkly face of my boss. she smiles at me and inquires about ‘the pests in the elevator’, I try yet fail miserably to return the warmth from her smile. the mother I never had… and never deserved. She looks at my shirt, pouts, and tells me she might have a spare in her office. I follow her like a lost lamb in a world full of hungry wolves. She hands me the spare. I take off my shirt and change into the spare, she looks at me- concerned from the corner of the room. she walks closer- her form barely coming up to my chest- holds my necks, pulls me closer -” you’ve lost a lot of weight, kid… try not to work yourself too hard…” she says and gives me a peck on my forehead. I feel my eyes tear up.  if only I could tell someone… I finish buttoning up and throw my coat over, I am led into the meeting room and yet again, I follow her like a lost kid. As we entered the room, I was really confused and lost. my partner had to remind me about the people coming to discuss progress with us. I sat at the table, restless and annoyed a little. there’s just no happiness… not even a monetary flash of it… is there? I look around the table and see all the familiar faces and try to distract myself. I looked at my dear boss, her husband… the parents angels sent me and said be blessed for at least a little bit. Then, I looked at my partner and the lawyer bickering and laughing over something I couldn't bring myself to listen to. We were more like best friends than co-workers. Then, I look at my assistant frowning at the notes and pouting, he’s still a kid… but a smart one. I see potential. I keep looking around the room, I don't see barriers, I see family. if I could only talk to them... every inch of existence screams to be heard, every part of muscle wants to lunge forwards into someone’s arms, eyes filled to the brim with tears waiting to pour out, hands just aching to be held and legs that have miraculously not given up yet. I just need a single spark to let it all burn… I muster up the courage and start to talk, and yet again- the worst of luck. The clients have arrived with a huge party and a contagious amount of fake happiness. will this world ever learn... the meeting has begun… What seemed to be several hours later, I grew extremely annoyed and restless. I started by taking my coat off, then popped two of my buttons off- which seemed to attract a lot of attention from members of both sexes. It seemed as if the more clothes I took off, the more hot and sweaty I became. I excused myself and started pacing the room. a little later, I completely zoned off and was staring out the window at the city below. my mind yet again decided to test me. if I died tomorrow, nobody will miss me the earth won't stop spinning. the fire won’t stop burning, the wind won't stop howling. if I died tomorrow… the water won't stop flowing, the trees won’t stop blooming. if I died… if I did...the mountains won’t crumble, the sky won't fall, the core won't burn up, the land won't split open and swallow us. if I die tomorrow, I shall no longer be a waste of space, but rather just a pile of bones under grass and mud. If I die tomorrow, nothing will change. so, why not today... Before I could continue, I heard a voice break me out of my haze. “... don't you agree…? “ they ask. I nod in agreement and return to the table. The day goes by in a haze and not long after I find myself in the parking lot with my boss and her husband. they walk before me hand in hand, laughing and giggling like teenagers in love. oh, how bad I wanted that... I see everyone getting ready to leave. my boss turns and gives me one last look before getting into her car and I smile at her weakly. her husband asks me if they can drop me off somewhere. I politely decline. I wanna take a walk. a nice long walk home shall always help. I watch them pull away from the parking lot and wave goodbye to my partner who is starting his bike, getting ready to speed away. This has certainly been a day. The sun slowly sets and contrary