Harlow The building’s old. Decrepit. Unremarkable in every sense of the word. And yet - something about it makes me wistful. Nostalgic, even. But I can’t quite place what that something is.

We walk through the doors and into the lobby, my backpack slung over my shoulder, suitcase trailing behind me, the broken wheel making a click-clack sound as it jostles around on its hinge. I glance over at Thomas. His face is passive, his eyes pointed down towards the carpet that might have been white once, but I know him - I can tell that he hates the place from the slump of his shoulders and slight quirk of his eyebrows. Well, there goes the hope that he might like it here.

I get our key from a balding, red-faced man sitting at the clerk’s desk. “Fourth floor,” he says tiredly. “Apartment E. Stairs are through there.” He gestures towards a metal door speckled with rust.

“No elevator?” mutters Thomas under his breath. I shoot him a dirty look that he pretends not to notice and walk through the door. The stairwell’s dark, damp, and smells like broken dreams. I like it.

We lug our suitcases up the four flights of stairs. Thomas stops a few times to catch his breath, but I keep going, anxious to see our new place.

When we finally reach the fourth floor, I open the door leading off the stairwell landing and enter a narrow hallway lit dimly by deep-set lights in the ceiling. I fumble in my sweatshirt pocket for the key, open the door engraved with the characters ‘4E’, and turn on the light.

The apartment is empty and dusty. The yellowish-tan wallpaper is peeling at the corners, and the windows are covered with dirt. The distinct smell of mildew hangs heavy in the air. But, somehow, I feel like I could belong here. And it’s then that I realize why this place fills me with longing: it reminds me of my childhood. It reminds me of how it feels to be home.

Thomas The apartment’s horrible, even worse than that sorry excuse for a lobby. I can’t look in any direction without seeing something wrong with it - peeling wallpaper, grimy countertops, dust-covered window sills. I look over at Harlow, though, and she’s walking around in a sort of trance, like this is some luxurious penthouse or something. I just don’t understand what she sees in this dump.

It’s true, I grew up pretty well off, and although she doesn’t mention it much, I know she wasn’t exactly wealthy as a kid. Maybe this is what she’s used to or something. But - this place? This is the apartment she’d found for us? Sure, it was cheap, but it isn’t even worth the small amount we paid for it. I’ve already told her my parents would buy us a nice place if we asked them, and we could pay them back once we started our jobs. She wouldn’t hear it. Well, she’s always been the independent type. It’s one of the things I love about her. But, still.

We set our bags down and walk around the apartment. There’s four rooms: a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and living room. Not much, but enough. It would’ve been fine, if the place wasn’t so gross .

“So, Harlie,” I say cautiously. She can have a bit of a temper , and I don’t want to test it by telling her outright that I hate it here. “Where’d you find this place?”

“Some website,” she says absentmindedly, running her hand along the bedroom wall. “Why?”

“No reason.”

She sighs. “C’mon, Tom, I’m not stupid. I know you hate it. But can you just try ? Please? We’ve already bought it and everything.”

“I don’t hate -” “Yeah, you do,” she says, folding her arms with a smirk.

“No, I don’t.” I say, setting my jaw. Sometimes I think we’re both too stubborn for our own good.

“Yeah, you- you know what, I’m not gonna argue about this.” She turns and walks back into the living room.

We’re going to go shopping for furniture and supplies tomorrow, but tonight we’ll have to sleep in sleeping bags. We order pizza and eat it on the floor, relishing the greasy-fingered feeling that we hadn’t been able to find in the college cafeteria. We eat in silence for a while, until Harlow says, “We’ll clean the apartment up tomorrow. Okay? It’ll be better after that.” “M’kay,” I say thickly, my mouth full of pizza. She gives me a small smile.

Afterwards, we watch a movie on my laptop, huddled together against the wall under a blanket, the computer halfway on each of our laps. It’s nice, just being alone together. We didn’t get that very often at NYU.

When the credits start rolling around 10:00, Harlow turns her head towards me. “Let’s get some sleep, okay?” “It’s still pretty early,” I tell her with raised eyebrows.

“Trust me,” she says with a rough laugh, “you want to be well-rested for tomorrow. We’ve got some hard-core cleaning to do.” “If ya say so.” “I do say so.”

I smile and kiss her on the cheek.

Later, when we’ve brushed our teeth and are tucked into our sleeping bags, I decide to ask her one last time. “Harlow, I know I already mentioned it, but you know my parents could buy us another place, right? Until we make some of our own money.”

“Thomas, no . We talked about this.” I can almost hear her scowling.

“Yeah, but . . . c’mon, Harlie. Look at this place. Could you just tell me why you won’t ask them for help?” “ I think this place is great,” she says angrily. “And I’m not going to have your parents taking care of us like we’re still kids. We’re not kids, Thomas. We haven’t been for a long time.” “I know that,” I say. I realize it’s no use arguing with her. She’s made up her mind. I turn over and, eventually, get pulled under by the heavy tug of sleep.

Harlow I wake up to a loud shout. I sit up straight and look over at Thomas. He’s sitting up too, his back rigid with fear, waving his hands violently in front of his face. “What?” I say, panicked. “What’s wrong?”

His face wild with fear, he points to a tiny spider I hadn’t noticed, crawling across the floor. “That thing- that thing landed on me!”

I can’t help it. I burst out laughing, so hard that I almost fall over. He stares at me. “It’s not funny !”

“You should’ve seen yourself!” I say, wiping my eyes. “The look on your face-” I dissolve into laughter again.

He scowls, but I can see that he’s not really angry. “You’re not being very mature ,” he says, running his hand through his dark, sleep-tousled hair.

“Eh, screw maturity,” I say, standing up to get ready for the day.

While I’m brushing my teeth, Thomas comes into the bathroom. There’s a hard look in his gray-blue eyes that scares me a little. When he looks like this, there’s really no stopping him from getting whatever it is that he wants.

“ Harlow ,” he says.

I stop brushing. “Yeah?” I say through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“I just went into the kitchen. And it’s crawling. With. Ants.” His voice is as hard and stiff as a board.

I shrug and go back to brushing. “So we’ll buy some ant traps at the store.” “You don’t understand, Harlow,” he says in a low voice. “They’re everywhere . We’re infested. We need to leave.” “Since when are you so afraid of bugs? The spider, and now these ants- what’s up with you, Tom?” “What is up with me is that this place is disgusting, Harlow. You know it is. And I promised myself I wouldn’t mention it again, but if you would just let my parents buy us a place-” I spit the toothpaste into the sink and glare at him in the mirror. “Thomas,” I say warningly. He usually stops when I say his name like that, but this time he keeps going.

“ No , Harlow. We’re leaving. And it doesn’t matter if you don’t want to get help or feel like a little kid or whatever, because this isn’t just about you, okay? I get a say in this, too. And I say we’re leaving . I don’t get why it’s so hard for you!” “No, Thomas!” I’m shouting now, but I don’t care. I’d rather do anything than become someone like that. Someone like his parents. Someone like him - although he’s mostly different. But I can’t tell him that. I can’t tell him the truth, but I can tell him to stop asking for it. “We are not leaving. End of story! I don’t care if you’re afraid of some stupid ants. We. Are. Not. Leaving.” I turn and storm out of the bathroom, not staying to hear his response. And I don’t stop - I leave the apartment and walk down the hallway into the stairwell. I lean my back against the wall and sink to the ground, throat burning from shouting, heart aching from refusing to tell him the truth.

But I don’t know how I could possibly do that.

Thomas I stand there in the bathroom, still staring at the place where she was brushing her teeth a couple minutes ago. What’s wrong with her? Why is she so against my parents helping us? What could she possibly see in this place? I run my hands bewilderedly through my hair and stay in the same spot for a while before going after her.

I find her in the damp, smelly stairway, sitting with her back against the wall. “Hey,” I say, helping her up and taking her face in my hands. She doesn’t avoid my gaze - she looks straight at me, and in her dark eyes I see an intense sort of fire, something I’ve never seen there before. It makes her look wilder. Freer. Beautiful. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know,” she says. “So what’s wrong?” I ask her.

She shakes her head and backs out of my grasp like a stray dog trying not to be captured. “I just can’t do it.” “Do what?” “Get help from them. Live in their world. Your world, I guess. I can’t do it. I can’t.” “I don’t get it.” “Of course you don’t. You grew up like that. Always having whatever you wanted, whatever you needed. I didn’t grow up that way. And I can’t pretend to be like them when I’m not. What I’m saying is I can’t be a rich person, okay? I can’t be one of them. And your parents hate me Thomas. You know they do.” “They don’t hate you, Har. And we don’t have to be like them.” “Yeah, we do. If I ask for help from them, I’ll get used to luxury like that. I’ll lose everything that makes me myself . I’ll become one of them. I can’t do that. It’s the worst thing that could happen to me.” And it’s in that moment that I realize everything she’s been going through. Horrified at the idea of asking them for help, not because she’s stubborn, but because she’s terrified to lose her identity.

I can’t pretend to know what that’s like. But I can try to understand.

Harlow When I finally tell him the truth, I can see the understanding in his eyes. It’s like he’s seeing me for the first time. I can tell that he gets it.

And he steps forward to wrap his arms around me, holding me tight in the stairwell of broken dreams.


