It was more a shape than a face that moved behind the broken glass, and instantly, I felt drawn in. Pulled.

I leaned toward the surface, and the face moved with me. The figure remained obscured, partially masked by a veil of dirty fog brushed over the reflective coating, distorted and disjointed from the splinters.

I bent my head toward my left shoulder; my eyes focused on the figure in the shattered glass, and as I moved, the misty reflection followed suit. A large section of the mirror at the bottom right was undamaged. I moved to set my face in front of the untarnished shard; perhaps I would get a clearer look there. I wasn't afraid then. I should have been. "Ludwig Kalenteri was a fine man…" The words from Father Dennis faded to a mumble as I looked up at Dad sitting beside me, looking at the coffin as the preacher spoke about Grandpa. I jostled and poked at my brother, sitting beside Mom. Mom grabbed my wrist, leaned down and gave a whisper that still sounded like a shout, "Leave your brother alone and be respectful. Stop fidgeting!" I was fidgety. And hot. I wondered if all churches were so uncomfortable and never understood why we couldn't bring a water bottle—Mass always made me thirsty.

I thought of the broken mirror in Grandpa's garage. I thought of the face I saw in the corner, and my body broke out in goosebumps, and my bones felt cold. I thought of the two words mouthed by the face that looked like mine. "Help. Me." A shiver ran down my spine, clear to my toes, and I felt a surge of panic rush from my ears to my fingertips. I never wanted to see that damn old mirror again, but I had to know if she was still there. I needed to know who she was. I knew I was going to help her if I could. Then, Dad took my hand, and we were standing again. Father Dennis walked by and nodded at Dad. "Okay, guys, let's go," Dad said quietly. As we walked down the aisle to the front of the church, I saw Father Dennis standing at the door and shaking hands with people, I pulled on Dad's hand and stopped walking. "Autumn!" Mom's voice snapped at me from behind. "I almost trampled you! You don't just stop right in front of someone!" I don't know what made me say it, but I squeezed Dad's hand to make him look at me. "What is it, Autumn? We're holding up the line." "Grandpa wasn't crazy, Dad. He was just sad. He was always looking for Grandma Berta."

Dad's face went a little funny, but his eyes got wet, and he looked at Mom, then back at me. "Of course, he wasn't crazy, Autumn. Whoever told you that?" "Felicia," I answered. "Every time we visit, she asks me what it was like to have a grandpa who lost his marbles." "I don't like that girl, Autumn. I don't particularly appreciate how she's always glued to your side when we visit. Now get a move on." Mom said, gently pushing me forward with her hand on my shoulder. I tried to squeeze in, but there wasn't enough room. The door to the garage bumped against the front of the car.

"What are you doing?" I shrieked and stumbled backward, bumping into the car. It was Juno. He was standing there with half a sandwich in one hand and two cookies in the other.

I scowled, "Why are you always creeping up on me like that? Can't you mind your own business? What does it look like I'm doing? Ding wad! I'm trying to go into Grandpa's garage, but Dad parked the car too close, and I can't open the door enough! Satisfied?" Juno took a bite of his sandwich, looked at me and the car, then took a bite of a cookie. "Why don't you just move the car?" Exasperated, I explained the obvious. "Because I'm thirteen, numbskull. I can't drive."  "If you hold my food, I'll move the car." "You can't drive either, genius. How are you going to do that?" "It's Gramp's car," he answered as he handed over his cookies and the half-eaten sandwich. "It's a standard." Taking his food, I watched dumbfounded as my little brother opened the door, got in the car, and vanished. A moment later, I heard a metallic click and pop, and the car silently rolled back a few feet before jarring to a stop. Juno emerged from the car, smiling, walked to the garage, and opened the door without impediment.  "So," he said, reclaiming his food, "Are we going in or what?" Walking to the back of the garage, I felt uneasy and wondered if I should have Juno with me. I stopped at the covered mirror and then turned to my brother. "Look," I said, sounding as relaxed as possible. "I'm going to show you something, and it's weird." "Cool!" he answered, stuffing the last cookie into his mouth. We walked to the back of the garage. There it stood, beckoning, impossible to ignore.

