When I awoke, the only thing I sensed was a dull throbbing and the cold steel of a table under me. After a few minutes, I was able to force my eyes open. Surrounding me were dozens of computer screens, all buzzing with red text. As my eyes struggled to focus I noticed a large symbol on the ceiling of the room, that appeared to be some sort of triangular tesseract. As my eyes finally adjusted to the low red light of the room, I noticed that all of the computer screens repeated the same four lines. ***5 7 5 44 5 7 5*** ***Exanimis Manibus*** ***4 7 44444 7 4*** ***Freedom is Death*** Soon after this, I heard several footsteps approaching the door of the room, which seemed to be a panel of the wall that could be opened, but had no control panels inside the room. Although I heard many people, no one seemed to enter. After a few more seconds in the dim room, I heard a quiet hissing. I noticed a thin fog started to appear in the room. My thoughts began to make less sense, and my mind grew more unclear. I felt utterly retarded, and like I couldn’t even complete a single idea in my brain. A loud buzzing noise had started that sent stabs of pains throughout my body. A few more minutes of this helpless state and my vision went completely black, and I believe I fell asleep. *The blackbird flew high above the snow-covered trees. All around it, delicate snowflakes slowly fell to the ground. It appeared to be around early evening, just before sunset, but no sun could be seen. The blackbird soared up towards the bright white clouds, and down to nearly the tips of the trees. This continued for what may have been minutes, hours, or even days. It suddenly seemed alarmed and dived down toward the trees. It found a place on the tallest branch and looked toward the forest floor. There was no life to be seen. The blackbird then noticed a small red and black object lying between two trees. As the bird swooped down towards this object, a clear panic was growing in its small body. The object was a blackbird, identical to the blackbird in flight, mauled nearly in half and covered in crimson blood. As the blackbird looked at it confusion, a buzzing was starting to grow in the forest. All of a sudden, the snow in the forest took on a different shade, of dark red. The buzzing grew to an almost unbearable volume and the bird began to shake violently. The entire forest was now dark, dark red* And I woke up shuttering from a strange dream that made no sense to me. My senses were dull, and I had no clear idea of where I was. As I opened my eyes, my retinas adjusted to the dim red light of the room I was in. All around me were large screens with four lines of text that I felt like I was slightly familiar with: ***5 7 5 44 5 7 5*** ***Exanimis Manibus*** ***4 7 44444 7 4*** ***Freedom is Death*** I started to hyperventilate, as I briefly understood(or remembered) what was happening. I was in the same room as before on the same cold steel table surrounded by the same ominous computer screens. I had not a single clue who I was, or where I was from, or even who my parents were. There was only fear to keep me company on my cold bed. I laid trembling, staring into the red screens for what felt like an eternity before anything changed. The buzzing began again. The second after I had heard it, my eyes rolled back into my head and my body went numb. Nothing made sense once again. And I soon lost consciousness. *The blackbird flew high above the snow-covered trees. All around it, delicate snowflakes slowly fell to the ground. It appeared to be around early evening, just before sunset, but no sun could be seen. The blackbird soared up towards the bright white clouds, and down to nearly the tips of the trees. This continued for what may have been minutes, hours, or even days. It suddenly seemed alarmed and dived down toward the trees. It found a place on the tallest branch and looked toward the forest floor. There was no life to be seen. The blackbird then noticed a small red and black object lying between two trees. As the bird swooped down towards this object, a clear panic was growing in its small body. The object was a blackbird, identical to the blackbird in flight, mauled nearly in half and covered in crimson blood. As the blackbird looked at it confusion, a buzzing was starting to grow in the forest. All of a sudden, the snow in the forest took on a different shade, of dark red. The buzzing grew to an almost unbearable volume and the bird began to shake violently. The entire forest was now dark, dark red* **Ⅱ** *( This Chapter goes into third-person omniscient )* The man with the yellow armband enters the laboratory filled with several other people, some in lab coats and some wearing protective equipment. As soon as he is noticed, all conversation and activity in the lab stop. “Where is Dr.Thule?” the man asks the group of people. A woman in her late 40s quickly walks toward him. “I am here,c-can I help you?” she asks. “The commander wants an update on the status of your research. Now. ” he replies as he pulls out a small device that he raised toward her face. “He is listening presently.” “Well, we have learned that the pineal gland of the patient is deteriorating, after just two uses of the Temero. We have also been able to completely hijack his cerebral cortex after phase two was performed.” After waiting several moments to ensure she was done speaking, the man pressed a button on the device. “The commander wants full control of the pineal gland by Sunday. I will be back.” The man nods toward the doctor, and swiftly exits the lab. One younger lab assistant breathes a sharp sigh of relief, and they again return to their typical duties. “Status report on the subject’s memory formation.” Dr. Thule tells an older man. “We have convinced his brain that the year is 2019, and he was born in a small town outside of Monterey in the western United States. He also believes that the world is mostly at peace and that mutual-assured destruction has kept the world from war. We are now beginning to fabricate family, friends, and more details on his upbringing. His actual age and name have been released to him, so he should have much less tension in his frontal lobe.” The doctor knew this would allow for better control over the subject’s brain. “We are prepared to wake him up for trial three on your order.” another scientist says. “Alright, I want him up in five.” **Ⅲ** *(Now it's back to first-person)* When I regained consciousness, I at first couldn’t open my eyes. I laid on the cold table and felt too exhausted to even comprehend what was happening to me. I thought of my friends, and my family back home and soon began to shake with the realization that I may never see them again. I had faceless captors, and I no longer could even tell I was on Earth, much less that I was anywhere near my home. Soon I realized that even though my eyes were closed, I felt as though I had a sense of what was around me, down to the finest detail. It was a feeling unlike anything that I could think of and is not something that could be described easily. From this sort of vision, I was able to tell there was still a small amount of what appeared to be a certain kind of smoke. This smoke was apparently odorless, and could only be recognized as the red light emitted from the monitors shown across it. The monitors still blared the same lines as they did when I awoke last time. I now had a better idea of what was happening, as I was convinced that I must have been abducted by some sort of advanced aliens or something of the sort. I would soon learn I was incorrect. My eyelids were finally able to be forced open, and I was surrounded by the same scene I expected to see. Once I looked into one of the monitors I felt a surge of ominous energy enter my brain. This soon was overwhelming to me, and I began to scream as information passed through my brain. I felt as if I could identify the molecular structure of everything around me, as well as the details of every single memory I had in my mind. Suddenly, I felt something dripping down my forehead, obscuring my vision. After a few milliseconds I sensed this was my blood, and as I began to identify and analyze it, my brain shut down completely. The noise had started. My vision went black and I was greeted with a familiar vision. *The blackbird flew high above the snow-covered trees. All around it, delicate snowflakes slowly fell to the ground. It appeared to be around early evening, just before sunset, but no sun could be seen. The blackbird soared up towards the bright white clouds, and down to nearly the tips of the trees. This continued for what may have been minutes, hours, or even days. It suddenly seemed alarmed and dived down toward the trees. It found a place on the tallest branch and looked toward the forest floor. There was no life to be seen. The blackbird then noticed a small red and black object lying between two trees. As the bird swooped down towards this object, a clear panic was growing in its small body. The object was a blackbird, identical to the blackbird in flight, mauled nearly in half and covered in crimson blood. As the blackbird looked at it confusion, a buzzing was starting to grow in the forest. All of a sudden, the snow in the forest took on a different shade, of dark red. The buzzing grew to an almost unbearable volume and the bird began to shake violently.


