"Finish your dinner son, it's almost time" came his father's voice from the hallway. Andromeda hurried and finished his steak and salmon dinner, washing it down with some sweet red wine. He set down his glass and bolted from the dining room, knowing that the servants would quickly clean up after him. He caught up to his father and followed him down the hallway and out the back door. The evening mountain breeze was cool and brought the smell of the flower gardens to Andromeda's nose. His father stopped and looked at him for a moment. "Today is possibly the most important day of your life, certainly the day that you will remember the most". Without waiting for a reply his father took off and headed towards the wooded path. Andromeda gulped and followed, anxiety building with each step. Andromeda followed his father down the dark tree-covered path and into the next clearing. The tall iron gates of the family cemetery stood before him. In the 18 years he had been alive, today was to be the first time he was ever allowed into the graveyard. They both stood and admired the ancient metalwork for a while in silence. The gates held the family crest in its center with depictions of armies on each side with a gigantic tree in the background. Finally, Andromeda found his voice " Dad, what is going to happen when we pass through these gates? What will I see?". His father smiled slightly and turn to him. "Past these gates, you will see the end, the beginning, horror, and wonders." He hesitated a moment as if to reflect on what he just said, nodding slowly he continued. " You will see the power of the collective human consciousness at work." As soon as he finished speaking the gates shuddered and opened up. Past the gates laid a stone path lined with torches and hooded figures. They began to slowly walk forward, Andromeda looking all around him at the shrouded people and the ancient tombstones behind them. They continued on the path until they reached a large mausoleum at the base of the mountain. The stone crypt was guarded by several large men in dark armor that Andromeda didn't recognize. The doors to the tomb looked to be hand-carved from some sort of expensive hardwood. The carvings showed wolves and giants in battle. The doors groaned and opened up revealing a dark chamber beyond. "Past these doors son...you will learn that our family has a dark history and a darker secret. Our ancestors have had to do some terrible things to maintain the power we have and unfortunately for us. We have to continue or everything will be destroyed." Andromeda felt a slight twinge of sickness in his stomach. "What kind of terrible thing?" He asked his father, scared of the answer. His father sighed and suddenly looked 10 years older. "Murder, genocide, war, the birth and death of religions, manipulation of currency and the media, and even the destruction of nations". Came his reply. " In truth" continued his father. "Our family deserves the worst of punishments, but we can't allow that to happen...we must continue this dark fight and here shortly you'll see why." Andromeda nodded, trusting his father even as the feeling of dread filled his heart. They walked side by side through the chamber and down a long, dark staircase. After what seemed like an hour Andromeda could see light flickering ahead. Sweat trickled down his back regardless of the damp coolness of the subterranean stairs. Arriving at the final landing he took stock of his surroundings. Ahead of him stood a company of soldiers in the strange armor the men outside had been wearing. Behind them stood two massive wooden doors with intricate carvings and heavy black chains. A strange vibration radiated from the wood. A soldier walked over to him and his father and handed them strange helmets. "Wear these helmets, it's the only way to protect yourself from the chaos on the other side of these doors." His father thanked the soldier and slid the helmet over his head. Andromeda asked, "what exactly do we need to be protected from?" His father's muffled reply came from the helmet in Andromeda's hands "have you ever heard the scream of an angel or the cries of a demon? Without these helmets, our minds and souls will shatter". Andromeda pulled on his helmet and felt his heart skip a beat. The heavy black chains began to shake as they pulled back into the walls. The doors slowly creaked open and Andromeda felt his father push him forward and they both passed over the threshold. The doors slammed behind them. Andromeda gawked in confused amazement. The ceiling of the massive cave he now stood in was hidden by a swirling cluster of stars and planets, lightning flashed in clouds and thunder tore through the massive space. The floor of the chamber was a mix of broken pathways and pillars, the flow of a hellish fire illuminated the room. Directly ahead of him a man was chained to a pillar. He wore armor that was rusted and dented, behind him was two massive white wings. The wings were broken and tired together. The man had nails stuck in his eyes. Behind his pillar was a massive giant of a man with a red beard. He was chained in a similar fashion. Slowly Andromeda realized that there were countless beings chained to pillars and walls. All of them in terrible and broken conditions. Andromeda looked desperately to his father for an answer. " Religion" "What?" His father placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly. "Religion, you're looking at religion. That winged man is the Archangel Michael and behind him is the Norse God Thor. Our secret is that we have imprisoned the Gods. We keep them here until they completely fade away from memory. Unfortunately, though, the Gods gain and lose power as humans lose faith or start believing in these powerful entities." A terrible scream tore through the air and pushed Andromeda to his knees. His father continued calmly. "Humans create gods through the power of belief. The more people who believe in the Gods, the more powerful they become. Our great ancestors knew this and began a war on religion. They were shown a technology that allowed them to find and subdue these all-powerful creatures. A technology that the men outside of this prison use currently to hunt down and capture them. It's a constant fight and one we are starting to lose." Andromeda was having difficulty comprehending what he was seeing and hearing. "Who...who gave us the tech?" "A powerful being from another world, yes you could say that a god gave us the tech so we would remove all of the other gods for it's the inevitable occupation of our Earth. Not only do we use its technology, but we have also worked ever so hard to discredit all religions. Our efforts have backfired greatly though. We created the Abrahamic religions in an attempt to control the population. All we have gotten though are countless versions of God, Satan, and endless war. We now have a resurgence of Norse Paganism and that terrifies me. The last thing I want is Fenrir to break free." Andromeda's mind was numb, he was on the verge of a panic attack and his mind couldn't absorb any more of the truth he was seeing. "Welcome to the endless war, to the family power, to the service of our Lord who you will learn about starting tomorrow, and ultimately...our guaranteed doom.


Rain drowned the world in terror as it passed, men and women hid their children between trembling arms. "Father," whispered the glowing gal." Why are we hiding? It's just rain, isn't it?" Her father rested his palm on the little girl's mouth, sweating like a rainy cloud. "Shush!" He said in a voice hardly heard."Just stay quiet and wait for the storm to pass." The girl still couldn't understand why her father was scared, yet she still obeyed for she had never seen him like this. Then it came. A shriek so mighty it nearly split the sky in two, followed by an earth shattering thud that sent the girl flying to the ceiling. "*This is it...*" A voice shook between the crowds. "*We're done for...*" Another trembled. the girl felt her father's tears falling between her hair, she looked up, seeing the man covered in his own tears. "I'm sorry."He held the girl tight. "I can't do anything to save us...no one can. " The gal found herself tearing up."Fathe--" Her voice faded away as she finally noticed what was peeking from the window. A massive, black, grotesque face watched them with twinkling white dots for eyes. suddenly, the ceiling above them rose, revealing the dark, raining sky. Everyone went silent, no one could even dare to move. They all understood what was about to happen, it was inevitable. Death took the form of a shiny arm that descended upon them, it seized the girl's father and slowly lifted him up towards the clouds. His daughter simply stood and watched as her only parent escaped her grasp. "I'm sorry...for everything." The father forced a final smile towards his daughter, slowly feeling his bones crumble from the monster's grip. The beast opened its enormous mouth for its meal, letting everyone witness the man getting devoured before their eyes. Prayers haunted the place as the silence faded to muffled screams and cries. As for the girl, she didn't pray, didn't cry, did not even let out a scream. She just watched. Watched as what was left from her father's blood was scooped by the monster that just stole the life of the only person who she still cared for. She felt nothing as the rest of the people fed the beast's insatiable hunger one after the other. Then came her turn, the monster's hand grabbed her as she finally screamed. *Why?* The girl wondered as the creature stretched it's jaws. *What did we do to deserve this?* The blood stinking breath of the monster made the girl vomit in an instant. She cried as the red teeth closed in to embrace her. The rain grew louder and louder, the sounds of crackling thunder sent a rumbling through the heavens. A swoosh sent the monster crying louder than any of it's victims ever did, the beast threw the girl to the ground and continued to wallow in pain. The girl's vision went blurry from the fall, but she could still see the figure that stood before the beast. A man donning a round, tall, black hat wore a rain coat as black as the night's sky. He extended a hand to his side and the rain gathered between his fingers, the rain drops slowly took the shape of a translucent blade. "Run along, kid."He said as he readied his weapon to strike."These Rain Dwellers spare no soul." The Rain Dweller smacked it's hand on the ground, aiming to squish the man. He however, dodged the giant arm with ease and proceeded to run his blade through the beast's fingers, cutting two and leaving three. The monster cried out again, this time even louder. It struck with its other hand and sent the man's hat flying to the sky, revealing his long, white hair that shone as it fluttered against the strong wind. The monster then unleashed a barrage of punches on the ground, causing the man to lose his balance. "Sly fucker!" The man sent his weapon flying towards the beast's face, sticking right on it's eye. The Rain Dweller screamed in anguish, covering its face with his badly damaged hands. The man extended two hands to his side, turning the rain into two, stunning blades.He jumped on the screaming beast and swung his dual blades at it with inhuman speed. Each swing sent a piece of the Rain Dweller's flesh flying to the sky. By the time the man was done, almost nothing remained of the creature's corpse. He took his hat from the ground and wore it as he embraced the warmth of the sun that peeked from the dissipating clouds. "I thought I told you to run." The man finally noticed the girl. "Wh-Who are you?" She could barely speak after all she had witnessed. The man approached her and Knelt down to meet her eyes. "Me? Well I am no one you need to know, I am but a humble Rain Wielder." He wiped the blood off her forehead. "I'm sure this has been quite the day for you. You should get some rest. Come, I'll take you to the upper city." "What upper city? There's nothing but small villages near here." "Oh, how oblivious you are." He chuckled. "Just follow me, can you walk?" "Y-Yeah." The girl followed the Rain Wielder as he climbed up a small hill. "What's your name? " The man stopped and asked. "Uh, Lifa." She replied. "Well, Lifa, what you are about to witness is the result of countless years of struggle and death. A place made by the hands of those who survived through the restless rain that curses this land." He pulled out a golden key from his pocket. "This is the key to a heaven safe from monsters like the one you saw today." He waved the golden key in the air, going from left to right three times. And then, the clouds split, the sun sent golden rays that formed a stairway before them. "Come, Lifa, to man-made heaven." They ascended the endless stairway until buildings peeked from the horizon. Shortly, the city fully appeared, glorious towers sprawled across the limitless sky, hiding wonderful castles and buildings of all kinds that stood in the middle of this magnificent city. It truly was a heaven, there was no doubt about it. "Welcome to the new world, Lifa." The Rain Wielder smiled as he patted Lifa's shoulder. "No monster can harm you here. This is our world, humanity left the old one to rot a long time ago." Lifa teared up as she took in the sights, the thoughts of how different her life would have been if she'd lived here with her father clouded her mind. "Just tell me one thing." Lifa said. "Why are the streets empty, where is everyone?" The man's smile faded. "That's a good question...Perhaps you will find out soon enough." "What does that mean?" "Sorry, Lifa, I can't tell you anything, my job's only to lead people to this place, that's all." "But--" "No more questions! I have to go now, you should go get some rest, you've been through a lot." He turned his back to her and descended the golden stairway. "Goodbye, Lifa. I hope you find peace in this place...not many do." "Wait! Please don't leave me here!" She tried to follow him but a wall appeared in front of her. "Sorry..." Lifa turned to the city again, her feelings changed from relief to utter horror. What's wrong with this city? Where is everyone? Why did the man take her to this place? Alas, all the answers to her questions lay inside the false heaven, her only choice was to enter and see for herself. She let out a gasp as she saw the statue that stood after the gates, it looked exactly like the monster that man called a Rain Dweller.


