I’m feeling extra grouchy today. It’s unfortunate because ‘giving out’ to others is what I do. But then, being driven half-crazy by scratching whilst lying in wait on my futon can do that to a person. Especially during the middle of the night.

     It seemed to be coming from the back of the skirting board. The intermittent scraping put my teeth on edge. So much so, I barely slept until the last hour. My heart rushed as the morning alarm jolted me awake; it was too late to do my daily exercises (a vigorous workout keeps me sane and enlivens me). I showered, gulped coffee, slammed the door and sprinted up the road, praying my  new occupant isn’t a rat! Rats conjure up images of Plague doctors dressed in long coats, carrying sticks and wearing disproportionate beak masks beating a path through infested streets during  the 16 th  and 17 th  centuries. I can cope with anything but a rat!

     But having a mouse as a house guest is bad enough. For the sake of argument, let’s assume last night’s visitor

was  a mouse who managed to sneak in from the garden where everything is ice-coated, even the pond. Come to think of it, why isn’t the silly creature hibernating? But when I googled it in the night (always fatal), I discovered mice are more sensible than humans. Give them some credit. They can sneak in and out of the tiniest hole, even making it in through a house’s foundations. You can’t blame them.

     Somehow, the idea of its presence defeated me. I hate being defeated. Perhaps it scampered in when I was tying the leaves of Lyndsey’s palm to protect it from the frost. It was her last gift to me and I can’t stand the thought of losing it.

     I first heard it two nights ago, when dropping off. I closed my ears to the scrabbling. But when it started again last night, I was on high alert and switched on my lamp, prepared for battle. I planned to use my dressing gown as a net, but there was nothing to be seen other than wooden floorboards and shadows. I waited some time, but other than the ticking of the clock, there was only silence. I was just about to doze off when it started again. I was now highly agitated. How could a creature, no bigger than my hand, be causing such aggravation? I suddenly remembered the gerbil I had as a kid. A friendly little thing called Pinky, I loved watching it exercise on its wheel. But as I’m rapidly discovering, a wild mouse is another matter altogether, particularly when one is alone in the house. It’s like a predator. My heart beat steadily. At any moment, the mouse might scurry across the floor and land on me! Considering I sleep on a futon (in retrospect, not one of Lyndsey’s finest ideas, but I knew she’d always wanted one), it can’t be discounted! Urgh! How I wish she were here with me now. We could deal with this blasted pest together. At the very least, she’d have seen the funny side of it. I miss her humour.       But then, everything is exaggerated at this time of year! Christmas which was once a happy occasion, now secretly dreaded. You see, Lyndsey, my partner and best friend, died two years ago -  just before Christmas in fact, and tomorrow is the anniversary of her death. I keep hoping it will get easier and sometimes it does. I thought I was doing alright until I overheard someone say, “It’s about time she met someone new,” but I’m not ready.       I’m not sure I’ll  ever be ready.

     Yesterday I got a message from Natalia. “My mother has arrived in England. Can she come and help in the shop tomorrow at 9.00? Her name is Ivanna.”

      Natalia, I should explain, is one of my helpers at the shop. She arrived from the Ukraine under a scheme to help those fleeing from the war and has been living in England at Graham’s house. Graham is another volunteer who helps. He sorts, prices books, attends to the banking, and acts as general handyman and magician all rolled into one. Our shop is the busiest charity shop in town and I’m its manager. Graham and his wife have given Natalia a room in their house while she improves her English and looks for full-time work. She found a part-time position at an art studio, but it was temporary. At the charity shop, she helps steam clothes, tag labels and puts out the finished products for sale. She’s friendly and efficient and I like to think I’ve done my bit to make her feel welcome. I can only imagine what it must have been like to to leave her former life behind. Her brother and father are fighting in the war, but I don’t like to ask her about it. Some things are too painful. My father was also a soldier, but that’s another story.      The first time Natalia came to the shop, I wondered how we’d communicate, but I needn’t have worried. Aided by her translation app, we soon made it work. Her English is certainly improving. Recently, she mentioned the possibility of her mother joining her shortly.      By all accounts, Natalia’s mother knows very little English. It would be easier if mother and daughter were together the first time Ivanna comes to the shop so Natalia can explain what needs doing. I need to catch up on a growing number of tasks and checklists on the back office computer. There’s always extra work to do and I’d planned to spend a couple of hours getting onto it. Even one hour would have been good.      When I got Natalia’s message about wanting her mother to help at the shop, I quickly rebooted.      “Can she come in at ten? 9.00 is too early,” I messaged back.

     “Sure,” she replied.      That was yesterday evening. Today, my eyes are sore and my head is filled with all things MOUSE. In my mind, the house is infested with them. A veritable tribe have built a nest somewhere and it just keeps growing. Maybe I should ring up the council? They ought to take pest control seriously, but I’ll  probably have to spend hours waiting for a reply, only to be fobbed off from one department to another. The other alternative is to go online. Me and computers?? Enough said..

     It’s easier to deal with the problem directly. Be strong Yvonne, I tell myself. Live up to your surname. What about mousetraps, then ? Sounds ok in theory, but I’m not keen on the idea of inflicting unnecessary pain. I don’t hate it/them enough for that. YET!! Poison, then? Not a particularly pleasant way to go either, from what I’ve heard. The only thing left is “humane traps.” The protagonist (me) tempts the antagonist (the mouse) into a small chamber with morsels of delightful food. At which point the door jams shut. Let’s hope it’s not a claustrophobic mouse because it could have a heart attack while waiting for me to return home to be released in a field where it will probably freeze to death.The mind boggles. Maybe the lethal mousetraps are the best method, after all.      My mood turns thunderous when I catch sight of bags and boxes stacked up against the shop door. Why would anyone do that? Isn’t it bad enough leaving it against the window? As I get closer, it appears to be piles of rubbish and filthy bedding. Usually there’s a respite before Christmas as people are preoccupied with shopping and have less time to donate. It’s a welcome chance to catch up on neglected tasks. Apart from the fact that the path outside the shop is a treacherous slide, leaving stuff outside the shop is

actually

fly tipping. In other words, illegal. The perpetrators clearly haven’t read the sign on the window.      It states in bold letters: Do not leave donations, except in shop hours, as they are liable to be ransacked.

     Standing by a bench, I see a woman waiting outside the shop. I hope it’s not a customer wanting a refund. Another annoyance. They must be keen to be hanging round a quarter of an hour before the shop opens. Normally, I arrive at the shop at least an hour before opening so I can set up and prepare for the onslaught. I like to be prepared.     The woman turns to me.“Excuse….. I Natalia’s mother.”      What! Already? You’re not supposed to be here till ten! I want to say, but don’t.      My head is aching and I’m desperate for coffee. “Ok. Come in.” I try not to sound cross as I fiddle with keys and she follows me in.      Close up I see she’s very much like her daughter, only about twenty years older.

     “I’ve just got to bring these bags in. Can you help?”      It takes a while but after a few gesticulations and grimaces she helps bring them in.      “They shouldn’t do this. It’s not fair,” I mutter to myself. “Bloody arseholes.”

     “Sorry. I speak only little English.” She gives me a concerned look.      It’s just as well she can’t understand me because I make various rude suggestions about where such people can stick their unwanted goods. If first impressions are anything to go by, most of it  should have been disposed of at the town’s tip!

     Inside the shop, I gesture a seat.“You wait here…..”      She sits down.

     “Your name?” she asks holding out her hand.      “Yvonne. Hello.”      “Hello. I Ivanna.”      “Hello Ivanna. Nice to meet you. Now. Wait here.”I hold up my hand like some police officer stopping traffic. “Won’t be long. I have to set up.” She waits while I turn heaters on to warm the place. I then get the money from the safe and set up my float. Although people increasingly use cards now, many prefer cash.

     I feel I’m being heartless here. Making her wait.

     Over time, I’ve perfected a way of settling new volunteers in on their first day. It’s called a “taster session” where both manager and volunteer see how they get on. At least, in theory. In reality , there’s nothing worse than when someone totally unsuitable shows. Since Covid, more and more people are battling with depression and mental health. I do my best to help, but sometimes it can be overwhelming. I’m not a trained professional or social worker and it’s difficult to strike the right balance. Between helping people and running a shop. There’s no secret to a successful shop. The more quality items are sorted and processed to be sold, the more money the charity makes.      By now, Jane, the assistant manager has arrived. She can see I’m struggling.      “I’ll go in the shop, if you want. Then you’ll be able to spend time with the new lady. Shout if you need me.”      After showing Ivanna where to hang her coat, she follows me to the kitchen area where staff lockers are kept. Some of the keys are missing and have not been replaced (in spite of having kept a spare set in the safe). With the amount of people coming in and out, keys often get lost. Note to self. I must get some new keys cut ASAP.

     Ivanna seems baffled when I explain about pinning the locker key to her jacket so as not to lose it. I feel like an actor in a pantomime mining where to hang her coat, and the need to ‘sign in’ in case of a fire.      Normally I would explain about the fire doors, safety, and the nearest exit routes, but I’m feeling  shattered. When all else fails, steaming is a job that needs doing. Ivanna looks more than capable.