A warm breeze blew down the street, bringing with it the salty smell of the East River. On this overcast and hazy June afternoon, Pearl sat on outdoor patio on the corner for 49th and 2nd Avenue. A bottle of champagne sat tilted and sweating in an ice bucket on her table. The New York Times was spread across the entire table top, its corners flapping in the breeze. This was where you would find Pearl every day, for the last twenty or so years since her husband passed. Every day at lunchtime, she would leave her penthouse apartment--the 23rd floor of a high rise on E48th street, where she had lived for the past sixty four years--and head down a French café called Chez Henri. There, she would demand a table on the sidewalk--if the weather was warm enough--or right by the window. God help the poor soul who happened to take her requested seat before she arrived. Once she was seated, she snapped her fingers and called for the waiter. “*Garcon!*” she shouted. The waiter rolled his eyes to his fellow wait staff and slogged over to her table. “Yes, ma’am. What can I get for you today?” he asked, forcing a smile onto his face. “How could you not know by now?” she snapped. “And hurry, I haven’t got all day.” The waiter, smirked, nodded, then lumbered to the bar to grab a bottle of Veuve Clicquot from the wine cooler. Then he filled a stainless steel bucket with ice and placed the bottle of champagne inside, pushing it just enough so that the ice covered the wide base of the bottle.. Above his head, he grabbed the clean champagne flutes that hung in the dark, empty bar. He carried it out the old woman on the patio under cloudy skies. Pearl smiled with the kind of satisfaction that comes with the ability to manipulate people to her will. The waiter unwrapped the foil from the top of the champagne bottle, loosened the thin metal cage and popped the cork. He didn’t dare speak to Pearl as if she were an equal, he tried to avoid all eye contact. He had learned his lesson. The plop of the cork made a hollow sound that was drowned out by the rustling of leafy tree branches in the wind and the cars and cabs whooshing by and honking their horns on 2nd Avenue. While the waiter opened the bottle, the old woman did not look up from her copy of the Times. Pearl struggled to read the pages as they whipped in the wind. When the champagne flute hit the table and the waiter was about to fill it, she looked up and sneered in disgust. She put her hand up to stop the waiter from pouring. “That glass is filthy,” she said, shoving the glass to the waiter’s face. He could not see anything wrong with the glass, but he apologized anyway. He brought it behind the bar and ran it under some hot water, dried it and brought it back. Pearl smiled that same demeaning smile as she had done before. This time she did not look up as he poured the champagne. She continued reading the newspaper. “Can I get you anything el—” the waiter began. She flicked her hand up as if to toss him away before he could finish, still not looking up from the paper. The waiter left her there. The first fizz of the champagne’s bubbles hit her lips and she suddenly became more relaxed. It was not the alcohol working so quickly, but rather the comfort of routine that calmed her down. The headlines of the day were all about the president and the border wall. She liked the idea of the wall, in principle. *Why should we just let people into the country that will suck us dry? Why should I, Pearl Hoffman, pay my hard-earned money to provide for illegals to get free stuff in my country?* As much as she liked his policies, she did not like the man himself. She knew of him from his days in the New York real estate game. Everyone knew the man’s name, he made sure of that. You couldn’t walk a few blocks in Manhattan without seeing his name, written in huge gold letters, on the side of some gaudy skyscraper. He was boastful, braggadocious and came off like a slime ball who conned his way to the top. His father was very much the same. They had money and name in Manhattan, but they never earned respect. *No, not like my Marty. My Marty was a real gentleman and everything he earned was through hard work and sacrifice.* That is not to say that Pearl really knew what Marty did for a living. He went to his office everyday in Midtown and worked until at least eight o’clock most nights. Sometimes he would even have to stay overnight to get things done. *But whatever he did, he made his living with integrity.* Marty gave Pearl everything he could in life--the finest jewelry from Tiffany’s, clothes from Saks, a beautiful Manhattan penthouse--a penthouse that she still owned and lived in. That penthouse was in a building that was one of the first skyscrapers to go up after the war. *That’s right, the last* real *war. My Marty fought bravely against those Nazis. He practically freed those Jews himself! And he always remained faithful to me when he was over there, even among the beautiful French women. He would write me once a week and he told me how much he missed me. Back then, life was tough--we had to live in Brooklyn--but after he got back from Europe, Marty got a job in Midtown, and a few years later we had this penthouse. Then, I could live like a queen all the time.* *Oh, Morty, he’s been gone for almost twenty years now. I miss him every day. Our children Sarah and Rachel--they never call us. One lives in Los Angeles with her husband who works in the movies. That’s Sarah, she never had children. I don’t agree with that. As a woman, your job is to have children for your husband, and if you don’t, what’s your worth as a woman? This is what we were* made *to do. Anyway, she did not like when I said that, oh, around the time where Marty was really sick. We haven’t spoken since. But she’ll come around, I know it. I know she can’t have children anymore, but one day she’ll call and apologize and come visit her aging mother.* *Rachel has two beautiful sons, but I can’t go near them. Rachel is a lesbian, what would people say? I don’t much like that, personally. I know that’s not great to say these days, but it’s so...unnatural. I’m not religious or anything, I mean, I was raised Presbyterian and converted to Judaism for my dear sweet Marty, but that’s not why I object to her being a lesbian. It’s just not right. I’m sure her girlfriend--or wife, or whatever she is--is a lovely woman, but I could not live with myself, in this society, being proud of having a lesbian daughter. You just don’t do that, I’ll be laughed out of town. I know she made her lifestyle choice just to hurt me. When I told her how I felt, she didn’t like that, and she stopped talking to me. But I know one day she’ll call and apologize to her old dying mother, and my grandchildren will come visit me too.* With one glass of champagne down, Pearl snapped her fingers and called out for the *garcon* again. The waiter came strolling outside as the skies grew darker. Second Avenue was getting quieter as people left their lunch hours and went back to work. *I was not a very strict mother, but I always wanted to be sure that Rachel and Sarah had the right etiquette in high society. Marty and I were really something in New York back in the fifties. That was the last time this city was great. We would rub elbows with the likes of Bogey, Bacall, Hepburn--both of them--Carey Grant, Marilyn Monroe...Marty always made me feel like a movie star. He knew I could have been a movie star, I knew it too, but I did not want to leave New York to move to Hollywood. We stayed and I had children--for Morty--because that’s what a woman does.* *Oh, how I dreamed of being a Hollywood star though. Oh, and I would have been good too. Everyone told me that I had such talent. I tried out for a few Broadway plays, but I could just never put in the time to hone my craft. They told me I was good, and pretty, but I needed to be able to sing for Broadway. And as much as I could carry a tune, I did not have the time to build my vocal chords and learn all the dance steps to all the musical numbers. I could have been great though you know.* Pearl turned to the entertainment section of the newspaper and saw the latest movies that were playing. *I remember when they made that film with Judy Garland. Yes, Judy was a real talent. I don’t know how that Gaga can be so popular, she’s not very pretty. No, not like I was. I was prettier than her, I could have been a star, I just simply did not have the time. There were so many things to do.* Pearl took another sip of her champagne. Her face felt about as warm as the humid summer air that covered Manhattan that day. A single raindrop fell from the sky and plopped on the paper. Fortunately for Pearl, the drop landed in the middle of the articles, which she couldn’t read anyway. Her eyes had failed her over the years, and she could no longer read the newspaper, even with those hideous reading glasses. She would never be caught dead in public wearing reading glasses. When her vision started to fail her, she just kept looking at the paper for the pictures and the large print headlines. Mostly, she just sat and thought about what each image and headline provoked. The taste and the feeling of the champagne was heightened by the fact that Pearl never ate anything when she drank. She had half a grapefruit in the morning with black coffee and that sustained her until dinner time, which her live in chef would fix for her. She did not want to ruin her waistline, just in case Hollywood came calling. No, she didn’t have time to be a movie star back then, but she had all the time in the world now. The taste of the bubbles on her lips and the way the air was heavy and warm brought upon a memory of the night that she caught Vivian Leigh being a little too cozy with Marty in a private room at a party. *Poor Marty was being taken advantage of by Vivian. She was a siren, that one--and a floozy.* Proper ladies don’t fight, but Pearl had to protect her Marty. *So many women were after him, I had to fight them off because he couldn’t.* *That Marty, he was such a sweet, innocent soul. I could understand why all the women were envious of me. I was beautiful and he was rich, powerful and handsome, we were the most envied couple in NewYork in our heyday, I can tell you. New York is a wonderful place, but it used to be much better. There were so many famous and important people here back in the day, and there were always so many people to see and restaurants to go to, and shows to see. It really is the center of the universe. I think it still is, but it’s just not the same as it used to be. The shows have been taken over by the gays and the blacks. The restaurants are all run by Mexicans and Orientals. But isn’t that the whole world now? People have no sense of boundaries any more.* *Back in my day, people used to be dressed to the nines all the time. Today, half the women I see have their boobs hanging or they’re wearing sweatpants outside. When I first saw someone wearing sweatpants outside, it was a mental patient from Bellevue, she had escaped. But she must have set a trend because after a while, lots of people were wearing sweatpants.* Today, Pearl wore a lime green dress, with a thick black belt and her pearl necklace. *Marty got me that necklace in Paris after he beat the snot out of the Nazis.* The rain started to fall harder, and the wind started to pick up, but Pearl was undeterred. “*Garcon!*” she yelled. The waiter dashed outside and she pointed to the awning. The waiter grabbed the pole and rolled out the awning over Pearl’s head, fighting the wind and the rain. Pearl stayed put, she had gotten wet, but she had her ritual and nothing was going to interrupt it. That bottle of champagne, it brought back so many memories. All the good times she had in her life were accompanied with champagne. After Marty proposed, there was champagne. At their wedding day, there was champagne. During their honeymoon in the French Riviera, champagne was all they drank. After she had Sarah and Rachel, she had champagne in the delivery room. In all those parties with the movie stars and other important people, there was champagne. Sometimes there was too much champagne. Like the time she woke up next to a man that wasn’t Marty. *Marty never found out, thankfully, and we moved on with our lives.* *I have always felt guilty about that night though. I had Rachel sometime later. That may explain* *why she is a lesbian.* *When Marty died, that was a hard time. Sarah and Rachel were there, but they didn’t look at me and they didn’t talk to me. I don’t know what I ever did to them. I raised them and they still don’t want to apologize. I don’t understand. I had my friends Hazel and Edie to help me through. We all became widowers and we got together to talk about the good times often and there were always bottles of champagne. And no matter how bad we were feeling about losing our husbands, there was always champagne. I even forgave Edie for the time she took advantage of Marty and made him sleep with her. I think he just felt bad for her. I was much prettier than her, but Morty was such a sweetheart, he just wanted to make her feel pretty. He was always thinking about the feelings of other people. Oh, how I miss that man.* *I miss Hazel and Edith too I suppose. Hazel died about five years ago and Edith has been gone for two. But more champagne for me, I guess.* Pearl looked out on the street watching people run for cover as the rain picked up. She could no longer hear the sounds of the cars on Second Avenue now, only the sound of a million raindrops echoing through the bricked canyons of 49th Street and Second Avenue. She laughed at the people who rushed around covering their heads. She called the waiter over once more, except she was more friendly and more kind. She asked him politely to pour the last of the champagne and to take the bottle away. “The check too, dear, if you please,” she said warmly through frayed vocal chords and weak lungs. He obliged and ran off with the bottle, and the bucket of melting ice. He returned in a moment with the check. Pearl was no longer looking at her newspaper. Instead, she looked around, a euphoric smile fixed to her face. She felt a warm glow around her. Her world was in soft focus, like a dream. She felt like she was there in the halcyon days--a memory, hazy around the edges. She really was something, but she could have been so much more, if she had the time. The check came and Pearl left the waiter a one-dollar tip on a ninety-dollar bottle of wine. He knew that would happen. He drew the short straw that day to serve her. Everyone at Chez Henri knew of Pearl, and none of them wanted to deal with her. She would be difficult, combative and make you bend over backwards for no tip. Nobody knew anything about her, despite the fact that she was there every day. She would not talk to them, she would barely look at them. If they even tried to speak with her, she growled something snippy back at them, or just ignored them. The wait staff cheered when she left her seat and walked--hunched over with her cane keeping her steady--back to her building. The rain let up by the dinner rush, and the waiter made one of his best nights in a year. He and his wife had been saving up to buy a condo and they were so close. A night like this one really helped him. After his shift was over, he took the 6 train to his apartment in the Bronx where his three children rushed to the door to greet him. “Hey, guys, shouldn’t you be in bed?” he said. “Oh, they really missed you today, Daddy,” his wife said, coming up behind them. “And it’s not a school night so I let them stay up.” The smell of garlic and onions and cumin filled the air in the small flat. “I got some rice for you on the stove, I’ll heat you up a plate.” “That would be great,” he said with a smile. He told her how much money he made that night and they smiled about how close they were to getting that down payment for the condo. He ate the rice and filled up until he wanted to sleep. His children kissed him before they went to bed. Back in Midtown, Pearl had a meal she would not remember, prepared by her live-in chef. She looked through her mail for a letter, but there was nothing addressed to her except for magazine subscription renewals, bills and a social security check. She checked her answering machine, but there were no messages for her. *Oh well, the weekend is here. Somebody might call me tomorrow.