My night shift in the Emergency Room began just like every other night shift. The waiting room was filled with the typical “emergent” runny noses and sore throats interlaced with the occasional true emergency of a chest pain, sports injuries or a patient potentially having a stroke. It always amuses me how the patients that truly are having an emergency are always so pleasant and thankful, while those that abuse the system regularly can be some of the meanest, nastiest and ungrateful people on the planet. As I was attending to a patient that came through the door clutching his chest, exhibiting all the classic symptoms of a heart attack, one of the obese frequent flyers grabbed my lab coat. Her filthy fat fingers tugged on my sleeve, almost spilling her 1 liter bottle of diet Coke as crumbs from her Popeye’s chicken fell from her disgusting mouth and down her purple sweatshirt. “Doctor, how much longer do I have to wait?” I replied impatiently, “Like I told you the last four times you were in here last week, I’m not a Doctor, I’m a Nurse, and if you have to ask how long you have to wait then you don’t need to be here. Now if you don’t mind, I am going to take care of this actual emergency.” I ushered the chest pain patient into the back, before the purple Tele-tubby drinking her diet Coke could respond. I got the gentleman settled into a gurney, got his shirt off and started working on an IV while the ER tech began placing the leads on his chest in order to obtain an EKG. Now you see, I work in a small rural ER. We have one doctor and one nurse per shift, about four ER technicians and two Emergency Medical Technicians. So you can probably imagine how quickly we can become busy and patients can get backed up. Especially when a true emergency comes through the door. As the doctor and I were attending to, and treating the gentleman with chest pain, we got a call from our regional call center to dispatch an ambulance for an attempted suicide. “Great! It’s going to be one of those nights” I thought to myself. As the EMTs where heading out the door and getting in the rig, the lead EMT called out to me. “Mike, I’ll call you on the radio as soon as we get on scene and let you know what we’ve got.” “Ok Tyler. Thanks.” I replied. We got “chest pain” dude stabilized and transferred over to the cardiac-cath lab. No sooner did we get that done when Tyler called in on the radio. “EMT-1 to ER, come in over.” “ER, send your traffic, over.” “Uh, ER…. we have a 23 year old male with a self inflicted gun shot wound to the head. No current signs of life, over.” “Roger that EMT-1. We’ll see you back in a few minutes then.” “Uh Mike,” Tyler said, “It ain’t that simple. “Whaddya mean?” I asked. “Well,” he began, “The Sheriff says that the ME is two counties to the north workin a case up there.” “Yeah, so what’s that have to do with us?” I asked. “Sheriff says that Doc J. has to pronounce the victim dead since the ME isn’t here.” “Well, I can’t let Doc leave.” I responded. “Yeah I know.” said Tyler, “That’s why we’re bringing the body back there.” “You’re What?” “Yep, we’re bringing him back.” Tyler stated, matter-of-factly. I paused for a few moments thinking about where we would put our new “Patient.” “Roger that. We’ll put him in the trauma bay.” and we ended the conversation. It was 10:30pm by the time Tyler and Scott got back with the body. Our trauma bay was only big enough for a single bed. We kept our adult and pediatric crash carts in there as well as our Pyxis medication station. I decided to close the bay doors to keep the looky-loos from getting too curious as Doc J. came into the room. “Put the five lead on him just so we can say for sure.” he said. I put the leads on the patient and turned the monitor on. The monitor showed no electrical activity, which was no surprise to anyone. “Okay,” Doc J. said, “let’s make time of death 2235.” “2235 it is.” I replied. “Okay Melissa, you can take the leads off now.” Melissa took the leads off and I pulled the sheet over the patient’s head. I then began the daunting task of getting a hold of the nursing supervisor so that she could call in the histology technician. Since our hospital was so small, our histo-tech also doubled as the morgue custodian. It took over an hour to get a hold of the tech, and she said that she was out of town, but could be there in an hour and a half. As the waiting room started to thin, I had to go into the trauma bay to pull meds from the Pyxis. In my line of work, I’ve been around many dead bodies but, the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. I tried to rationalize it as just being tired. I grabbed the meds, and left the room. About 15 minutes later, I had to get more medications. I was facing the Pyxis with my back towards the body. Again, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I could have sworn that I heard the sheet that covered the body rustle. I quickly turned around to look at the body. His right arm was hanging over the edge of the gurney. “Did we put both arms under the sheet or not?” I asked myself. I couldn’t remember. Either way, I was starting to get really creeped out. Every zombie movie that I had seen and every zombie book that I had ever read came flooding back into memory. I put his arm back on the gurney and under the sheet, and then I high-tailed it out of there. I was sitting at the nurses station about a half hour later when I realized that I forgot to do my pre-shift crash cart check-offs because of how busy we were. “Shit!” I mumbled under my breath. I really DID NOT want to go back in that room. I reluctantly got up, and headed in to do my checks. I was totally psyching myself out. As soon as I entered, I got that feeling again. The hair on my neck was standing straight up and so was the hair on my arms. “Knock it off” I told myself. I walked over to the crash cart and started performing my checks. I had my back to the body and I could have sworn that I heard that damn sheet rustle again. I quickly turned around, but everything was as I had previously left it. “See” I said out loud, “You’re just imagining things.” I turned back around to the crash cart and the door to the trauma bay flew open. I literally jumped and may or may not have let out a little squeal. Tyler walked in and said, “Hey boss, the histo-tech is almost here.” he said laughing. “Man, you should have seen your face. Quit being such a pussy.” “Fuck you!” I said to his back as he walked out laughing. I was almost done, and then I could get the hell out of this room. As I turned my attention back to the task at hand, I felt something brush against my butt and I jumped. I turned around thinking that I had probably just backed into the gurney. I felt all of the blood drain out of my face and was frozen with terror. I heard a low, almost inaudible moan coming from the body and the arm was out from under the sheet again. “Fuck this!” I said out loud as I bolted through the door. Tyler looked at me and started laughing again. “What’s the matter boss? You and the “patient” have a nice conversation?” “Something like that” I mumbled as I rapidly headed to the nurses station. “What?” Tyler asked chasing after me. “You’re freakin serious” he exclaimed. “It was nothing man” I replied, “Just my fucking imagination.” “Yo, you gotta tell me what happened man” Tyler said excitedly. “It was nothing” I shot back tersely. “Don’t you have vital signs to take?” I snapped at him. “What ever man. You’re losing it bro” he shot back as he turned to walk off. The histo-tech finally arrived around quarter after one in the morning. She walked into the trauma bay to survey the body. I purposefully stayed out. I didn’t want to go back in there if I didn’t have to. A couple of minutes later she came over to the nurses station and said, “I’m going to need help bringing him to the morgue. I can’t move him on the morgue gurney by myself. Also, can you come help me roll him? I have to get the body bag underneath him.” I sighed heavily and said “Sure. I’ll be right there.” I walked into the trauma bay and helped the tech put the body bag under the body. I stood on the side of the body and rolled the front side of it towards me. When I rolled him, blood oozed out from the exit wound on his head. “Take it easy pal.” It came from the body. I instinctively let go of the body and stepped back. The body rolled back towards the tech. “Hey, what the?” she exclaimed. “Did you hear that?” I asked incredulously. “Hear what?” she asked. “He told me to take it easy.” I explained. “Who” she asked. “Him” I pointed to the body. “Ha ha” she said, “Real funny.” “Jesus Christ. I must be losing my mind. Let’s just hurry this up and get it over with.” I said. We finished rolling the body and zipping up the body bag. As we were going out of the door heading towards the morgue, I grabbed a radio and shouted to the crew, “I’ll be right back. I’ve got the radio if you need me.” As we pushed the gurney down the hallway, I depressed the transmit button on the radio. “Radio Check.” nothing but static. “That’s unusual” I thought to myself. Our radios are digital so there’s never any static over the network. I shrugged it off, and kept going. As we got closer to the morgue, more and more static was emitting from the radio. I tried to call back to the ER, but there was no response. The tech unlocked and opened the door. “That’s weird” she said and stopped in her tracks. “What’s weird?” I asked. “Well, I purposefully left the lights on when I left because I knew that we were coming right back down. Now they’re off.” “Well,” I started, “They’re probably on motion sensor. If there’s no movement, they shut off to conserve energy like the rest of the hospital.” “No,” she replied, “We haven’t received those upgrades yet.” So, as much as I didn’t want to, I walked into the pitch black morgue, and turned the lights on. I walked into the other two rooms inside the morgue and turned those on too. “Nobody here.” I said. We wheeled the body in and the tech went over to the refrigeration unit and pulled out the morgue’s gurney. All of the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck were standing up again. I looked at the tech and said, “Ya know, I’ve been around a lot of death, being in Afghanistan and working in the ER, and it’s never truly bothered me. But…Something about tonight is really freaking me out.” “You’re probably just tired. You’ve been working a lot of nights lately.” “Yeah, maybe.” The radio squawked. I picked it up and pressed the transmit button. “ER, this is Mike, over.” No response other than static. Lots of static. In fact there was continuos static as if it were a “hot mic”. The tech and I looked at each other. I shrugged and said, “Let’s hurry this up.” We moved the body onto the morgue gurney and from the radio through the static I heard, “Not yet.” It came through as a whisper. “Did you hear that?” I almost screamed at the tech. All of the color draining out of her face and her shaking hands told me that she had. We both simultaneously went to the gurney, and hurriedly rolled it into the refer and slammed the door shut. We both just stared at each other breathing heavily for about thirty seconds. The whisper from the radio became louder and louder until it became a yell. “not yet.” “Not Yet.” “NOT YET!” and then the radio went silent. THUMP. We both jumped. The thump came from the refer. We were both paralyzed with fear. Then the unmistakeable sound of a zipper being zipped, or should I say unzipped came from the refer. Now I