to the sight today morning the yellowish pink and orange streaks slowly fade into the dark sky. a cold wind blows, the air is still a little warm. I see kids playing in the park nearby, parents walking their babies in strollers, joggers pacing around the block, and people walking their dogs. it is certainly pleasant. I step out of the parking lot and begin my walk home, I breathe in the air around me, shove my hands deep into my pocket, and enjoy the weather. maybe, I can call my parents when I get home… or call my friend back home and tell her everything. not even minutes later, I smell the faint wet smell in the air. oh no... it starts pouring. and there's not a cab nearby. this certainly turned out to be the walk I walked home in the pouring rain, and into the elevator, past all the stares I got from fellow neighbors and residents. as soon as I opened my door, my legs gave out and I plopped on the floor. tears started streaming down my face and I could no longer control my emotions. I fell on the floor, accepting my state, kicked the door closed, and lay there like a wet slimy puddle of unfiltered emotion and suicidal thoughts. I may have blacked out for a few hours, when I woke up I was almost completely dry and it was dark outside. I thought I could talk to someone today, and maybe just maybe - if I had talked to someone now or earlier, things could’ve gone differently. I pull myself up and crawl my way towards the bar. I snort at the fact that I am living in New York City, working in Wall Street- people would call me mad if I told them I couldn't even find one person to talk to from 9 to 5. but the truth be told… I couldn’t. it may be a city full of people but it's a very lonely city full of people. I get up and pour myself a drink and move towards the giant windows. I stood near the huge windows gazing at the outside world with a glass of scotch in my hand. I realized it might be the perfect city from the 16th floor, but I had no idea why I needed it. I looked around the room, looking at all the material things that no longer bring me happiness and realized I can fill this place up with this junk and yet never be happy and sufficient. I continue to look out the window and wonder what a 16 storey drop would do to a human. I hear the floorboard creak behind me. " Hello..." I greeted him warmly. he steps closer, disregarding any physical boundaries I had. With the level of information, he knows about me, I can also boldly say that we have no mental and emotional boundaries. his cold hands snake around my shoulders, whilst one of them goes down my shirt and is placed firmly on my chest, the other goes up to my neck and he lets his cold slender boney fingers wrap around my neck. I let out a gasp as I can feel no air go into me. I unbeknownst to myself gave my depression a form. a dark slender being, tall and faceless. He had long claws and white eyes. He always walked behind me but never in front. to think about it, he seems like a coward. but, he isn't. He knows me best. his embrace often feels like a soul clenching hold. " you are not him... are you?" I ask he nods no. " How did you find out?" his words slither out in a low grumble. He is amused he has me in his grasp. " him, I can welcome him with open arms... but you, I’m afraid we've never met before, dear sir..." I say as he plunges his hands into my chest. because he wasn't in my depression, it was death. finally here for me. I look down to see the pristine white shirt tainted scarlet with blood. I examine it and find pieces of what used to be the scotch glass poking from my chest and several other pieces laying beside me. I lay there on the cold floor and accepted my fate, depression didn't kill me, I courted him. but neither did death, he merely showed me the sweet nectarine of what could be if I just let go and I succumbed to it. as the blood pools under me, I look up and stare at the northern light window- the stars glisten brightly and beg me sweetly to join them forever.