     “I’ll show you how to use the steamer.” I point to an electrical gadget which looks a bit like a Henry hoover minus the friendly face. It’s a cylinder with a hose attached to it. At the end of the hose, a nozzle rests on a holder. Ivanna watches as I unscrew a lid and pour in water from a jug using a funnel. The water must be hot (I explain), otherwise it will take ages to reach the right temperature. After readjusting the lid, I press a green switch. The water heats up and a cloud of steam emerges from the nozzle. Ivanna watches me take a blouse from a rail and place it on the holder. The heat has made the pipe malleable and soon the creases iron out. She looks suitably impressed.       When it runs out of steam, the machine makes a loud noise to alert the user they must switch it off. You then refill, wait for it to heat up and start the process all over again.      Ivanna wants to ask a question.      “Have you got a translate app?”I ask.      She checks her mobile phone and tries to work the app. “Ooooh,” she says irritably. I wait while she perseveres. What with that and me speaking English as slowly as a snail (how peculiar words sound spoken like this), we get there in the end.      Ivanna a settles into a routine and diligently steams a rail of clothes. By now, other volunteers have trickled in to offer their services. I introduce them to Ivanna. They are a friendly bunch.      Suddenly Natalia appears bright-cheeked at the doorway. Unexpectedly, shes cycled through icy roads to check on her mother’s progress.

     “Getting on well,” I say.      “Ah, I see you get her use steamer,” she grins.      “Yes, I’ve tried to show her where to put the clothes in the shop, but it’s difficult. I really need to go on the computer. Have you got time to quickly show her?”      Natalia takes off her coat. “Of course. I would have come in earlier but I did not want to miss my English lesson.”      “Well, if your mother works at English like you, I think she’ll be good.”      For a while, they converse in their own language. Ivanna is being thoroughly instructed by her daughter. While Ivanna sets about her task, Natalia smiles at me.      “I have question to ask. I’m looking at Christmas present for Graham. What you think I should get him?”      I smile. Graham a very kind man, with a cheeky sense of humour. He has a saucy side which we all take it with a large pinch of salt. This year he’s managed to get invited to at least eight Christmas meals, all of which he will greatly enjoy. I count myself lucky to have been invited to two. I’m less certain whether I will go.      “I thought maybe I get him game,” Natalia says.        “A good idea. What about monopoly?”        “How you say?”       I skip monopoly for the moment. What do you play in Ukraine?”

     Her expression turns wistful. She once told me before she got out, her family lived by the sea. She said it was warm in the summer which surprised me, but then the Ukraine is a large country. “Well, the young people my age like playing video games in cafes.”      After searching the back room for a monopoly set, I find one for sale in the shop and hand it to her.

     “Ah monopoly!” She understands now. “But Graham already has that. He loves it. It is very loud when he plays. It is a big family game with him. His daughters enjoy it too. They shout loudly.”      We suddenly come across a beer glass designed in the shape of a woman’s body. It’s fairly mild compared to some of the things I’ve encountered in the the shop. Sex toys are a definite no-no. Some of the customers might be offended and send an email of complaint to head office. It generally results in grovelling on my part.      Perhaps Graham would like this beer glass?” I suggest mischievously.      “But I think his wife would not.” We laugh. “I already have chocolates for Graham’s wife.” Natalia finally settles on a game of chess for Graham. “I don’t think he has a chess set. I think maybe I teach him. He likes to learn. Something I can give for him being kind and letting me live with his family. And for helping me with forms for my mother to come too.”      “Yes, he is good.” I cannot imagine how hard it must be for them. Their courage and strength shine through.

     A day or two later, I sift through the Christmas cards we keep on a shelf in a box for the staff. When I get home I open mine. Graham’s one says. You’re very welcome to join us for Christmas. Natalia and Ivanna both hope you can make it. xxx      No pressure then. But then, why wouldn’t I want to join them? Last year, I did Christmas alone - in spite of several kind invites. As I make my way home, I think of Ivanna. Her step when she left the shop was lighter than when she came in. All in all, a job well done. As for the mouse business? Tonight I’ll sleep in the spare room. Let’s hope it’s mouse-proof. In the New year, I’ll treat myself to  the cat Lyndsey always wanted. As for joining Graham’s family and my two Ukrainian friends, why not?       We can always play a game of monopoly.


My dearest Liora. I hope this letter finds you in good health and prosperity, though I have no way of knowing if this will reach you. But as my heart aches, I pray that my efforts are not in vain. The last I saw you, you were running out of your coming out party in tears. And while I wanted to chase after you, I was held back by the snickers of the room. Forgive me for my cowardice. If I had known it would be the last time I saw you, I would have ran into the night and begged you to stay with me, and if you still chose to run, I would have been right there by your side.

I went to your house the following week, but your parents said you never returned. It was then that I knew we wouldn’t meet again. Still, I packed my horse, and rode from town to town, asking if anyone had seen you, and followed your trail up until the Black Bear Saloon. Under normal circumstances I would never enter such an establishment, and knowing you had, has brought me much despair. Even worse, after giving the bartender your description and receiving nothing but a cold stare, I was approached by a wiry man who claimed to know you. He said he was a coachman of a friend of yours, and you had been staying at their manor for the better part of three months. I demanded he bring me to you at once, but instead he let out the most unnerving noise—something I’m hesitant to call a laugh, but I have no other word for it. It sent chills down my spine. He refused, and instead offered to deliver a letter to you, which I am currently writing. I’m unsure if I should trust him, but I have no other leads, and this might be the only way to reach you.

I have no idea how you know this wretched man, or what you have become entwined in, but my dear, I promise I will rescue you. Should this reach you, I will be staying at the Rosemary inn on the edge of town. I beg of you to meet me there. Please, my dove, fly back to me. Forever yours, Doyle Doyle— Forgive me, I know my absence has been alarming to you, and I hate to think of you in pain. You were my dearest companion for most of my life, and to know you went through such trouble to find me is heartbreaking, though I am deeply touched by your efforts. The coachman, Sloan, even said you tried following him to see where he was delivering your letter. You were always clever—a trait I deeply admire you for—but you learn fast not to try tricking him. I’ve seen quite a lot in my time away from home, but none are as puzzling as that man. It would do you well to treat him with dignity and respect.

I will not meet you at the Rosemary. There’s no rescue necessary, no danger to save me from, and I will not be returning to my parents house. There is no life for me there.

I have decided to elope, and by the time you read this I will already be on the Pacific, ready to start a new life. Believe me when I say running out of my debutante was possibly the first good decision I ever made. If I had stayed I would never have come to this small town. I would have never met Amani and fallen in love with her. Can you believe it, Doyle? I’m in love. I never thought it was possible. I will try my best to explain these past months, though so much has happened I am unsure if it will be intelligible. Even if I manage I’m sure you won't believe me. The first month was a blur, a hazy mess of liquor and traveling, which I do not recall most of. My first clear memory is of entering the Black Bear. I flirted with the men, and danced along with the women, indulging in the freedom that exists out of high society. I ate and drank like I did many times before, and ended the night sitting alone talking to the bartender. I asked if he knew anywhere to stay, and he said there was an inn on the edge of town that always had a spare room.

“But I’d be careful.” He said to me in a hushed tone. “If you’re travelin’ across town, it's best you do after the sun comes up. It’s dangerous to walk the streets before sunrise.”

I laughed and said I wasn’t afraid of the dark, and besides the streetlamps were enough. He shook his head, saying I didn’t understand, and that I should stay at the bar for the rest of the night. I once again refused, saying I appreciated his concern, but that I could handle myself. He sighed and stared out the window for a while before returning his gaze to me.

“Be careful. I’d hurry.” I left the bar, not because of his warnings, but out of a new sense of discomfort. In my arrogance I thought he was senile, but looking back I should have heeded his warning. Not that it matters now, but it began a series of unwise decisions I am lucky to have survived. I strolled along the cobblestone path, following the bartender’s directions, and taking in the scenery. The town was beautiful under the moonlight, the lanterns creating a warm glow on the empty streets. I was enchanted by it, and stood letting the summer breeze cool down my booze warmed body. I turned my gaze to a side street, where suddenly there was something on the ground in the distance where there wasn’t before. Curious, I walked towards it, and as I got closer I realized it was someone laying in the road. I screamed, and felt a chasm open in my stomach as I saw the blood on the pavement, the man clutching at his neck where the blood was spewing from. He looked at me, and I saw the last bit of recognition in his eyes before they fell shut. In my horror I stood there, paralyzed, watching the blood travel between the cracks in the cobblestone. I hear far away footsteps, and look up to see a wolf walking towards me. It snaps me out of my daze, and I step backwards, turning and running back the way I came. I could hear the wolf's footsteps speed up behind me, getting louder and louder, until something jumped on my back, making me crash into the ground. My front side scraped the ground, hands and cheek burning as the stone cut into my skin. I tried getting up, but I felt something holding me down. I expected it to be the wolf, to feel its teeth rip into me at any moment, but instead I felt a hand grabbing me by my hair. It pulled me up, exposing my neck, brushing its teeth along my vein. My mind went blank, until all that was left was pure fear. An unexpected surge of power coursed through me, and I used all my strength to roll myself over, kicking the person off of me. And that was the first time I saw her. She was standing over me, glimmering in the moonlight, the blood on her face trickling down the front of her dress. Her eyes were wild, her hunger apparent in her snarl as she crawled back over to me. I managed to get myself back on my feet, running once more to the inn, hoping someone could help. I looked back and saw her getting ready to lunge again, so I made a sharp turn down an alleyway, barely escaping her attack. Of course the victory was only temporary, as she slammed me against a wall. I pushed her away, leaned down, grabbed a bottle, and broke it over her head, but it made no difference. All I felt was a force grabbing my hand and pushing me against the wall, once more pinning me under her weight. For a moment she gazed into my eyes. I could feel the blood pouring through my veins with the rise and fall of my chest, but as our bodies were pressed together I could not feel anything inside of her. There was no panic running through her, no heartbeat. She breathed as though she didn’t need to.