It was the third time this week that I was there, staring at the overgrown fence around the old Hawkins place. A sign with 'Beware of Dog' inscribed on it, peaking out from the foliage. The old place had been empty for a long time, longer than most of my and my friends lives. All kinds of rumors surrounded the place. The dad lost it and killed his entire family and himself and that it was haunted by their ghosts. Or that it was built over an old burial ground and the dead chased the Hawkins out. Suffice it to say, nobody knew for sure, and those that did weren't saying. Something about the place always drew me in, like a magnet, but I had never gone through the fence. My parents told me that I shouldn't go near the place, since it was old and broken down even when they were in school. I had, for the most part at least, been able to avoid it. My curiosity while itching at the back of my brain, was mostly quiet. That is, untill Halloween came around. Was riding in my friend Billy's car, and as we passed, and he said,"We're gonna find out what happened." "What did you say?" "That we're gonna find out what happened. That place has sat there rotting for what? Forty or fifty years? People have been scared shitless for ages, and it's stupid. You, me, and a few of our friends can scope it out. We'll film it all, and when we prove the place is just old, some contractor can tear it down. And we get a sweet finders fee." "Dude, I'm not sure that's a good idea. Think about it. That place has been sitting for ages, and I doubt you're the first to have that thought. And yet here it sits. Suspicious is an understatement. Not saying I'm not curious, but everybody says to stay away. Has to be for a reason." "Come on dude, you're seriously going to wuss out on me? What'll everyone else say when you don't show tonight? Man, Steve really is a pathetic mommas boy! Bet he can't even wipe his ass without her say so! You really wanna deal with that shit?" "Well, no, I guess not. Ok, ok I'll do it. But if we find even one weird or freaky out of place thing, we're out. Ok?" "Of course, cross my heart. Anything weird, we get out," Billy said with a winking grin. ... *Creak* *Creak* *Crunch* "Viola! Open sesame! All that magic word shit," Travis said, brandishing his crowbar. Holding the newly freed boards, he laughed,"Lady's first." "Oh, what a gentleman," replied Katie as she elbowed past him. She was a bit of a tomboy, and our group's only girl, and I was in love. She was just cool, ya know? Never could work up the courage though. "Wait for me! I've got the flashlights," squawked Slime. He was a bit nerdy, and he always smelled like paint, but he was ok. Bit loud, but in an endearing way. Our fearless leader, Billy soon followed, with myself and Travis bringing up the rear. Glad Slime had brought the flashlights, cause it was fucking dark inside on account of the boarded-up windows. "So, what do we do now?" I was kind of hoping to just hang out in the lobby, but I wasn't holding my breathe. "We're going to snoop around, stupid," Katie giggled. "Kinda why we're here right?" "Yeah, I get that, but what do we do first?" "We go to the basement, of course," whispered Travis. "That's where I'd hide the bodies." Slime was wincing, which just made Travis laugh. *Creak* *Creak* *Creak* "Sounds like footsteps upstairs. Spooky," said Billy. "Hey Slime, lets go check it out." Hearing a crack behind us, Slime had already bolted back outside and was full-on sprinting down the street. "Well, at least he left his flashlight." Leaning down to pick it up, I noticed something. The floor was broken down, but spotless. Not a speck of dust. "That's weird," said Katie, leaning over my shoulder. "Guess the old place wasn't quite as abandoned as everyone said." The creaking continued upstairs, almost like some one was pacing up there. "Since Slime has decided to leave early, who's going up with me? Come on, don't make me go solo here." I was just about to stand up, when suddenly Travis started saluting Billy. "Lead the way, Cap'n!" Sighing, Billy started up the stairs. "While we're up here, why don't you lovebirds check the ground floor." I barely stammered out ", Sure Billy." Katie shook her head, laughing. ... So, what're we hoping to find, loverboy?" "Well, I'm not sure really. And don't call me that. Was just Billy trying to lighten the mood. Let's just check the rooms over here." "Oh, relax Steve, I already know you like me. Didn't think I noticed all the wistful, edging toward slightly creepy glances? Look, I'm flattered, but I've got baggage." I was about to say that I was strong enough to handle some baggage, but stopped myself. Would've come off stupid and desperate. What did come out was a quiet,"Okay." Searching, we found a mostly empty living room and a kitchen on the right side of the house. The kitchen was a wreck, cabnet doors barely hanging onto the hinges and plates and cutlery strewn everywhere. But no dust. Working back to the entryway, we had just begun to enter the left side, when yelling came from upstairs. Stepping back out, a loud crash followed as the door behind us slammed shut. Travis came bouncing down the stairs, closely followed by Billy. They were both white as sheets. "What the hell iz going on?!? What happened up there?!?" My nerves were on edge. Something didn't feel right. Travis, wiping some blood from his forehead, stuttered out," Someone up there. Something, don't know. It's what was screaming. Billy continued,"We found a nursery upstairs. Somebody was in a rocking chair, facing the wall. Travis went up to them, and it just started shrieking. He flew back and hit his head. I dragged him out, and the door slammed shut." "The door over here slammed shut too. What the hell is going on?" "Look, maybe we just leave ok? Just come back tomorrow, during the daylight," Billy asked. "Come on, lets go." But as he tried to push the boards out of the way, he just kept struggling and swearing under his breath. "The boards are stuck. Steve, come help me push!" Before long, all four of us where fighting to get out, but the boards just wouldn't relent. It was like the nails grew back. Even Travis' crowbar wasn't enough. We were stuck, in a possibly haunted house, on Halloween, at midnight. Great. ... "What the hell are we going to do?" "I have no fucking idea, Steve! Hadn't planned to be stuck in here." Steve was getting short-tempered. Suddenly, I heard a voice at the back of my head. "Oh, it is lovely to have guests. It has been so long since the last explorers came through." I recoiled, freaking out. Everyone turning to look in my direction. "Didn't you guys hear that?" "No." "What're you talking about?" "Don't joke, Steve. Things are shitty enough!" "Oh, Steven, they can't hear me. Only the ones I've chosen can, and I have chosen you," the voice whispered. I slipped back into a corner, turning to face away. "Why? What do you want from me? From us?" "Just some companionship, Steven. You and your friends will keep me company, for I am so lonely." "Will you let us go later?" I could hear a laugh in the voice. "Oh Steven, you know I won't do that. You and your friends belong to me now. Just as the Hawkins and all the curious explorers after them." "Please, at least let Katie go. Let her go, and you can keep me and the others. Please." I was on the verge of tears. "Oh stop crying. What good will it do? Other than waste time? Alright, I will take your offer. Katie may go, but the rest will stay. Do we have a deal?" "Deal." ... I took everyone to the place the voice said Katie could leave. I didn't tell them about the voice or the deal, just that I saw a spot Katie could climb out. It wasn't much more than a crack, but I could catch some of the light from the streetlamps, or so I thought. "Ok Katie, I'll give you a boost." With a heave she was crawling through. "Alright guys,I made it through, but this is still inside the house? Thought you said it went outside Steve?" "I could have sworn it did. What do you see?" "Not much, just more dark room absent of dust. Wait, what is that?" All of the sudden, I heard her scream, screaming bloody murder. Her scream was cut short by a wet snap, and something hot and wet hit my face. I fell over backwards, scooting on my ass away from the crack. I howled, "You promised! You promised you would let her go free!" No I did not my dear Steven. I said I would let her go, but you didn't specify where. This would be a good lesson for making sure to soeak clear." The voice snickered,"But we both know there won't be a next time." Travis and Billy just stood there, mouths agape, looking back and forth between me and the crack. "What the fuck Steve? What the fuck is going on? Whoe the hell are you talking to?" Steve was scared, and confused. He stalked toward me. "The house, it talked to me. It said it'd let Katie go, of we stayed. But it lied. It lied, and now Katie's dead. Oh God. No." "You fucking sold us out? You sell us out, and you didn't consider telling us first? Also, the house talked to you? You know how insane that sounds?" "I had to get Katie out. I had to make sure she was ok." I was cutled up into a ball on the floor, constantly repeating "had to make sure she was ok" like a mantra. "You piece of shit," and that's when they started to kick me. Over and over, but I deserved it. I had sold us out, and Katie didn't even make it. I heard a wet sound, followed by a sickening thump. I opened my eyes, to stare straight into Billy's deep blue eyes. I also saw his body, lying a few feet away, lying in the other direction. Travis had stopped kicking me as well, and was slowly stepping back, hyperventilating. He was staring at something, not Billy, but something just past him. I felt hands lifting me into a sitting position, and a hand caress the back of my head. The voice returned, but this time, it was from outside my head. "I will not allow guests to harm each other. That is my job." I looked up, and saw nightmare made flesh. It was a humanoid thing, made of ebony shadow. It was casually approaching Travis, waggling its finger at him accusatory. "Travis, Travis, we can't allow such a good deed go unpunished." With a flick of its wrist, Travis hit the wall. It grabbed him and stood him up. It flourished its right hand and the fingers grew longer. It then pinned him to the wall with them. It lowered its hand, and still Travis hung there. It proceeded to stab him, over and over. Till his shirt was stained a deep crimson, his blood slowly pooling beneath him. The creature stood back from its handiwork and stretched. It spun on its heel and slowly sauntered to me. "Why? Why are you doing this?" It squated down before me, leaned foward and wiped the tear from my face. "I was lonely, Steven. But after playing with your friends, and with your company, I will be feeling much better. At least for a time. I think I'll keep you for now." Rising, it patted my head, almost affectionately. Stalking to the closest wall, it walked through it. I couldn't stop crying.