A small moth fluttered about Bobby’s lamp. Surrounded by many unpacked boxes from the recent move, his essentials were in place. His homework covered the westward expansion. The moth persisted. Bobby doubted it came in his stuff. ‘ This house is old ,’ he thought. ‘ Generations ago, pioneer moths traveled across the land, seeking gold dust. They’re now home in this Victorian dump we moved to.’ The ancient house, perfect for Halloween, had not been decorated. There hadn’t even been time to explore it. The moth persisted. Bobby slapped at it to no effect. It flew erratically toward his bedroom door and returned. It appeared as if it paused to look over its shoulder, to see if he followed. Bobby knew moths had no shoulders and doubted the moth cared. Yet it seemed to beckon. Again, the moth circled and exited. Bobby made chase. The moth meandered the hallway and down the stairs. Reaching the foyer, it made a hard right into the kitchen. Bobby raced to keep up. He entered the kitchen and stopped short at the sight of a strange man sitting at the table. He appeared to be waiting. The only light came from the window and lit the man from behind, giving him a faint halo. Bobby reached for the light switch and the man spoke. “Please don’t.” Bobby froze. “The moon will do.” Though not wearing a jacket, the man was clothed in business formal, with suspenders, an old-fashioned bow-tie, and a vest. Golden cufflinks gleamed. His dark hair and mustache were neatly combed. He appeared translucent in the moonlight, like a daguerreotype Bobby once saw. He turned his head to call to his parents but the man said, “Please don’t yell. Let’s get acquainted first.” Bobby stared. “Sit. I won’t hurt you.” Never looking away, he found the closest chair. The man said, “I’m Edwin Fortescue. I own this house.” Bobby blinked. “Or, at least, I’m the original owner.” “But… You mean…?” “Tea?” He poured from a porcelain pot Bobby hadn’t noticed. Edwin sounded like a butler in an old movie. He nudged the saucer and cup toward Bobby. “I’m not being clear, I know. There is so much to tell. You will understand, in time.” Bobby felt at once calm but weird. “Is it just you three? Your parents and you?” Bobby nodded. “This house has been through so much. Yet a hundred years is such a short season.” Edwin gestured with his cup and drank. Bobby raised his cup, feeling its heat in both hands and sipped. The aromatic steam felt dreamlike on his face. “The house fell to disrepair for... years. The last owners restored it… Clumsily.” He rolled his eyes. “I hope your family will rectify that.” “I think so.” “You can’t imagine what it’s like when people don’t keep their promises.” “I guess…” “You can see how important it is. I gave everything to this house.” Bobby looked at his tea cup. “I mean, people come and go. They neglect and things slide.” Edwin leaned, staring. “It went abandoned for years, slowly sinking, you know? It’s maddening to finally get the place swept clean and ordered, only to watch seven more demons enter and make a sty of it. You’re not demons, are you?” “No!” “I found initials carved on the banister, for God’s sake!” The light turned on. Bobby turned to see his mother in the doorway. “Bobby? What are you doing in the dark?” “Mom! I…” He gestured toward Edwin, but saw he sat alone. No tea settings. No Edwin. “…I, uh …just thinking.” She sensed more to the story. “It’s late. I thought you were asleep until I heard you.” “Uhm, maybe sleep-walking?” He walked passed her. “Good-night.” She sniffed the air and scanned the room. Nothing amiss, she shut the light and followed him up. ~ The next morning, Bobby entered the kitchen to hear his mother say, “Grant, our son has an imaginary friend.” “He’s not imaginary, Mom.” Grant asked, “Why were you down here so late?” Bobby tried to make sense of it. “A man, Edwin, visited. He talked about the house.” “Our house?” “His. He said it is, or was… a hundred years ago.” His parents glanced at each other. “He gave me tea.” “Tea? There weren’t any dishes when I came in, Bobby.” “I know. Weird, huh? But I tasted it. It smelled good.” “Anyway, you shouldn’t accept things from strangers.” Amy had mixed emotions. She turned to Grant. “Are we haunted?” “I didn’t want to say it, Amy. Not a typical real estate disclosure, I’m sure. I’ll check on the first owner...” “And I thought they met our price because it needs work…” “Maybe they didn’t know. We don’t know.” Grant’s mind raced. “Bobby, find the candles and the Ouija board? This place is chaos.” “On it.” He ran upstairs. Grant touched Amy. “If this is a ghost, he sounds benign.” “Oh, I hope so. Maybe we can be friends.” ~ Amy continued the gargantuan task of unpacking from the move. Bobby gathered items necessary for a séance. He knew his parent’s monthly routine. Grant confirmed Edwin Fortescue owned the house when first built at the turn of the last century. After dinner, Grant and Bobby oriented the kitchen table with a compass. They centered the Ouija board and placed special candles at each corner. Amy lit incense and draped the chairs with black cloth. Bobby didn’t know what flavor tea Edwin served him. Amy bought Earl Gray. She hoped her mother’s antique tea set would be acceptable to their ghost. She set cups and saucers for four. When finished, they dimmed the lights and sat around the table. Each placed their left hand on the planchette. Amy smiled at Grant and Bobby. Her eyes glistened in anticipation. Grant spoke some solemn Latin phrases and they waited. After a long silence, Amy said, “Maybe we should ask the board a question?” “Don’t bother.” They turned to see Edwin sitting at the table looking exactly as he did last night. “All that paraphernalia gets so tedious, don’t you think?” Grant almost fell backward in his chair. Amy’s eyes grew wider than Bobby had ever seen. “Hi, Edwin. These are my folks.” He laughed. “See? I told you he was real.” They nodded to each other. Handshakes felt wrong, somehow. “Welcome. I won’t waste your time. Bobby assured me you plan to restore my house to its former glory.” “That’s the plan.” “The urgent issue I wish to discuss, is this barbaric holiday you celebrate here, in the states.” “Halloween? That’s tonight.” “Each year hooligans wreak chaos on this fine house. This is my house. My wife and I settled here on emigrating from Great Britain.” He paused for a moment in her memory. Then, with heightened energy, “The graffiti must stop. It’s not for traipsing through for some grotesque, vaudevillian, childish entertainment.” “Of course! We don’t condone…” “This Halloween, as you call it… With its ubiquitous, decrepit headstones engraved with R.I.P. Yet no one actually leaves us in peace.” “You mean…?” “I just want to be let alone. Is that too much to ask? To give it a rest?” No one spoke for what felt an eternity. Amy said, “Of course we respect your privacy, Edwin. Oh, the tea. Do you like Earl Gray? A scone?” “That would be perfect. Thank you.” Amy served Edwin first. He sipped and smiled. The rant had passed. Bobby grabbed a scone. “You would have loved Louisa,” he said. “She died of a broken heart soon after our arrival. Up in your room, Bobby. Amy and Grant looked at Bobby, unsure where this would lead. “Home-sickness, the doctors decided. She initially fell ill on the hellish voyage. Followed by that interminable, dusty train ride… My God! The dust! I ran out of kerchiefs! She never recovered.” “We’re so sorry, Edwin.” “My transplanted little orchid couldn’t adapt to the desert. I thought my magnificent house would cheer her. I loved stepping out on my porch every morning. Gazing over the sky-line. I caught the street car at the corner. It felt like heaven.” “That must have been so…” “I loved it. The perfect climate. Excellent business. Finance, you know. This grand house… If it ever got torn down, what would become of me?” Grant said, “Well…” Amy asked, “Couldn’t you and Louisa have returned to England?” “My work kept me here. And, of course, my house. I thought she’d mend. I mean, we were in paradise.” He seemed to flicker in the candle light. “When I realized how dire things had become, I feared another dreadful journey would...” They stared at the table. Edwin blew his nose. “Then she abandoned me. All alone in my house.” The doorbell rang. Grant stood. “Trick-or-treaters. I’ll take care of it.” Edwin followed. Grant opened the oak door to reveal a little girl on the porch, dressed as a pink ballerina. Her mother stood on the walk. The girl offered her basket of candy and said, “Trick or treat!” Behind Grant, the foyer burst into flames. The girl stood aghast. She stepped back. Her mouth opened wide and then became a delighted smile. Her mother moved to protect her. But she stopped and applauded. Seeing reflected orange light, Grant turned to the conflagration. He slammed the door and the flames disappeared. The inferno became a foyer again. Edwin smiled at him. It had been an illusion. Grant said, “Edwin, what ordinarily repels, on Halloween, only attracts.” He shook his head. “For the life of me, I will never comprehend this.” “Death is meaningless to them. Kids think it’s all a trick. Hollywood…” Edwin balked, “Oh, don’t get me started on ‘the movies’…” ~ Later, a solitary candle, its steady flame reflecting no face, floated from window to window. From floor to floor, inside the old house. Costumed children gathered at a distance to watch and point. Traffic slowed. No one dared knock the door. The candle hovered in those windows until the dawn.


“Hey, Carla” a gravelly voice greets from behind. As she finishes swiping her card through the time clock, Carla turns toward the direction of her name and sees Vicki digging through the bag barely hanging onto her shoulder, her keys jangling wildly, as she stood in the middle of the hallway, blocking Carla’s path toward the elevator. “Shit, I do this every morning” she says as she coughs. “Can’t find your badge?” Carla asks. “Fuck no!  Even though it was right here when I tossed the damn bag in the car.” “You don’t think it fell out in your car, do you?” “I don’t fucking know but I don’t have time for this.  I’ll walk up with you and go look for my badge after report or something” she says decidedly and hefts her tote bag filled with who-knows-what back on her shoulder. Vicki’s movements from readjusting her work luggage created a nearly imperceptible breeze but Carla catches the sharp whiff of bittersweet aroma that tells her Vicki probably smoked four cigarettes on her way to work.  Vicki claims she has to “store up nicotine” because it’s impossible to find time for a decent break after getting to the floor. Carla inhales a little longer before walking past Vicki and pushing the button to call the elevator.  As the women cross the threshold, one after the other, Carla holds her badge up to the black square with the blinking light near the numbers.  The badge reader beeps and Carla selects “3” before the doors close in order to transport the nurses to the employee entrance for the ICU. Vicki could have ridden the visitors’ elevator up to the ICU but then she would have been required to check in with security since she was without her hospital badge.  Here in the capital city, the hospital takes security