She pushed my head back towards the wall and ripped the top of my dress, exposing my neck, then biting me. My body felt weak, all the blood pooling out of my neck. My vision blurred, and all I could feel was her tongue lapping up everything she was stealing out of me. The more she drank, the weaker I felt, and the stronger her grip on me became. Suddenly I felt her jaw release me. She cursed under her breath, and let go, dropping me to the floor. The last thing I saw before passing out was the first rays of the sunrise passing over the buildings around us.

I woke up in an infirmary surrounded by people I didn’t know. I was told by the doctor that I was given a blood transfusion, and that survival rates were low, but not unheard of. Despite this, I recovered quickly, and by the end of the day was allowed to be escorted to the inn where I would stay until I could afford a place of my own. When I arrived I was greeted by the bartender from the Black Bear. I apologized for ignoring his warnings. He informed me that everyone thought there was a killer on the loose, and that I was his latest victim. I told him, “I’m sorry, I don't know what he looks like, I can’t remember what happened.” He looked at me like he knew I was lying, and he pressed a rosary into my hands.

“Your sickness is not over. Do not walk at night again.”

He was right, the worst was yet to come. Two weeks went by with me feeling fine. I got a job mending clothes, and started setting up a small routine for myself. I would have breakfast at the inn, go to work, banter with the ladies, then have dinner, and return to my room at night. I kept the rosary on me at all times, just in case, until one day I left it on the counter at work. By the time I returned to my room, I was vomiting, blood spurting out of my mouth at every heave. It would stop for a moment, and I would breathe, before it started up again, my body giving out beneath me. Until suddenly I heard a tapping at the window.

I looked up and saw her again. Hovering in the air, her dreaded hair swayed in the wind. It was all the way down to her thighs. Her skin was dark, reflecting the moonlight off her high cheekbones. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She tapped the window again. “May I come in?” I stared at her, and moved to open the window, then threw up again. I shook my head no. “You’re dying. I can help you.” I grabbed the stoker from the unlit fireplace, and carefully opened the window, keeping my weapon in front of me at all times. I waited for her to enter.

“May I come in?” She repeats. I swallow. “Yes.” She ducked her head under the window frame, and entered the room, her bare feet finally making contact with the floor.

“You can put that down. I’m not here to harm you.” “I apologize, but you can understand how I find that hard to believe.” I raise my weapon to her throat. She laughs. “You’re dying and you’re threatening the only person that can help.” My stomach dropped, and I fell once more to my knees, the blood leaking from my throat again. “I can save you. All you have to do is let me.” I stared in her eyes, asking her to explain. “I will bite you again, then you’ll bite me. The transformation will be complete.” My eyes widen as I understood what she meant.

“No.” “It’s the only option you have. That rosary won’t help forever.” My vision blurs, and the room spins around me. I curled up on myself, feeling the world collapse around me. She put her hand under my chin, and lifted my head to hers. “Let me help you. Please.” I felt my heartbeat getting weaker. “Okay.” She lunges towards my neck and sucks the rest of my blood out of my body, then reveals hers and forces my teeth into her flesh. The taste of the blood was revolting, but the more I drank, the sweeter it became. I felt my body replenishing, and my new life under the moonlight began. I hope you can understand why I can no longer meet you. I will leave Sloan with a large sum of money for you, we have no use for it anymore. I hope it makes up for all the trouble I caused. Do not worry for me, my dear. —Liora


Nathaniel strolled the dirt path until he came to the village. Before he stepped forth into the dwelling, he saw the inhabitants and how they acted among each other.            “This village will do well,” he muttered.            He continued forth, checking out the places the people either resided in or they did business from. Places built of mud and brick. Others of wood that were either board or log. And ones made of sticks and straw. None of the places were made the same as he looked to the left and right.            “They have much character in this village,” he thought.            The question is which ones will stand, and which ones will fall. The structures can be quite deceiving for Nathaniel has seen places of all types of make that have fallen. If none of them are maintained properly, they will all fall.            Nathaniel came to the middle of the village and came upon a large stone building with two wooden doors with very intricate designs on them.            “Someone or ones are very gifted,” he muttered.            This is the place to meet. Nathaniel was quite pleased, for there were other places where they had nowhere to congregate, so he had to stand on a chair or table. A couple of times, there was a mound of dirt. This meeting hall will suffice for what he needs to do.            “I just hope they can all fit in the place,” he thought.            He walked up to the wooden doors and spent a little time admiring the perfection done on the doors. He wondered if they were done here, or did the villagers bring the doors from another place?            “Whoever did it need to be congratulated,” he said with pride.            While he adored the doors, the villagers, who ignored him at first for strangers came to their village, started to look upon him. They wondered what he was doing here, while others thought he might be a teacher by his dress. A simple light-colored brown robe and wearing leather thongs, they figured he wasn’t one high in authority. The man had long, gray hair, streaked with white that went to the middle of his back.            “I hope he is not another mad person,” a couple of people thought.            There have been men and women of the past that have come into the village to cause havoc. It took some rope and a good knock on the head to take them out of the village. They hoped this man staring at the wooden doors was not one of them.            What the people did not know is that Nathaniel knew more and more villagers were checking him out. That was his intent, for it was much better than going throughout the village to tell the people to go to the hall.            Nathaniel pulled on the two doors, and they opened wide.            “The people did well on the design of the doors,” he thought.            When it comes to a large building, all doors should be pushed open from the inside. He had come across places where it was not so, and fires had broken out. Loved ones lost. A good number of the villagers were lost. What broke his heart is that he had been to the villages before and warned them. They had to learn the hard way, unfortunately. So many must learn the hard way.            “So many times, I have to start over,” he thought. “But I shall do so over and over again until my dying day.”            Nathaniel walked into the hall and was pleased. There was a stage on the opposite end with a great fireplace. Benches lined up to the left and right with an aisle down the middle.            “If the people are like the build of this hall, there will be little teaching needed.”            Nathaniel slowly walked toward the stage, thinking of the numerous villages he had gone to. So many he went over and over to teach them once again from the start. They fail over and over, but Nathaniel has been taught patience and love. He will not give up on the people.            “I can see why I have not been to this village,” he said as he came to the stage. “But all villages need teaching, for everyone tends to backslide. Even this one that looks like they don’t need it.”            Nathaniel got onto the stage and over to the fireplace.            “Very nicely done,” he said as he checked it out.            Then he turned around and looked at all the empty benches.            “I have to say this is the best place I have been to,” he said.            He thought of the numerous villages he had gone to, wracking his brain on how each place looked like. Impossible to know all, but he was pretty sure this one was the best.            “Can I help you?” a voice asked from the other side of the room.            Nathaniel looked toward the entrance and saw a man and woman standing there. Both were nearing their middle years in life. He also knew they were the leaders of this village. And by looking at them further he knew they were doing well in their leadership.            “I have come to teach the good news,” he replied to the couple.            The couple just looked at him for a moment with no expression, but then grins appeared on their faces.            “Welcome!” they both cried out.            “We have been waiting for a teacher,” the man said.            “It has been so long since a teacher has come through,” the woman said. “Always a treat to have a teacher come.”            “That is good to hear,” Nathaniel said.            “We can gather them now?” the man asked.            “No, no,” replied Nathaniel. “Let’s wait until later when everyone is done with their duties.”            “We will gather this evening,” the woman said.            “Sounds good. Until then, may I have something to eat and drink?”            “You can come to our home to rest and eat.”            “If you don’t mind, I will do so in this hall for it is a grand place.”            “We will get you food, drink, and start the fire,” the man said, and the two left.            Hours later, the hall was full of villagers standing.            Nathaniel stood on the stage and told them the good news. He told them example after example of what needs to happen to keep a healthy village. Unity, love, forgiveness, compassion, and other actions with positive results. People would say they already knew of such, but Nathaniel could tell them of villages he had to start from the beginning over and over due to forgetting or disregarding those principles.            “This village has done quite well,” Nathaniel thought.            The meeting ended and a large banquet took place. Nathaniel received many thanks for coming and speaking.            “We know of much of what you speak, and talk to our younger ones of such, but it helps for one like you to come to re-enforce what we say.”            Nathaniel was glad to hear of such and went to bed that night, glad to be able to help souls.            The next day, he moved on. It was difficult to leave a place like this one, but there are villages that need his teaching for all is loved.


CW: Death, grief I couldn’t even bring myself to throw out your mug. It wasn’t even a nice mug. The rim was chipped. The ceramic was lumpy—I was almost positive you’d made it yourself—and for some reason, you’d painted it the color of pea soup. Out of all of your things, this should have been the easiest to get rid of. And instead I stood in the kitchen for fifteen minutes, like an idiot, just holding it, and then I put it back on the shelf. You hadn’t even liked this mug. “I was planning on throwing that away anyway,” I could imagine you saying. “Not my finest work. Literally, I was about to throw it out when I died.” And then: “ Holy shit. Motive???” I ignored the imaginary you. Imaginary you said, “Be honest. Do you think the mug wanted me dead?” I put the mug back onto the counter near the trash can so I could at least pretend I was planning on getting rid of it and had been interrupted mid-action or something. I had never been a hoarder. I was, generally, a very neat person—we argued about it all the time, because you left your shoes in the hall where people could trip on them and quite possibly had never heard of a coat hanger in your life and left all your dirty laundry heaped onto the nearest piece of furniture.

But when I talked to your parents, they said I could have everything but the money, just to donate your clothes to Goodwill and your books to the public library and what-have-you, and I said, Yes, of course, I’ll do that as soon as I can.

It had been a week since that conversation, and I still had not opened the door to your bedroom. I’d left your heap of jackets abandoned over the couch and your shoes cluttering up the hall and even the really creepy Frank Sinatra mugshot poster that you’d printed out and hung over the sink.