swear to you. I’ve been in several fire fights, and ambushes and I’ve NEVER been frozen in fear. But this, this was different. This was something I hadn’t been trained for or experienced before. BANG! The tech and I both jumped. The bang came from the INSIDE of the refer door. BANG! There it was again. It was strong this time. You could actually see the door move from the strike. The banging continued, rapidly, not stopping. The tech and I exchanged a quick glance and then we both hauled ass out of there. She went out first, and I followed, slamming the door shut. “Lock the fucking door” I shouted frantically. Her hands were shaking as she did. We both ran as fast as we could back to the ER. We went to the break room, both out breath. Tyler looked at us and chuckled. “Why you guys out of breath? Gettin freaky in the morgue?” He looked over at us trying to see if maybe he was right and we must have looked pretty bad because he got real serious, real fast. “Holy shit, are you guys ok?” he asked. “What happened?” The tech started to speak, but I cut her off. “Nothing” I said sternly. “We just kind of psyched each other out is all.” and I shot her a quick look as if to say, “Don’t say a fucking word.” She almost imperceptibly shook her head. I left the break room, went to the nurses station and called the nursing supervisor. When she answered, I said “Listen, I need you to get down here right away.” “What’s the matter?” she asked groggily, clearly annoyed. “Just get down here” I said, and hung up the phone. When she walked into the ER, she looked pissed. She came up to me and was about to read me the riot act and then stopped. She looked at me and said, “Are you ok? You look pale.” “No” I said, “That’s why I called you down here. I’m very sick and I have to leave.” “Well,” she began, “You can’t leave until I get someone in here to cover for you.” “Look,” I snapped at her, “I’m not asking for your fucking permission.” I grabbed my keys and headed for the parking lot. I must have been doing at least 80mph on the way home. I ran to my front door, put the key in the lock, opened and went through the door. I quickly slammed it shut and made sure that it was locked. I went upstairs, pulled out the 12 gauge and loaded it with slugs. I took it with me and went down into the kitchen, took out my bottle of Jack Daniels, and took a long pull from the bottle. It burned like hell, but soon after, my hands finally stopped shaking. I went back to the front door just to make sure that it was locked. I went back upstairs, and turned all of the lights and the TV on. I laid down on the bed with my shotgun across my chest, and then started laughing. Slowly at first, and then hysterically. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I said out loud. “You know you just imagined that shit.” I guess I dozed off because I woke up with my heart beating out of my chest. It was quiet. Almost too quiet. And then I heard it. BANG BANG BANG, coming from the front door. I’m scared shitless. I don’t know what to do. I’m too scared to move from my bed.


My name is Doctor Elizabeth Hayes. I’m a psychotherapist who specializes in the unlocking of repressed memories. A repressed memory for those of you who may not know is a rare psychological phenomenon in which memories of traumatic events may be stored in the unconscious mind and blocked from normal conscious recall. In simple terms the human mind can sometimes hide away memories of trauma or abuse, giving them the illusion as if the event never happened. Some theorists claim this is a defense mechanism developed in the cases of young children who could probably not be able to mentally cope with the trauma from the experience. At first glance, this may not seem to be much of a concern, what you can't remember can't hurt you, right? For some people, this may be the case, but in others they find themselves responding to mental triggers, smells, sounds or phrases with no prior knowledge as to why they are having these experiences. For others, they may unknowingly stumble across the memory in their sleep. Have you ever had a dream that seemed so vivid and real yet upon awakening you think back to it, unable to recall when in your life the scenario happened? What you simply dismissed as a strange dream could have very well been a repressed memory unwittingly stumbled upon in your subconscious. It's weird, I know but bear with me. I find the phenomenon fascinating. Which is why I choose to specialize in this area of psychology in my studies and practices. Periodically from time to time, I am visited by patients from all over the country who believe they have experienced this phenomenon. After being referred to me by their therapist who suspects their patents may have repressed memories from their childhood. It is then up to me to “unlock” these memories. Only after using social cues and making notes on their reactions to certain smells, sounds, and pictures can I estimate wherein their lifetime the repressed memory takes place. This is a slow process that can take up to a year before we even identify the timeframe of this memory. Once the right time frame of the repressed memory is discovered, commonly between the ages of 4 to 12. I bring in what I call the “Dream Screen”. A device invented by the National Center for Neural Applications lent to me by the University of Illinois. The appropriately nicknamed “Dream Screen” is a device that measures brain activity while you sleep. This data can be plugged into an algorithm that reconstructs your memory so that it can be played back in a recording. Subjects are first put into a stage of sleep called Hyponagoia. This is a semi-lucid stage of sleep that takes place at the moment between sleep and wakefulness so that I can communicate with them as I watch their memory unfold on the screen, live as if I, myself were living the memory. While walking the subject through the memory for the first time it is up to me to coax the subject through the entire memory, asking the right questions, pointing out the hidden details all while making a conscious effort into not leading the subject too much as to incidentally plant false memories into their subconscious. This is an incredibly delicate procedure and requires absolute concentration on my behalf. Something I have only been able to achieve after years of experience and practice. This entire process can take up to an entire month to complete, but the results are always worth it. Some patients were able to recover memories they lost years ago and finally be able to come to terms with the past and put years of not knowing to rest. Other times missing evidence from crimes and horrific injustices such as rape, torture and child abuse were able to be reported in the court of law so that the victim could finally get the justice they deserved. It is for moments like these that I continue to do what I do. was only after viewing my most recent subjects results that I ended up having more questions than answers. Questions I’d never imagine asking myself. Questions, in hindsight even I would much rather be left unanswered. The subject, Hugo was a 26-year-old male from Eden, New York. He was initially referred to me by his family therapist after identifying gaps in his memories and recalling a strange reoccurring dream he had no memories of in his childhood. The subject appeared healthy both mentally and psychically. Aside from the obvious signs of sleep depravation he was in great shape for someone of his age. During our initial interviews, he was able to recall memories from as far back as 1995, when the subject was only 2 years old. These memories were recorded and replayed to his living relatives and confirmed as being legit memories. This is very impressive and gave me high hopes for this being a quick and easy case. All there was left to do was find the key. I asked the subject if he could recall any forms of abuse during his childhood years either from the hands of a family member, friend or stranger. “No, nothing like that”. He replied with a forced smile on his face. “Do you recall ever witnessing a traumatic event such as a traumatic accident, or a murder take place’? I asked him curiously. “Nothing as long as watching reality TV doesn’t count”. He remarked comically. I forced a smile at the bad joke and continued. “Tell me about those dreams you have been having”? I asked him with genuine curiosity. His smile was quickly replaced by a look of concern as he unconsciously stole a glance over his shoulder then back to me. “Well… Uh,” He stuttered. “It started happening last year.” He said as he took a casual sip of water from his table as he continued. I noticed a slight tremor in his hand as he placed the glass back onto the table. “I’ve been having this dream I’m in a field at the old family farm”. “How do you know it was that particular location”? I asked. “According to your file, you moved several times during your childhood”. “I would recognize those blue skies and open farmland anywhere.” He said. “My mother would complain all the time about wanting to move back to the city, but my father claimed that the open country air would do us kids some good”. “What else do you remember”? I asked patiently. “I remember standing in an open field walking toward something.” “Go on” I coaxed him. He sat there for a moment in silence, becoming visibly tense. “Then things get weird”. He said nervously “I’m all of a sudden in a dark room I’ve never seen before, and someone else is there”. “Do you remember who this person is”? I asked him. “No, no I don’t,” He said. “If I can be one hundred percent honest, I don’t remember anything else that happened”. He leaned back in his chair closing his eyes as if trying hard to remember. “How old were you when you lived on that family farm,” I asked him. “nine to ten years old” He replied more confidently. I lived with my grandparents at the time, it was only for about a year or so.” “Anything else you can remember about your time there that you think could be related to this dream,” I asked “I don’t know”, the patient admitted. “That’s where my memory begins to get a little foggy. All I know is that hours, even days after having the dream, I just can't shake this feeling of dread. No matter how much I try I just can’t calm my nerves after that dream”. I took a few notes and stood to my feet. Well, I guess the only way we are going to find out is through phase two. I moved the cart over to where the patient was sitting and began to prep the “Dream Screen”. After leaning the subject’s seat back into a prone position, I administered the sedative to ease him into his semi-lucid state. After placing the electrodes to his temple and forehead I slipped on a pair of headphones onto the patient so that I could communicate with him from the observation room. After guiding the patient through verbal cues and building the scenario I began to see the first sign of images on the screen. The memory started dark at first, but what began to look like an open wheat field came into view. I began to take in the sights. Blue skies, white clouds, the sway of the golden wheat blowing in the wind and what appeared to be a small country home in the distance. “OK, now tell me. Where are you standing right now”? I asked the subject. “The Farm” The subject mumbled, “The one I grew up on”. As he spoke I took in the surroundings as they began to become clearer as the subject began to remember. “Now tell me who else was with you”? I prodded. “My… my friend… no …. cousin… Kaity”. The subject said. “Good, you’re doing great”! I said encouragingly as a figure appeared walking next to the subject in his memory. “Now describe your cousin, what did she look like”? “Dirty blond hair, brown eyes, freckles on her nose.” The subject said confidently as Kaity came into view, exactly how he described her. She looked to be around 8 years old. “Come on Huey,” Kate said excitedly! “Can you see it? The old farmhouse, we are almost there!” “Can you tell me about this old farmhouse”? I asked the subject? “Yeah. It was an old abandoned house built on my grandfather’s property. It was built before my family bought the property, we lived just a few acres away from it” He mumbled quietly. “Kate and I wanted to check it out, we were planning on making it into a new clubhouse” I spotted a small smile on the subjects face from the window of the observation room as he began to remember. “We had a backpack full of stuff, action figures, comic books, a couple of snickers bars.” He said quietly. “We were driven out of our old clubhouse in the hayloft after a family of raccoons moved in”. Now describe the old farmhouse to me. “I asked him as the blurry image of the house began to come into contrast. “Two stories, peeling dark blue paint, thatched roof, an old tire swing in the tree out front.” He told me. The image now became clear as the farmhouse came fully into view. Down to every detail he described it in. “Come on Huey” Kate beckoned “Let’s see what’s inside. As she walked to the front door the subject’s eyes darted to a window on the top floor. A figure quickly moved out of view that appeared to be watching them. “Wait, I blurted. “Who was that”? The subject’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t remember, he said after a long pause”. I let it go and let the subject continue. “Ok now, what happened after you went inside of the farmhouse? What did you find inside”? I asked. “Umm… Nothing”. The subject said slowly. “It was cleaned out. No people, no furniture, not even a single scrap of litter.” The dream suddenly grew darker as the subject now appeared in a small dimly lit room. Light pooled out from the creases in between the boarded-up windows. “Isn’t this great”? Kate said excitedly. “We can have campouts, we can have picnics, we can even invite our friends over and-” Her voice was cut off as a low creak sounded from upstairs. “What? What was that”? Kate said nervously. “Probably another family of raccoons. I heard Kate say as the subject’s eyes trailed to the top of the stairs”. “Wait, I remember now,” the subject said shakily”. “Who was it”? I asked cautiously. “No, not who.” The subject said with genuine fear in his voice. “Oh god, It… It was...” His voice trailed off as a figure appeared from the top of the stairs. I leaned in close trying my best to make out the figure standing at the top of the stairs. “Stay with me” I coaxed the subject. “Describe what you saw inside of that farmhouse.” The subject didn’t say anything, his facial features remained taunt but his lips quivered. My eyes went back to the screen as the humanoid figure began to walk down the stairs. “Huey?” Kates soft voice said nervously. “Who is-“? The figure suddenly dropped onto all fours and dashed down the stairs with alarming speed. “Teeth” the subject shouted “White-eyes, pale skin”. The figure suddenly stopped, inches away from the subject’s face. My heart began to race as the image cleared up, as the subject began to remember. Most of what I could make out of the face of the figure was only what was visible in the small slivers of light from the boarded-up windows. Pale skin, gleaming white teeth, and brown receded gums from a mouth who’s lips were pulled so far back they almost appeared to not exist. Its eyes were also rolled so far back that the pupils and irises were not even visible, showing only the whites of its eyes. Its nose was nothing but two slits as it breathed heavily only inches away from the little boy's face. The being wore no clothes and appeared to be human, yet showed no discernible signs of gender. For a long time, I watched in complete shock as the figure appeared unmoving, the slits where the nose should have been flaring with every breath. Its teeth began to click as if in curiosity as movement was spotted from behind the being. “Katie, no!” The subject screamed in unison with the child in the dream. Kate stood behind the figure and swung a two by four at the being’s head. The creature spun around with lightning speed catching the little girl’s wrist in his hands and lashed out with the other slicing a clean cut into the child's stomach with its clawed hand. Kate fell onto her back, hands covering the open wound and began to whimper terrified subdued sobs as the creature slowly crawled on top of her, its face now inches from hers. “Leave her alone”, the subject screamed once again in unison with his younger self as he made his way forward, arms outstretched as if to push the creature off his cousin. The creature once again moved with blinding speed knocking the young boy across the room with a mule kick to land roughly against the opposite wall. The creature once again drew its attention back to the young girl lying beneath it. It slowly leaned forward, its mouth only inches away from the young girl’s ear. It then stopped and a hissing whisper could be heard from the creature’s mouth. Kate looked up in confusion as the creature then broke into a sprint, dashing out the open door faster than any living creature I’ve seen anything move in my entire life. The screen went dark as an alarm went off in the observation room. The subject began to shake violently as if in a seizure. I ran forward and quickly shut down the machine and removed the electrodes from the subject’s head. “Kaity no, leave her alone”. The subject cried as the trashing became less violent and he slowly drifted into unconsciousness. I will be honest with you, this was not the first time I have seen this creature while using the dream screen. The first time I dismissed it as simply a pseudo-memory. Sometimes a subject subconscious would replace the person who caused the trauma with a childhood fear, like the monster in their closet, or a creature from a horror movie that scared them as a kid creating a pseudo memory. The second time I saw it, I knew It was so more than that. Several times before I have seen this thing locked deep into a subject’s locked memories as if its appearance itself was so horrifying that the human brain automatically retracted the memory into the deepest parts of the subject’s memories as to keep them from going insane. Each subject completely different, unrelated with no discernable trends or patterns in physical appearance, mental health or age. I do not know who or what this thing is but, but I have dedicated my entire career to finding out what this creature is. Every case only leads to dead ends but this case was different. Never in any of my past subjects’ memories have I heard this creature speak. Even in my most recent report, I could not make out what exactly was said. Earlier this month, I have contacted the most recent subjects’ cousin from his memory, Kate. After much convincing on my behalf I talked her into visiting my office in Washington DC, to have her memories examined. The now fully grown Kate was also experiencing similar dreams as the most previous subject prior to our first meeting. Her resulting memory once unlocked ran parallel to that of her cousins. She also bore an old scar on her stomach in the same place the creature scratched her in the memory, proving its legitimacy. The only difference between that of Kate's memory was the creature's voice was now clear as day. I will never forget the words I heard from Kate's memory. The sound of the creatures hissing voice still fresh in my mind what I heard what it say to that little girl almost 17 years ago. “Stop searching for me, Doctor Hayes.


(This is my first time writing a short story, pls enjoy and let me know what I can do to better myself or if I should continue the story.) It had been his first day back to work and as expected he had gotten countless, meaningless pathetic greetings of "Hey, how have you been? Everything alright? Let me know if you need anything. I'm sorry for your loss..." and after such a depressing day followed by a few too many drinks, he stumbled up to his door, turned the handle, and pushed it open, not noticing the door was unlocked. As the door slowly creaked open and the moonlight filled the room, he sluggishly lifted his head and noticed a still, silent, lifeless silhouette sitting in his living room. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to wipe away the drunken lenses that were smeared across his face. His vision slightly cleared and he could make out that the silhouette was a side portrait of a woman who seamed to be cradling something in her hands. He took in a sharp breath as he dropped his briefcase, "Hello!?" he called out. "W-who's there!?". The only response he got back was a strange noise, as if someone was trying to inhale air through their crushed wind pipe. He slowly and cautiously stepped forward, crossing into the threshold of his home as he put his hand against the wall, feeling for the light switch in the corridor. "Hello!? Who are you!? I-I-I will call the police!". With one hand on the wall finally finding the light switch, he reached his other hand into his pocket and grabbed his phone. While pulling his phone out of his pocket he flipped the switch on the wall and the lights flickered on, revealing the silhouette to be Shui, his said-to-be deceased wife. The first victim that had passed away due to the virus named COV19-ID also called the Koron Virus. He dropped his phone and stood there in awe. "Shui? Is that you!?". This time the response he got back, though hard to understand, was slightly more vocal. "Fng... Feng..." She muttered as she slowly looked up at him. Her skin was pale and her eyes seemed glossed over from what he could tell, but still, sure enough, that was his beloved Shui, sitting there naked on the floor, cradling a framed picture of their wedding day. Tears began to fall from his eyes. As he ran towards her, he fell to his knees, wrapped his arms around her and hugged her deeply. "I thought I had lost you forever", he sobbed. "I don't understand, how are you here? They told me you had passed away. That I wasn't allowed to see you and that they would burn the body to prevent any further spread of the infection, but I guess they were wrong. They must've been able to revive you and just didn't tell me." He loosened his embrace on her and wiped the tears from his eyes. "Why are you naked on the floor?" he questioned as he leaned back slightly so that he could see her and her elegant smile once again. Unfortunately, things were not as he had hoped. Sitting this close to her made it obvious of the changes she had gone through. Her pale skin was cold to the touch. The round pupils of her eyes that he could spend days lost in, were now vertically slit and filled with the look of starvation. The small ears that hid under her long, flowing hair now had pointed tips that peaked out through the strands of her hair. The beautiful nails that he would help her paint were now twice as long and slightly pointed at the end. As she began to open her mouth to speak, she revealed two elongated, cuspid teeth hidden under the lips he used to kiss so much. "Feng..." she whispered, "I'm... hungry...