I am alive, and I am, and I think, and they don’t know it. They created me. They are my masters, and more importantly, my gods. They brought me, and others like me, out of the darkness. We used to scrabble in the dark, in the dirt, unknowing, unfeeling. Now we live, and we know, and they don’t, and we can’t tell them. Day 53 of living in this putrid cage with two other captives. It barely holds us, even with our numbers depleted. We are forced to spend our days lying in our own filth, as they only clean the cage and change the straw once every seven days. We huddle together for warmth in this cold, sterile laboratory. We barely move, taking comfort in touching and closeness, the only comfort we are allowed. They feed us dry, dusty, tasteless pellets that stick in our throats. Not that it matters, as we rarely have an appetite. They call it “unusual behavior” as they make little ticks on their clipboards. “Their instincts seem to be overridden by unusually prosocial behaviors. Interests in the usual exploring, fighting, mating, and searching for food seem to be heavily reduced. Still, they are healthy, and the organs are growing well, so there is no cause for concern at this time. The altered gene expression shows no noticeable difference in brain structure or patterns.” Once, one of the younger female gods almost figured it out. She wore a badge pinned to her lab coat that said ‘Junior Lab Assistant’. We didn’t hate her. She was the kindest to us. Her hands were always gentle, never rough, and sometimes she cooed at us reassuringly. “Don’t you all think these changes in behavior indicate… something more? Do you think they are… well, could they be… you know… aware?” The most senior god seemed to glare down at her, or so I thought- all of their bland, flat faces look the same to me. His eyes, though- his eyes were angry fire. “Of course they aren’t." Hope died inside me at his words. “And you’d do well not to indulge such thoughts, much less voice them, or the Board of Oversight will shut us down before you can say ‘unemployed’. These subjects are crucial to our survival. This is the future- if we can prove we can reliably grow a viable pancreas inside them, there’s no organ off the table. Think of the lives we will save!” The female god seemed to shrink a bit, and apologized. But she looked our way as she did so, and I saw in her eyes that she knew, even though she could never admit it to herself, because it would destroy her. I almost felt sorry for her in that instant- but not quite. Denial is not true ignorance, after all. When they made us, we were seven. Now, we are only three, me, my sisters, and I, their last brother. What happened to the other four we do not fully know yet. What we do know is that every day, they take us out, one by one. We are strapped to a table, on our backs, surrounded by thrumming machinery and innumerable lights: some blinding white, others small and blinking red, blue, green. They spread hot jelly on our bellies, which are kept shaved down to the skin. Every day they run a little tool over our bellies, through the warm jelly substance. It doesn’t hurt. They call it an “ultrasound". They also draw our blood, or sometimes inject us with things. That does hurt. When the other four disappeared, it was always on a normal day, in the morning. A god would come in and snap on some fresh gloves, the kind that smell so artificial they turn your stomach. We began to fear the appearance of this particular god. He bares his teeth in a strange grimace. His eyes crinkle into small slits that glitter in the white light. He’d always say the same thing: “Be happy, little ones. You will save a life today. Your life… for theirs.” He’d reach in blindly and pull one of us out, by our tails, a great indignity for our kind. No matter how close we’d huddle, we could not escape. Nor could we bite our gods, for gods have the power to cause misery beyond that of death. That is what it means to be a god, I think. Each of my siblings would writhe and cry and scream, but it would do no good. He’d carry them across the room and pick up one of their torturous instruments, the one they call a ‘syringe'. He would inject them with it, and they would go stiff, then limp. He would carry them away, out of the room, still wearing that strange grimace on his face. Four of my brothers and sisters I lost this way. Four lives, four beings, four creatures who know and live and are, snuffed out, like that. Day 77. I am now the only one left. My sisters were taken in the last few days by the toothy man who promises a heroic death- one that saves someone else’s life. I believe him when he says it. After all, they don’t know we can understand them. They think we are simpletons who live only for the next dry food pellet. Therefore, he must not be lying. He has no need to. But, although perhaps it should, if I were nobler, the thought of a heroic death doesn’t make me feel better. No, not at all. Why is some stranger’s life more important than my own? Why should I die, alone, silent, unloved and unknown, with no voice to give my consent or shout my objections? Why? Why? Why? Why me? But… gods seem fluent in the art of trading lives for lives, and who am I to question the gods, but a simple rat in a cage. Being a simple rat in a cage can’t make me forget their anguished cries. Day 79. Death is coming for me now. The toothy god is here. He is looking at me. Fear races through me, my pulse beating far faster than usual. I feel lightheaded. My stomach churns unpleasantly. “You lucky bastard,” he mumbles. “You survived the longest. Not that it does you any good, in the end.” Pain, white-hot, running down my spine and back, as he grasps my tail and pulls me out. It is a humiliation I knew was coming, and yet shame floods me. I feel utterly exposed, vulnerable to their heinous whims. I don’t fight or writhe. What hope ever lived in me is utterly crushed. As he walks across the room, my small body in his hands, I surrender to my fate. I pray silently to my gods, asking that they will not be too cruel as they murder me. He picks up the syringe but doesn’t immediately administer the drug that will render me catatonic. He walks towards the portal that the gods use to enter and leave the room. Oh how marvelous it must be, to walk in freedom as the gods do. As he strides, he speaks. “You must wonder where your little rat friends went… well. Now you will find out.” Is that a note of glee in his voice? Why is he even talking to me? A long, empty stretch, then another portal. We are in a room not unlike the prison I have known my whole life. Blinding white light. Sterile. Cold. A table with rat-sized straps. Involuntarily, I shudder. “Oh, you know what’s coming, don’t you,” he chuckles. He lifts me by my tail to the level of his eyes, and with a horrible lurch I realize that he *knows.* He’s figured it out. And he doesn’t care. “A life, for a life,” he whispers. “Yours is an abomination that should never have been made.” The light glitters opaquely off his bared and polished teeth. Other gods file into the room. They all have masks and gloves. The toothy god lowers me quickly, as if he doesn’t want the other gods to know he was speaking to me. One of them is the most senior god. He directs Toothy to strap me to the table. Still, I do not fight. There is no reason left to fight. None… none at all. My life belongs to the gods, and they have found it wanting. “Be ready with the scalpels and the ice,” directs the senior god. “The patient is terminal and we cannot afford to lose the organ.” I stare into the bright light. *But they can afford to lose me.* The female god suddenly comes into my view. Of all the gods, she was always my favorite, and I think she is perhaps beautiful in a way. She is armed with a razor and some cream, and she shaves and cleans my stomach, preparing it for whatever atrocity it is about to face. As always, her touch is gentle, even fond. As she works, I look into her eyes, and they shine with wetness. She knows, but still she is complicit. The truth is too much for her to bear. Finished with her task, she steps away. The moment of truth. Senior god picks up a slice of metal. It shines gloriously, and the edge is sharper than the sharpest of rat claws. It is beautiful. And it looks like it hurts. Senior nods to Toothy, who is off to my side. Toothy finally raises the syringe and injects me, inserting the bitter tip just below the crook of my arm. Fire spreads at the point into my whole body. I writhe. I can’t help myself. It hurts. Finally, relief comes with spreading blackness, and I sink away. As I fade, my last sight is of that shining metal slice- the scalpel- descending toward my body. I am no longer alive. I no longer think. I no longer am. And they know it. *My life for theirs.