very  seriously, especially the ICU, and she would have had a hard time getting in without her badge. The doors were not even halfway open before Carla and Vicki could hear various cardiac monitors alarming, complaining of some disagreeable heart rhythm or misalignment of connections.  Somewhere down the hall, a call bell dinged incessantly; the night shift was ready to go home and the day shift had not yet received report.  It was the secretary that finally answered the call bell and told the patient “Your nurse will be right in.” Nearly everyone on the unit could hear the patient’s response as he yelled “THEY’VE BEEN SAYING THAT ALL DAMN NIGHT!” Vicki and Carla step off the elevator and narrowly miss colliding into another nurse walking as fast as he can to not officially be running. “That kind of night, huh?” Carla asked Elijah as she followed him to the main nurse’s station to check her assignment. Looking harried and exhausted, Elijah simultaneously shook his head, rolled his eyes and let out a deep breath.  “You don’t even want to know, girlfriend.  Thankfully, that piece of work has transfer orders to go upstairs today” he says, waving his arm in the general direction of the bellowing voice. “Well, aren’t you sweet?” Carla winked at him as she picked up the assignment clipboard. The back of her neck tingled when she saw that she had two sedated patients. Immediately she started fidgeting with her left hand: popping her knuckles, twisting her wrist to spin her bracelet around and around, and finally grabbing a pen that she started clicking every two seconds before she noticed Elijah looking at her. “Look, I don’t know how you get yourself going in the morning but if I were your partner and had to listen to all that popping and clicking, I’d shove that pen right through your trachea and give you a new airway” Elijah said without even blinking. “Geez!  We know who has decided to chose violence today!” Carla said, laughing it off.  “Remind me to request a different nurse if anything ever happens to me, okay?” “Gladly” says Elijah with his best customer service smile.  “Now, are you going to make me wait all day or can I give you report so I can get my ass home, drink whiskey in the bathtub and try to sleep a little before coming back to this hell hole for one more night.” “Oh! You have my people? I didn’t even notice! I just assumed you had Mr. Sweet Cheeks down there with how ummm … good you look this morning!” Carla tried to stop the last few words from coming out of her mouth, as she sat the clipboard down, but was unsuccessful. Thankfully, Elijah didn’t seem to take offense, maybe he had reached the state of exhaustion where he was numb to everything … except her pen clicking. “Oh, you can thank me later when all you have to do is make sure the med don’t run dry.  Both of our lovely ladies decided last night was a good night to buck their sedation, try to pull out their breathing tubes, and the doctors were NOT ready to try them off the ventilator.  I mean, I have to stay up working all night so I don’t know why

they  have a problem bringing in the calvary at dark-thirty a.m. but who am I to judge?” Carla chose to just nod her head in agreement as they walked toward the station nearest beds 3 and 4 where she would be working today.  She caught that sharp, bittersweet smell again before she saw Vicki’s bag next to the other computer at her station. “Dear God, doesn’t she know we can smell her from a mile away?” Elijah said as he made a face of disgust. “It’s a hard habit to break” Carla said quietly. “Well, hopefully she airs out a little so you don’t have to smell that all day.” I need to smell it all day , Carla thinks.

It keeps me grounded and keeps the other demons away . “Here,” Elijah said as he pulled out a seat at the computers, “None of the families are here yet so let’s just do report at the station and then we’ll go check sedation settings before I sprint out of here.” As Elijah reviewed the admission notes, doctors’ orders, recent blood work, and meds for the patients, Carla felt like the thermostat had been increased by 30 degrees.  She was hot, sweating, and knew she was going to leave sweat marks on the chair when she stood up. “Bed 3,” said Elijah “was the worst of them last night.  21-year-old female admitted as the driver of a single car accident, ejected from the vehicle, unresponsive at the scene, and, on top of everything being broken, her drug screen lit up like a Christmas tree.” They reviewed the lab results together and Carla saw that this patient was positive for nearly everything on the toxicology screen except marijuana.

“I guess they haven’t figured out how to inject marijuana yet so” Elijah trailed off with a shrug. He continued to review the current orders for the patient’s sedation meds, ventilator settings, the last time the patient had been bathed, turned and whatever else he said … Carla couldn’t hear him. As she glanced at the patient’s name, Carla felt her heart jump into her throat, momentarily suffocating her, and threatening to make her vomit her very life source right there onto the nurse’s station. Destiny Williams. It can’t be , Carla thought. “Okay?” she finally heard Elijah say. “Yeah, sure” Carla nodded and shook her head, coming back to the conversation. “Our other friend is an 84-year-old grandma, with a history of smoking about ten packs a day.  Ms. Ethel decided to just sit around when she had the flu last month which then turned into pneumonia and now, she’s lucky enough to have a machine breathing for her” Elijah reported. “She got agitated last night and started pulling at her tubes but we caught her before she extubated herself.  We gave her a little more ‘sleepy juice’ to keep her happy ass still until they can give ‘er a chance to show off her breathing skills on her own.” “Got it” Carla said as she watched Elijah click through the orders screen, the lab results and the plan of care, just like he did with Destiny’s chart.  But all she could think about was Destiny. “So, you said the families have been by?” she asked. “Oh, well, just Ms. Ethel’s.  This other one hasn’t had any visitors yet.” “How long has she been here?” “I think 2 nights” he said as he clicked back on Destiny’s chart to find her date of admission. “Yeah, 2 nights” Carla confirmed as she pointed to the screen. Carla knows they walked into the patients’ rooms.  She knows Elijah showed her the settings on the pumps that were controlling the medication delivery to each patient.  She also knows that they looked at the ventilator settings together and all of the mouth care supplies.  But, as she said goodbye to Elijah and watched him walk away, she couldn’t recall any of the numbers for the various settings nor which side of the bed the vents were set up on. All she saw was Destiny. The unit was quiet now.  Carla couldn’t hear any of the cardiac alarms.  Mr. Sweet Cheeks was apparently satisfied (or did somebody already transfer him?  No, it was too early for transfers.) And the last few night shift nurses were congregated around the elevator to ride to freedom together. Carla had to know. She slipped back into room 3 where she appraised Destiny not as a patient.  What Carla saw as she looked at Destiny was somebody’s daughter, somebody’s dream, somebody’s reason to get clean.  But had somebody failed her? What caused Destiny to have track marks up and down both arms?  What led to Destiny thinking it was a good idea to combine so many drugs at once and then get behind the wheel of a car!?  What happened to her mom? Where was Amanda? Knowing she had a little time before Vicki started looking for her, Carla sat on the edge of Destiny’s bed and held Destiny’s hand. Destiny didn’t move when Carla touched her.  She couldn’t move.  Destiny was sedated and paralyzed in order to keep her safe while she had a breathing tube down her throat, the machine breathing for her, because she was unable to effectively oxygenate on her own. As Carla felt Destiny’s limp hand in her own, she was transported back to the night that she and Amanda promised each other they would get clean.  They would pursue better lives for themselves because they were too young to die but, mostly, because of the secret Amanda shared with Carla that night. “I’m pregnant.” Carla had barely heard Amanda’s whispered confession. “Are you sure” Carla asked. “I bought 5 tests from the Dollar Store the other day and they all came back positive.” “Oh, Amanda” Carla said as she pulled her friend in for a hug. “And before you ask, no, I don’t know who the daddy is but I don’t care.  I’m keeping this baby and I’m going to get clean so she can have a better life than the one I’ve been livin’ out here on the streets.” “Okay! I’m here for you and we’ll do it together” Carla exclaimed. “See …” Amanda stalled “that’s the thing.”  She looked away, not able to make eye contact as she continued “I’ve been talking to some social workers and they said there’s rehab facilities or somethin’ like that for pregnant women like me who want to get clean but, unless you plan to go get knocked up, they don’t have no room for anybody on their own.” “That’s ridiculous!  They won’t turn me away.” Shaking her head, Amanda said, “I don’t know, Babe. The lady said they make you pee in a cup every week to make sure you’re still pregnant and ain’t been sneakin’ no drugs.  As long as I stay clean, they help make sure I get to the doctor visits and everything.” Trying to be happy for her friend, Carla put on her best smile, grabbed Amanda’s other hand, looked her in the eye and said “It sounds like a good chance for you and your baby.  I’m happy for you, the both of you, Amanda.” The two women looked at each other a little longer, wrapped in the embrace of the familiar darkness, before Carla broke the silence saying “You better not forget about me” as she gave Amanda’s hands a squeeze to punctuate each word. Throwing her arms around her friend’s neck, Amanda whispered “Never.” That was nearly 26 years ago. Amanda stayed clean throughout her pregnancy and delivered a healthy baby girl that she named Destiny. Carla had eaten humble pie and moved back in with her parents where she went through a painful detox alone and refused to go out of the house if the sun was about to set.  The darkness was her demise and she knew that she was too weak to avoid the corners and houses that used to feed her habits or help her make the money to afford them. To scratch the itch of stopping the drugs she used to do cold turkey (never as heavy as Amanda’s vices), Carla took up smoking.  On days she was particularly pining for a bump, Carla would make a game with herself to see how slowly she could smoke a cigarette, sometimes just lighting one and not even putting it to her lips. When she and Amanda met up after the birth of Destiny, Amanda told her “You can’t be smokin’ around my baby.  I’ve been doin’ real good not putting her around any of that old mess we used to do.” So, Carla would leave the cigarettes in her car and not even bring them around her friend. One day, when Destiny was about 4 years old, they met at the park and Carla looked at Amanda before blurting out “I’m thinking about doing something crazy.” “Crazier than stopping drugs cold turkey and having a baby on your own?” “Well,” Carla chuckled, “You might have me there but it’s a close second.” “Hit me with it” Amanda said as she playfully met her friend’s shoulder with a closed fist. “I’m thinking about going to nursing school.” As serious as a heart attack, Amanda returned the same genuine excitement and support that Carla had shared with her five years before. “Carla! You go girl!  You’ve always been such a good friend.  You’ll be the best nurse.” “I have to take a few classes before I can apply but my parents said I could live with them as long as I have a plan to better myself.  I figured being a nurse could help me afford to eventually live on my own.” “Hell, we’ll come live with you” Amanda exclaimed before she thought better of it. Both women’s faces grew solemn as they understood, without having to discuss it together, that it was too risky for them to live together again. “But, for real, Carla, I’m proud of you.  Just like you believed in me, I believe in you” Amanda recovered. Classes started for Carla two months later.  It took her three years to get her prerequisites completed since she had to space out classes enough to allow her to carry a job without working any night shifts or taking evening classes. Once in nursing school, Carla focused on her studies and clinical rotations and finally finished her associates degree 2 years later without having to repeat any semesters.  She passed the licensing exam on the first try and found a job that allowed her to work in exchange for tuition reimbursement as she pursued her bachelor’s degree and finished that in another 2.5 years. During the pursuit of her dream to become a nurse, Carla lost touch with Amanda and had no idea how to get back in contact with her. She often thought of her friend from so many years ago when they had patients come in with the most devastating stories, preceded by drug use and decisions made while impaired.  Carla was

so  thankful that she and Amanda found their reasons to get and stay clean so many years ago and always sent up a silent petition on Amanda’s behalf that she was still doing well, too. But, today, as she looked at the daughter of a friend she hadn’t heard from in over a decade, Carla’s heart shattered just like Destiny’s body. Yes, Carla maintained a healthy fear and respect of the drugs she used to encounter on the street, specifically the Fentanyl they used to help sedate their patients.  But seeing Destiny’s bruised and battered body, hearing the machine’s rhythmic breathing for her, and steady beeping as the heart monitor provided feedback for Destiny’s pulse, Carla couldn’t hear the drugs calling her name. She heard Amanda’s voice telling Carla she believes in her.  Though the situation appeared dire and Destiny had a long road ahead of her, Carla knew this wasn’t the end for Destiny.  As she had so many other days, Carla renewed her vow to stay clean and help nurse Amanda’s daughter back to health. Vicki poked her head in and said she was going to look for her badge in her car. Carla gave Destiny’s hand one more squeeze before standing up and getting to work, continuing to fulfill the dream she strove to achieve each and every day.