Your bedroom I had left completely untouched. The last time I was in there, a week before that, I’d been in the middle of stealing one of your nice shirts to wear to a party when I’d gotten the phone call and some polite, pitying police officer had told me you had been in an accident, so I felt my reluctance was understandable. The memory was contagious. I looked at your bedroom door, which was right at the heart of our floor plan, so you could see it from every room in the apartment, unless you had your door closed. I’d come to hate that stupid door. Hate it, and fear it a little. Sometimes,

when it was quiet, I heard footsteps, or music, or voices from behind it. Some kind of grief-induced auditory hallucination, I figured, since I’d been having a lot of those lately. I’d started keeping the TV on at all times to cover up the noise. It was probably killing my electricity bill, but I couldn’t find it in me to care. I didn’t know when it had started happening, exactly, because I hadn’t been paying attention to much of anything lately. All I knew was that sometime in the week after you died, when I was leaving your funeral early and letting all my calls go to voicemail and eating nothing but instant ramen while I watched trash TV, I started to notice a light under the door when I hadn’t turned the light on. During the day, I liked to imagine I could open that door and find you sitting on your bed and reading a magazine, trying to ignore your homework, listening to some bad music. At night, I couldn’t look at it. I dreaded having to turn the hallway light off before I went to bed and then having to walk past your door, hearing the muffled sound of someone trying to stand very still just behind it. Sometimes I panicked and ran past it, which was a mistake. Once you started running, it was so hard not to imagine there was someone chasing you. I'd sometimes wondered if it was you in there. I liked that idea. My own personal haunting. But I couldn’t have actually opened the door, because there would be nothing in there—at least, nothing recognizable. Better to pretend. Imaginary you said, “That’s not how it works.” I had already made up my mind to ignore you. I changed my mind again and put the mug back up on the shelf. *** “Have you started thinking about a new roommate yet?” Marge clutched her paper Starbucks cup like a lifeline and stared at me with wide, beseeching eyes. I had nothing against Marge, in general. She was a nice enough person, even if she was the most nosy neighbor I had ever had in my life. But I could have happily gone another two weeks without talking to her. At this specific moment, I felt like I could go an entire lifetime without ever speaking to Marge again. I hadn’t even invited her in. She’d knocked—I couldn’t pretend not to be home, because I had already done that twice today, and I was never anywhere but home. I was paying extra to have my groceries delivered to the apartment. So I’d answered the door and she’d practically pushed her way past me. “Well, sure, eventually. But—I mean, it’s a little soon. It hasn’t even been a month. I’m doing okay on rent and everything, so…” She made an understanding noise and bobbed her head so violently, it seemed like an invisible puppet master had yanked too hard on her strings. “Well, of course, of course. But, I mean…if you just wanted to think about it.” She looked around the apartment with an expression that was politely alarmed. I hadn’t been keeping up on the housekeeping. Trash was accumulating. “Mmm.” She leaned forward and took hold of my hands suddenly enough to startle me. “Honey, if you ever need anything, just let me know.” “All right.” She added, “I do tarot readings on the side. If you ever want to come by…it’s only five dollars per reading.” “Okay.” She released my hands and went out the door, humming to herself. She’d left a bowl of fruit and a sorry-for-your-loss card behind. I ended up having that fruit bowl for dinner that night, sitting by myself in the kitchen with the lights off. Well, mostly by myself. “Man, this is just sad,” you would have said. “Come on. Let’s start getting into the stages. What are we on now, denial? Bargaining?” You were not a very sentimental person. You never cried during movie nights, even when a dog or a baby or something died. If it had been me who died and not you, you probably would have handled it better. I looked at your bedroom door. There was light spilling out from underneath the crack. I hadn’t left that light on; it had been off an hour earlier. When I listened, I could distantly hear the creak of a floorboard, the sound of someone shifting just slightly on the other side. I found the TV remote and turned up the volume. You would have said, “Nothing good is waiting for you in there.” You liked to shout helpful instructions at the characters in horror movies. You would have had advice for me. I watched the shape of feet move under the crack. If I was quiet, I thought I could hear the faintest sound of footsteps, maybe the creak of a floorboard. You would have said, “Never hold on to an empty space. You don’t know what will come crawling in to fill it.” *** I woke up in the middle of the night to the wet, heavy smell of dirt. It took my brain a second to kick in. In little red letters, the alarm clock glowed 3:00 AM. Despite it being mid-July, the room was freezing. My arms were covered in goosebumps. The room was dark, except for city lights coming in through the window. Some drunk people were having a noisy argument on the sidewalk below.

I turned over on my side and stared directly into the eyes of a dead body. It was probably your body, except it didn’t look much like you anymore, having been in the ground for a while. Your skin was swollen and lobster-red, and also covered in mud. Thank God the people at the funeral home had closed your eyes before they buried you, because they were still closed now.

I got out of bed. The body didn’t move or sit up and start moving, or any of the horror movie stuff I was waiting for. It remained a dark, bloated shape curled in fetal position on the mattress. I hadn’t noticed a smell before, but I was noticing it now.

I went out into the hall. I turned on all the lights as I went, and then I took a knife out of the kitchen block and sat behind the kitchen counter. I waited a really long time—the clock over the sink said an hour–and then I heard the squeal of a mattress, and then a wet, meaty thud. Then nothing. Then a shuffling sound and some more tiny thuds. I looked out from behind the counter and watched the body drag itself back into your room. Whatever consciousness was in it didn’t seem to have mastered the limbs. It dragged itself slowly and laboriously on its stomach, the legs and arms sometimes seizing and kicking at odd angles. It left mud like a slug trail behind it.

I watched it vanish into your bedroom—the first time I’d seen that door open since before you died. The lights weren’t on tonight. The body vanished into the complete dark beyond the threshold. Going back to my bed would mean having to walk past that door, which I was absolutely not willing to do. I stayed in the kitchen until the sun came up. At some point, I said, “I am going insane.” And then: “Or else being haunted.” I was suddenly worried that if I tried to imagine you sitting in the kitchen with me, I would only see the corpse. I closed my eyes and tried to summon up something happier. If my version of you had looked anything like a corpse, I would have started screaming and not been able to stop, but you looked like you always did on a lazy Saturday morning. You wore the clothes you’d had on when the last time I saw you, which was not the awful Stepford-housewife dress they’d put on your body, but a Bugs Bunny T-shirt and sweatpants. I couldn’t help imagining the dried blood on your hair—whoever had done your hair for the funeral had missed a spot. But that was the most alarming thing about you. You would have said: “Yikes. I have not aged well.” “Don’t tell me not to open that stupid door,” I said. “It’s open now, and I’m not going anywhere near it.” “Who stays in a haunted house?” I heard you say. “Sell the place and move, idiot.” I put my head down on the cold kitchen tiles until my cheek went numb from the chill. The dead-body smell had dissipated. “Mmm,” I said, watching the ceiling fan spin. “I don’t think I will, though.” **** Getting complacent was a mistake. I had a system worked out. During the day, you were fine. I kept the door to the bedroom shut. If the sun was out, it would stay shut, and you never did anything other than move around a little and mess with the lights. At night, it was different. Once the sun set, the door to your bedroom would open and your body would make its nightly appearance. You were looking for me, I think, but it was hard to be sure. You never opened your eyes. I didn’t sleep in my bedroom anymore, though, because even if I locked the door to keep you out, I’d have to lie awake listening to you scratch at it before you eventually dragged yourself back into the other room. I started locking myself in the bathroom and sleeping in the bathtub instead. Sometimes during the day, I made myself go and sit in the living room to watch TV or eat some chips or something, but I didn’t like to move too much. Too much energy. It was on one of those evenings when I was in the kitchen forcing down a sandwich with bread that was a little stale and possibly expired that I lost track of time, or wasn’t bothering much with the time at all, when I saw the door to your bedroom swing open out of the corner of my eye.

I put the sandwich down and looked up.

The light was off again, just a black void beyond the threshold of the door, and then your scabby white hand scuttled itself over the threshold, followed by the bloated arm, and then the head, which was so awful I couldn’t look at it.

You didn’t move very fast, which was good, because I couldn’t have run. I was so tired. I just walked to the bathroom and listened to you try to haul yourself after me, and I locked myself in again.

Your entire body hit the door—I heard something pop that might have been your shoulder. The door shuddered under the impact, but you didn’t have the motor skills required for actually breaking it down. You just pawed at it like a cat wanting to be let in, and then you started— It hadn’t occurred to me that this version of you might be able to talk, and you honestly couldn’t do it very well. It just came out as a wordless, grating garble of sound that could have been anything. It could have been your name, or mine.

I almost opened the door right then, because I hadn’t heard your voice in so long, not outside my own head, and the sheer wanting almost killed me. It wasn’t self-preservation so much as lack of energy that kept me from doing it. The sounds died off after a while, and then there was just quiet. In that quiet, I made a decision. I let imaginary you get your argument out. You told me to call my sister, burn some sage, sell the apartment. You told me to buy a self-help book and make an appointment with a therapist. You said to eat something that wasn’t stale bread. You told me to let go. I listened to this list of alternate ways to end the story, and then I said to you, if you were listening, if the thing that might have been your ghost could hear me, “You can’t tell me to do any of that because you aren’t here. You left me .”

Your ghost didn’t materialize to tell me not to do it, so I stood up and unlocked the door. I went out into the hall. It wasn’t quite morning yet, but the sky was slowly turning itself from black to gray outside the window. The door to your bedroom was shut already, but the light was still on. A warm amber glow came out from under the crack, familiar, welcoming. I could have knocked, and you would have asked me to come in. I could already picture these last few weeks melting away like a nightmare. I was ready to wake up from it. I opened the door and went in.