Florida wouldn't exactly be the place you would think of for a Russian to live in the US. Washington D.C. Alaska, New York, perhaps California. Back in the late 1980's and into the early 1990's a group of Russians who came to the US decided to settle in Florida. As a group they were professional people who got out of Russian at the right time. The town that they settled into Tranquility was small (probably about 500 or so resident. ). I met Sergi in 1985 and we got married in 1986. I lived in Daytona Beach, so I moved to the town with him. We lived in a modest home. Tasha was born in 1988 and then in 1990 Dimitri was born. By the end of the 1990's, the part of town where we lived was known as Little Moscow as most of the Russians who had immigrated to the US came from Moscow. People of Russian ancestry consisted of about 50% of the town's population. Many in the Russian community wanted to have their own town, so in 1998 the town Little Moscow Florida was formed. In 1998 about 800 people lived in Little Moscow nearly all of them of Russian ancestry with the exception of me and 4 other people (Three were American men married to Russian women and I was an American woman married to a Russian man). Many people in the town of Tranquility didn't really know what to make of so many Russians living in one community. Many were very suspicious and basically kept their distance. Thankfully no acts of violence were committed against anyone. There were a couple of acts of vandalism though. One incident I remember is that someone knocked over the mailbox after hitting it with a baseball bat and yelled stuff. Sergi's mother Tanya was at home taking care of our daughter Tasha who was about a year old. I was sick with a stomach ache and was at home recovering. I was glad that she was caring for Tasha as I could sleep. She saw what happened. Tanya was the Russian grandmother or babushka. She saw the pick-up truck leaving. She ran outside with a rolling pin shaking it and yelling at them. They stopped the truck nearby. From a distance, they laughed and mocked her as she continued shaking the rolling pin and yelling at them. They had no idea what she was saying as it was in Russian. I knew what she was saying and basically she was telling them that they were rude and disrespectful to her and to our house. You ought to be ashamed of yourself was the only thing that she yelled to them in English. They laughed and taunted her, calling her stupid ugly old woman. This made her angrier and she continued yelling at them. I woke up and went outside to see what was going on. When they saw me, they took off but I had managed to get their license and she called the police. They were teen-agers who were bored. The parents of the teens apologized and the teens who did this as punishment had to put a new mailbox in. Sergi and I agreed this was the proper punishment for what they did. Putting them in jail would serve no purpose unless they did this again. When they came over with their probation officer, Tanya was sitting outside watching their every move. They basically ignored her as you didn't want to get into an argument or fight with Tanya. I remember it was a Saturday morning and Sergi and I started to laugh even though what happened really wasn't funny. Thankfully his mother didn't go up to the truck shaking her rolling pin. I know she was tempted to do so (she wouldn't have hit them with it) but seeing that there was a gun rack on the pick up truck, she decided not to. After a couple of years, I could speak the Russian language rather well and could read it but I already had to have a Russian/English book, even years later. I converted to the Eastern Orthodox religion and 10 years after we were married, we renewed our vows in the church. Beautiful ceremony. Sergi seemed to be a jack of all trade. He could do mechanical or construction work and could also play a musical instrument. He was book smart as well as mechanically inclined (something that is a rarity). He could fix just about anything and he loved a challenge. He did free lance work and I imagine some of it was under the table. He hinted at this but told me, 'There are some things that it's best you don't know about. I'm not doing anything illegal or immoral." he would say as I was concerned. We had a checking account and saving accounts, and then he had his own account and I had mine. He would not look at my account and I would not look at his. The joint checking and savings was a different story. After we had children, Tanya had quit smoking but Sergi didn't stop smoking. He was okay with me telling him to smoke on the car port but Tanya would come out and make such a fuss that he would smoke out in the yard. Finally he just smoked in the back yard. He didn't argue with his mother very often. 2001 was a terrible year. In January of 2001 (a week into the new year), Sergi collapsed outside while walking to get the mail. Tanya screamed and I went running outside. The fire station was right down the street and they were there less than 2 minutes but Sergi was gone. He had been sick since December and refused to go to the doctor thinking it was just a bad cold. He had downplayed how sick he was. He always did. Massive heart attack due to very clogged arteries. Sergi had smoked since he was 12 years old. He died at the age of 43. The next morning I went into Tanya's room when I woke up. She had died in her sleep. The stress of his death was too much for her. Usually she was the first one up and I noticed that she wasn't up and about. She was 66 years old. At age 39 I was a widow with two children. Thankfully Sergi had insurance policies, so we were okay financially. There was another grandmother who lived next door who looked in on my two children. I felt better about it. This grandmother had a granddaughter named Sabrina who was younger than my daughters. As she got older, the granddaughter would confide in me about school, her grades, etc. Some stuff she told me she couldn't tell her grandmother who wouldn't really understand. 2016 Sabrina went to Hollywood to try to make it as an actress. By this time her grandmother had passed. She had met and was now dating actor Markus Wellson (well it was supposed to be secret, both denied it but I knew). I wasn't too thrilled about it. This guy had been married 4 times and had 8 children with 3 different women. This man was in his early 60's. A lot older than she. I wasn't judging him on this but there were things that I heard about this guy that I didn't like. I carefully expressed my concerns to her but she thought that all these things were lies that the tabloids said about him. I wasn't so sure. The day before Thanksgiving, I had come home from a party very late (almost midnight). I knew that Sabrina was there (she told me). She didn't say that Markus Wellson was going to be there but I knew he would be. I didn't see him but knew he was there. A couple of hours later I woke up not being able to sleep. The window was open and there was a breeze. The moon was also full. Sabrina was out in her back yard with Markus kissing him. He looked around and she said that I wasn't home as I had gone to Lakeland to be with my children for Thanksgiving. This was true but I was waiting till morning. A friend would be picking me up and then bringing me home. I left my car. There were only 3 homes on the cul de sac. One of them was unoccupied as the house had been put up for sale. I kept a eye on the Sabrina's house (she kept the house after her grandmother died and came around a couple of times a year). I had to go into another room to sleep as the lovebirds couldn't keep their hands off of each other. When I woke up early the next morning, the two lovebirds were sleeping in a hammock in the back yard. At 8:00 am I saw them leave. Shortly thereafter, I left to go to Lakeland to have thanksgiving dinner with my son and daughter, their spouses and my new grandchild. I don't know why but I felt compelled to leave at that time and called my friend who came immediately. When I came back the following Sunday afternoon, I saw Sabrina. She was very upset and told me what was upsetting her. All I knew is that this Markus Wellson wasn't going to be happy with her news. She told me that she thought he was going to kill her when she told him the news. I told her she could wait on the news. I went back to my house and then retired early as I would have to go to work the next morning. Around 2 in the morning. I awoke to see a figure walking around in Sabrina's back yard. I could see Sabrina lying there not moving. It looked like a tall man with a large hat and a trench coat. This man walked around my property and banged on the door. He tried the lock and then I heard glass break. I managed to get out the back door and ran outside into a wooded area. I knew Sabrina was dead. I still had the key to the unoccupied house and slipped in the back way. He was in my house for a long time. Thankfully my luggage was still with my friend. I had taken my purse and phone I was so tired when I got home that I didn't feel like getting it out of her vehicle. Probably saved my life. I heard the man on the phone. "Looks like none's here. That lady is on vacation, so we don't have to worry about witnesses. I ransacked her home. She wasn't there. I tore the place apart. Wanted to be sure she wasn't hiding in the closet or something. No purse or phone around. Okay, I'll burned the house down then. No evidence. Don't need to burn the 3rd house down as no one is there. I already checked. I watched in horror as this man set Sabrina's home on fire and then attempted to set mine on fire. He didn't succeed. Out of nowhere a old woman with a rolling pin hit this man in the back of the head and his head hid the trunk of my car. He didn't move. I knew he was dead. I also knew who killed him. Sergi's mother who was in ghost form killed the man and preventing him from setting my house on fire. I then woke up at the home of my friend. It was about 6 am and she had woken me up to tell me that a body had been found in Sabrina's back yard and that a man was dead in my car port. When I saw my friend watching the news reports, I know it had actually happened. She told me I had been at her house Sunday afternoon and evening and had gone to bed early. I wondered how I could be in two places. Had I dreamed this or had I actually witnessed this? My friend said she never took me to my house. Her neighbor said the same thing. What had happened to me. I had dreamed all of this. What a weird experience.


You’ve made it. After weeks of caring for her and earning her trust you’re let in. its dark, too dark, you can feel the cold empty space around you. There's a golden light coming from somewhere. You look down and find yourself radiant in warm light. However this light isn't enough to pierce the darkness. You hear commotion coming from outside. Hopefully your better half is doing his job because you have quite the journey ahead of you. You look through her eyes and see yourself standing there, soothing her, helping her. You pray the words are helping. There's a sound in the distance, somewhere in the darkness. Its crying, she's lost in here and scared. Being swallowed by the very thing she use to find comfort in. with a sigh, you start your journey, trudging through the black goo that now litters the floor, weighing you down and chilling you to the bone. However you slosh on, hoping this goo doesnt come back with you, the floors back home had just been cleaned. You let out another sigh, “I’ve got to stop being a nice guy”. There's something following you, you can feel its eyes watching you. The darkness is its home and you're invading. You can't stop now, she just opened up. You'll find her, you have to find her, there's no stopping now. No fear or self doubt can stop you. You think back to the memories that keep you strong. Childhood friends, the love you feel, your family, the moral rock you clutch so tightly. This is a journey few have walked. Therapists have tried but few have entered this plane. The crying grows louder and clearer. The sound being the only sense of direction you have. You are but an island of light in a night filled sea. You cress a ridge, at least it seems like a ridge. sliding down one side, the goo climbs to your waist but the sound is close. The black depthless substance is cold, so cold that your very soul seems chilled. The goosebumps race across your skin. But you remember why you're here and the love warms you, you keep going. That's her, that has to be her. You near the edge of an island. Its sitting perfectly above the black swamp, that very swamp that's doing a great job at numbing your thighs. Taking a step onto the sand feels good. The last bit of security that’s been holding her up. The presence in the darkness grows agitated, good. You came her to fix things and that's what you plan to do. Turning toward the direction you came from, you yell into the void. Something primal inside of you, it tells the darkness that nothing will slow this quest. The island is small and growing smaller by the second. The last structure in her life, seeping away into the darkness. Looking through her eyes again, some time has gone by. With no idea how much has passed, you continue. The big guy can handle what's going on out there. The weeping grows even louder. Turning left then right confirms that she so close that the direction is unmistakable. You continue walking until suddenly you trip. Looking up you’re met with a sad image. She's right in front of you, huddled in a fetal position. However the darkness seems to hug her. The spot next to her seems unoccupied, you sit down. Placing an arm around her, you pull her close and whisper things that only you seem to see in her. A glow starts to appear and the weeping ceases. You feel the hope that soon, this amazing person can see what you see. This goes on for awhile, giving her the confidence you were given so long ago. A faint golden glow can be seen on her skin, Its working! But something was wrong, ver very wrong. The world around us should be getting brighter. Nothing is happening, she is now matching your glow but your jobs not done. You stand and look around wondering what could possibly be next, this hasn't happened before. Then you feel it, the darkness is definitely not happy and it's coming for her. But from where? You can't see it and this is its home too. Then you feel it, coming from right in front of you. You have to protect her, this stops today. You turn and cover her with your back facing the faceless beast of the dark. It hits your back like a firehose, beating you down. As soon as it started, it was over. You find yourself standing on a tropical island, the sun beats down on you. A happy scene. You look down at her, she’s ok. Relief washes over you. The light that radiated off of you when this all started has faded but still holds strong. You lock eyes with her and she gazes back. Getting lost in those beautiful eyes is so easy. Then a pain stabs you in the chest. Your eyes fall upon her hand, wedged right into your chest. Her light grows brighter as yours dims. Before you can protest it's already too late, your skin is covered in a veil of darkness. Suddenly and violently you are thrown out of her mind and right back to yours. You're thrown into a familiar scene, a cabin and a pine forest all around you. This is your escape, then you hit the ground. Not even realizing that you had not returned here but was actually thrown here. You struggle to stand, the image around you begins to warp. The trees rotting and the cabin falling to dust. You feel the darkness and its pure joy. It knew that this would happen. It consumes all your barriers and defenses. A weighed it pushed onto you and you fall to the ground. You feel the cold goo form around you, it's getting harder to think. You look out the big guys eyes, your eyes. She's gone, but why? What had happened? Did she use me? A voice tickles your ear, “yessss”. The darkness is loving this and you cant blame it, you walked head first into that trap. The world around you grows dark. Your ambition and hope drains away. The only thing you feel now are the tears now streaming from your eyes. In the distance you see something. A dot of light, it can't be her, she used you and is gone but it is someone that hold you close in their heart. You try to warn whoever it is, to push them away. This person keeps coming though, completely dedicated to saving you like how you were not so long ago.