Today is Thanksgiving. I know because I woke up at 5:00 AM to find my mom already halfway through cooking Thanksgiving dinner. I plopped down on the couch and started scrolling through my phone until I heard her talking to someone on what sounded like the phone. I was still in my pajamas and I knew I would be scolded for my messy hair and tired appearance, so I cleaned up and changed my clothes before saying hi to our extended family. Most of them are from my dad's side. He has 11 total siblings, 7 brothers, and 4 sisters. Or it's 12 siblings and 8 sisters and 4 brothers... I can never remember. Anyway, I said hi to my aunts and uncles. My mom also has one brother, but no other siblings. I kept greeting them until I was pretty sure I had everyone, and then I realized that I couldn't eat anything until dinner that day. It was tradition to go super hungry until dinner so you could stuff yourself and eat as much as possible. My sister does that anyway, she doesn't eat that much. She came upstairs from her room in the basement and my mom and I along with our extended family on the zoom call jumped in surprise. "You scared all of us!" my mom said. "Sorry!" my sister seemed genuinely upset so we forgave her. My dad still wasn't up yet at this point, and it was around 7 AM. The Macy's Day Parade would be starting soon and he needed to hurry so we were able to catch it on TV. We never go in person even though it's just a short car ride away. My parents say that it's too cold and there are too many tourists. Well, not this year, anyway. I was also hoping we could watch the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving Special, but ever since Apple bought the franchise, we haven't seen anything on regular TV. There's always YouTube I guess. After a long while, my dad finally woke up and started making the lasagne. I wanted to help, but our kitchen is only so large. My parents were going to be on the family zoom call all day making the feast for later in the day, so my sisters and I crowded in the living room and watched the parade with the volume all the way up. We had hot cocoa and blankets wrapped around our shoulders because we live in New York and we can't have our house be too warm because my cat starts shedding. Speaking of that little rascal, he was sitting next to the fireplace we had crowded around. I guess he got tired of the cold too. We watched the Paw Patrol float, Wendy's float, the turkey float, and Kool-Aid Man float go by before we started playing some cup pong on our phones. Time flew by and before we knew it, the parade was over. We decided to find the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving Special on YouTube, so we searched it up and found it. My sisters complained that the story was terrible and the colonizers were the ones who ultimately brought upon the Native American peoples' downfall and death. I had to agree, and afterward, we all sat and recognized the grief and sorrow that was truly behind Thanksgiving. There was a sour and sad mood in the house until the food was being served. Then we all said what we were thankful for. My sisters went. The elder one spoke first. "I'm thankful that I get to spend this holiday season with the people I love the most, and that I get to spend it with you guys at all. The health and wellness of all of you" she pointed at the laptop camera and then gestured to all of us, her nuclear family, "my amazing family, is so important to me and I couldn't imagine living without you." My mom started crying and then my other sister went next. "I'm so thankful for everyone here tonight, especially Kdot." (our cat). "I love you all so much and I can't believe that this is our new normal." My dad went next. "I love y'all so much and I can't believe how much we've all grown and changed in the past two years. This life has not been easy but we've managed. I wanna thank all of you for showing me the love and compassion that I have not always been able to return to you, and thank you for being there for me. I love y'all." Then my mom. "I love my babies so much. I can't even believe that you're all so grown up! Time flies when you're stuck at home right!" my mom was barely able to make it through her speech she was sobbing. We all hugged her and she continued. "Sometimes life works in mysterious ways, and I know, without a single shadow of a doubt, that I couldn't live without all of you in it." We all started crying, even my dad who had barely managed to hold it in since my older sister started talking. We all started shoveling food into our mouths and talking at the same time after my Auntie Janet's family had finally shared their thanks and we could all dig in. Sometimes things don't always go as they should, but we can always take comfort in the thought we have someone to go to in a time of crisis. It can take a miracle. Or it can take one person. The topic of Christmas then came up. My father and mother are agnostic, and my sisters and I are atheists, so we don't celebrate Christmas as religiously as our extended family does. For example, we don't practice going to church on Christmas day, but our extended family does that. Mostly because they don't live in the North-Eastern part of the United States, though. "We'll figure it out." my dad said. "Just like we figured this out. Sometimes it takes a whole family thinking together about something to come together and form a single opinion on it. We could zoom, we could visit each other. But for now, let's just enjoy the little time we have right now, separate but together.


Sins of the Father (and Mother) It is a well established fact of life that parents will occasionally, usually unintentionally, embarrass their children. This is often accomplished, in most cases by the dad, simply by choice of attire. Kids do not want to be seen in close proximity to a parent who likely secured their latest colorful outfit at the clearance sale rack at the “Nerd Department” of Kohl’s. Such momentary discomforts suffered by a child are to be expected and over time can be forgiven. My tale of woe is not the result of unintentional acts of geeky, parental behavior, but rather the result of a carefully planned course of action designed to inflict maximum humiliation. This cannot be forgiven. Much of what you will read here is based on hearsay, in some cases double hearsay, and in an instance or two, triple hearsay, or so I’ve heard. A fair amount of conjecture is also sprinkled in, as well as a spoonful of sheer guesswork, but I deem it all reliable. Planning Stage My parents met in high school. That was 10 years before I was born, but I have reason to believe that is where we find the genesis of the diabolical deed. My uncle says he knows a guy who once bought a used car from a guy who had the same study hall as mom and dad. I never spoke to him directly, but he swears that he overheard mom and dad whispering words like "bunnies" and "boxers" on multiple occasions. Coincidence? I don’t think so. My parents celebrate their anniversary on February 14 th . As such, Valentine’s Day is a big deal around my house. Even my dad gets all squishy about it. Coincidence that Phase One of the dastardly act was launched on Valentines Day? I don’t think so…more like it was their gift to each other.  Critical to the success of the scheme was the fact that dad and my gym teacher both are active members of the local Lions Club. My dad joined Lions 5 years before implementing the demonic deed. Proof of premeditation? I’d say. It is also significant to note that my mom and the mother of the beautiful Janet served on two PTA committees together, thus giving them plenty of time to scheme. Consider too that my dad and Jack’s dad were in the same bowling league. Do you think more than bowling for average was going on? I do. The complexity of the plan staggers the imagination and underscores the degree of depravity behind the dastardly deed. Execution “Happy Valentines Day, honey! We got this nice gift for you.” The tone was sweet, much in the mode of Brutus asking Caesar to stop by for a visit. The package was beautifully wrapped, much in the tradition of the keepsake the Greeks left for the Trojans. The impact would prove to be greater than the consequences of either event. Even today, after the passing of so many years, I still lament that, in the immortal words of Lloyd Christmas, “I didn’t even see it coming.” A good laugh was had by all. Pink boxer shorts covered with red hearts in a variety of sizes, a multitude of hopping white bunnies, and the words “Honey Bunny” plastered all over them. “Thanks mom, very funny.” If I had only known. I would have immediately shredded the garment, burned the fragments, and buried the ashes in the backyard, somewhere in the vicinity of the final resting place of Fred the hamster and AJ the turtle. But those were the naïve, trusting days of a 13 year old, so I thanked my parents and placed the “Honey Bunny” boxers at the bottom of my sock and underwear drawer, firm in the belief I would never wear them. They say timing is everything in the world of humor. The same can be said for successful pranks, especially those of a malicious nature. Like a cat waiting to pounce on its unsuspecting prey, patience is key. In this case, the clever prankers quietly strategized for months before implementing the conclusion of their sorry scheme. Freshman year in high school is a vulnerable time for many teens. Around mid-October, I was working through some self-confidence issues as I tried hard to “fit in”. I felt I was making good progress, and then it all came crashing down with unspeakable, humiliating, and endless consequence. I had a restless night. I heard sounds in my bedroom, mysterious, foreboding sounds. In my semi-conscious state, I couldn’t identify the source. But now I know with absolute certitude that someone, mom or dad, I can’t be sure which as both strenuously adhere to the self-serving principal of plausible deniability, was rifling through my sock and underwear drawer. The next morning I discovered that there is indeed something worse than the proverbial “empty cupboard”- a drawer with a lone pair of boxer shorts- yes, you guessed it, the now infamous “Honey Bunny” boxer shorts. How could this be? I know there were at least 3 pair of non-Honey Bunny boxers in that drawer, and now, poof, they’re gone? This was beyond suspicious. “Mom! Where are my boxer shorts?! The only pair left is the stupid Honey Bun shorts, and I’m not wearing those!” “They’re all in the laundry. You’ll have to wear the Honey Buns, honey bun.” She sounded so sincere, so sweet, so honest. I bet she practiced that for days. My own mother! Wait, let me think. It’s Thursday. My Physical Fitness course has classroom instruction on nutrition and healthy lifestyles on Thursdays. I won’t have to change into gym shorts today. No one will know I am wearing the Honey Buns. I’ll know, and there is a certain degree of discomfort associated with bearing such a close relationship with hearts and bunnies, but no real harm could come of it. But that I could only have grasped the extent of the devious intricacies of the plot. My last normal day of high school was, well, pretty normal. In fact, it was above and beyond normal. My buddy Jason had informed me that Janet (the object of heartfelt obsession since my very first day of high school) would in fact agree to go to the Freshman Dance with me should I ever be able to muster up sufficient courage to ask her. Now this put my mind on a whole different track. I could think of nothing besides Janet, the dance, and how I would go about asking her. The troublesome reality of what was yet unseen vanished in the fog of fanciful romance. Looking back on it, I am still undecided if it was merely cruel fate, or had either Jason or Janet, or both, with the prodding of their parents, assumed the part of co-conspirators. The role that the irresistible powers of distraction played in the event seems way too “convenient” to have been a matter of coincidence. Jason steadfastly denies any part in the whole sordid affair, and the shroud of embarrassment has precluded any attempt on my part to communicate with the beautiful Janet. “Attention! Due to maintenance work in the gym scheduled for tomorrow, Mr. Hall’s Physical Fitness class will be held in the gym today.” How difficult would it have been for my dad to learn of the schedule change from my gym teacher during a night of bowling and beer guzzling? Difficult? No, I’d put it in the column of highly probable…and sinister. It never registered. Every electron flashing through my brain was focused on my only reality at the moment- Janet, Janet, and then some more Janet. As I stood in front of my locker, I was completely oblivious to the fact I was wearing the Honey Buns and the ensuing doom soon to be unleashed. “Hey, Jack. What do you think we’ll be doing today?” “I think we're still on…oh my God.” My blue jeans were off, and there they were, for all to see- the dreaded Honey Buns. Jack was not a disciple of the cautionary admonition, “Loose lips sink ships”, and he was certainly not one to let a rich opportunity to publicly ridicule a classmate pass him by. He pounced with remarkable relish. “Hey guys! Take a look at this! Pink underwear with hearts and bunnies!” Oh my God. The moment I heard the words and the accompanying clamor for all to get a good look, I knew I was doomed. A nearby junior meanie grabbed my blue jeans and my gym shorts and took off, leaving me standing there defenseless and humiliated in my Honey Buns for the remainder of the period. They say the laughter could be heard in the girls’ locker-room clear across the other side of the gym. I would later learn that nearby neighbors in their homes questioned the cause of the jubilant uproar emanating from the high school. It was an emotional stoning. My classmates showed no mercy. Even my gym teacher, previously perceived to be a nice man, laughed to the point of tears. Verbal descriptions of the event would have been damaging; the presence of camera equipped cell phones guaranteed long term and widespread devastation. I felt like I was on display at a Carnival side show. Tardy students were flagged down in the hallway and brought in to take a look. Word of the spectacle somehow reached the faculty lounge and a number of the adults quickly abandoned their role of caretaker of children and rushed in to get a good laugh. Girls giggled and pointed in the hallways the remainder of the day. Teachers smirked and muffled laughter. The Principal gave me a sympathetic look, shook his head, and said, “I was going to say that all things will pass, but then I saw the picture. Good luck, son.” Aftermath There are figures in history who are defined by one singular event, some good, some not so good. The good: Bobby Thompson’s home run, Neil Armstrong setting foot on the moon, Lindberg’s trans-Atlantic fight. The bad: Bartman interfering with the foul ball in the Cubs’ playoff game, a candidate for national office flubbing the spelling of ‘potato’, Will Smith’s slap-down of Chris Rock. The ugly: me in my Honey Buns. Similarly, there are permanent nicknames that carry a positive connotation, such as Zorro and Batman, while other monikers are less desirable, such as Humpty-Dumpty and Butt-Head. And then there is the truly regrettable- Honey Bunny. From that day forward my christened name languished on the trash heap of history. I would forever be known as “Honey Bunny”. Every kid in that high school called me Honey Bunny. Teachers did the same. My parents discarded the name they once picked out and went with Honey Bunny. The Greeter at Walmart shoved a cart in my direction saying, “Here you go, Honey Bunny”. The ultimate humiliation came when the priest in the Confessional slid open the little door and asked, “And when was your last confession, Honey Bunny?” I fought it at first. I tried wearing disguises to school, wigs, phony glasses with the fake nose, occasionally a dress, a lovely chiffon with gold trim. It only added to the ridicule. I pleaded with my parents to send me to the Catholic High School across town. We checked it out, but my hopes were quickly dashed when the admissions counselor greeted me with, “We’d love to have you here at St. John’s, Honey Bunny.”