“Richard, up,” the nurse commanded as she fondled with the IV in my arms, making sure there were no kinks in the hose that was pumping whatever substance into me. I grunted and gathered my might as I pushed my back off of the slanted hospital bed so she could check the needles in my spine. Her cold, skilled hands stung as they expertly adjusted what was needed. “Someone’s grumpy,” the nurse teased condescendingly. “I know it’s your 5-year anniversary of being here today, but there’s no need to spread your annoyance to others.” “5 years, Annie” I sighed. “5 years of this concrete room.” The nurse muttered in agreement as my eyes scanned over the walls with their stupid blue floral wallpaper, peeling on the edges of the baseboards, mirroring my exhaustion. There was no light here. The wall that separated me from the outside world was windowless. I hadn’t felt the real sun in ages; my condition wouldn't allow me (something about extreme photosensitivity). I rolled my eyes. I remember a couple years back the hospital plastered paintings of nature around the room, trying to mimic what I was missing out on, but I took it as a cruel mocking of my loss. It was as if they were teasing me with realistic renditions of sunsets and forests when I just wanted to forget nature as it forgot me. “Open up,” Annie said as her slender brown fingers that gripped a spoon airplaned into my unwilling mouth, brushing my grown-out, grey stubble. “Richard, you have to swallow,” she whined and tipped my head back forcefully. I didn’t yelp or flinch; this happened almost daily. I was used to the invasive poking and prodding. The sour liquid with floating pills burned my throat as it slid down my esophagus, spreading to my problematic system. I always took it unwillingly, never adopted the compliance that other patients seem to develop out of tiredness and defeat. I was not so easy. Another nurse, Gertrude, a middle-aged plump woman who seemed like her job was the best in the world, bounded in through the open dividing door, eager to hear the blandest of news. “Hello, Gert,” I greeted sarcastically; they all knew I’d rather be left alone. “I told you to never call me that,” she smiled and playfully brushed my shoulder in a sort of hesitant shove. The nurses professionally greeted each other and carried on with their agendas. “So how are we today, Annie?” She looked me up and down. “The same as ever,” Annie said bluntly and cocked her neck at an angle, gazing at me longingly. “You don’t ever change, do you,” she sighed and rested her hand on my knee. “Not when you don’t let me,” I chuckled out snarkily. Gertrude tsk-tsked through her botox-filled mouth and puffed up her hair while Annie reviewed health paperwork with her. My eyes drifted in and out of darkness; this happened often. With all the drugs they were circulating through me, my body never felt fully awake or energized. It didn’t help that the room was devoid of sunshine. The wheelchair in the corner of the room drew my gaze. It had been propped and folded up against the wall waiting to be used but had never got the chance. My eyelids consumed my vision to black once again. “Richard,” my love whispers back. Her arms are covered in scabs and bags hung under her eyes. Everything is in slow motion and rippled, like being underwater, yet the sound was as clear as day. “Gloria, you can’t leave me,” the recalled words left my mouth without realization. “You can’t be taken away from me this early, not yet.” A sob escaped my mouth and was followed by a whimper. My hands unexpectedly reach out and caress her balding head. “I can’t watch you leave me.” I shut my eyes tight. The line went flat, and she went flat. As simple as that. No dramatic rush of doctors like the movies, no frantic beeping of the hospital equipment, no dramatic last words murmuring out of her thin, cracked lips. Just a breath, then nothing. The bright fluorescents break the dream and snap my consciousness back to reality with a subtle gasp, the hospital monitor spiking and cooling. “Bad dream?” Annie rested a hand on my chest, feeling around for my breathing pattern as she always did. I cleared my throat. “Bad memory,” I said and the conversation stopped there. Before long my monotonous day turned into night (not that I could ever tell, everything was always exactly the same here) and night turned into morning once more, the only signal of dawn was the analog clock hung high on the wall. But the dream from before was gnawing at my brain. 20 years. It had been two entire decades since that night. The underwhelming qualities of the situation stuck with me ever since. The absence of her gnawed at my chest every waking minute of my dreadful life. Partners for life, until that life is taken away, and to leave me… stranded? Why was I the one who had to stick around? The one who was to be cooped up in a medical facility like some brain-dead specimen? What was the point of living when your center of gravity had been knocked out of course and was now in a different solar system? “Richard! What are you doing?” Annie yelped, grasping my wrist, halting my fingers that were in the midst of punching in a number on the bedside telephone. I dropped the phone in shock. “I didn’t mean to-” I gasped when I saw the five digits displayed on the screen, the numbers that I repeated in my head on the daily. Like a mantra, over and over again as if I’m afraid I will forget them, because I am. Gloria’s telephone number was the only piece of her I had left. For all I know, the number belongs to someone else now. Before I could explain to Annie, Gertrude came bursting through the doors again, grasping a thick stack of papers and wearing a face of worry. Annie and I shared a perplexed expression before she got up to discuss the bustle. They were too far away for me to make out the words clearly, purposefully being secretive, but I could make out words like “clot” and “artery;” I knew this wasn’t going to be good. Annie looked over into my eyes and realized that I knew, and she knew, this was coming to an end. Over the next couple of days we awaited my finale; the rush of doctors, the frantic beeping, the dramatic last words, but my death came just like my Gloria’s: underwhelming and accepted. The final beep of the monitor was silenced forever as Annie’s grasp on my wrist faded from my mind while a bright, brilliant light consumed my vision. The sunlight blinded out my life, scorching the remnants away.