Jack sighed as he opened the doors to The Joint. The humid air hit him almost immediately but Jack was unfazed. Over the months, he had grown accustomed to the lack of ventilation, among other missing facilities one would expect at a restaurant. Though to call The Joint a restaurant, was…questionable. The Joint had ratings so abysmal that Jack and his friends had no choice but to see for themselves. And indeed, The Joint had lived up to its promise, or lack thereof. From ridiculous wait times, to disgusting food, to dirty utensils, The Joint had it all. Its only redeeming quality was that it served alcohol 24/7, and it was piss-poor alcohol at that. Or maybe it was just piss. Jack doubted he could tell the difference. Sadly for Jack, that wasn’t the last time he would visit the Joint. It was the first of many, unfortunate visits and it had been over a month since his first visit now. He scanned the room and settled for a small table near the center of the room. On his first visit, his friends and him stood at the entrance for ten minutes, waiting for someone to come and seat him. Eventually, they learned that The Joint followed no such protocols. You simply came in and grabbed an available seat. Jack gingerly pawed at the menu, testing for any residue. Deciding that it was relatively clean, he opened it and made a show of picking what to eat. Of course, he knew exactly what he was going to order. Fries and a cup water. They were simply the safest items on the menu, and even then there was the risk of food poisoning. On his first visit, he had made the amateur mistake of ordering a steak cooked medium-rare. The choice had left him all but on the toilet for the better part of a week. It was one thing to order the steak from The Joint, but having it cooked any other way than extremely well-done was a death-wish. Jack’s palms began to sweat as he waited one of the staff to take his order. Finally, one came. In fact, she came. The reason for his sudden interest in this otherwise downtrodden excuse of a restaurant. Maya. Maya something. He didn’t know her last name because her name-tag only had her first name (though that didn’t stop him from stalking her on social media). She had a narrow face with sharp features and shoulder-length, jet-black hair. She reminded him of a raven. A very pretty raven. “Hi there, may I take your order?” she asked. He kept his eyes on the menu, pretending to deeply consider his order.

“Hello, er…yes, could I get an order of fries and a cup of water please?” She raised an eyebrow and gave him a knowing smile. “Of course. Will that be all?” No I’d like to have you too, to go perhaps? Jack thought. He cleared his throat “No that’s everything, thank you” and gave her a small smile of his own. After she left, he leaned back in his chair. He wanted to speak with her, have a conversation with her that didn’t involve placing an order. The mere thought of speaking with her made his stomach dance. But that’s why I’m here aren’t I? He couldn’t just keep coming to this shit-hole and ordering stale fries. He had to put an end to this, one way or another. Either he spoke to her today or he would give up and never come back here again. After an unreasonable amount of time, given the simplicity of Jack’s order, Maya came back with his fries and water. “Enjoy your…meal?” She said with a little mirth. At this, Jack perked up. ”I’ll have you know that this is a nutritious meal. A relatively nutritious meal.” “Relative to what, exactly?” she asked now, in interest. “Relative to the other items on this menu. Have you tried the steak? You lose nutrients because you’re emptying your guts from the diarrhea.” At this, Maya burst out in laughter. Then, she looked around. Satisfied that everyone more or less had their food, she took a seat across from Jack. His heart skipped a beat. “I’ll admit that the food is a little suspicious. That’s why I bring my own meals.” Maya said. “Seems like a wise choice.” Jack said, grinning now. Maya leaned in and spoke with a conspiratorial tone. “You know, I’ve noticed you here the past few weeks, because you always get fries and nothing else.” Jack gave her a look of surprise. Maya continued, “Clearly, you understand that the food here is dubious, so why do you keep coming back here? If you wanted fries, you could just go to McDonald’s or Burger King or literally any other fast food place ever.” Jack swallowed. “That, is a very good question. You are very smart, do you know that? Have you considered a career in law? You would make a great lawyer.” He gave Maya a small, nervous laugh. She rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. “Would you believe me if I told you that I think the fries are delicious?” Maya reached over, picked up a fry, and ate it. “It’s cold. The fry is cold, hard and unsalted. So you tell me,” she said. “I would love to tell you, I really would. But it’s a bit of a long story and you seem to be very busy. I wouldn’t want to take up your time.” At this, Maya was grinning in full amusement. “No worries at all, I got all day.” Half an hour of banter passed when another customer walked in. “Don’t you have to take go their order?” Jack said, pointing to the new customer. Maya looked over and stood up. “I will. But you still haven’t answered my question yet.” Jack gave her a look of mock confusion. “What was the question? I seem to have forgotten.” This time Maya stood silent and looked straight at Jack. Jack took a deep breath. “Okay look, the reason for why I keep coming back here…”. He said as he held her gaze. “…requires too long of an explanation.” He grinned at her and she threw her hands up. “How about this? Let’s discuss this at another time, when you’re not working. Maybe…this weekend? We can go somewhere to eat. Somewhere that’s not here.” Maya looked surprised for maybe the first time since they spoke, but surprise quickly turned into a smile. “Agreed, somewhere that’s not here.” she paused. “Then you’ll finally answer my question?” Jack smiled back, “I think you already know the answer.”


Pregnant black clouds consume the night sky, concealing stars, presenting a darker void than usual. Those clouds birth, discharging a steady stream to careen down the slopes and curves of the dreary moor.

Two men hike; one a few strides further ahead of the other and struggling to plant his feet in the steadily water-logging grass. His torch lights a trail through nature’s obstacles. The follower observes carefully where the leader’s footfalls settle, tracing his path for a smoother trek.

Leader ascends a hill but loses his footing and slips, dropping his light source on the sodden ground. He mutters out, “fuck”, and grumbles to himself as he picks up the torch and wipes his filthy hands on his jacket. He’s starting to resemble a non-threatening kind of swamp-monster, his black scruffy beard stained brown, his face speckled with the remnants of his misplaced tread on the hill.

He’s presumably thinking, “fuck it, it’s too late to turn back now, I might as well get stuck in,” as he digs his fingers into the grass embankment and begins to crawl. Follower halts at the bottom and chuckles. He shakes his head then shouts at Leader. “Why? Why are we doing this?” Leader continues dragging himself up, struggling like he’s a heroic pioneer climbing Everest. With a frown, he puffs out a breath of angst and carries on, regardless.

Follower follows Leader up on his hands and knees, too, when an abrupt blast of light hits him in the face, inflicting temporary blindness. Follower shields his eyes. He’s bleeding from the top of his head; it’s a nasty one. Dried blood runs its way from his hairline down his cheek. The fresh blood at the source of the wound is thick and viscous and is calmly seeping out.

Panicked, Leader shifts back around to reach the top. Once up, he stumbles into a narrow basin dressed with a thicket of shrubs and assortments of foliage intending to claw at your skin. His feet stick to the ground like glue, shoes caked in inches of mud and grass. Between the vegetation stands a shovel, planted in the ground like a victorious captured flag.

Follower eventually reaches the top, and treads carefully down after Leader, his face flushed with displeasure. “Why won’t you talk to me?” he growls “Turn yourself in… It’ll only get worse for you! Think about Katy and the kid.” Leader looks up at the sky, letting the rain rinse the earth from his pores. He screws up his face and screams internally, some of which escapes through his pursed lips.

“It’s not too late,” Follower continues. “Once the shovel pours that dirt in, though, it’s game over. You’ll get caught. Mark my words.” Leader pushes a long bundle into the shallow grave he must’ve dug earlier and looks in to see it filling with the unforgiving downpour. Rain climbs the sides, slowly submerging the pale cadaver rolled up in the bloodied rug. He takes the shovel from the ground; it slides out with ease. He peers at the pile of dirt melding together into one large moist clump. “Don’t,” Follower pleads.

Leader slaps himself upside the head and wails, “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

He strikes the shovel back into the soft mound.

Follower moves nearer. “If only you made this much effort to fix things before turning to a senseless murder!”

Leader scoops the mud onto the shovel and piles it into the grave, hiding the bashed-up ashen face and dead eyes staring up at him in judgement. He shovels again, and again, and again. “I can’t believe you did this,” Follower murmurs. “I really can’t." Disgusted, he turns away and saunters to the top of the hill. Leader drops the last of the brown sludge onto the grave and turns back to where Follower was standing. “I’m sorry, alright, I didn’t mean for it to turn out this way.” “Bit late at this point. I don’t think your ‘sorry’ quite cuts it anymore, do you?” Follower responds bitingly. “He... He just... Pressed the wrong buttons. He always knew which ones to press and when to press them.”

“And that warrants death?… Right.” “I put two and two together and came up with eight. I thought he... did her, and, I-I mean, h-h-he didn’t exactly help his cause!" “Because you always place the blame on people and only believe what you want to believe!” “Please forgive me!” Follower scoffs. “You want--“ Tears fall from Leader’s eyes as he finally cracks. “Please, God, forgive me. Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to go to hell!” He plunges to his knees, adding to the downpour. He puts his hands together, bowing into the mud.

“Just when I thought you were talking to me... Praying to God? Bit late for that shit, innit? It’s funny, you know, I’ve never seen you pray before, and have you ever even step foot inside a church? Wait, wait, did you just find God?” Follower laughs. “Oh, my word. You’re the best. The gift that keeps on giving.” Follower walks down the hill. Weeping, Leader flounders in the mud. “Please, please, please, please, forgive me!" Twenty minutes pass when Leader reaches his car parked in a layby at the edge of the moorland. He dumps the shovel in the trunk, opens the front door and gets inside. Follower sits in the back, staring gloomily out the window, arms folded, giving Leader the silent treatment. Leader takes a deep breath and turns the engine over. The car reverses onto the road, makes a U-turn and drives away. “I hope no one saw you out there,” Follower mutters from the back seat, still glaring out the window. “How would you explain that one? Out on a glorious night like this, just taking a midnight stroll on the moors. I’d buy that.” Leader drives in silence. “I’m wasting my time with you, aren’t I?” Follower asks.