I finally realized there was no point in resisting, so I embraced it. If I were to be Honey Bunny, I was determined to be the best Honey Bunny I could be. The next day, just after the final bell at the end of the school day when the hallways are the busiest, I jumped up on a chair, raised my arms above my head, and shouted, “I am Honey Bunny! Hear me roar!” That only made things worse. So, I sit alone and dejected, each day growing more and more accustomed to a life of ridicule and anguish. At long last, I have concluded that nothing can be done to improve my present circumstance. I turn then to the future. It is my heritage, it is my right. Should I ever find a woman charitable enough to take “Honey Bunny” for her husband, and should we have children, I will be certain to pass along the sins of my father…and mother. I am not so cruel as to inflict anything as damaging as Honey Bunny boxers on my offspring, but I will be sure to dish out ample doses of embarrassment when opportunities arise. I already have a few things in mind. Whenever we are in public places, I’ll hit them up with distasteful nicknames like “Princess”, “Speedy” and “Buster”. I will make certain that my kids are the last to know there is no Santa, thereby guaranteeing they will be the brunt of a few laughs in their elementary school classrooms, maybe even high school if I can pull it off. And any time a child of mine distances himself or herself from me because of my wardrobe selection, I will quickly close the gap and repeatedly shout, “I’m this kid’s dad! I’m this kid’s dad!” I don’t know if we can call this payback, but I feel better already.


Professor Katopodis had a habit of turning every conversation topic into an academic discussion. He had a feeling that retirement would take some time to get used to. On his first day in Palaio Faliro, a seaside town 10 km south of Athens, his wife suggested he might out go for a walk to clear his head of the 37 years of strife he had endured at the National University. Stepping outside this morning, the first thing he noticed were the oranges. Bright and plump, they littered every inch of the pavement. And then the cats. They lounged in the sun, indifferent to everyone around them. He nudged an orange with his foot toward one crouching under a parked car but it took no notice. Another car sitting on the top of a nearby BMW watched him intently. Katopodis met the felines gaze. "The oranges in the supermarket cost 2 Euros, and here they lay on the ground for free. I wonder why." The cat leaped off the car and disappeared into a garden. Breathing in the salty ocean air, he continued his walk to the market. He bought two freshly caught sea bream, the tastiest fish in the Mediterranean, to celebrate their new proximity to the ocean. "Palaio Faliro is closer to the ocean, but the price is 7% more than in Athens." He looked at the fishmonger for an explanation, but simply received a shrug. On his return home, his wife Polina looked at his purchase. “They don’t look any different from the ones in the city,” The Professor informed her, "The new fishing quotas in the Mediterranean have increased the fish stock by 20%." She placed them in the refrigerator and returned to cooking. A savory aroma of stuffed peppers filled the kitchen. The professor went to his new study to continue working on a Treatise on the Causes of Greek Economic Stagnation during the Middle Ottoman Occupation Period . The next day–he knew he should have given it a wide berth–curiosity made him peek into the rubbish bin. He discovered the bag with the two fish in it The economics implications of this were disappointing. He passed by the oranges and the cats, took and glance at the ocean, and kept his eyes open for anything else new. The crowded streets jammed with parked cars, and lined with 1960s era apartment blocks, looked very much like every other neighborhood of Athens.

Hundreds of years of war and occupation by the Ottoman Empire didn't leave much standing. When the hated Ottomans left, anything they left behind was torn down out of spite, and all of Athens was rebuilt in the 1950s and 1960s The smell of coffee in the air in front of a café on Agiou Alexandrou avenue drew him inside. He ordered an espresso and a Koulouri and received a cold stare from the young woman at the cash register. As he nibbled on the sesame bread ring, he scanned the faces of the other customers. Mostly middle-aged and older men with unkempt beards and unwavering gazes. He looked around for anyone to strike up a conversation with, but they all looked like men who had spent too much time staring at the sea. At the university, students had often complemented Professor Katopodis’s on how lively his eyes were and how alert his gaze was for a man his age. Mostly female students close to the end of the term, when the optimism of spring was in the air. His mobile buzzed. A message from Helena, his former administrative assistant. “Professor Katopodis, we miss seeing you in the Economic Department this term. BTW, Adriana informed me that Professor Dougenis is also living in Palaio. Here’s his contact info…” As the mention of Dougenis, a wave of nausea washed over him. Didn’t Helena remember how repulsive Dougenis was. But this being Greece, cordiality comes above all else, and he would need to contact him at some point. Next month. He put the phone away and took this matter out of his mind. But, how he hated everything Dougneis stood for. With Greece’s economy sinking back into recession after the EU cut off the free supply of money, Dougenis was still promoting leftist economic policies. Loan forgiveness. Unemployment benefits for all. His stomach churned from the combination of espresso, koulouri and Dougenis. After finishing his coffee, Professor Katopodis continued his morning walk in this fabulous neighborhood and shook this off. He was becoming accustomed to this new life of leisure. When he returned home, a white and brown tabby cat was blocking the entrance to the apartment building. He waved his arms and stomped his feet but the cat didn't move. An unexpected puzzle. It was beneath a man of his stature to resort to violence. As idea came to mind. He opened a package of feta cheese he had just purchased, broke off a small piece and placed it a meter away from the entrance. As he wiped his finger with a tissue, the cat stood up and walked over to sniff the pungent cheese. Katopodis chuckled at his good fortune and quickly slid into the building and closed the door behind him. In the apartment, he smiled when he saw Paulina. “A feta cheese, from Epirus,” he said, offering it to her. "Where the mountainous terroir produces the ideal–" “It’s already opened?” She said, looking into the bag. “A cat blocked the door.”