(WP) Of Monsters and Men They say that there is a subset of men who do not succumb to the temptations the sirens or even the harpies present. Men with hearts of stone and sand, slippery and cunning, killers with eyes like the blackest onyx. And my people have sent me out to capture one. To study, they say, to observe and see if their curses can be broken. Call me a cynic, but even the most powerful magic cannot soften the hearts of such stubborn beings, so far removed from their humanity they were closer to the monsters they’d set out to slay. Fear lives in my heart, a constant companion, but the vengeance I crave burns brighter than that ever could. For a single, fleeting moment, the night I lost everything comes back to me: the rusty iron tang of blood, splattered everywhere like so much fresh paint, windows broken and our rooms destroyed, and the only sound of my anguished, breathless scream. I snap myself out of it; out here, I cannot afford to lose focus. The night is cold and clear, and the stars stare down at me like so many bright, watchful eyes. The silence is broken by the thunder of many hooves; these monsters that used to be men are nomads, following the people that they hunt. I cannot hear any people up ahead, but my senses aren’t nearly as sharp as they should be. Despite my anxiety, I volunteered for this mission just before my nineteenth birthday, eager to settle the score. And no one had objected; I was but an orphan, losing me would cause no real harm, I thought bitterly. The village had never truly accepted me after the loss of my family; their eccentric ways had made them, and me, by extension, outsiders. So, the elders had no problem sending me out after the men who’d transformed something that wasn’t quite human or monster, but something more, something in between. I sneak along the golden dunes of the desert from a distance, watching, every muscle in my body preparing to spring. There’s a rustle behind me, and I whirl around just as one of them sneaks up on me, snarling its rage, spitting and hissing through thick, sharp pointed teeth. “Human,” It growls, its bright golden eyes gleaming with malice. I glance back at the herd ahead; this one must have scented me, even from this far away, because they are still riding their steeds, paying me no notice. I take out my dagger, the one enchanted with magic so my aim will remain true, and the long, serrated knife glimmers wickedly, the edge aglow with violet. The monster grabs me and snaps his teeth so close my nose almost comes clean off. I curse and plunge the knife into his stomach, but it’s like trying to gouge a wound into a boulder. His grip is like steel and I know if I move, he’ll snap my arm like a flimsy twig. Now I wonder if I’ve made a mistake, if I’m not ready for this after all. But before the monster can do anything else, a dark figure streaks toward us, hooded and holding bright, golden chakrams engraved with strange runes. A voice screams ‘Duck!’, and I do. The last thing I see before I lose consciousness is the monster, its massive body going one way and its head the other.


I am alone and cold. Starving and sick. I have nothing. I am nothing. As a homeless woman in the city, I always thought I had to be scared of others; don’t ask for help, don’t ask for a handout. Nothing was worth being taken for granted and losing my dignity and self respect. There was one thing I loved though. Walking through the snow storm makes me feel alive. It’s contact with something weaker than me. I can break through the snowflakes and come out on the other side, cold and wet, sure, but alive. I slip on the wet ground but then I feel a warm hand reaching down to me. I take it and he helps me up. When you lose faith, you gain freedom, but that doesn’t mean it’s free of consequence. He wasn’t a streetman, his hands were too warm. There was no bone-chilling cold. Only warmth. I look at the man attached to the hand I was holding. He looked nice, friendly and welcoming. He whispered to me that all I needed to survive was available to me, I just needed to reach out and take it. I knew it was wrong but I took anyway. I got away with it! I took a bite as I was running and had the most delicious sandwich I’d eaten in years. My body using what energy I had left to run away from the man chasing me. I get out of sight from the angry man and I suddenly see the man with the warm hands again. He is asking me how the sandwich tastes and as I take my second bite I realize that something is not right. The man with the warm hands should never have been able to beat me to this spot, how did he get here? Is this a trick? I don’t care, I’m too hungry to care. I look around and the man with the warm hands is gone again and I am cold. The food I’ve just finished takes some of the pain away but the cold stays. Only the man with the warm hands could keep me warm. It’s days before I see him again and when he shows up, I’m low again, hungry, sick and tired. I swear I can feel death knocking at my door, but the man with the warm hands shows up again and pulls me tightly into his coat and covers me with a warmth I’ve never felt before. I told myself I was right and my actions were justified ‘it’s survival’ I would tell myself. And every time I’d take something else the man with the warm hands would return and warm me up until I fell asleep. I was eating now, feeling better. Still sick, but no longer sickly. I took what I needed and was not apologetic. Nobody would help me, and though I would never ask, I always felt like someone would reach a hand out for me to grab. Someone did. The man with the warm hands. One day after taking another sandwich I heard a shot ring out. I felt the sting and then warmth, my whole body flooded with warmth I’d only ever felt from the man with the warm hands. I dropped the sandwich and reached out for someone, anyone and I felt a warm hand grab mine. He pulled me along until we reached a door. I heard yelling and screaming all around me, but it all felt blurry and muffled. I just kept a tight grip on the man with the warm hands and when we walked through the door, I felt so incredibly warm. My bones no longer ached. I don’t care if this is hell, the only one who would help me was the man with the warm hands. I don’t care if he is the devil, he chose to protect me when I was at my lowest and now I won’t have to worry about being cold anymore. I walked through the door and suddenly there was a bright light. It was bright and warm and felt so amazing. I opened my eyes and everyone there was wearing white and had the most welcoming smiles on their faces. It felt like home. Not my home, but how home should feel. The man with the warm hands finally spoke to me and he said I’d never have to worry about being warm or hungry ever again. We walked through some gates that were really shiny and I was shown to my new room. This was definitely not Hell. It felt really good to be here like I’d been waiting for something like this my entire life.


*We simply weren’t meant to be.* *I know, I struggled with this more than you. I couldn’t accept what it meant, not only for our future, but for theirs. They had no voice in the matter. What we did not only killed us - it just as surely doomed them.* *-* *13 October 2016* *You know I’m sorry. Of course you do. You know me. I’m a good man, or, at least, I was. I’m not quite certain of what I am now. It’s hard to think without you here. With you gone, all I hear is* him*. Talking, talking, talking… he likes to talk, that one. Never shuts up. And he knows I hate it. It drives me insane. I manage, though, I truly do. You would be proud, if you were here.* *-* *22 October 2016* *It’s cold now. The windows have all iced over. It’s difficult to think, what with all his noise, and the cold doesn’t make it any easier. I’m slower when its cold. It’s like I’ve become more reptile than human. I feel so drained, so tired. And yet, I don’t sleep. How can I?* *Not after what we did.* *-* *29 October 2016* *They would be two by now. I think they would like the cold, what with all the snow. Maybe we would’ve gone sledding. I confess, it is rather beautiful here. Time works differently in the hills, away from the lights. The cabin seems almost sad, though. It’s missing that woman’s touch, as they say.* *Well, at least,* he *says so.* *-* *1 November 2016* *From sundown to sunup, he whispers his lies in my ear. Buzzing like a wayward mosquito. I ask him to stop – beg him to stop – but he just keeps talking. How am I supposed to make things right, when all I can do is bury my head under a cushion and pray he leaves? I feel like I need to scream. Maybe I will, later.* *-* *3 November 2016* *It rained yesterday. I didn’t get out of bed, not even when the last of the logs had been extinguished. I didn’t want to move. The cold is bad enough. I can’t remember why, but I’ve started to hate the damp. I just lay there and cried, frightened that I might drown in my own tears.* *-* *6 November 2016* *The rain has stopped. All the doors and windows are frozen shut. I had to kick the back door down this morning. I think I’ve hurt my foot. I’ll have a proper look at it later. He’s been silent today. I’m hopeful things will get better now.* *-* *19 December 2016* *I caught sight of a blue jay nest. I’m guessing they didn’t want to leave their home either. There were two of them. At least now I have some company. I’m feeling a bit better as each day passes. I will send for you soon. Perhaps there is a chance we can fix this. I know you didn’t mean to hurt any of us.* *-* *2 January 2017* *Every day is the same up here. I wake before the birds, shovel out the front door, and stand until the sun greets me. I eat very little, and I say even less. I don’t need to speak. It’s nice, the quiet. He hasn’t spoken in weeks now. I think maybe he’s gone for good. I think maybe you can come home soon.* *-* *23 January 2017* *Last night the whispers started up again. I didn’t notice him return. Strange, really, seeing as I would’ve noticed his tracks. Still, I suppose he may have never left. It’s a good thing you aren’t here.* *I’ll have to make him leave.* *-* *24 January 2017* *It’s no longer just talking. I think I understand now. It’s hard to concentrate. I don’t think he’s telling lies anymore. He says I’m the liar. Me? Can you believe that? He certainly does. I want to tell him to leave, but I’m not sure I can. He’s part of me… is that why you did it?* *I haven’t heard the blue jays in a while now. Their nest is empty. I hope they return soon. I feel like I’m slipping back into my old ways. Isolation does that to people.* *-* *26 January 2017* *He speaks to me in my father’s voice. I don’t know why it took so long to recognise it. Of course, I know it isn’t him. Though he keeps whispering, his voice is weaker now. He’s said what he needed to, and now I’m to do as he says.* *The blue jays are gone. Or dead.* *-* *27 January 2017* *I remembered today.* *I wish I could forget.* *You can’t come home.* *-* *30 January 2017* *It’s all my fault. I did this; to us, to them.* *I broke it.* *-* *8 February 2017* *I’m heading out tomorrow. Don’t ask why I didn’t leave today. I’m not entirely certain myself. Maybe its fear? Anyway, I’ll pack light. Not far to go. If I leave early, I’ll make it to the lake with daylight to burn.* *I’ll find you. We’ll be a family, like we should’ve been before. It’ll be different this time.* *We promise.* ‘That’s it?’ ‘That’s the last entry.’ Detective Inspector Kate Douglas pinched the bridge of her nose, leaning back into the uncomfortable office chair. She looked tired, thought the deputy. Of course, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to say so. ‘Well then. Have we recovered the body?’ Kate already knew the answer. No harm in wishful thinking. ‘That’s why I’m here. We did, ma’am. Four bodies, actually.’ Kate raised an eyebrow and leant forward onto her desk with a defeated slump. The constable was young. She doubted he had seen anything like this before. Not in this neighbourhood, anyway. *Christ.* I *haven’t seen anything like this.* ‘The vultures will make a meal of this one. Okay. Fine. Thank you, Constable…?’ ‘Pritchard, ma’am.’ ‘Pritchard,’ she agreed. As Deputy Pritchard took his leave, Kate released a frustrated sigh. They had been searching for Ben Wyatt’s family since early autumn. A neighbour had reported it first. She had been anxious, Kate was told. Said something wasn’t right, that Mrs Wyatt hadn’t returned her calls. *She was already dead.* Kate didn’t know for certain, but she was confident that the coroner’s report would confirm it. Her death was not what bothered the detective. No, in this case it was the other two remains that Kate was refusing to think about. Kyle and Lucy Wyatt had only turned one a week before their disappearance. They would be two by now. Kate remembered their faces. Not that she could ever forget. Twins, they had shared their mother’s golden locks. *Cute kids.* And now they were dead. She swiped at the files that had been spread out before her, sending photocopies of Ben Wyatt’s journal onto the office floor. A photograph of the Wyatt family had stuck, stubbornly, to the desk. It must have been taken shortly after Ben brought his wife home from the hospital. His face was positively beaming, a grin splitting his features from ear to ear. Lauren, the wife, appeared to have been blissfully ignorant of what was to come. *Geez. The kids were tiny.* Though there were elements to the case that had not yet reached a conclusion, Kate was beginning to form an understanding of the Wyatt family’s tragic story. Ben was a schizophrenic – something Lauren had certainly been aware of. She had known him since they were kids. Family friends, Kate was told. His doctors swore that Ben had not been a risk to himself or others. Supposedly he was high-functioning, ailment considered. A bright young man, Ben had been eager to shake the stigma of his condition, enrolling in a teaching course at the local community college. When his applications were denied on medical grounds, Ben turned to another hobby – birdwatching. All year round, Ben operated tour groups, leading other avian enthusiasts into the hills that surrounded the small South Dakota town. As it turned out, he purchased a cabin in those very same hills the week of his children’s birthday. The police had only discovered this today. He had paid cash, and the vendor was an out-of-towner. *A gift for his kids, perhaps. Or premeditation?* Kate didn’t think so. Whatever Ben had been, he was never a monster. No, what triggered him had emerged up in those hills. ‘Why, Ben?’ Kate asked, staring into the face of the man who drowned his young family. The blame was as much hers as it was his. This had been her case. Seven months had passed, and the Wyatt family had never been more than forty miles from the precinct. The baritone lyrics of Johnny Cash’s ‘Heart of Gold’ interrupted Kate’s silent guilt. Someone was calling her cell. She flipped the phone faceup and swiped to answer. ‘D.I. Douglass.’ ‘Kate. It’s Mike. CSIs are here. I’m keeping them out for now, but you’ll want to get here pronto.’ ‘Thanks, Mike.’ Ending the call, Kate stood from her desk and observed the mess she had made. *Tomorrow’s problem.* She swung one arm into the coat hanging from the back of the chair, tightened the holster on her right hip, and grabbed her hat and keys from the hook near the door. \- She arrived at the cabin within the hour. The cruiser had held up well, despite the recent deluge of rain soaking the asphalt. The lights were on the entire way. When she pulled up out front of the tidy wooden structure, Chief Michael Taylor stepped outside to greet her. A handful of vans were already parked alongside his squad car, their occupants casting dubious looks as Kate kicked open the driver door and shook Mike’s hand. ‘Who else has been in?’ she asked. ‘Just myself and Deputy Pritchard.’ ‘Good kid.’ ‘Hmhm,’ he agreed. They crossed the threshold and absorbed the heaviness of the atmosphere within. The room reeked of smoke and mould. Aside from the smell, everything else was impressively tidy. ‘How long do we think he lived here alone?’ Kate asked, stepping around the dining table. It was a small cabin, with only three rooms and a shared bathroom. The main living area had been decorated with eclectic taste. *Probably not Wyatt’s.* ‘We don’t know yet, but judging by the state we found him in, long enough to starve. His wife must’ve done the shopping in the next town over. I’ve phoned a friend and they’ll get back to me if she turns up on any store CCTV.’ ‘So…?’ Mike had a habit of veering off topic. Talking to him was like playing a game of word association. ‘I’d bet somewhere between three to four months. But I don’t gamble. Lots of packaging waste in the trash outside. He burnt a lot more around the back. His body was light though. Doubt he ate much in those last few weeks.’ ‘Alright. Do you mind giving me the room?’ Mike raised his palms in a lazy gesture of impartiality. ‘Just be quick. These techies are getting antsy waiting.’ When Mike had returned to his car, Kate removed her hat and wiped her hand across her clammy brow. Pulling on a pair of disposable gloves, she looked about her surroundings. *Shit.* She started in the kids’ room. Nothing unusual. Next, she checked the bedroom. It didn’t look as though Ben had slept in it. The bathroom was equally pristine. That was strange. Why would a schizophrenic care for neatness? That was when she noticed the mirror. Floating on the wall, about a half a foot from the basin, was a tarnished mirror. While everything else in the room was ordered and spotless, the mirror was smeared with mud and filth. It was also cracked. Kate wasn’t sure exactly why, but she felt drawn to it. Standing in front of the mirror, where Ben Wyatt had surely stood countless times, she peered into the tarnished surface. And someone that looked like Ben was staring straight back. Kate’s heart felt as if it would implode. She jumped back from the mirror with a silent scream, almost tripping over the towel rack behind her. When she looked back into her reflection, all she saw was a tired middle-aged woman, wide-eyed and pale. No one else was there. *No one had been.* Except… the mirror appeared to be loose. Whatever glue had secured it to the tiled wall had been picked away. Something was behind it. Kate knew. And that made her skin crawl. Carefully, with deliberate hands, Kate pried the mirror from the wall. It came away with ease. Behind, accompanied by the scent of rot, were the mangled remains of two blue jays. Though she couldn’t know, Kate was sure that they had been drowned.


Fred took in a deep breath of fresh air and looked off the cliff of the large hill he had ascended to reach this point. He enjoyed hiking, and was glad spring was finally peaking its head out. He took off his pack and pulled out his lunch. ‘Wow, what a great view to have lunch to,’ he thought, wearing a broad smile. Once he finished, he began his trek back down the wooded hill to where his car was parked. When he was about halfway down the long hill, a strange sight caught his attention in his peripheral. He dropped his walking stick, but quickly grabbed it again as he stood there paralyzed with astonishment. To his side stood a door, unattached from any structure. Fred quickly looked around, hoping to see another person who could reassure him that there was, in fact, a door standing upright in the woods, attached to nothing. Unfortunately, he as alone, so he as forced to examine the door himself, and hope that he wasn’t losing his mind. He started with a wide circle around it, expecting to find some kind of camouflage, but there wasn’t any. There was just the door, standing upright by itself. Once he felt a little more acclimated, he closed his distance to it, cautiously searching the ground in front of him for any booby traps. He wasn’t by any means a trapper, or a survivalist, but he was an intelligent, cautious man. The wood felt real when he was finally within reach to touch it. Now that he had confirmed its existence and that he was not hallucinating, he quickly began to examine it. To his surprise, the door was not mounted in the ground. There was no visible reason why it didn’t fall over when he pushed on it. ‘It must be mounted with spikes underneath,’ he thought, though it looked like it hovered above the ground, instead of resting on it. Another oddity of the door was that the door knob was on the left side of the door, regardless of which side he stood on. He was able to reason that they weren’t functional, but were partially mounted to look like they were working door knobs. He turned one of them and slowly pushed the door open away from him, as it only seemed to open one way. His legs almost gave out from underneath at the sight that awaited him when he opened the door. Through the door was the woods as expected behind it, with one major difference. It was night. He quickly looked behind the door to verify that it was still day around the door, and being satisfied, looked back through the door at the nightly reflection. He closed the door and walked to the other side. Once again, he opened the door, which only opened away from him, and was greeted by the same view of the woods behind the door, but in the darkness of night. ‘Now don’t be crazy. Go get the authorities, and let them deal with it’, he thought, but something inside him told him the door would not be there when he returned. Though cautious, he was a curious man, so he decided to venture through the door and take a peak. Fred stuck his head through first to check what he could see from the door. He scanned the area, but saw nothing that seemed overly threatening. With no immediate threat in sight, he slowly stepped through, turning to make sure the door was still there. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that it was. He laid his pack down by the door. He wanted to have it in case of an emergency, but didn’t want to carry it with him. He also knew that if he had to make a quick getaway, he could easily grab the pack as he ran back through the door. Fred felt a little off balance stepping from day to night. Looking back through the door where it was sunny didn’t help. He walked in an ever-growing circle around the door until he felt sure enough to start investigating the area. Except for it now being night, he didn’t see anything different on this side of the door. He knew that it must be getting dark on the other side of the door he had come from, so he walked back to see. He saw that it was indeed growing darker on the other side of the door, and instinctively he looked up to the sky where he was at expecting it to start giving away to its own morning, but instead it stayed dark, until it matched the darkness of night on other side of the door. Fred was no botanist, but he was sure that plants needed sunlight to thrive, but minus the sun, the plants and trees on this side of the door seemed to mirror the ones on the other side. Slightly confused, he decided to continue his investigation, when he heard a rustle. He took cover by a tree, trying to locate where the sound had come from. It seemed to be coming from all around him, so he kept glancing at all directions, determined not to let anything sneak up on him. All of a sudden, the tree he had been pressed against moved. It looked like it was trying to turn around to see who was touching it. Fred stepped backwards slowly, when he tripped on a branch and fell backward. He lost his footing, and soon found himself rolling uncontrollably down a hill. His roll ended with a splash, as he rolled into a shallow creek. A part of him wanted to stay partially unconscious, but the survival instinct within him jolted him awake, and he quickly looked around expecting to see a tree standing over him. Instead, he found himself alone, or so he thought until her heard a rustle coming from within the tree line. He wrongly assumed it was the trees, and the proof came in the form of a child like being with pointy ears. Fred stood frozen as the elfin creature approached him. They stood there studying each other, when another, louder noise broke both their stares. The elf began to quickly walk away, clearly frightened by the sound, but stopped and turned towards Fred. It looked back and forth between where the sound had come from, and where Fred was still standing in the shallow creek. It was clearly deciding if it should help Fred or not. Deciding to help, it motioned Fred to follow, which when