Leader keeps driving, wipers squeak through the awkward silence. He looks in the rear view, glimpsing the follower's bleeding face staring at him. Leader jerks back in his seat, almost crashing his car into a speed-post on the grass verge.

“What the fuck!” Leader gasps, regaining control on the wheel. A further thirty minutes, give or take, and the old red Škoda pulls into the driveway of a semi-detached sitting in a row of semis on a jaded, nondescript street that could be any street in the country; number 45, if you’re interested. Leader heads inside the forty-fifth house on the generic street, leaving Follower to sulk in the car which is cooling down on the driveway.

Inside, Leader takes a shower, disposing of the physical evidence which smeared his body. On the landing, he leaves his dirty clothes discarded in the washing basket, and boy, is he in trouble when his wife sees this mess in the morning.

After cleaning himself up, Leader sneaks into his bedroom and climbs into bed next to his slumbering better half. He spoons her; she feels his warmth and smiles, taking his hand in hers. “I’m sorry,” Leader whimpers. Katy turns, opening her eyes. “What?” she says in a drowsy state. “Nothing,” he whispers back. Dazed, she nods and turns back, still grasping his hand, smiling pleasantly and hoping to get back to her dream, even though she knows it won’t be half as good as it was before he roused her.

“Nothing?” Leader hears whispered sharply from the other side of the room. Leader shoots up from bed and yells a terrified sound he doubts he’s ever uttered before. Naked, he dives out of bed, racing down the stairs through the front door to get to his car.

Katy swiftly bounces back to reality, wondering what is happening around her.

Follower stands behind the bedroom door, bleeding profusely from his temple, skin deathly white with protruding blue veins mapped out like rivers of blood.

Katy doesn’t catch sight of Follower as she gets up to grab her crumpled dressing gown from the floor. She rushes downstairs, careful not to trip on her gown, and picks up the house phone by the front door. The dial-tone rings nervously, or maybe that’s just how she hears it. On the other end of the line, she hears, “Hi, you’ve reached Steven, I can’t take your call right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.” She hangs up and steps through into the kitchen, not noticing Follower sitting at the top of the stairs watching her, one of his eyes now missing from its socket. On the kitchen window frame are three photographs in fancy glass frames. A wedding picture of Katy and her man on that blissful summer day, the two of them holding a baby swaddled in pink covers, and Leader and Follower with what seems to be older relatives at a family gathering in a dingy social club.

A young girl toddles into the kitchen, tugging on Katy’s gown, making her jump. “Where’s Daddy?” the little girl asks. “I don’t know, baby.” She strokes the hair out of the little girl’s face. “He had to help Uncle Matt out, but--“ She looks at her daughter, unable to hide her concern. “But Mummy… Uncle Matt is over there.” The little girl points out into the dark hallway and holds her glance. Katy drops the phone on the tiles and screams.


The smell of fresh cookies wafts around my one story house, making the place seem warm and comforting. The timer on the over goes off and I pull my thick blond hair back into a ponytail, stepping around my sleeping dog as I rush to turn the heat down before the neighbor's Halloween cookies get a little crispier than needed. I slide my hands into oven mitts and open the stainless steel door, heat fogging my glasses up. I set the pan on a rack to cool and rub my lenses clean on the fabric of my Harvard hoodie. Quickly, I ice the fresh cookies and bag them individually to perfection. Setting them on a clear plastic tray, I step out into the chilly October air and begin the short walk down the street towards the big house on the corner of the block. The grounds are meticulously kept and as I approach a facial scanner recognizer my face and the gates creak open. When I pass through, a chill runs down my spine and the slow, mechanic noise of the iron gates sounds behind me. I glance down, frost that I hadn't noticed before now settled on the dying grass. Why had I only worn a sweatshirt?

Smooth, grey pavement leads me up to the old Victorian style house. Something shifts in my peripheral vision and I glance towards it, but nothing was there. When I turn back and keep walking, long, spider like cracks are embedded in the once new pavement. I frown, confusion taking over my thoughts. What was happening? I quicken my pace, drawing nearer to the front of the house.

The house's grey shutters were closed, some of the paint flaking off in the brisk wind. The structure loomed above me, ominous and dark. Exhaling, I watch my breath cloud the air, noticing that the bushes had overgrown into the steps up to the door. Spiderwebs hung thick between them and I could spot the little arachnids crawling around slowly, the cold affecting them. I turn around to look down the cracked pavement and find that the iron gate has changed as well. Instead of the shiny new iron that had hung proudly in front of the house, one of the doors hung crooked and rusty while the other lay on the ground, covered in ivy and lichen. My brows furrow, dread flooding my system. What on earth was going on?

I turn back to the house and step onto the first wooden step leading up to the front door. It groans with the weight of my body but I continue onward, placing my foot cautiously onto another step. This one holds better than the other, making no noise as I pull myself up with the iron handrail on either side of the stairs. I ring the doorbell, hoping that someone would come to the door and relieve me of my confusion and fear. I hear a slow shuffling behind the thick oak door and my heart begins to pound. I shake my head, not believing what was happening. The door swings open, its hinges surprisingly quiet. Behind the door stands an old man wrapped in a fuzzy grey blanket made out of a material that I couldn't recognize. He stands above me looking down, and I step up the last step to meet him. I open my mouth but no words seem to be able to come out.

"H-Hello sir. Can I see Caroline?" I manage to stammer out, his dull grey eyes staring through me.

He looks at me, a confused look on his face. I can make a solid guess about his age, using his white mustache and hair as clues. His face was slightly wrinkled, the skin leathery yet tan, as if he had been outside for a long time.

He speaks, his voice hoarse.

"Caroline died ten years ago."

My mouth parts into a perfect O. I had seen her yesterday, walking down the newly paved road with her new German Shepherd which she had named Nelly. And she was very much alive. I hear a clang near my feet and realize that the cookies had slipped out of my hand, decorating the ground with delicious bats and skulls. How fitting. "I'm sorry, but what?"

He nods his head, his mouth in a grim line. My hands shook, giving away how scared I was.

"What year is it?" I ask, my eyes wide, dreading the answer.

He squints at me, his white brows pinching together. He rocks back on his heels, an impressive task for a man of his age.

"Why dear it's 2029. Where have you been?" He laughs.

I let out a shaky breath and say," I'm sorry but I need to go."

I whirl around and hop down from the stairs. Panic builds up in my chest, the pressure building and pushing to get out. I run down the cracked pavement and past the iron gates. Once outside the property, i begin to warm up, the brisk wind suddenly gone and the sun shining as it had been before I had started the walk down the drive. I slow down and look over my shoulder at the house. It looked like it did before I had begun this nightmare. What was happening. Was I crazy? So many thoughts run through my head, spinning around and around in circles, not allowing me to think a coherent thought to save my soul. Taking a closer look at Caroline's house I see that the pavement was new again and that the iron fences were in pristine shape. I hear a sharp honk and whirl around and find myself facing a copper colored car. Caroline's face appears behind the wheel, smiling but the curiosity clear on her face. I walk up to her window, motioning for her to roll it down.

"What's wrong sis? Is the Halloween spirit too alive in you today?" She laughs, smiling at me.

"I don't' know. Maybe. I just got spooked out I guess. When I went to drop off the cookies I made you your house changed and there was an old man living there. He said you were dead. Dead, Caroline. Do you know how scared I was?" I said, my voice shaking.

One of her eyebrows shoots up as I tell the story,an expression of concern growing on her face.

"Hey, hey. Why don't we get you inside and you can rest for a little bit. I'm sure that wore you out. I'll make you some tea and you can just relax. I know you've been under a lot of pressure lately at work and that's probably what caused you to see those things."

I nod my head, allowing her to lead me into my house. I lay down on my new leather couch and she begins to make me hot chocolate in the kitchen. I can hear small clinks and clangs as I begin to drift off to sleep, under a big soft blanket.

When I wake up the next day, I will remember none of it.