She didn't ask any more questions, and took the cheese and put it into the refrigerator. He went to the study to continue working on a Treatise on the Causes of Greek Economic Stagnation during the Late Ottoman Occupation Period . But words refused to come. He had to get something out of the way. On his mobile, he typed: Prof Dougneis, this is Katopodis. Helena says we are neighbors. You must be very busy, but if you have an emergency, here is my contact information. He despised Dougenis so much, and hoped hated him in return, and this would be the end of the matter. The next day, he avoided looking into the rubbish bin and went out to explore the neighborhood further. This was Athens’ finest seaside suburb. He went to the Flisvos Marina and walked the mega-yachts and trendy restaurants. Observing the diners, he saw mostly groups of salesmen in their 30s and 40s. In Greece, men and women usually socialize in separate groups. The salesman looked supremely confident with each other. He overheard bluntly stated opinions about what was the "best" and what was the "worst" without any nuance or logic to explain their position. As an Economic professor, he lamented that most economic activity looked more like this than the facts and figure he worked with. They didn't appear to be in no hurry to go back to work. Lunches can go on for hours in Greece. Things were different in London. Employees are meant to be “productive”. His 10 years in London were awful. Trapped in a fishbowl office–behind glass walls in full display for everyone else to look at–ten hours a day. He pretended to be working while all day he dreamt of escape from that glass prison. Thankfully, he abandoned the high salary and returned home. The pace of life was better in Greece. Almost everyone spends two or three hours after lunch sipping coffee and gossiping about current events before returning to do a few hours of work before dinner. The whole day is an escape, and work is a few patches in between to break the monotony. He walked back to Agiou Alexandrou avenue and found a fast food restaurant to eat in, Zorba the Pita. Looking at the menu, he wondered why mass-produced fast food was more expensive than traditional food. Surrounded by high school students, he stared blankly out the window eating a lamb pita, hoping none of the overly boisterous students would approach him. His mobile vibrated. Prof Katopodis, I believe we did not finish our discussion about the Greek civil servant pension reform. If you are free this afternoon, you should stop over at 57 Amfitritis Street and I will serve you coffee and we can finish that discussion once and for all. -Prof Dougenis The address was only 5 minutes away. Repulsive, yes. But there were some points in his argument he hadn’t made yet. Professor Dougenis. Fortunately, I have a small gap in my schedule this afternoon to accept your gracious offer. -Prof Katopodis At hour later, his face was red-hot as he lectured Dougenis on the lunacy of pension privatization. If you lecture an Economic Professor, you can expect to receive a lecture back. “The word privatization is waved around as a magic solution to every problem in Greece. But isn’t privatization simply giving the nation's most important assets to greedy individuals through corrupt deals fueled by kickbacks and nepotism?" Dougenis's voice was now at an ear-piercing squeal. “But individual effort and hard work is the bedrock of economic activity.” “You always come back to hard work. May I ask why you have strong views on this theme of hard work?” Professor Katopodis stared at the knickknacks on Dougenis's walls. A photo of Dougnesis's retirement party. Maybe he didn't have anything to lose. “My grandparents were refugees from Turkey during the population exchange. They started in Athens with nothing.” For decades, these Greek immigrants from Turkey were treated as suspect. Different. Not bound by the same ties of loyalty as everyone else in Athens. Untrustable.

“In all our years working together in the National University, I never know that,” Dougenis said, "I think I better understand you.” Katopodis wonder if he opened a Pandora box. Would this change his status back at the National University? Dougenis was quiet in contemplation for a while, then he left for the kitchen, and returned with a bottle of Fatourada. "Greeks. A history of struggle," he said, “Let’s have a drink to the old days. And to more discussions like this to come in Palaio Faliro." He poured two shots of the orange flavored spiced spirit. They clinked their glass and exchanged a toast. “Yiamas!” When he returned home later, the white and brown tabby cat was again blocking the door. He had a package of lamb meatballs he had received from Dougenis’s wife to share with his family. He carefully took one out and placed it about a meter away from the door. The cat cautiously slunk over, took a sniff, and began at eat. Katopodis carefully closed the lid on the package. Feeling the chill of the autumn breeze, while inhaling deeply of the salty ocean air tinged with the scent of oranges, he returned home to share what he had received with Polina and tell her all about Dougenis and how he has changed.


Left, right, left, right, Oh come on, why am I so indecisive now? My legs were burning from the marathon I ran. The crunch of the floor echoed just a hallway down from two doors I stood aside. The hotels cheap and worn down lifts weren’t working, and sure as hell won’t get me very far. The air was chilly, and outlined my uncontrolled breath. My thoughts raced like horses, betting on which one will win. The first door on the left was painted ebony. It was glossy and sheer. The door handle read emergency exit in a label of ever green. The other door was red and had a plain metal door handle. Growls and roars of the coniferous creature shattered and bounced off every crease in the wall. I slammed my hands against my ears and shrieked a high pitch voice. Shit shit shit, now I must make a decision. The summoning of the creature had rose from one of the hotel dorms. And it had grown with every imprisoned soul it snatched in it’s insanely giant stale and crusty legs. It almost looked like an enlarged hexapod. With the legs of a mantis and body like a spider. But with a sort of rotting human corpse feature. The creature had torn apart every living person and child in this god foresaken hotel. It all began on a peaceful Saturday morning. This holiday was new and strange, my parents never took me anywhere except the theme parks in England. We had drove to the remote island and then took a ferry. The exhausting results of the trip had caused me to pass out at seven. But I was awoken by the screams of my mother. Lying in a pool of blood with a creature the size of a puppy latched onto her neck like a leach. The mess it created could’ve been featured in some sort of gallery. The look of horror painted on my face as I stood paralysed, unable to move. My mothers limp body had laid, moving about, creating squelching sounds. Her stomach had erupted and millions of tiny creatures emerged. Either it lay eggs, or multiplied like a corroding virus desperately begging to eat away at your living soul. I didn’t waste another second. I sprinted out the hotel dorm door and slammed it shut. I tried running down the grand luxury stairs, circling and trailing to the ground floor; but it was too late. Collections and stampedes of the creatures had pigged out on anything moving. Like parasites infesting and killing its host. The stomping of my feet caught attention and I was herded back upstairs. I went down the east wing as it was away from my dorm room, and I had a better chance of escaping. But here I was. Unable to do a simply bloody thing and choose which door to go through. Ugh if my mother had just let me explore the hotel on my own maybe this wouldn’t be like solving a riddle. The crumble of the dry wall had trailed closer and as tears swam down my face like raindrops on car windows I finally got my dumb blonde brain and; red. I bolted to the right. I slammed against the heavy door, trying to open it with all my might. Pull not push Emily. I screamed even louder as I pull the door open and ran for my life. I approached a stairwell, lined with fine red carpet and tripped as the process of stopping had made it inevitable. One set of stairs going up, one going down. I couldn’t protect myself or keep the door closed. “ Emily!” The creature bellowed in a hoarse sharp whisper. It was calling to me. It sounded familiar. The thing had called my name again, but this time it sounded like a middle aged woman, wailing for her child. “ Emily!” It called in its sad soprano voice. The scratches created were high pitched, enough to make me grind my teeth in the un comforting state. I jerked my head back. My breathing felt heavy and uneasy. The hairs on my neck stood erect. The chitter of the monster sat outside like an angry cicada and then, silence. I held my breath. The snot oozing and bubbling out my nose as my sight was blurred and filled with a rain cloud of tears. All of a sudden, the eruption of tiny jitters and pitter patter of tiny legs rose and wailed behind the closed door. The underneath of the bright red door filled with a mosaic of black mass, spreading out like an angry sandstorm coming closer towards my creased and muddy white shoes. I slowly backed away from the miniscule spiders. Concurrently, as the spiders drove through the door in herds, they collided together. Mutating and shredding each other’s limbs until they collectively grow in height, curling its neck against the ceiling from the naked height. I turned and I bolted. Down, down DOWN EMILY. I yelled at myself. Punishing for myself for getting chased by a predator. I felt like meek prey. The dancing of my shoelaces around me joined together, and I tumbled down the cushioned stairs. The place was spinning. Despite the soft carpets, I didn’t realise how thin, and how much I winded myself cracking my back against the straight edges of the stairs. My whole body was flailing and contorting as the air threw me down, and down, and down. My head concussed on the dense and solid concrete walls, the impact shaking my brain, the sound of reverberating vibrations of high pitched frequencies poisoned my ears, and as I struggled to catch my breath, wincing in utter pain, my tears choking me as I tried to move, the room began to spin, like an uncontrolled fair ride I used to visit with my parents. My vision blurred for good, unable to focus. I managed to recognise the contrast and merging black colours of the spidery creature, now back in its insect form; it crawled on the wall and ceiling, bending its freaky sticky legs on all sorts of angles before emerging down the stairs and towards me...


Darkness engulfed the men in front of me to the point that all I heard were silhouettes chattering, only pausing to take quick breaths, and get back to the greatest issue at hand. The smartest men I knew were chattering away. Three problem solvers in front of me and yet, they felt no need to deal with our lack of light, now that the sun was making its exit. Of course, they wouldn't because it was always Sarah who remembered to put on the porch lights. She would always add twinkle lights with colors that matched the season for some extra warmth. She made sure citronella candles were lit to chase away the bugs. Sarah made the tastiest snacks magically appear too. Conversation would surround me and then there would be a bowl of nachos with extra salsa, or some banana bread, and always bowls of fancy nuts. There was never a need to ask. Sarah loved taking care of her guests. Today though, Sarah didn’t welcome guests. A glance to the bedroom window showed that she still remembered the light. Her hunched shadow cocooned in a marshmallow shaped blanket and a cigarette in her hand told me that I was better off staying in the backyard with the chatterboxes.

I couldn’t see her face. I wished I could see her eyes and know how she was feeling. Would she be okay? But the way she walked said a lot. She dragged herself back and forth, like us being this near was disturbing her. She didn’t want us there. Her husband was reliving the nightmare from two nights ago while her brother, who was also my boyfriend, and their best friend from high school tried to be supportive with their own diagnosis. Each one of them had their own little comments. Each one of them talking about how that night had such an impact on her husband and how on earth were they going to fix it. So many words were flying around in the darkness. The events of that evening became so clear, I could see it. I felt like I was there, witnessing a sweet woman falling apart. The evening started with dinner at the local bistro and another couple they hang out with sometimes. Everyone was dressed up and cheerful. They all indulged in drinks, but Sarah always had a drink in her hand. When her husband counted off the drinks he remembered her ordering, he had gotten to his seventh finger before his memory failed. It was like a sad countdown to oblivion. She seemed good. She seemed happy. She wanted to ride with their friends since they hadn’t seen them for a while. No one protested. It was a good night. During the drive, she changed. She became a stranger and got angry. The friends reported that they didn’t understand what Sarah was talking about and she yelled and grabbed the wheel. The driver struggled to keep control of the car. He begged Sarah to stop. He didn’t know how he managed to avoid the other cars, how he avoided crashing. When he came to a stop, Sarah jumped out and ran. The couple called Sarah’s husband and soon, all of them were out looking for her. They followed honking and the sound of a fender bender. People were yelling. When they finally got sight of Sarah, she was walking in traffic like she was the only one on the road. They tried to catch up, but with cars strewn all over the road in chaos, there was no way that they could run and catch up to her. She disappeared again. They tried to follow the honking again. Her husband got a call from a strange number. Sarah ran into someone’s yard and told the first person she saw that the bad people were trying to get her. "The bad people?" I interjected. All three men jumped at my question. Did they forget I was there? Did I leave? For a moment, I thought I was staring at headlights, so maybe I did leave. Her husband answered, "Uh, yeah, when she ran into a stranger’s backyard. She met a woman and asked her to call me. She said, 'Her husband would protect her from the bad people.'" "So, Sarah doesn't see you as one of the bad people." He frowned like I was insulting him. “I was noting that Sarah still felt safe with you,” I explained, but it didn’t seem to help. He avoided looking at me, not that he could see me. How could the evening get any darker? Her episode sounded familiar, but they kept on throwing around words like drinking problem and addict. It seemed like more. It sounded like Sarah did not know what reality was anymore. Sarah saw bad people. Sarah walked around moving cars with no regard for her safety. Did she even see the cars as cars? Yes, the amount of alcohol probably exacerbated the situation, but it was worse than being drunk. Where did Sarah think she was? They continued, "Drinking problem." "Get help."