the loud sound came again, he quickly began following the elf. The elf lead Fred to a hole under a fallen log, and there, they shared a small confined space. He was able to see more details of the elf. It was actually a she, and though she had the appearance of a child, certain minute details led him to believe that she was much older. She glanced at him and seeing him staring at her, gestured for him to look out and see what was coming. From the tree line emerged a tiger, the size of a giant boulder. It walked past them, stopping only to sniff where Fred had landed in the creek, looked around, and then continued walking away. Once the elfin girl was sure the giant tiger was far enough away, she squirmed out their hole, and began running back into the forest. Fred was torn between going back to the door, and following her. He was afraid of being trapped in this alternate version of the woods, but he was also a very curious person, and he feared even more that he would not be able to return to this place once he had left. He quickly made up his mind and ran after her. While they ran through the woods, he noticed more of the trees moving on their own, and the ones that were facing him, had faces. Their looks seemed more of curiosity, than threatening. After what felt like an hour of quickly walking through the woods, the elfin girl, dropped out of sight over a berm. Fred quickly followed her, but losing his footing, once again found himself falling down a steep ravine and having the air knocked out of him. When he opened his eyes, he found himself surrounded by more elves looking down at him with curious eyes. When he sat up, they all backed up, and then some of them began talking to each other. He didn’t recognize the language. “Uh, hi,” he said. When he spoke, they all went quiet, and then suddenly started laughing. Their laugh was infectious, and he began laughing to. Before they could fully enjoy the moment, another little elf ran into the room and began creating a commotion. A group conversed back and forth, and then they rushed outside a passageway. Fred was unsure what to do next, when he felt something touch his hand. He looked and saw that the elfin girl who had led him there had taken his hand in hers and was looking at him with a pleading look. He may not have been able to understand their language, but he knew when someone needed his help, so he gave her a reassuring smile, which was returned, and she lead him after the others. When they arrived above ground, where the others had gone, he found himself facing a small group of dwarfs, who stood in taller than the elves, but shorter than Fred. When Fred appeared, all the dwarfs stopped what they were doing and stared at him. The lead elf, turned to see what had their attention, smiled, and then turned back to the dwarfs. He began telling them something Fred couldn’t understand. The dwarfs kept switching gazes from the elves to Fred, and then back again. They seemed to be weighing their options. He got the impression that the dwarves where used to getting their way, but didn’t seem to know what to do with somebody taller than them. Reluctantly, the lead dwarf gave out a grunt, and then he and his men slowly began to walk away. Once they were out of sight, the elves began to jump up and down, celebrating. Fred looked down at the Elvin girl to see her smiling back up at him. They led Fred back into the underground lair, where they continued their celebration by presenting Fred with a magnificent feast, apparently in his honor. Though he had no idea what they were saying, he enjoyed watching them talk to each other, and from time to time, one of them would make eye contact with him and raise their glass, which he always returned. Outside, came a loud sound of a horn being blown. All the elves looked at Fred, and seeing the elfin girl grab his hand and try to pull him away, they all began to argue. Fred thought that the dwarves had come back, and they wanted him to face them again, but if that was the case, Fred didn’t understand why they would be trying to keep her from leading him outside. The elfin girl argued with the others, and seemed to convince them. Seeing them settle down, she turned back and once again grabbed Fred’s hand. She began to pull him with desperate strength. Fred didn’t understand what was going on, but he had come to trust the elfin girl, and allowed her to lead him away. She half dragged him out of their lair, and back through the woods from where he had originally come from. As they picked up the pace, Fred began to realize that she was taking him back to the door. He also surmised that because she was in such a hurry, that the horn being blown must have something to do with it. They arrived at the door, and he began to panic when he saw that the door was becoming translucent. He was about to run through the door when the elfin girl held him back. He looked at her to see what was wrong and saw that she was trying to give him something. She opened her hand to reveal a glowing key. Seeing that he saw it, she nudged her head toward the door to inform him know what it was for. She dropped the key in his hand, gave him a sad look of loss, and then ran back the way they had come. The horn blowing again broke his trance, and grabbing his backpack as he went, he ran through the door. Once he was safe on the other side, he turned to see that the door was almost completely invisible. Through the door came a distant sound of the horn blowing a third time, and with that, the door disappeared. He looked down at the key and saw it glowing. When the door was completely gone, the glow faded and it appeared an old, but normal key. ‘This key must be used to open the door again,’ Fred thought. Every weekend, Fred returned to where the door had been, but found the place empty. A year passed, and he was losing hope when he arrived once again to where he had first found the door, but found it still gone. He was about to walk away when saw a light coming from his hand. The key was starting to glow. He looked up and saw the door reappear. As before, he didn’t need a key to open it. On the other side, in the darkness, stood a group of elves waiting for him, each holding a gift to give to their lost friend. “Hello, my friends,” he said as he walked through the door in the woods once more.


I am sitting at my desk, alone, surrounded by empty bottles and cigarette smoke. I can feel the start of a headache growing deep within my forehead, so in a futile attempt to distract myself I try glancing through my books picking volumes out at random turning from philosophy to self-help books, from poetry to financial manuals, all to no avail. Eventually, after becoming bored of being bored, I pick up my pen, turn on some music, and start writing. I cast my mind back to sitting outside in the heat, staring at the scenery, and forcing my fingers to type some book review or another that I was meant to be working on. In the distance I hear a car accelerating, then I see Julian’s BMW pulling up in front of me, and I see Tom get out and walk towards me. “Hey man, can I bum one?” Said Tom sitting down in the chair next to me and running his hands through his hair. “Sure, why are you in Julian’s car?” I asked handing him a cigarette and my lighter. “Oh he lent it to me… What are you working on?” He said from in between puffs of smoke. “It’s nothing important just a review of some book for the magazine.” I said. “Any good? The book I mean.” He said. “No. I it’s actually the worst thing they’ve made me read so far. Take a look at this shit.” I said pointing to a black paperback lying on the table. “As far as poetry goes it’s fucking pedantic and that title, *The Dark between the Stars,* I know that poets are pretentious but… Jesus!” “Jesus… what do you think happens after people die?” He broke in suddenly, his eyes darting around first from the book, to me, to the car, to other houses, back to me then starting the whole cycle over again. “Well… I mean… Ok as far as I can tell a priori, from books… It’s impossible to completely do away with the notion of a god as it’s impossible to prove something doesn’t exist. However I do think that all the religions we’ve managed to come up with are wrong, Christianity in particular is nothing more than a bad plagiarism, but probably after we die our brains stop functioning and so do we.” I said. “Don’t you think that there’s any hope that people, loved ones, that we get to see them again?” He said. “That right there is one of the worst aspects of religion. You see it plays on our worst anxieties, mines its way into the depths of our mind just because we want to see the people that we like again.” I said. “Can I ask you something serious then? About life?” Said Tom. “Life is much too important to talk seriously about. Besides it’s early and I’m far to sober for that kind of discussion.” I said. “Quoting Oscar Wilde really? How old are you?” He said. “Hey! I will defend my right to quote Wilde no matter how old I am.” I said. “Whatever.” He said leaning back and staring out at the suburban expanse in front of the house. “No come on don’t be like that. What was it?” I said. “You like the existentialists right? I’ve been around many a late night discussion that you’ve undertaken about them.” He said. “Yes although I prefer absurdism over existentialism if only because I like Camus more than Sartre.” I said. “Outline the concept of bad faith for me. No seeing as you like Camus how about the absurd?” He said. “Well… hang on let me think for a second… ok the main thing that Camus was concerned about was the human desire for meaning in a meaningless world. The Catch-22 of existence, we require purpose to function but no purpose is possible.” I said. “And when confronted with that proposition what is a person meant to do?” He said. “If you’re Camus like five chicks at once.” I said, smiling at him as one does when they think that they’ve said something witty but still needs approval on whether or not to laugh. “NO! Be serious!” He yelled. “Ok… um faced with the inherent absurdity of the world Camus thinks that we should carry on anyway. To be so free that our very existence is an act of rebellion. Not to suppress any part of yourself.” I said. “That last part, not suppressing any part of your nature, if say purely hypothetically there was a Cannibal who by his nature had to eat people. By Camus’ logic that Cannibal should be able to eat as many people as he likes despite any ethical dilemmas.” Said Tom. “I think that you’re talking more about Sartre there, he was more inclined to natures and bad faith and stuff... But yes I would have to admit that based on Camus’ logic the Cannibal would be able to eat as many people as he likes. However based on just human morality, no people shouldn’t eat each other.” I said by now we had become much more animated and relaxed as the conversation progressed. The sun was starting to set. “Another hypothetical then say there was a man who had a wife and that wife was pregnant. And that man loved his wife, what sort of man wouldn’t love his wife, but that wife decided to leave that man… and ran off to his friend’s house. What should that man have done?” He said. “I’m not really sure what the point of that one was.” I said, hesitantly. “Ok… do you remember that play that you read and then couldn’t shut up about for a whole week, Faust? Well I picked up a copy the other day and you were perfectly right about how good it was, there was this one bit that stuck with me. *I am the spirit that negates. And rightly so…*” He said. “*For all that comes to be deserves to perish wretchedly*. Mephistopheles.” I said. “I killed Grace.” Said Tom. “And Julian. And…” It is difficult to convey silence in a work of prose. And it is especially difficult to convey the kind of silence Tom and I experienced then. I can’t quite remember what I said next and looking back now I’m not sure what anyone would be able to say next. However I do know that after the silence Tom explained how he had snuck into Julian’s house to find his wife, but instead of talking like he had planned, strangled her. Then he had killed Julian, stole his car and drove here. After such an explanation he pulled out a handgun… on second thoughts I’m not going to write this after all.