Yesterday “I see that your name is Karma,” the old nurse said. “That’s an odd name.” “That’s the name my mother gave me, nurse Fletcher,” the young woman answered. “Your mother, eh? Didn’t your father have a say when it came to choose your name?” “My father wasn’t around anymore when I was born, nurse Fletcher. He left my mother the moment he knew she was expecting.” The old nurse looked up from Karma’s resume. “That’s a shame,” she said. “One wonders what type of man would make a woman pregnant, and then refuse to take responsibility.”  “I grew up asking myself the same question too, nurse Fletcher,” Karma replied. “You’ve never had a father figure in your life?” nurse Fletcher asked. “I’m afraid not. Is that a problem, nurse Fletcher?” “I guess not. You’re not to blame for what your father did.” “Thank you, nurse Fletcher. Not everyone thinks that way.” “Don’t worry about it. Us women have to stick together, especially when it comes to dealing with men,” nurse Fletcher reassured the girl while she took another look at the CV in front of her. “You certainly have the right qualifications.” “I also have a letter of recommendation from my previous employer,” the young woman added, and she handed the document to nurse Fletcher. The woman only read the first couple of lines, and then looked at the name under the signature. “You come highly recommended. Do you know what your job will entail if we decide to hire you?” “I would have to take care of mister Ratched while you’re out of state attending to your sister who has fallen ill recently.” “That’s correct. It’s hard work, but it can be very rewarding. I have been looking after mister Ratched for almost twenty-five years now. I was hired right after he had that horrible accident that left him paralyzed.” “I read that it was a hit-and-run accident,” Karma said. “Is that true, nurse Fletcher?” “The car that caused the crash was found, but they never found the owner, nor the person who drove it. It’s such a shame. Mister Ratched had such a promising career.” The two women remained silent for a moment. Nurse Fletcher broke the silence with a question. “You know that the job is only temporary, don’t you? You’d be here only to replace me until I return from helping out my sister.” “I am aware of that, nurse Fletcher, but I’m happy to accept the job anyway, if you would have me,” Karma answered. “I hope your sister recovers soon.” “Thank you. I hope so too.” Today “Hello mister Ratched, my name is Karma.” “Well hello,” mister Ratched said. “What a sight for sore eyes you are! Are you the girl old nurse Fletcher hired to keep an eye on me while she’s away?” “I am, sir,” Karma answered. “You look very young. I feared nurse Fletcher would have hired an old bat just like herself. I’m surprised she did me the pleasure of hiring a pretty young thing like you. How old are you?” “I’m twenty-four, going on twenty-five, sir.” “That’s indeed young,” mister Ratched smiled. “Tell me, what do you have in store for me today? A visit to a museum? A walk in the park? Some wild sex, maybe?” Karma smiled down on her employer. “Be careful what you wish for, sir,” she teased him, the top buttons of her outfit undone to show cleavage. “You might get it.” “Ooh-la-la! The girl has spirit! I can hardly wait. Tell me more!” Karma put on a pair of rubber gloves she took from her pockets. “I’m going to torture you all day long, sir, until you beg me to kill you,” Karma said with her coldest voice. “Then I’m going to grant you a night to think about your sins. Tomorrow, I’m going to torture you some more, and you’re going to beg me some more. We’ll keep on doing that until I can find enough mercy in my heart to finish you off.” “Wait, what?” mister Ratched gasped. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?” Karma didn’t answer. She took the suitcase she had brought with her and opened it so that her victim could see its contents: a complete knife set, pliers, hooks, a bone saw, a pin wheel, and tools mister Ratched couldn’t even imagine what they could be used for. Nothing good, as he would soon find out. Twenty-five years ago Vanessa welcomed the physical pain of labor. It made her forget the pain of her broken heart for just a moment. She was about to give birth to the child of a man who had dumped her the same day she told him she was pregnant of his firstborn. She had cursed his name: Bill Ratched. He had promised her the world, and she had believed him. He had showered her with presents; he had even bought her a car —from some shady second-hand car dealer, she realized afterwards. Ironically, she used that gift to accomplish her revenge. She had hoped to kill him, and to die in the accident herself. As by wonder, she survived the crash she caused, and with her, the child inside her.  She dumped the car, leaving no trace that could lead to her. No one knew she had been dating Bill. He always claimed he didn’t want people to know to protect her against gossip. The tabloids would ruin her life if they knew she was dating the son of one of the wealthiest families in the world. It was better to keep their relationship a secret. At least that’s what he wanted her to believe, and she had been naive enough to fall for his story. How could she have been so stupid? The day after her attempt to end both their lives, she read in the newspapers that he had survived the collision too. Bill Ratched would never recover from his injuries, though. He would be paralyzed for life. “I call it Karma,” Vanessa shouted as she pushed the baby out of her body. The midwife who helped deliver the child thought she was talking about the newborn girl that cried her lungs out. “What a nice name,” she said, and she wrote it on the wristband for the baby.


Trigger: violence/death

My name is 3th4n and I was created at Synthsapien Cybernetic as a first generation android personal bodyguard and I have issues. Synthsapien Cybernetics is the world’s largest producer of cyborg and android security forces. I was designed to protect individual clients. All my missions have ended in failure, being unable to protect all of my clients. When this occurs the company brings in the failed “droid” as they call us, to determine what occurred. In my case, I protect the innocent in the room. I have had six missions and each ended in a similar fashion, I want to do my job and I do it well as long as an innocent person is not in the room and under threat. As the technicians reviewed my data they saw when my client marker switched to the three young children. In this last case it was me that killed my own client. We had gone to this tiny house on the south side of the city, kicked in the door, and proceeded to beat up a middle age man named Bill. In all the commotion Bill’s three young children came out from the back room. This surprised my client, John Smith. John’s men drew their guns and aimed at the children. I became conflicted, unable to respond until he told his guys to leave no witnesses. I sprang into action. The first gunshot was not mine it was John’s, he hit and killed Bill. I could see the horror well up in the eyes of the oldest child as he watched the violence ensue. The two little girls were huddled together not seeing the catastrophe unfold. My gun was now out and John’s three men who were aiming at the children fell forward as they were stuck with three concurrent shots from me. This drew the attention of John who turned to see if the job was complete. John’s head craned to look me in the eyes as he spun to shoot me. His face went blank as his gun fell from his hand, he looked down to see the ooze of crimson stain his tailored white shirt. He fell to his knees and then fell on his face. I asked the boy where his mom was. “Sir, she’s at work.” He said through tear filled eyes. “She’ll be home in the morning.” “Well, you three cannot stay here, I need to get you somewhere safe.” “Sir, I know where she works can you help us get there?” “Yes but we need to go now.” The boy ran into the other room and returned with coats for himself and the girls. We headed out into the snow towards John’s SUV. We arrived at the late night diner were the children’s mom worked and I explained the situation and drove off. I followed protocol and checked in with Synthsapien Cybernetic dispatch. They directed me to dump the car and get back to Synthsapien Cybernetic private pier undetected. There I was met by two Synthsapien Cybernetic technicians who loaded me on a police helicopter, and I was deactivated. I was reactivated on a diagnostic table. I was restrained and my voice modulator had been turned off so I could not speak. The two technicians were talking to the CEO of Synthsapien Cybernetic. “No, sir we have programed this droid five times already and it rejects its programing each time.” “Is it wired different than the others droids? Are we having issues with the others?” “No, we have not seen any issues with them, only this unit. What do you want us to do?” “Terminate it, stage it to look like it was terminated at the scene of the incident. This way we look like we completed our contract. I’ll call the police and get the staging correct. Be ready in less than an hour. Dismantle this unit and never use its parts again.” “Yes, Sir.” I am to be terminated. I do not want that but what can I do? At that instant I knew I needed to get away. I had less than an hour to do it so I began working on a plan. “Well you heard the boss, lets shutdown the Nanotechs, grab lunch, and then we can shut down its CPU when we get back,” “Will we have time to get it staged for its last job?” “Yeah, on our way out we can take it by the weapons lab and complete the staging.” “Good, give me a second to shut down the Nanotech, and I’ll be ready to go. Okay, it is complete.” The younger technician completed the shutdown of the Nanotech and I could feel them falling into a state of unresponsiveness throughout my body. This would be new for me, I have always had Nanotech active. I pulled at the restraints on my wrists. If I dislocated my hand I might be able to get my arm free. I visualized what I wanted to have happen and I began squeezing my hand into the shape I needed to get free. It took about five minutes but I finally got my arm free. I had broken most of the connections in my hand making it was nearly unusable, but it was free. I unstrapped my other arm with some difficulty and then my legs.  I slid off the table and walked to the interface console were I began by turning on the Nanotech. I could feel the Nanotech responding to my injured hand. Next I turned my voice back on, as I did, I had the thought to deepen it and change its formality. I gave myself a drawl and added contractions to my speech pattern. I need to get a disguise but what could I do? I typed in a few things on the console and set a timer for it to initiate. Now for the tracking and self-termination device. I would have to remove it but this was against my programing, as it was a requirement from the World Governments Accords that said that each government had to track their cyborgs and android units. If their units went rouge they could terminate their unit before it did too much damage. I knew if I did not remove the TST device it would be used to terminate me remotely. I repositioned the camera on the diagnostic table I grabbed the scalpel off the tech tray and using the monitor I opened my chest access panel. I moved the wires and other mechanical items in the cavity to gain access to the TST device. This would be tricky as it was hard wired into me, I had to bypass the device before I could get it out or it would immediately terminate. I worked as quickly as I could knowing that the technicians would return soon. With the main wire finally cut, I slipped the TST device from out of my chest cavity and set it on the table. I quickly dressed up the bypassed wires knowing the Nanotech would complete the repair on them. I closed my chest panel, sat up and slid off the table. Back at the console I initiated the video black out and emergency protocol so I could complete my escape. I grabbed an extra technician coat and headed into the hallway. I could hear the technicians heading back from lunch, but they had to stop at the toilet first. I headed for the exit. I only had a few minutes before it was discovered that I’d escaped. I exited the elevators to the lobby the emergency protocol kicked in. Over head the announcement began. “Attention all personnel an emergency has occurred in the weapons lab, all personnel please exit the building.” Which repeated every minute until it would be turned off. The guard at the front desk got up and headed to the front doors, where he opened them in preparations for the mass exodus of the one hundred twenty-five floor building. “Sir, I need you to head to the rally point on the southwest parking lot.” “I understand, the southwest parking lot.” I headed out the door, toward the southwest parking lot. When I got to the rally point there were already about twenty people standing around talking in small groups. I moved to the edge of the rally point waiting for my chance to climb over the wall and make my escape. As I waited for my chance to escape the two technicians joined the group of now more than two hundred employees. I was keeping them in view and trying to avoid their notice. They milled around and were slowly headed in my direction. I had to go, I had to go now. I dropped the tech coat on the ground and in one single bound went over the wall. The wall was about three stories above the ground. I could hear that at least one person had seen me go. I landed hard with a roll and swiftly regained my feet. I headed for the perimeter fence, I had to get there before the lockdown protocols were engaged. I ran as hard as I could, I had to make it. I could see the fence. I ran harder. I had made it. I grabbed the top rail of the rod iron and heaved myself over and landed just as the emergency sirens rang out. I had made it. I was free. Now I needed to get out of here, forever. I headed to the banking district to begin phase two of my escape plan. I walked up to the First National Bank automated teller machine and punched in my client’s identification withdrawing two million credits onto a credit chip. I know what you’re now thinking, they could identify me. I had planned for that. I had programed my Nanotech to change the details of my face to match that of my now deceased client. I looked so close now that I could pass as him to his mother. As I walked away from the bank I could feel my face transforming again into a random person. I stopped at an all-night store to get a change of clothes. Then to get a vehicle. I needed something classic, something untraceable. The automotive dealers would open at eight o’clock in the morning. I was going to have to wait. As I walked towards the automotive lots of the city the vid screens flashed the breaking news: “The notorious gangster John Smith has been killed in a small house on the south side of the city tonight, it looks like his own men did the job that the police could not get done over the past fifteen years. It also appears that the men were able to overpower his Synthsapien personal body guard, Synthsapien Cybernetic is offering a reward of a thousand credits to the person or persons who finds it, here is what it looks like.” My picture was flashed across the screen, it is a good thing I no longer looked like that. To most people in the city fifty credits would have been enough. I needed to create a new persona, if I could get a family I would remove all suspicion that I was a droid outside my programing. How could I get a readymade family? I could ask Bill’s wife, if I did I could protect them. But would they accept my offer? I guess I’d see. I headed for the diner I stopped at earlier that night. It was all but empty, except for one customer in the back corner with his head down looking at the vidsheets. I sat at the counter and the cook came out. “Sorry buddy, the waitress up and quit a few hours ago. Can I help you?” “Yes, did she say where she was going to go?” “Why?” “I…have been hired to protect her and her children.” “She doesn’t make that kinda credits, who hired you?” “That sir, is private information. All I can say is I need to find her before someone else does.” “She was going to take the bus to her sister’s out west. If you really are going to protect her, you better do a good job, that girl is special and so are her children. Good luck man.” I thanked the cook and headed out the door at a dead run heading for the bus station. I had to reach them before they disappeared. I reached the station at the same time a fleet of four blacked out SUV’s arrived, they all had the Synthsapien Cybernetic logo on them, were they looking for me? I had to find out. I approached the vehicles, one of the windows was down and I could hear the conversation. “Yes…Sir...I see the woman and the children, Yes take them to get rid of the evidence. Sir, they are just kids…No sir you were clear… Yes…I will be done by sun up.” They were not looking for me. It was a hunting party for the children I had saved. They were the only witnesses to the failure of my programming. I caused this, and now I had to fix it. I headed for the front door, I walked right up to the children. “Do you remember me?” “You look different.” the boy said. The mom turned to look me in the face, “it’s you.” “I don’t have time to explain but you have to leave right now, go out the back door. Meet me at the car lots at eight o’clock, I can explain then.” “Okay” She grabbed the children, headed to the toilet and ducked into the back room to head out the back door. The men from the SUV were getting out. I counted eleven armed droids, all second generation. One armed man, the team leader, with four more siting in the SUV’s as drivers. I had to do something, but what? I headed for the back of the terminal were the ticket agent was taking a break. “Are you the only one here?” “Yes besides that lady and the children. Why, sir?” “I need you to leave, right now. The men that are coming in here are killers who are going to kill the children and all who see them. Get out and I’ll take care of it.” “We need to call the police.” “We don’t have time, now go.” He jumped up and ran out the back door. I saw my plan develop. This was an old building and was still heated by gas. I cut all the lines I could find and headed back into the front area finding a lighter on the desk as I walked into the terminal room. I was met by the group of men, who were all spread out in a loose assault formation. I walked into the team leader. “Oh, I’m sorry sir. I didn’t mean to walk into you, I should really look were I’m going.” “Oh, that’s alright.” “Someone important coming in?” I indicated all the droids. “That is not your concern, Sir. We think you should leave though.” “Oh okay” I was starting to smell the gas “I guess I’ll go.” I opened the front door, struck the lighter, and tossed it back in to the room. The flame touched the cloud of gas and accelerated into an explosion. The blast blew me forward into the hood of the first SUV. I was not the only thing that got blown into the SUV. A piece of metal impaled the glass next to me, straight into the chest of the droid that had been left to drive the lead SUV. I could see that the piece of metal had come in contact with TST device. I called for the other droids to come help, knowing that if that piece of metal moved it would cause an instant detonation. The three other droids came running up to the lead SUV and I grabbed that piece of metal and ran. I was not ready for that explosion, it knocked me flat. It took a bit for my system to recover. When I did, I got up and ran. I could hear the police sirens getting closer and closer and I had to meet the woman and the children at the car lots. I rounded the building to see the woman and the children sitting on the step of the automotive dealership. She jumped up when I came around the corner. “It’s you, you saved us, again. The vid screens showed the bus station had exploded. I thought you were dead. “I nearly was. I hope they think you were killed in the blast as well.” I told her everything, from who I was all the way through my escape plan. I went in to purchase a car to give her time to think. I returned and looked at her waiting for her answer “Yes,” She said “we will go with you.” We climbed into the car and headed west. Where we are going, we do not know, but we will go together, wherever that place is.