"I don't know what to do." "Get help," I spoke up. They stared at me again. "You said, ‘What are you supposed to do?’ Get help," I emphasized. Her husband's voice wavered, "But what if she doesn't...I might need to get a...I mean..." "A divorce?" I challenged. His head tipped forward in a slight nod. A divorce does not fix anything. Maybe it frees him from guilt or the work of helping Sarah get better. A divorce leaves Sarah alone to fight whatever beast she was fighting two nights ago. I’m usually fine being in the background. I’m a quiet person who feels comfortable observing. I like to listen, but that does not mean I never have something to say.

I needed my words to cut through the darkness and wake him up, "If you do nothing, you don't have to worry about a divorce. If Sarah doesn't get the help she needs, she's going to end up dead."


Bella was sitting on a comfy beach chair and she was gazing at the sunset. The sun was about to set at the end of the western horizon. It was turning into a pink ball, then into a yellow and purple ball and finally, it became a dark one and disappeared. But Bell was sitting motionless and it was really difficult to find out whether she was gazing at the sunset or contemplating something. The sunset was always peaceful and amazing. There was serene tranquility in this part of the earth. It was really beautiful and the more beautiful it was when the image of the setting sun was dangling on the water flow of Rapti river. Bella had so many things to remember in her life. It was her second visit to that place. When she had come to that place she was young and her dreams were youthful too. It was the same beach where she had got a wedding proposal from Victor which she had accepted with little shyness and glues on her face. In front of her, Victor was there in local dress and he had proposed Bella to be his life. Bella and Victor both were surrounded by the local artists who had gathered there for the cultural program and They were chosen as the team leaders for dance. Victor engaged her by putting a ring on her finger. The crowd had offered them flowers and garlands. Bella smiled at herself when all those goods moments repeated in her eyes but big teardrops rolled down her eyes too. “Victor” she wanted to shout this name so loudly that the river, every stone, the hills, trees, and all-around could hear her call and Victor might come back to her. Bella had just finished her university studies and she was thinking to go somewhere and spend a couple of weeks on holiday because she had to find a good job for herself. Bella was born and grew up in Paris one of the most beautiful cities in the world and she was a native French speaker though she tried to learn the English language her pronunciation was not very good in English. She had better the best opportunities to go around. She could visit entire Europe or could go to adventurous jungle safari in the dark dense forest of Africa or she had some beautiful destinations in Asia like Japan, South Korea, Singapore, or China. It was her first international trip she was thinking and planning. She was not very sure where to go. She wanted to go to a place that is safe, friendly, and affordable. She was about to talk about this with her boyfriend Victor. The very day when she revealed her wish to go for a visit, Victor was not interested to go anywhere though she had already decided to go on the trip. “Honey, I have a really amazing destination for our holidays and I believe you will never forget this visit in your entire life.” Victor smiled. Bella couldn’t stop herself from smiling to but impatiently she asked, “Victor where are you going, honey?” “We are going to visit Nepal. A small Asian country the land of unique culture mystery high Hill adventure.” victor said calmly. “Nepal! Where did you get this idea? How are the people there?” I do not prefer going there.” Bella seemed annoyed and she spoke in agony. Victor was rather confident. So he spoke in a loving voice, “Do not worry honey I have a friend from Nepal I know him for two years he’s a good guy. He has invited us to visit his country. I promise you should really enjoy this visit.” Victor tried to persuade Bella. Finally, they decided to visit Nepal. When Bella and Victor had come to the international airport in Kathmandu it was almost night. They came out slowly through the exit passage and glanced around, it was a small airport. The crowd was noticeable there and there was a long queue of the taxies there. Victor and Bella both were sorts of speakers of English but nobody in the airport at Kathmandu understood French so they had a little difficult dealing with the taxi driver but one of the taxi drivers was quite young around 25 years of age approached them and talked to them in French. They felt good. He lifted them to the nearby hotel in which Victor had already made an online booking. Bella was tired. She didn’t find any interest in the nearby areas that she could glimpse through the taxi window. But from inside the running taxi, she felt the quality of the road is not quite good. Because the taxi was jumping and dipping in every few minutes and the driver has to use the break time and again. “Hey, Bella wakes up. Come out and an amazing morning is waiting for you. Come, I will show you the first miracle of nature” Victor was sounding at Bella. Bella was still feeling dizzy and she had a headache too. So she expressed her unwillingness to get up so early. But how could Victor let her idol? He embraced her and got her onto his hands and carried her to the door of the room. They came to the top of the hotel building. “Look at honey what is that,” Victor shouted with joy. “It is amazing” Bella shouted too. The first rays of the sun had smoothly touched the high mountains. The whole mountain range was looking like pink color sooner it’ll become a little and then gray and finally, it became white. “This is Mt. Ganesh” a local guide pointed to one of the peaks. That one is Mt. Manaslu.” Then he pointed to “Himal Chuli, Pabil, Lang tang, Gang Chhenpo and Sisa Pangma.” “This is the land of high mountains. Eight out ten highest mountains are in this country.” He concluded. Bella jumped onto Victor and embraced him tightly. She sealed Victor’s mouth with her warm lips and they kept kissing each other for some time. The scenic beauty of the mountains had made her fresh. All her lethargy was over. After having breakfast Victor proposed Bella go around the city which Bella readily accepted. They came out and Victor leads Bella to look around the city. They came to the Patan Durbar squire where amazing sculptures, stone temples, water spouts, artistic window pans, and marvelous wood carving made Bella spellbound. She clicked hundreds of photos there. The local guide explained the myth of every temple and monastery there. The city area was not a very big city. It was small but it was fantastic. “What an artistic sculpture,” Bella said. “Honey, I will take you to some other places you would like and remain thankful to me” Victor giggled. “I am always thankful to you and will always remain loyal to you.” Bella laughed too. Victor and Bella both enjoyed local Newari food. Bella had their first experience of Asian spicy and chilly hot meals. She couldn’t eat well because her mouth was burning with chilly heat. Victor too was having difficulty in eating local Newari dishes. But he didn’t want to show that to Bella so he quietly kept on chewing and swallowing the food. After spending a couple of days in Kathmandu they came to Pokhara. Pokhara was amazingly beautiful and the Annapoorna Mountain Range made Bella rethink natural beauty. They visited Pokhara thoroughly and left it for Chitwan. Their final destination was Chitwan. They came to Chitwan and spent three nights there. They enjoyed jungle safari, local Tharu dance and that was where Bella and Victor sat together and talked for hours. Bella had so many things attached to her life here. Victor had proposed Bella. He had dressed up in local attire and he looked like the leader of the local dance team. Bella too was encouraged to dress up in local cultural attire and Bell and Victor danced with the local dance team. Wow, what a joyful time. They spent their most beautiful time there and returned back to their country. Bella had started a job but Victor wanted to complete his Ph.D. degree so they had to remain far away. Bella was busy at her work but especially Victor was very busy in his studies, but they had promised to be together, and they both were honest to their promises. “Dear, we shall get marry this year.” Victor had assured Bella and Bella was keen too. “We will to Nepal and get married there in their ritual. I love their culture.” Victor had proposed and Bella jumped with joy, wow great idea, because they had seen the local marriage tradition and they felt it amazingly nice. They planned and booked the ticket too. But one summer evening Bella got the news Victor got in a car accident and lost his life. Bella could not believe the news but it was true, as true as the sun in the sky. That summer had gone. It had taken Bella’s all the happiness and joy. She was alone and she had lost her happiness. She sat on the bank and gazed at the running water of the Rapti river. The sun rises and sets but Bella’s happiness has set down, no one knows when it shall rise up.


In the basket contained wet red cotton shorts, two black leggings pilling on the crutch, a wool blend navy jumper included in a laundry bag, nickers with various patterns and a pink dressing gown with faded coffee stains and cigarette holes. Each was lifted and left to dry in the Australian winter sun. We had had long, cold nights, westerly winds, and the adaptation was to catch the warmest part of the day and when the sun would air dry the garments. Australia has a unique washing line called the Hills hoist. Although the company closed their doors recently, most back yards still have one. The hoist is a square apparatus, made square by the outline of wires or lines. It can be heightened and locked in place with a handle within the centre of the device. Most times, the lines are not locked, and the square rotates, catching the sun and breeze. The hoist has been a play pen for generations of Australian children swinging and spinning like a merry go round, leaving it with a lopsided closer to the ground and the opposite, a high side well above stretched arms upwatds, harder to be reached. Usually, the words, "Wait till your father gets home," are exclaimed with satisfied children peering out windows at their the played, ellipsed empty spin of their vacant household tool. The red shorts had red plastic pegs to match. The pink dressing gown had four pink plastic pegsto match; two to hold up the shoulders and one each side to stretch out the sleeves. The black leggings had spliiting wood pegs and springs that would bust to be dismantled properly sorted for recycling bin. The patterned knickers were also hung, each with two matching pegs, the most prominent colour in their pattern. Kristina had read that placing clothes in an upright position, the way they were normally worn on the body gave positive energy and good luck. Hanging them upside-down drained the clothes of luck and made them negative. Sort of like a horseshoe mentality about luck. All the clothes were in their correct category. The dressing gown with the underwear. The daywear with the daywear. The jumper laid on a towell draped over a plastic accordion airdryer, so it did not stretch. Christine's ducks were lined up for the day. It was 10 am, the right time to grab the sun, and the kettle boiled. Matt smiled and kissed her on the crown of her head. As she drank tea and relaxed, scrolling thru her social media, Matt swiftly went to the back door, saying, "Going to the shed to find that screwdriver I'm looking for Darl!" Kris smelt his double layered cologne, the matching hair/condition liquid, the skin cream, and spray on deodorant he said he had bought at a discount. Christine yelled, "Exploring your feminine side? You smell like a pheromone factory." He laughed out, "Ha ha Kristine Angela Murphy " The shed door swung open with a well intended bang. Matt wanted Kristine to think he was doing his usual. Playing coy, he walked to the Hills hoist, avoiding the kitchen window quickly, which had clear view of his actions. He photographs a long shot of the clothes, a closer category of the clothes and finally the individual items with their matching coloured pegs. Each pic he edits first by cropping them so the subject of stuff is apparent and then colour enhancing the individual clothing so their actors, the pegs, stood out.