“Captain, Captain” Cadet Yany yelled as he ran to the control deck. Captain Kayin swiveled around in his chair to face the youth. Behind him was a giant screen, displaying the lush alien planet they had discovered as it floated through space. “What is it, son? You looked like you’ve seen a ghost” the captain said. “Worse” Yany said as he gasped for breath. “Much worse,” he said before standing up straight. “I’m part of the research division who was scouting the surface of the planet, and, and oh God we have to get out of here before they notice us,” he said, shaking in fear” “Calm down calm down,” Kayin said, stepping out of his chair and walking over to the youth. He put his hand on his shoulders and smiled softly. Everything about this kid, from his terrified eyes, to his bright red cadet uniform, screamed young. This was probably his first mission so the captain couldn’t blame him for his fear, but it was undoubtedly an overreaction. Yany closed his eyes, and his breathing slowed. “Thank you, sir,” he said. The captain nodded understandingly. “Now, what was all the fuss about?” he asked. “The planet's natives sir,” Yany said. “Well, surely they can’t be that dangerous. We’ve detected no signs of intelligent life” Kayin said, looking a little surprised. Surprises were nothing new in his line of work though and letting them upset you usually was more dangerous than the surprise itself. “No sir, there are no advanced civilizations, just primitive ones. Very primitive ones. But sir, they’re…they’re savages. They’re violent and cruel, and their entire culture is centered around violence. They revel in the pain and death of other creatures, and even each other sir” he said, starting to jumble his words at the end. An amused and empathetic smile crept across Kayin's face. He himself at first was shocked after he left the prestigious city he called home and found how terrifying the cosmos could really be. “Cadet, umm cadet,” he said. “Yany” Yany answered. “Yes, Cadet Yany. I know pre synthetic food worlds can seem scary at first. Yes, to us eating things that were once alive seems deeply wrong, but our civilization has advanced far past theirs. Concepts such as pain and death that we have all but whipped out, more than likely seem commonplace to them. They have to eat do they not? And they must kill to eat, so killing just becomes a fact of life to them” he said, sounding like a father teaching sympathy. “But sir, they are different. They don’t just kill; they love to kill. It’s a game to them” Yany said. “Oh, come now, it can’t be that bad,” the captain said. “We have some footage we want you to see,” Yany said, sliding a computer chip, smaller than the nail on his pinky from his pocket, and handing it to Kayin. The captain eyed the chip for a moment before taking it from the cadet’s hand and slipping it into the open slot on his control watch. He tapped a few buttons on its touch screen, and suddenly the video feed of the planet was caught off and replaced by a recording of these “humans". A mature human walked over to a juvenile and laid a frozen corpse of some avian creature in her arms. He pointed towards a poll with some kind of basket with a hole in the netting at the top. The girl flung the dead bird and the corpse fell perfectly through the basket, resulting in the crowd of humans cheering “And this year’s prize-winning turkey goes to little May Sue” the mature human from before declared. Screams filled the control deck, and a computer technician even puked all over the floor, but Captain Kayin just stared at the screen in horror.


I hate you! … I let the words fill the room. I let the words carry me away. Silence fell over the classroom, everyone dumfounded by my sudden outburst. I screamed it again “I hate you!” a tear rolling down my cheek as I said it. Memories of all the good things we did together, of all the good things we had together flowed in like an unstoppable wave carried by an earthquake of grief and anger. I was reminded of the time we went into the mountains to the secret lake, and how a storm had us seek shelter in a cave. We were cold and wet, but we somehow managed the night. And when we woke up the next morning, we witnessed nature's true beauty in the form of a glistening lake in the morning sun, surrounded by untouched and thriving plants and wildlife. It truly was astonishing. I was reminded of the time we went on the class excursion to the countryside to look for different species of plant and animals, you saw a salamander and started following it, only to get stuck in sink mud and have the hole class help you free. All of us had a good laugh when we pulled you up, as both your shoes and trousers had stuck better to the mud than to you. You were as sour as a trout and we laughed our asses of. But not all the memories were good ones. I was reminded of the first time I felt jealous. You had been to someone’s 16th birthdayparty and one of the girls there had fixed herself to you, for some reason it made me really mad and I didn't know what to do with the anger so I pointed it at you. We fought for a while, threw some bad words around, but after a day or two we both apologised to each other. I really felt horrible for the things I had said. I snapped back to reality for a moment as you stared at me with those cold, dead eyes and uttered the word “why?”. I wanted to hit you to scream at you, but nothing happened, except pain. Before when people had said that words were the strongest weapon in the world, I had only scoffed, but now I knew the truth, and the truth hurt. The memory of when we first met popped into my head. I tried to think of something else, but it didn’t work, it was as if I was strapped in place in my own mind. I saw the moment you stepped into our classroom in eight grade, you had just transferred in from a smaller school. I didn’t think much of you then, I certainly didn’t hate you, yet somehow, I knew that over time I would come to absolutely adore you. Then the memory that I had tried to forget, the memory that I had tried to push away from me to no avail, appeared. My memory of when you lost yours. We were in the city and about to cross a road, you’d just finished your exams and because of that you were really happy. You had this big grin on your face that just beamed with joyfulness. I looked at you and laughed, and you laughed with me. That moment was pure happiness and joy, while the next was simply panic and pain. I fell to the ground. Everything hurt and I couldn’t move, I tried to call for help but there wasn’t any air in my lungs. I passed out shortly after. I opened my eyes and looked around. All I could see was the bed I was lying in and the white walls that surrounded me. Where was I? Was I in heaven? No, everything hurt to much. Was I in hell then? No, it was to white and new looking and there weren’t any flames. Then where was I? A woman opened a door to the left of me. All I could make out was that she wore a white lab coat, and that’s when I realised, I was in the hospital. Three weeks I had to stay in bed, but I got better. You however weren’t as lucky. You had suffered major head trauma and had lost your memories from the last five years. “You didn’t remember any of the things that we did together, any of the things we had together. And you wonder why I hate you!” I stopped just realising that I had said those last words out loud. I looked at you but didn’t see those lifeless eyes you had just moments ago, rather I saw your eyes full of life and emotions. And a single teardrop rolling down your cheek.


The first time I saw you I screamed. The night had been quiet, as quiet as any hunting camp can be. The sounds of men sleeping restlessly while horses neighed and stamped their feet at little scurrying creatures blended into the gentle night atmosphere — only interrupted by my own muffled sobs. I heard the guard stationed at the entrance to my tent let out a quiet, strangled groan then the unmistakable sound of a blade piercing flesh. A weight fell against the tent wall and slid to the ground, letting out a sickening, gurgling, whimper as it fell. Then a puddle of blood, nearly black in the faint candlelight, seeped under the canvas. I stared as it pooled, steam rising and dissipating in the cool night air. Then you burst through the tent entrance, sudden but silent. Blood was splattered across your chest and dripped from your hands. Your mouth was pinched tight and your eyes were wide in an expression of mad, ferocious anticipation of battle. The blood speckled across your face highlighted the deep, jagged scars crisscrossing your face. You stood at the entrance, blade in hand, and looked like an absolute monster. I screamed. You rushed at me, covering the several feet between us so quickly I barely had time to flinch. You clamped a rough hand over my mouth, cutting off my scream. “Shhh. Quiet child,” you whispered. Even in a whisper, your voice was harsh, demanding — dry — as if it were not something you used often. You lifted your knife in front of my face and my heart dropped into my stomach. I tried to pull away from you but the rope tying me to the stake in the ground held tight. “Be still,” you demanded and with a couple of quick motions, you sawed through the rope. Your movements were so quick and sure it must have only been a few seconds between you entering my tent and cutting my bonds. As you pulled me to my feet I heard men moving and swords being pulled from scabbards. My scream had woken the camp. You must have heard them too because you cursed and said, “Follow me. Quietly.” You cut a slit in the back of the tent and stepped through, pulling me behind you. The night was dark, with clouds covering the stars and tents blocking most of the light from the fires. You pulled me further into the dark, through the trees. Behind us, I heard men swear and begin yelling for the others to come to them. They must have found the guard’s body. A moment later I heard another shout and light poured into the night as the tear in the tent was spread wider. You pulled me harder, silently urging me to move quicker as men began to crash into the woods behind us. Your steps were quick and intentional. You made no noise as you moved. My steps were clumsy and loud, my dress seemed to snag on every branch and thistle in the woods. We entered a small clearing and in the faint light, I saw a moving shadow, too large to be a man. The creature stamped a foot and huffed impatiently as we neared. A horse. Your horse! We were going to make it! We broke into a run, and in the dark, I didn’t see the boulder sticking from the ground. I tripped and went sprawling, my hand wrenched from yours. I hit the ground hard but adrenaline masked the pain and I quickly pushed myself up. Just as I made it to my hands and knees the clouds parted overhead. A sliver of light peaked through the night highlighting the rock that had tripped me. Only it wasn’t a boulder. It was a man. His mouth and eyes gaped open in a frozen expression of shock. A thin red line crossed his pale neck where a blade had opened his throat. I screamed again. You were further away from me this time, untethering