The tall grass beneath my feet was lusciously green and the sky had never seemed so blue. The colors were oversaturated and bathed in sun. That little ball of power devoured any corner of darkness in the meadow where I now stood. I heard a noise across the clearing. My head jerked upwards to meet a small figure in the distance. I squinted my eyes to try to focus on the woman, my woman. My heart did not race as I walked in slow motion, through the ripples to slowly re-greet Gloria; the light of my life, my center of orbit, my sun.


The ancient demon Mara is older than man. The Buddhists were the first to recognize him. The sounds that make up his primordial name were first recorded in Sanskrit. Sanskrit and all other languages are flawed in their representations of his name. The true symbol of his name cannot be expressed in any language. But it can be described. Four crosses, joined at the base, jutting in opposing directions. Northwest, northeast, southeast and southwest.

I almost took the birdhouse down, and I should’ve. But I was so proud of it. The detail was amazing, a perfect copy of our two-story Victorian, down to the alternating shades of green trim. It was so good, in fact, that people noticed it when they came to visit. I would act casual, like it wasn’t the best thing I’d done. I truly believe that. I think that birdhouse might be one of the best things I’ve ever done with my life.

I was drinking in the garage, feeling down. A vision of the birdhouse flitted through my mind and I smiled. I had the comforting thought that everything wasn’t that bad because I had built that birdhouse. The thought immediately on the heels of that was a question. “Is that the best thing you’ve done?” I started to sob. That’s why I couldn’t tear it down. Even after all the deaths. The mysterious bodies. The spoiled tinge of the compliments when it was noticed. It was the best thing I’d done.

I’d finished it in the fall. In the winter, Carole and I helped pick a perfect place for it in the backyard, ready for spring. The year exploded into a lush flurry, our garden thriving under the temperate sun.

By the middle of April I was already thinning the corn and tying the beans and running my hands along the spines of the tomato leaves and smelling my palms. The smell of eyes opening. The green and bristly youth of spring. If the smell wasn’t a cousin of the optimistic wisps that danced from the marigolds when the sun baked them, it was at least a fine complement.

A blue jay’s head lay in the gravel below the neighborhood of birdhouses I had hung and posted along the southern fence. The hodgepodge of styles was a tale of my progress as a craftsman. They were beautiful under the dappled shade of the mulberry trees. In the middle of that was the beat up head.

It lay as if it had fallen from the doorstep of my masterpiece. I toed at it, and supposed our girl cat. I felt a vibration and turned to the bird-sized replica of our home. An ominous melody played in my mind. I peered into the first story opening and squinted as I tried to make out what I was seeing.

A nest in the corner. Three chicks lay slumped about the nest, the mother dead on the floor, and the father’s blue, headless body stiff in the entry. I scowled and left them there.

We worked the garden, one of the best summers I can remember. The squash was prolific, the mulberries sweet, and the tomatoes red. The evening waterings breathed an unthirsty petrichor into the evening breeze. And as I tended the garden I always had an eye turned to the birdhouse. My masterpiece. The best thing I’d done.

That winter I opened the house and found the remains of the family and poured them into the dust bin. I reassembled the house and touched it up and reposted it, and it sat proud. The next spring a large family of finches moved in. They built nests and made a show of things as Carole and I worked the garden.

It was a late Sunday afternoon when I walked into the backyard, appraising our bountiful harvest to come. My eyes settled on the darkened door of the birdhouse. I turned an ear, listening for the birdsong. There was none, and their remains were much more gruesome. Into the dustbin they went. Followed by an even more carefully intricate refurbishment.

I posted the birdhouse in the fall. It wiggled in the wind and gathered leaves and faded in the winter cold. When spring came I cleaned it and touched it up again. Carole and I worked the garden. And the birds visited my neighborhood of houses. They negotiated over ownership and settled on the best and second best of them. The flocks thrived and flurried through the garden as we worked it. By the next fall I knew the house would be filled with the dead bodies of mutilated birds. I examined them and threw them out unceremoniously and took the house into the shop, and left it in the dark on the bench.

It was more than six weeks before I returned to refurbish it. It had been three seasons now and the house was beginning to show wear. Webs had gathered and eves had bent. I tapped the hammer and brought it back to plumb. I painted it with careful strokes and brought back its original luster. As I proudly appraised it my smile turned to a frown. Its base had become worn. I had been so focused on the fine details I had overlooked its foundation.

I turned it on its side and saw the brand that I had burnt when I had finished building it, all those years ago. I poked at it. The burns held fast but the wood around it crumbled under the stroke of my thumb, sprinkling fine sawdust. I decided the brand needed to go and the bottom side of the house resealed. I disassembled the steeple and the second story and turned it upside down and took the sander to it. I sanded through the whole board, the echoes of the burn ran through the entire piece of wood. I sanded for hours and in the end I had turned the foundation of the house into a piece of paper and the brand still shone through. I scoffed and wondered why I cared so much about removing the mark that I had ruined the base of the house. I pulled the thin board free and cut a new piece of wood to take its place. It was pine, but it was thick and clear, and I carved into a perfectly fitting foundation.