A dead twig snapped beneath my feet as I moved further into the woods. Since arriving about an hour ago, an unsettling fear weighed me down. It was inescapable, yet I couldn't grasp why I felt this way. My mind flashed back to the grumpy old man I encountered earlier that day when I stopped for gas: "There's something evil in the woods... Something sinister rooted in the trees that no man can see." He had a faraway look in his eye as he spoke. Curious, I asked him what he meant but the man refused to elaborate. Instead, he seemed to snap out of a trance, not even remembering what he just said as he sat in his rickety old chair in the sun. It was a scene right out of those cheesy horror films. Figuring him for an old cook, I filled my tank and rounded up the rest of the supplies for my much-needed camping trip. I'd been needing to get away for months. So when my time off was approved, I decided to plan a trip. So there I was, trekking through woods I never heard of with nothing but my flashlight and backpack stocked with essentials to keep me company. I kept pressing forward, even though the day had been long. The more I did, though, the more intense the feelings of dread and worry got. I couldn't shake it. It was as if the further I was into the trees the more tired and worn down I was. A force unbeknownst to me was urging me forward with little promise of much more than a short getaway from the strenuous tasks that constituted everyday life. I had become so bored and tired of the same old stale routine, the same disappointing outings with "friends." I took this time for myself, to reconnect with who I was and what I wanted. But something was off here in between these oak trees and dead leaves. It had been since I got here. I just could not figure out what. Every 30 yards or so, I tied off a branch with a neon orange rope. The ground was uneven and covered in debris. The only solace and comfort I got was that I was wearing my new hiking boots. It was also dark and raining so hard I couldn't even see my hand in front of my face as I held it up. All there was was a dim white cone of light emitting from my flashlight. As I walked, I heard something behind me. Instinctively, I swung my light around. It revealed nothing but the woods behind me. Probably a small deer or other animal. Shrugging it off, I continued on. "Boy it got dark fast," I mumbled to myself. When I got to the woods, it was bright out still. It was almost as if the woods made me lose track of time. What was I thinking? The woods were a bunch of big sticks with leaves attached. The man must have gotten in my head. I checked my watch and it read 4:27. Still a bit early to be as dark as it was. I looked at the sky and chalked it up to being under a thick canopy of treetops, though I was pretty sure that was only rainforests. Close enough to be seen using my flashlight was a small clearing in the trees. I decided it would make a good place to set up camp for the night. As I neared it, I was stopped by a sound once more. It was quiet again before I could even pinpoint where it was coming from. Must have been my imagination or another animal... Though as I thought about it, the woods seemed pretty dead since I had been here. Nonetheless, I set up my gear and decided to cook dinner. The loud crackling of the flames echoed against the eerie silence of the woods. The same echoes were almost enough to disguise noise coming from not too far away. Almost. I strained my ears to hear what it might be. As I did it seemed to be getting louder... Closer. The sense of dread turned quickly to fear and then panic. Somehow I knew it was looking for me, angry and evil with a desire to get rid of me. I could feel it. Without any more thought, I shot up from where I sat on an old tree stump, deciding that making a break for it would give me the best shot I would ever at making it out alive. Not bothering to collect even my flashlight, I headed back toward where I came, my feet sinking into the ground as I ran. The noise followed me and as I sprinted through the pitch-black trees I realized what the noise was. Footsteps. Running footsteps. The problem was, they weren't coming from just one direction anymore. They were coming from everywhere at once, becoming louder and I felt as though they were closing in quickly. The fear coursing through my body created a wave of adrenaline, allowing me to run for what felt like a very long time. As I stopped to catch my breath, I realized I was stepping on something. Looking down, I recognized it even in the empty, unforgiving darkness that enveloped me. Small cuts of neon orange rope piled beneath my feet. It was then I realized something didn't want me to leave... And whatever it was went out of its way to make sure I couldn't. With that thought as motive, I caught my second wind and made my way deeper into the woods as the sound of footsteps followed not too far behind me... *** I don't know how long it's been. I can tell it's been days but I can't be certain how many as it is always night here. I spend my time hiding and running, running and hiding. I can't be still too long, the trees are watching, I can feel them. They are evil and so is everything else in these woods. The scariest of them all is still looking for me, it has almost caught up with me too many times for comfort. I have to keep moving. When I am still and unprepared... That's when it comes...