Back in the shed, Going posted to Facebook page. He posted the pictures together on one post in a column formation, with no caption, to his family and friends. He grabbed his screwdriver triumphantly, returning to Kristine, "Oh, look, I found it." "That's good honey, we really need that leg tightened on that Ottoman, glad you can do it today!" He yawns a well thought out yawn, stetching like fern frond, rolling, exaggerating, looking in total control. "You know love, I will make a coffee and relax first" "That's OK, I've noticed you've been more active lately. As the kettle boiled, Matt half smiled as his phone pinging repeatedly. Stretching again very slowly into his reclining chair, he tapped his message alerts to feeling smug and delighted. From his sister, "I always knew she was a nutcase!" From his best friend, John, "Someone needs to put a bullet thru her head and save humanity of her!"

Then came the potential hens shuffling before the strong rooster, "She has mental health issues. She's crazy.

"Oh Matt, just throw her out of the house" "She's no good for you, I can come over when she's out... smiley faces, heart, smile wink emojis. Matt had never acaccepted Kristine's Facebook friends request. That hurt Christine, and she ask him once only Why and he erupted him declaring, "Everyone needed their own space and he was one of the reasons. Dealing with her confused mind all day everyday was too much" Kristine felt awkward around his family. They could be very dominating to her, and she felt uncomfortable. His friends seemed no better, so she would quietly say, "I need rest, you know, my mental health issues and I just need time," avoiding loud talk, football on the TV, and feeling an outcast. Work appeared on her phone call. Christine answered, "Yes, I can be available for another shift, I feel smashed, but since ppl are sick, I guess it's best I show up." She dragged herself to the shower and wore a neatly hang dress in the wardrobe followed by leggings for warmth. Her older age of 50 years seemed to allow her bones to feel the cold more. Round her neck she placed a knitted scarf, like a hypnotised snake it coiled tightly at her throat and lost all muscle response at its head and tail. Sometimes she would help it slither over her mouth, almost gag her speech, as frigid air clogged her lungs to be stopped with wooden fibres Questions ran through her head like, would she return to two towells in the bathroom again? Would she find an unexplained bottle of mascara on her vanity again? Would she see long brown hairs tangled on a pillow of static in the loungeroom when she only had shoulder length blonde hair? Kristine had tried to ask Matt the various questions still in her mind today, to have her medication increased by the doctor. Matt's heavy depression was ignored and he would over indulge himself about her mental health with her doctor talking of his own needs the whole session. "R U WELL", he texted to her that day at work? Christine did not reply, she was far too busy. She knew to have her meds when she got home, stay quiet and sleep it off so she had energy for tomorrow. Kristine cleaned herself with a late night shower. Her clothes in a heavy mess on the tiles and she took them to the washing machine lid was closed. Opening, she saw the double beds twisted wet sheets, pillow cases and doona cover. Returning to the bathroom, she wiped the misty mirror  with her hand leaving a large oval of clear with droplets of water forming on its circumference.  She wrote with her red lipstick, "Today is always a new day." Below, she wrote with her purple lipstick, "Slow and steady wins the race!" Below that she wrote with her pink lipstick, "It's ok not to be ok!" Later that nite Matt unable to sleep wanders to the tiolet. In the kitchen he could be heard by Kristine pulling the ring on a beer can, as fizzy drinks have a bigger popping sound from the gas. He walked into the bathroom, with his phone. Kristine could here the camera sounds, knowing he would photograph her outburst and listening carefully as he fiddled on his phone to be followed by bell alerts were he sniggered. She went back to sleep peacefully in the eye of the storm.


It was mid-summer in 2015 on a work-related trip when I checked in at

Hotel

Drankensburg,

in the Northern Cape Province . The time was 9 pm. I headed straight to the cocktail lounge in an upscale bar, to grab a couple of drinks after a long drive from Seymour. "Double martini on the rocks, please," I placed my order with the bartender. "Oh, yeah! New face around?" asked the man who looked to be in his late thirties. "First time to see the gentlemen in town. You see, in this small district we know each other," remarked the old man with thin grey hair that looked like a cobweb. He was seated next to me. "By the way, my name is Grumpy from

Nightingale Street , just a few blocks from here, said the old man. "Christian is my name from the Eastern Cape Province," I introduced myself. At that moment the barman placed the cocktail in front of me. "So far? What brings you here, buddy?" The tapster queried. "Conference tomorrow morning at

Square One ." "What are you doing there?," he continued. I took out my work identity card from the pocket of my jacket, and showed it to him. " Christian Norman :

Eastern Cape News Reporter! " he read it out loud. "Please, sir, can I have some more? Triple sec this time," I ordered another round. "Sure." I explained that I was there to investigate the case of 15 illegal miners, who were shot dead by the police. That was an incident which took place the previous week, at

Steeldale Diamond

Mine . "Big story indeed. Are you planning to sleep over?" said Grumpy, as he blew out a cloud of smoke from his pipe. I told him there was no other way. "That's a dilemma!" the barman exclaimed. "And why is that?" I asked. "There's only one vacant room available tonight which is a no go area. Patrons had been complaining for the past two years about

Room Number 357 ." "I know about that scary story, too," said Grumpy. "She was a waitress here and that used to be her room," added the barkeep, whose name tag read Mixwell. "What are you guys talking about?" I was curious to know. "'The Hand Lady' is believed to be haunting our guests at night in that room," the old man agreed. "That's so funny! Ahahahah!!!!" A thundering laugh rolled out of me. "I don't believe in superstitions fellows, that's just madness. The dead remain dead," I concluded. The clock on the wall read twelve o' clock. I got up from the chair I had been sitting in, to check in with the front desk for

Room

No.357 . "You have yourself a deal," the receptionist booked me in. I ordered Thai Cuisine  - which contained of noodles, rice and curry - before retreating to my room.

I placed my dish on the pedestal and did some paperwork. As I was busy I got drowsy and dozed off. Thirty minutes later, I felt extremely cold and caught something out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head. To my astonishment, I saw a red light like a spotlight moving toward the door. Once next to the entrance it stopped moving. I reached for the side lamp switch. The light was on and there was no red light. Just a silly vision , I thought to myself, and went back to sleep at 1:05 am. I felt the coldness again and the red light appeared were it was. Then each time I tried to switch the lamp on, seemingly, another hand was already there. The entire room remained dark. As I fixated my eyes on the red light, it looked like electricity arcing and changing itself into a shadowy figure about three feet tall. My heart was thumping in my chest and a chill ran down my spine. Suddenly, I heard whispers that sounded different from one another: "What have you done?" "It's not my fault!" And then there was a sound of a crying baby. I became frozen and sat bolt upright. Get away from me! I owe you nothing!  I screamed.

A framed picture on the wall started to move. I shivered but decided to outsmart the shapeless creature by fighting it back. I approached it and the next best thing was a hard slap on my left cheek. What happened next, I don't know, as I found myself at five in the morning laying next to a tunnel near the graveyard. I was still in pyjamas when I hiked back to  Hotel Drankensburg . My cheek was in tremendous pain. "What happened to your swollen cheek dude? It must have been a hell of a hard five," said the man behind the wheel.

"I was slapped in my face by an invisible entity in the early hours of today," I explained my ordeal.

"I'm a regular at the

Drankensburg  and have heard of it before on numerous occasions. Ghosts are humans who are dead and their souls are wandering. They are dead but they refuse to believe that they are dead. Probably, they come back to life in the form of spirits to deal with unfinished business," he explained. When I reached the hotel I met the owner Dylan Opperman, and gave an explanation of what had happened. "Supposedly, 'The Hand Lady' was thrown to her death from the top of the same tunnel, you found yourself in. Rumours were that the culprits were our wait staff maidens who became jealous of her. She was an outstandingly beautiful young woman. Our male patrons were only attracted to her," recounted Dylan. He told me before 'The Hand Lady' died, there was a filthy rich handsome young lad who became a regular at

Hotel Drankensburg . Dylan said the first time he pitched up an unexpected incident occurred. She was serving him his favourite dish - Thai Cuisine . But she missed a step and the platter slipped from the tray.

"So, 'The Hand Lady' landed on the plate of food that was meant for the guest, leaving a hand mark on the rice. I was fed up with her asking what had she done. She apologised and said it was not her fault. I told her to take a day off and followed her to her room. I didn't mean to do it..." "What didn't you mean to do?" I interrupted him.

"No, I mean to treat her unfairly by throwing the plate of dish on her, as she wept in her room. I even took a picture of that dish as a reminder. The different whispers and cry of a baby is exactly what had happened in the past," said Daylan. He went on to tell me that despite that incident, the young rich fellow kept on going to his hotel. Spoiling her with gifts and they finally had a bling together.

"The other waitresses planned to kill 'The Hand Lady' when they lured her to the tunnel, which was a trick of an arranged marriage to her prince charming. It was at midnight when she met her death," further noted Dylan. He accompanied me to Room No.357 as he had the spare keys. We noticed that the dish of

Thai Cuisine  I had ordered, had the hand mark similar to the one on the framed picture in the same room. "I'm really sorry about what happened, that's why I don't allow people to be booked into this room." "I'm at fault Dylan because I was the one who insisted. Your staff are on the right," I told him. He then offered to refund me and take me to the doctor, hence my cheek had red finger marks of The Ghost Hand .