After that, no more birds died in that house. It was almost three years later when my thoughts turned to the brand I had used to sign the bottom of my masterpiece. I was sitting at my work bench in the garage. Carole had gone to bed early and I had retired, with a few beers, to my corner. The birdhouse I was working on had lost my attention and as I reached into the mini fridge for my next pop. The blue light cast across the debris that I had neglected to clean, left over from the base of my best birdhouse. Somehow the brand was still clearly discernible amidst the thin planes and chips and sawdust.

I found it in Thailand, or more accurately, Carole found it amidst an overflowing assortment of offerings at one of the more eclectic stands of the bustling street market. She surprised me with it that night after dinner. At the time, I was taking a deep dive into wood burning. Carole, the thoughtful woman that she is, always kept a peripheral eye turned to my hobbies. That’s how she had recognized the hidden tchotchke as a branding iron. Not only was it beautifully crafted, but the symbol in the center of the marker was made of four crosses joined at their base, almost like a crosshair. It looked like four lowercase ts. All three of my names start with t. What she liked the most about it was that it held my initials. That night we laid in bed. She rested her head on my chest and dozed after a perfect day. I sighed and twirled the brand in the soft light admiring its intricacies. I snagged a beer, closed the minifridge, shutting off the cascade of blue light. I cracked it open with a hiss, tossed the cap into the cap-jar, and took a deep slug. I burped and exhaled a thick breath as I leaned down and opened the third, right drawer. I pushed at the brands on top out of the way and saw a twinkle flash off of the item I was searching for. I plucked its stem and shook it free of the others, and held it under the lamp. I probably wouldn't have done it if I hadn’t had one or two too many. I stood in the backyard in the dark, my face lit by the flame of my torch as I heated the brand. Before long it started to glow hot. I killed the torch and the brand glowed, almost impossibly bright, in the pitch of the night. I turned it slowly, lost for a moment in its brilliance, before lifting it and pressing it into one of my less beloved birdhouses.

Luckily, I didn’t set the yard on fire and in the morning I had no memory of it. I only began to remember after the birds started dying again. Three heads laying in the gravel. Titmouse heads. I saw them from a ways away and when I came close my heart fell. The little chickadees were one of my favorites of all the birds. I found their cute little mohawks and bashful behavior endearing. The next deaths were a couple of wrens, a species I liked less. I turned a blind eye to the bodies that built up, not wanting to admit that the mark of the brand undeniably brought death. I let the bodies build up for two seasons. A pile of decayed heads laid under the columbarium. Bodies spilled through the doorway.

In October of the second fall after I had branded the lesser house, I found Carole in the section of the garden she rarely visited, examining it. I surprised her as she poked at it and peered through the opening and toed the mix of skulls and fresh heads. She jumped and I sipped my coffee and raised a brow.

Carole turned to me, her eyes wide, brows raised higher than her shoulders, slowly shaking her head as she gestured toward the gruesome display. “What happened? What is this?”

I gulped my mouthful of coffee as I searched for an explanation, found none and shrugged.

She narrowed her eyes. “Thomas?” I raised a palm. “I really don’t know.” She flashed an appraisal, bought it, and turned back to the scene with concern. “Are they being poisoned? Is something killing them and stashing their bodies here?” She turned back with an idea. “The cat, maybe?” I nodded along at the possibility. “Maybe the cat.” She turned back to the birds and nodded at the comfort of the explanation. “Yeah, the cat.” She examined them for another moment before turning and placing a soft hand on my chest. “Clean them up will you?” She gave a final glance over her shoulder before she kissed me on the cheek and let her hand fall as she left. “Horrible.” “Yes, darling.” I watched her go as I took another sip. I loved to watch her go. Even in our late sixties, she still did it for me. I grumbled as I turned back to the macabre tableau. Instead of cleaning and refurbishing the birdhouse, I tore it from its mount and stuffed the rest of the remains inside. I set it into the fire pit and returned that evening with a pair of beers and a can of lighter fluid. I doused it thoroughly, exhausting nearly all of the can. I set the can down, cracked a beer, and pulled a deep swallow. I fumbled with my breast pocket and pulled the ancient pack of cigarettes I had pilfered from a neglected bay of cupboards in the garage. I popped one in my mouth and brought a matchbook from my pocket. I tore a match free, turned the book and struck it. It flared, yellow and red, blue at its center. I lit the cigarette and inhaled the stale, harsh smoke, coughed, and placed the cigarette back in my mouth. It dangled as I held it with the expertise of a lifelong smoker.