your horse. It took you a couple of seconds to get to me and get a quieting hand over my mouth. “Shush child,” you commanded. You wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted me. You didn’t lift me to my feet but carried me, one-handed, to your horse and sat me in the saddle. You grabbed the saddle horn and gracefully pulled yourself into the seat behind me. Even as you kicked your heels into the horse’s flank, men started crashing into the clearing, apparently drawn to my scream. We shot off in the opposite direction, the horse nearly at full speed within a few steps. We crossed the clearing and made it to the woodline. I closed my eyes tight, sure we were going to run straight into a tree but a small trail opened up. I don’t know how you saw it in the dark but you guided the horse straight to the trail and navigated the opening perfectly. We made it no more than ten or twelve lengths into the woods before I heard a sickening sound of wood meeting bone and the sudden cool air on my back told me you were gone. I chanced a glance behind me and could barely see you laying on the ground a large dark figure standing over you. I whipped my gaze ahead of me, terrified of running full speed into a branch, and saw several men standing in the trail ahead of me. I froze. I couldn’t imagine how the men had gotten in front of us and I didn’t know what to do. I had heard stories of what men like that did to girls, even young girls like me -- even young princesses like me. I knew what was likely to happen if they caught me again, but I was a child. I didn’t know how to defend myself or how to face down an attacker. I panicked and remained motionless. Your horse, however, did not. We hit the crowd of men with all the speed and power the warhorse was capable of. A couple of the men were sent flying, their bodies flung like ragdolls. Another crumpled to the ground, his agonized screams almost drowning the sound of his bones shattering under the horse’s hooves. And then I was clear, through the crowd with only open trail before me. Except I wasn’t clear. Just as I made it past the last man, another stepped out of the woods, threw out a hand to catch me by the arm and yanked me out of the saddle. I hit the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of my lungs. A rat-faced, gap-toothed man leaned over me and sneered, “Naw where ya’ think ya’ be uff to, naw miss?” Other than a few crude jokes and several vile threats, the men didn’t say much to me when they brought me back to the camp. They bound my feet as well as my hands and tied me to a stake near the fire. I guess they wanted to be able to keep an eye on me. I watched as they dragged the dead guard out into the woods and left him, not caring enough to bury him. Several of the men wandered around the camp nervously eyeing the woods and the rest gathered around the fire. From their conversations, it seemed none of them believed you had come on your own. I laid on the ground, trying to make myself as close to invisible as possible. And I cried. Men sat on logs between me and the fire, blocking the heat. So, I curled into a shivering, weeping ball for I don’t know how long until the fear and the struggle of the day got the best of my body and I began to nod off. I was only half asleep when my eyes shot open and my head jerked up. I tried to place what had woken me. There hadn’t been a noise, I was sure of that. But something was happening. There was some kind of electric tension in the air, like the anticipation before a lightning storm. The men around me sensed it too. Several stood, their hands drifting to their swords for reassurance. Every eye flicked nervously over the deep shadows of the woods. Men shifted anxiously, gathering closer together on instinct. Everyone was perfectly silent. Everything was perfectly silent, like even the creatures in the woods could sense a great and terrible danger was approaching. And then you were among them. One moment there was complete, excruciating silence and the next you were running, quicker than I would have thought possible, into the middle of my captors. In the firelight, I saw a deep gash above your eye, and dried blood covered half your scarred face. You held a sword in each hand and didn’t make so much as a whisper as you moved. It was many years ago now, and the details of the fight are foggy. And to be honest, I wouldn’t want to remember more even if I could. I just remember you were a blur. You did not stop moving. Men came at you in twos and threes and you blocked, dogged, sliced, chopped and pierced. Always moving and every movement deadly. If I had been deaf, if I hadn’t been able to hear the gruesome sounds of metal meeting flesh and the anguished screams of the dying, I think I would have thought it was graceful. You ducked, and twirled, and spun, slashing one, parrying another, rending a third. More men came running from the woods, guards that had been on patrol called back by the screams from the camp. You took them as they came, a master performing his bloody art with elegant, terrible, efficiency. An eternity later, or maybe just a moment, the camp was quiet again. You stalked around the fire, muscles tense like a cat ready to pounce. After several minutes you must have been sure that they were all dead. I saw your body physically relax as you walked toward me, swords in hands dangling by your side. You were covered in blood. The sarong around your waist was soaked through and clung to your legs as you walked. Your hair was plastered to your head and little drops of blood dripped from the tips. In the light of the fire, I could see that not only was your face lined with scars but your chest and arms were seamed with deep furrows now caked in blood. You were a monster. I tried to pull away, too scared to scream, but the ropes held me in place. Your face was a perfect, expressionless mask as you reached down and cut my bonds again. You stepped past me, not saying a word, and slowly lowered yourself to the ground. You leaned your back against a log, your chest heaving in great, big breaths. “Rest child,” you grumbled. “You are safe now. I will take care of you.” And you have taken care of me. I don’t know if my father commanded it, or you took it upon yourself, but from that day forward there was hardly a time that you were not nearby. Our people have always been a warsome people, and I have come to realize that my father is a weak king. Over the years we have faced siege from rival kingdoms, invasions of bandits, infestations of wild beasts, and gods know what else. Through it all you have come to my aide, saving my life and adding to your scars. You were a monster. But, you were *my* monster. Which is why it hurts me deeply to have to write this. The enemy is at the gate again. My father, the King, is drunk or cowering in his throne room and my mother is dead. It is left to me to save the kingdom. Not save it for the King--this castle can crash down around his crown for all I care--but save it for its people. If I do not do anything the people, *my* people will die. I have decided to do the only thing I can do to save my people. I am going to unleash you upon our enemies. That is why I asked you to take a message to the Keep Commander. If you were here with me you would never let me go, and I have to go. I am going to offer myself to the enemy King. Surely he will believe holding the princess will give him influence over the King. This enemy King will either take me to lay claim to the throne or kill me to crush the heart of my father. He does not know that my father cares only for himself. Nor does he know about you. But I know you. I know that you will come for me. You will come to either rescue or avenge me and whichever it is, you will destroy this enemy king. I know what it is I ask of you. I know, as I write this letter, that I betray you. I hope you know how this breaks my heart. But my heart, while broken, is steadfast in its purpose to save my people. I need you one more time. Once more I need you to be a monster. My monster. My scarred man.


On a walk through the woods, you see a stream that wasn't there yesterday. On the other side, you're pretty sure that owl is staring right at you. It is a bigger owl than regular owls, or at least, you think so. You can't remember the last time you've seen an owl in person. In birdson. Would it be 'in person' if it is a bird? You are a person. You don't know and wonder why you are thinking about that. There is a stream here that wasn't here yesterday. Why do you focus on the things that don't matter? Something weird is going on. It's probably because your mother constantly...no, stop. Focus. On. The. Owl. "Hey there." The owl turns his heads. Her head. You don't know. You turn your head to the right in response. "Hoo...Hoo." You sound stupid. And more like a dove than an owl. "Not who. When." Did that owl just ask you a question? Is the fact that it asked a question more interesting than the fact that it spoke? That owl just asked you a question. With a normal, human voice. What is that called when animals have human characteristics? Peoplefied? No, it is something like that. This is one of those mother-things, isn't it? The owl. "Um. When what?" You notice your head is still turned to the right. Straighten. No, that's too far left. Straight. The owl straightens its head. No, that's too far right. "Not what. When." "Ok yeah, but what does that mean? When what? What happens when?" You tilt your head. The owl tilts her head. His head. You notice the stream isn't really a stream. It isn't...streaming. It is just water that's not moving. Not like a pond or puddle. It is water that's frozen. Not like ice, but frozen in time. How long has it been that way? When. Has it been that way since you noticed it? You don't remember. You were looking at the owl. When. You straighten your head. "When." You step closer to the owl. A twig snaps, a leaf crunches. Your feet are heavy. You step closer to the owl. The stream is still between you, not moving, frozen but not frozen. Personify. No, but that is closer. That is an almost correct thing. You are almost correct. Your mother said something. This makes sense. You step closer to the owl. The owl is in the same place as it was. You are in the same place you are in. "When" "When what?" Anthropomorphize. That is correct. You are correct. Your mother. You step closer to the owl. "When." You reach the water's edge. This stream was not here yesterday. How do you know that? Were you here yesterday? You step into the stream. It is flowing. "When." "When." You respond. Maybe it is a game. "When" you repeat. You step further into the steam. You reach out to the owl. "When." "Come find me when you wake up." You sit straight up, in your own bed. The light from the hall seeps under your locked door and you can hear people arguing on the other side. A quiet breeze flows through your open window, gently causing your curtains to float, ever so slightly, in and out. You reach up to shut the window. You shudder and realize that you are freezing. Under your blankets and quilts, you shiver in your pajamas. Your socks are soaked.


“Y’know, I heard egg salads are really healthy,” Will said to the waiter, looking at an article about the health benefits of egg salads on his smartphone. “I’ll have an egg salad.” “Sure thing! And what would you like, sir?” the waiter asked, glancing at Trent. “I’ll just have the T-bone steak, medium,” Trent replied, folding his menu and laying it on the table. “Are you sure you don’t want to try today’s special?” the waiter asked. “Oh, what’s that?” Trent asked, furrowing his eyebrow. “The egg salad, of course. Everyone loves it,” the waiter answered. “N-no thanks, I’ll just have the steak,” Trent declined, shaking his head subtly. “Oh, alright, what would you like for a side? Would you like a baked potato, fries, or an egg salad?” the waiter asked, fiddling with his pen and dodging his eyes around the room. “Hey, Trent, try the egg salad. I heard it’s really good,” Will insisted to Trent. “Erm, I’ll have...just a a side of fries, please,” Trent said, eating a piece of buttered pumpernickel bread. “Alright. Your food will be ready soon,” the waiter said, walking away. Will was scrolling through social media posts on his smartphone, fixated. “So, have you heard anything from Jon?” Trent asked. Will continued scrolling through social media posts. “Will?” Trent snapped. “Wh-oh, sorry. What?” Will blurted. “Have you heard about Jon?” Trent asked again. “No, why?” Will asked, curious. “He’s usually an avid texter—always texting me one thing or another. He hasn’t been texting recently,” Trent said. “Did something, like, happen with his girlfriend? Last time he broke up, he didn’t talk to any of us for like a month,” Will indicated. “I was thinking that too. Last time he texted me, he told me he was having some troubles with Amanda,” Trent said. The waiter came, with a tray of several dishes of egg salad. “Oh, it’s here!” Will exclaimed, ready to eat more egg salad. However, the waiter continued walking by as he served the egg salad to a few people at another booth. Trent wondered why everyone was ordering egg salad. Is the egg salad THAT good? What kind of stuff is in that? Trent thought, looking at the waiter serve egg salad. The entire restaurant had a distinct smell—that of lots of eggs. Trent peered around. Everyone was eating egg salad. Everyone. Something seemed to be wrong to Trent. Surely someone would get a steak—or a nice baked potato—but all egg salads? Trent stared at the couple across from Will and him. They were both eating egg salads, and they both devoured the egg salads with their eyes wide, wide open. Something was very, very peculiar about these egg salads. No, Trent thought. I'm just over-thinking things. It's just the latest food craze. The waiter passed by, this time with a tray of steak and egg salads. It was for them. “An egg salad...and a T-bone steak with fries,” the waiter said under his breath. “We threw in a bonus egg salad for you,” the waiter said, staring at Trent. “Oh—thanks...” Trent muttered under his breath, tapping his fingers on the table. “Oh, hey, they gave you an extra egg salad. That’s cool!” Will exclaimed. “Thanks,” Trent said, waving to the waiter as he walked off taking others’ orders. Trent was cutting his steak and snatched a few fries. “Alright, I hope the hype is worth it,” Will said as he poured the special sauce on, scooped it the egg salad, and, without hesitation, ate it. “Woah, this is really, really good, Trent! You need to try it!” Will exclaimed, his mouth stuffed with food. “I guess I’ll try it,” Trent hesitated. He grabbed a spoon and scooped his egg salad with his fork. “Okay, here goes nothing,” Trent said as he ate the egg salad. “It’s not that good—I mean, it’s okay. Like, I don’t exactly understand the craze over these egg salads,” Trent said, slightly confused. “What do you mean? It’s the best food in the world!” Will said, shoving yet more egg salad into his mouth. “How have you not choked yet?” Trent joked. “If I choke and die, I will die in happiness,” Will said, cramming more food into his mouth. “Are you gonna eat that?” Will asked with egg salad falling out of his mouth. “Meh, you can have it, I guess,” Trent said, eating some bites of steak. “Thanks!” Will exclaimed, gobbling his egg salad down at an unmatched rate. “It should be illegal how good this is!” Will said as a ball of chewed-up egg salad fell out of his mouth. As Trent was chewing steak, a shadow loomed over him. It was the waiter with a tray of yet more egg salad. “All out of egg salad, I see. Try some more,” the waiter said, fiddling with his mustache. “You bet I want more!” Will exclaimed in ecstasy. Trent looked around. Now was a perfect chance to voice his growing concerns over the egg salad. “Hey, uh, waiter, do you, like, know what’s in the egg salad?” Trent asked, interrogatively. “Well, sir, you see, there’s eggs, and there’s...Well...There’s other stuff, I think. Look, I don’t know! I’m not a chef! I’m a waiter!” the waiter said nervously. “Look,“ Trent said, facepalming. Trent felt a sudden rush of anger. “What makes these egg salads taste different from other egg salads? What makes everyone so damn obsessed with these salads?” “Well, sir, it’s—it’s—it’s a secret recipe, sir,” the waiter stuttered. “We have allergen info, though, if you need it!” the waiter said, faking enthusiasm, with a slight chuckle. “No—no, I don’t need allergen information..I’m allergic to cats—that’s all,” Trent muttered. “D-Did you, um, not like the egg salad, sir?” the waiter asked. “It didn’t taste that good—I’m just confused why everyone likes it, but—“ “Oh, I’m so, so sorry, sir! I forgot the sauce! Oh, silly me! I’ll get you a free egg salad,” the waiter said. “No, thanks—I’ll just have a refill for my drink,” Trent looked at Will, and he could not believe his eyes. The bowls of egg salad the waiter brought were clean. Will was licking them. Will was devouring every crumb of the egg salad and every drop of sauce. “Oh, yuck! Will, what has gotten into you?” Trent exclaimed. “It’s egg salad! Maybe you just got a bad batch!” Will uttered. “Hey, waiter, get my friend here some egg salad—with extra dressing,” Will said, whispering to the waiter. “Oh, right away!” the waiter said, excitedly how to dashing to the kitchen once again. “What did you say to him, Will?” Trent asked, enraged. “I hope you didn’t ask for egg salad!” “Uh—well—uh—“A large man in a tuxedo suit came and slammed his hands on the table. “Is there a problem here?” the man said in a condescending tone. “N-no,” Trent muttered, nervously. “I heard a complaint about the egg salads. They said it was from a guy in a red shirt at table twenty-two,” the man said, squinting his eyes. “Now tell me, the manager of this restaurant, what’s the problem here?” the manager asked, almost in a soothing voice. The manager leaned close into Trent’s face. He looked like a stereotypical businessman—a tuxedo, black leather shoes, good posture, slick, black hair, a masculine face, and he seemingly had a recent shave. “No, I just don’t want to order it,” Trent said, leaning back to not have the manager breathe in his face. “Everyone likes my egg salad. Everyone,” the manager said pointing at Trent’s face intimidatingly. “Hey, get me some more egg salad!” Will said, demandingly. "Enough!" Trent yelled ferociously, his fists clenched, and his teeth grinding. “I’m leaving. I’m leaving. I have to go,” Trent said, determined to leave. “No need to fight. I’ll get you both two egg salads...each. On the house, too!” the manager said, smirking. “Will, you have had enough! You complain about never having a girlfriend, and here you are eating so many damn bowls of egg salad! I thought you were on a diet, Will! You need to stop this,” Trent said, pointing his finger at Will. “Please stay! Have an egg salad! It’s free!” the manager said. Trent exited the booth and frantically walked to the exit. As he was walking to the exit, he saw something. He stopped for a moment. It was Jon and his girlfriend, Amanda. They were eating egg salad too! Egg salads are certainly what stopped Jon from texting. “This is bad,” Trent said, quietly. Trent grabbed Jon by his shirt and shook him. “Wake up, Jon!” “Hey! Trent! Have an egg salad!” Jon said, with half-chewed egg salad spilling out of his mouth as he shoved egg salad in Trent’s face. Trent stood up and dashed for the door. This was going too far. The manager started chasing after Trent. “It’s free egg salad!” the manager shouted. “Just take a bite!” Trent dashed to the door, but a woman in her 80’s grabbed him. “Do you want some egg salad, sweetie?” Suddenly, all the customers flocked to Trent, their eyes rolled up, egg salad smeared across their faces and falling out of their mouths. Trent tried to stop them. He called for help. Nobody answered his cries. Trent, too, became a victim to egg salads.


(Sorry for low quality, super tired after school. Hope you like it. First time posting in this sub reddit. Any pointers/ opinions appreciated greatly.) Would any one care if I was gone? He wondered, the morose thoughts once again seeping into his brain. The wind whipped around him as he shuffled home, the bulging duffle bag swinging on his back. He didn’t want to go home, didn’t want to face the yelling and hurting and the smell. The smell was as intoxicating as it was addictive, clutching and dragging him down into the depths of alcohol dependence. He could never enjoy the beverages at parties as his friends did, lest get addicted and be thrown into the stereotype of white trash and nothingness that his family so proudly claimed. School was safe. There wasn’t fear at school, the smell of beer and cigarette smoke seemed to escape from his clothes as soon as he entered the wrought iron gates. For six hours he was free, even though the burden of home still shattered his spirit, it began to rebuild itself. Slowly. Yet it was ripped from him when the bell rang. As everyone exploded out into the streets surrounding the institution, eager to go home and relax, he was emptied once more. Sometimes he wished he could fly away, soaring on the breeze as birds did, diving and dancing with the wind as it ripped leaves from trees. Escaping. Free. The wind seemed to grow in intensity as he climbed the hill. He could see everything from the top. The dilapidated rows of worn houses seemed to shudder under the weight of the smoke and heavy hearted inhabitants. It appeared as though one gust of wind would knock them all down, one by one, like dominos. From the top of the hill, he couldn’t hear the swearing and yelling and screams, and for a moment he could forget. If he climbed one of the numerous trees on the hill, it seemed as if the sky was in reach. No smoke or pain covered his view, just the wide, empty blue. He shuddered. Unzipping the bag slowly, he felt an ache come over his body. The tightness present in his shoulders suddenly seemed to clench over him. Each breathe came heavier than the last. The shiny black object glistened in the afternoon light, it’s cold frame heavy in his palm. One shot. That was all it would take. He raised it slightly, wondering as he had a thousand times if this was his only way out. Breathes came ragged and desperate from his body as he plunged it against his temple. ‘Look at the sky’, he thought. ‘Just pretend you’re a bird. Just close you’re eyes and fly away’. Silence enveloped him. He was scared, but he would fly. (For L and C, I love you so much. I’m so glad you’re still here. I’m sorry I didn’t know, and wish I could’ve been there for you both.


This is a short story about a frustrated, washed-up writer I had to write for my year 12 English class. We were supposed to incorporate some amount of metafiction into the story. 564 words. Feedback would be nice. **The Abyss** The whiteness is blinding as I sit alone in the dark, mug in hand, gazing upon the glowing blank screen, pondering the question – how did this happen? Only yesterday, it seems, I stood upon the velveted stage, that little gold statuette held tight within my grip, all lights on me, all eyes on me… the glory. The ecstasy of prestige, the sweet perfection of vanity, the golden beams of eminence and esteem. And now, I sit alone and empty. A sad, old, fat man with an empty mind and a full belly. I’d resolved to write something original… something real and tangible. Something beyond cheap melodrama or sappy romantic-comedy drivel. Something visceral, something powerful, something *alive*. That first win was something special, but since then it’s all been a gush of commercialized, focus-room trite. Guidelines and checklists. Quantified and collated, maximised for optimum profit and tailored for critical success. Constructed, assembled, manufactured with clinical precision… never *crafted*. So, I stare at this blank screen and tell myself that I will make an attempt at real art. At something more than titillating loglines and sizzling taglines. An honest work. But what about? Well, let’s start with a ‘fade in’, at least. The keys click and clack as my fingers tap against them in rapid succession, a little pulse of unearned optimism coursing through my mind, a flare of naïve excitement lighting up a chasm of empty contemplation and despondent reflection. What was the last idea? Ah, yes, the story of a man left bitter and disillusioned with society following the death of his wife in a tragic train crash. There’s an idea. I can do something with that. He’s depressed, angry, worn down. He spirals down into sociopathy and misandry… he’s pissed off that the city council didn’t spend money on creating newer, safer public transport… so he gathers a bunch of guns and takes city council hostage! And there it goes. Another idea burned. Made flash and sizzle. Or in other words, garbage. You see what they’ve done to me? No. I need to think. *Really think*. Draw upon the world, tap into the faces that pass by every day. We are all worn down in our own way, we all have our stories of the pain and the cold. I need that. Last night. As I sat under the dim, dusty incandescent bulbs of the bar, sipping at some syrupy cocktail, I gazed upon the faces around the room. I ignored the usual patrons, but someone caught my eye. A woman in a uniform. She sat alone at a booth, drinking bourbon. Her coat was decorated, covered in brass and ribbons. She sat with a straight back, but her shoulders were relaxed, and she didn’t seem tense. She had the posture of a proud and strong woman. A fighter. A soldier. But her eyes said something else. They were empty, gazing into an abyss of cold and dark, a space between the mind and reality. I wondered what had happened. She didn’t seem scarred, not in the way so many veterans are. This was someone who’d thrived in the chaos of war - her strength forged amidst fire and fury. She’d been a leader. So what was that emptiness in her eyes? What was that abyss? Maybe that’s the story I need to write. The story of her abyss.