Just as the match began to dwindle I held it to the match heads, still in the book. They caught instantly and hissed as they spat a sulfuric flame. I stared into them for a moment and then tossed them onto the petroleum soaked haunted house.

Almost six months later I was sitting in the den, watching the Padres getting their butts handed to them, when I heard the door close with an unusually loud thump. I raised my chin toward the kitchen and the foyer beyond. At first I thought Carole had brought company home, but as I listened, over the game, I realized she was muttering to herself. I caught a glimpse of her as she passed through the kitchen and furrowed my brow as I heard her stomp up the stairs. I turned back to the game, staring through the tv, unable to return my attention to it. I turned an eye to the ceiling, picturing Carole, and tilted my head as I heard a muffled sob. I finished the last slug of warm beer and pushed myself out of my chair with a groan.

As I took the last step, I paused on the landing. Our bedroom door was closed. Our bedroom door hadn’t been closed for more than a decade. I heard Carole’s muffled voice, and tried to creep closer. The floorboards groaned. I listened and heard nothing. I straightened and walked across the hall and held the back of my hand up to the door. I listened again, heard nothing, and lightly rapped a knuckle. “Carole?” I heard her shuffle, then a few steps. I turned the knob gently and opened the door slowly. “Babe?” “Huh?” She sounded fine and slightly annoyed. I relaxed, opened the door the rest of the way and walked into the room. She was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, wiping a single finger across her cheekbone and breathing deep through her nose. I shambled to the door of the bathroom and stood awkwardly. “Are you ok?” She turned a smile to me. An obviously labored smile. “I’m fine.” She tilted her head, “What’s up?” and sniffed.

“Nothing.” I raised a hand in reassurance. “I just… I just thought something might be wrong.” Her smile became genuine as her crow’s feet wrinkles deepened. She spoke low and soft. “I’m fine.”

I loved her eyes and my smile deepened in return. I stepped to her and braced her elbow with a hand. “Good.” Her eyes flitted around the room before settling on mine. She lightened, pulled her elbow free, snorted, and pushed me away. “Go finish your game.” She gave me a wave as she turned back to the mirror and preened an eyelash.

I smirked and obeyed and stole a final glance before leaving.

That night at dinner she told me all about it. She started off by telling me that she felt silly even bringing it up and it was all really nothing. I blinked patiently. “Tell me.” “Well,” she thought for a moment, “you know how much old Gil hates the hedge.” I nodded as I took a bite and listened.

Almost fifteen years ago we had planted a hedgerow of boxwood to separate our driveway from our neighbor’s, Gil Harker, an ornery, angry old man, now in his early eighties. The hedge had always been a point of contention between us. He would grumble that he shouldn’t be expected to maintain the bushes, and yet would not allow us on his property to prune his side, which Carole—who maintained the front of the house and the drive—would have gladly done. That morning Carole had neatly trimmed our side. She had done her best to reach as much of Gil’s side as she could manage and pull the branches back to our side with a rake. Gil had come bursting out of the house lambasting her with epithets. She apologized and swore to not do it again as she retreated back into the house. “It just scared me.” she threw up her hands. “I know he’s harmless and I don’t know why I let it get to me.” She looked up and away searching for a reason, found none, and shrugged. “He just kind of scared me.” “You’re right he’s harmless.” I agreed, trying not to show that my blood was boiling over. “I think he’s getting a touch senile, as well. I’ll talk to him.” “Oh, please don’t, Thomas.” I had grown tired of our feud with old Gil, and making Carole cry was the last straw. So I lied, “Ok. I won’t.” After dinner she retired to our bedroom to read her latest romance novel. She’d be asleep within the next twenty minutes. I went to the den and turned on the night game, not that I cared who won. Really, the game was just background noise as I swilled beers and kept the corner of my eye on her bedroom window, waiting for her to turn her light off. She had taken longer than I had expected. By the time the light went off I was on my eighth beer. My anger had not subsided. I pushed through the hedgerow, almost tripping on my face, dragged my feet across the drive, and swayed as I fumbled to light the torch. The flame burst to life. I turned the valve until it became a superheated blue and held the flame to the brand and watched it begin to glow. I smiled and pressed it into the side of Gil’s house.