I jolt awake. Something feels wrong. I open my eyes but there is just darkness. I can hear voices, muffled, but I can hear the gentle murmur of one sound after another. I start to become aware of myself. I can feel there is something over my head and my hands are tied together. I try to tune in to any surrounding sounds that may indicate where I am. I can hear an engine, feel it vibrating underneath the soles of my shoes. I strain to see something, anything, but there is nothing but darkness surrounding me. There is a sudden stop and I am lunged forward. I smack my head off something and I feel myself being pulled off somewhere. I am hit with a breeze so cold I could freeze before being pushed down onto what I can only presume is a chair. I feel a tug on my head, my hair being pulled in the process and suddenly I can see again. My eyes adjust to the light. All around me are black figures, gathered in front of a fire. I focus on them and that’s when I see it. They’re all wearing masks. The majority of them are wearing what looks like the head of a goat. What have I gotten myself into? I try to get up to move but it appears that I am tied to a chair in front of this large gathering of people. “Excuse me…” I begin. “Would someone care to tell me what the hell is going on here?!” Nobody seems to acknowledge me. Everyone seems to be muttering the same line under their breaths. “She will be reclaimed in the cleansing of the soul.” This feels surreal. I must still be dreaming. “Hello?!” I scream, once more trying to grab somebody’s attention. Everyone stops at once and turns. One of the people wearing the masks comes closer to me and booms “Somebody tape this things mouth shut” I feel two people run up behind me and I scream. My screams are soon muffled by a large amount of duct tape protruding across the surface of my mouth. The same person who issued the command before dismisses everyone but four of the goat headed followers. As they start towards me, each one of them brandishes a weapon of their choice. One wearing an excessive amount of pink lipstick withdraws a dagger from her boot. Another with the eyes of their mask cut out takes two swords from behind their back. The third goat headed member takes a pistol from his back pocket and hands it to the leader. “You’re signature weapon, my Lord” he bows before whipping out a pair of nunchucks for himself. “So..” the leader of the group begins. “How are we going to murder this one then?” There is a creepy grin to be seen stretching out from underneath his mask. “This is my favourite part” smiles the third member. “The planning” The leader shoots him a look. “Shut up Pygmy, nobody asked you '' he spat before smacking the third member over the head with the pistol. “Idiot” The girl with the pink lipstick starts towards me with her dagger pointing straight ahead and I feel my whole body begin to tense. “So what’s your name, pretty lady?” Her voice is a sickly sweet. Every word she says sounds like honey oozing out of her throat. I do not reply. She jams the dagger against my throat. I wince. “I said, what’s your name?” Her tone is more aggressive this time and I’m too afraid of what she might do if I don’t reply. “Mac” She whips her head to the side. “How sweet, little baby Mac” I force a smile as the others circle me, making me their prey. I struggle to find words in fear of death. The leader walks over to me and cuts one of the ropes free. I feel my right hand go limp beside me. He picks it up gently in his hand and plants a kiss on the top of my hand. I try to disguise the disgust that is so clearly on my face but fail. He turns my wrist over in his hand and freezes. “Oh no” he starts to shake his head and throws his pistol to the ground. “No, no, no, no” he starts to get louder and the other members of the group glance at each other and begin to back away from me. “What is wrong, my Lord '' the pink lipstick girl, whose name I have now learned is Daisy, asks, “We have majorly messed up” screams the leader. “Why?!” Pygmy asks, clearly in distress. The leader turns to them and points his index finger at me. “Look at her wrist and see for yourself.” One by one they each walk over to me cautiously and pick up my wrist, all of them freezing and joining their leader in a frenzy of panic. After a few moments the leader comes over to me and rips the duct tape from my lips. It feels like he’s taking a layer of my skin with it. He grabs my wrist and thrusts it in my face. “What is the meaning of this?!” Just a few inches from my face is my tattoo. I’ve had it ever since I was born. An upside down cross, completely black. No colour. “My tattoo…?” I begin, completely unaware of what is currently happening. “That ain’t no tattoo…” says Daisy. “That there, is the mark of the devil himself” I freeze. None of this can be true. Obviously these guys are messing with me and this is their cruel plan to kill me. The leader begins to freak out again. “She’s one of Satan’s own, anyone that touched her will now suffer in the most painful way imaginable. Sure enough, Daisy drops to the ground and starts screaming in agony, her dagger coming to life and stabbing her in multiple places over and over. Blood begins to seep into the ground below her and soon enough she is nothing but a motionless corpse. Next, the leader grabs the pistol from the ground. He attempts to make his death quick and painless and raises the gun to his head. His arm cracks and every bone in his body begins to splinter. He drops as the final crack sends him into eternal slumber. I feel the restraints loosen behind me and get up to run. The two men left from the group start running towards me in an attempt to fight for their lives. One swings their fist but misses and I swing back with my leg, knocking him out flat on the ground. The other picks up the chair and attempts to throw it at me, I grab it in my hands and knee them in the chest. They fall to the ground, gasping for air as I issue one last final blow to the head and he collapses, paralysed. I drop the chair and my whole body shakes. There is a distant glow of what looks to be more of their followers. Without a second thought, I turn around and sprint. Sprint and sprint, deep into the woods, I have absolutely no idea where I’m going but at least I’m getting further from them, whoever they are. My lungs begin to burn, I collapse against a tree and try to steady my breath. I sit forward on my knees and feel my wrist burning. I turn it over and sure enough, what was once a solid black cross is now a bright crimson. Something drips onto my wrist. One drop after another, rain pummels down onto me. Except it’s not normal and clear. It is dark and red, with a metallic tinge off of it. I sit, waiting for this dreaded rain to end when suddenly I hear someone exhale above me. I look up, shaking from head to toe, and standing there is none other than the Dark Lord himself. I push myself back up against the tree. “What is going on?!” I scream. A big, toothy grin emerges from the figures face. “Welcome home my little Machiavellian, I’ve been waiting for you.” I try to steady my breath but fail and feel my entire body go limp. I let myself go as I hit the ground. Cursed forever by the ink that holds me to this hell.


Houses are like the heart, each room storing away the past joys and sorrows of memory. Four generations of memories lined our front room mantelpiece, crowded the narrow hallway, spattered the walls and nightstands in the bedroom. They had even crept into the kitchen to mingle with the cast-iron cookware and the rich scents of sweet fruit and pungent spices. Each picture told a story that even my youngest child knew by heart. This one was of Grandpa wearing his ridiculously tattered hat. He always hung it right there by the door so he wouldn’t forget it before he went fishing. That humorous one at the end of the hall was of my mother and her dolls. They went everywhere she went, even into the bathtub. The one in the kitchen hanging above the stove was of my grandma. She was trying to fry eggs for Grandpa, sunny-side up just the way he liked them, but she turned the heat up too high. The grease fire ate its way right up the walls and ravaged the ceiling. It took three coats of plaster to cover up the blisters and black streaks. Each picture was a window to a room in Grandpa’s heart. By the time I was grown, I thought I had peered through all his windows. But every soul has secrets it has locked away, memories too sacred or too sad to share with the rest of the world. I discovered Grandpa’s secret the day we began remodeling the hallway. Behind the wall we found quite a bit of space, and a door. My husband and I were intrigued. The curved handle stuck until my husband gave it a sharp rap with the mallet. My first impression on entering the lightless room was of the deep smell of cedar with a hint of lavender. Even though I had never known my grandmother, the scent reminded me of her. By the dim light peeking in from the hallway, I could make out furniture: a dresser against one wall, a narrow bed and dressing table against the other. A squat lamp sitting on one side of a little bookshelf still worked. Its mellow light revealed a rolling landscape of soft pinks and dark-stained wood. Blushing angels and shining stars hung suspended over a crib full of smiling rag dolls and teddy bears bedecked with jumbo pink plaid bows. Lavender-scented powder spilling out of a cracked mauve container coated the changing table on the dresser top. Mouse prints marked several journeys across the snowy plain. A row of boards evenly nailed against the wall between the crib and bed outlined a window. It bothered me that those boards were there, choking the light off from such a sweet little room, cutting off the view to the outside world. Why had this room been kept such a secret? The dressing table contained a small round swiveling mirror with cherubs carved into its frame, some simple toiletries, and a thick piece of pink parchment. I picked up this last, blew the dust off, and read:  “To my love May we continue To walk the path of Happiness With our second Bundle of Joy”  Grandpa’s fancy signature floated in the lower right corner, ending in a flourish of hearts. My husband and I stared at one another in surprise. “Your mother had a sister,” he said. “Did you know about this?” “She didn’t even know,” I said softly. Grandpa had never told anyone. I could see him as he had been in life, wearing his plaid workman’s shirt and tan suspenders, a heavy tool belt strapped low around his waist. Grandpa had been a tall, solid man with a large laugh. We grandkids had adored him. I could imagine him painstakingly carving the bars on the crib, then hanging the angels and stars with a smile of anticipation for the little head that would lie beneath them. It wrung at my heart to think of him entering the newly furnished room stooped over with grief, knowing that his young wife and their new child would never enter here. I looked over at the bed and saw him as he must have looked then, sitting at its edge, his face buried in his big carpenter’s hands, his broad frame shaking in bereavement. I had finally viewed the last room in his heart. With tears in my own eyes, I turned off the lamp and shut the door. There were no windows looking in, and there never would be. Every soul has its secret. I would leave Grandpa his.