I grabbed the blanket and pulled it off the mirror. Then I kneeled on the cement floor, leaned into the corner, and looked. A face looked back at me. "Juno? Do you see her?" I could feel Juno's breath on my neck, which only made me more aware of the goosebumps on my skin. "Autumn? How come you look so old? Is the mirror wrecked or what?" I turned to face Juno, and the reflection that wasn't mine also turned and looked at him. Juno, transfixed on the mirror, took a half step back. "That's—that's not you—is it, Autumn?" We both looked back at the face behind the glass and watched as she mouthed the two words again. "Help. Me." Juno moved beside me and took my hand. We leaned in closer. I raised my hand to wipe the mirror, but before I touched the surface, her hand suddenly shot up ahead of my reflection, the palm slapping hard against the mirror from the other side. Juno screamed. He pushed his heels against the floor, throwing himself into me. My knees felt frozen to the floor. The hand pulled away, leaving only the pointer finger touching the glass—we watched as two words appeared in the filmy glass.

HE'S COMING. Juno whimpered, "Autumn…" I jumped to my feet, grabbed the blanket, threw it over the mirror, grabbed Juno's hand and pulled him to his feet. Two hands reached out from the shadows in the dim light and grabbed our shoulders.

"Yahhhhh!"  a voice screeched. "Ahhhhhhhh!"

Juno and I screamed.

I pulled Juno to my chest, covered his head, and closed my eyes, waiting for the ghost from the mirror to kill us. Gleeful, shrieking laughter filled the air. Confused, I opened my eyes. It was Felicia—the girl Mom didn't like. "Ha-hah-ha! Oh, my god! You two dumbasses should see your faces! You look like you've seen a ghost! Ah-ha-ha! I got you  good!" Pulling Juno with me, I brushed past my "friend." "Wait! Where are you going?" Felicia called out. "Oh, c'mon, don't be sissies! I was just joking around!" Outside, back in the sunlight and safe, Juno tugged my hand and stopped. He wiped the tears from his eyes and pulled on my hand again. "Autumn? Who's in the mirror?" Before I could answer, Felicia appeared behind my brother. "What mirror? Who's in a mirror?" "I knew it!" snapped Felicia, "I knew your Grandpa was a weirdo. Everyone in town knows he was crazy." Juno had calmed down, and I explained everything about the mirror to Felicia. I finished, not knowing what to say or think. "I want to go back in and see the mirror! I didn't see anything!" she complained. "Felicia, I don't think that's a good idea." "You don't know anything except that you saw some dirty old face and a hand. It was you, and it looked weird because the mirror is broken, and you two pansies got spooked." Trembling, I told Felicia the truth, "It—it wasn't me." Before I could stop her, Felicia sprinted to the garage door. By the time I reached the back of the garage, Felicia was pulling a crate from behind the mirror—I hadn't noticed it before. I glanced toward the mirror, relieved to see the blanket still covered it—tough talk or not, Felicia wasn't above fear; she'd been careful not to touch the mirror. "I think I found something." Reaching into the crate, she raised a hand holding a tattered paperback book. "'Transcending the Reflective Plane–Meditation for Moving Between Dimensions.' This is the key!" She stated. "Show me the mirror, and let's read what the book says." "Umm–I don't think that's such a good idea, Felicia." Felicia was older than me by a year and taller by three inches. She moved closer and looked at me, unhappy at being challenged. I wasn't ready for whatever this was. The mirror and the book seemed like things we shouldn't be messing with. I wasn't prepared for this. I wasn't brave. "It's getting late. My dad will call us in soon, and if he catches us in here, we'll have to explain what we're doing and what we found." The moment of silence stretched between us.

"Okay, fine. But I'm taking this book home with me and studying each page cover to cover. We only have a few days to figure this out before you run back to the big city. I'll meet you back here tomorrow at 10 am!" Then, as suddenly as she had appeared in the garage, scaring us out of our wits, she stepped back out the door and disappeared. "Mister and Missus Kalenteri," Detective Blume said with well-practiced patience. "I know how hard this is, how emotional it is. But I need you to focus. When was the last time you saw Juno and Autumn?" "Please, Jeff," Julius Kalenteri told his childhood friend, "Let's go by first names here. Don't treat us like strangers." Detective Blume nodded and sighed. "You're right, Julius; I'm sorry. Look, May, Julius–I'm positive the kids are okay. They probably wandered off into the gully. There's no reception down there; they'll pop back up over the bank any minute. Probably wet and muddy but no worse for wear.

May Kalenteri interrupted, her voice shaky, pure panic only a stitch away, "Jeff! They're not in the gully. I'm telling you something is wrong. I don't think they would go in the gully, not with the creek.  Juno is terrified of moving water." The detective looked at May and Julius. "Let's start at the beginning," he said gently, "When did you first notice the kids were missing?" "At lunchtime," May answered. "They didn't come when I called." Detective Blume nodded, making notes in his pocketbook. "Where was the last place you saw them, or where they were supposed to be?" "In the garage," Julius spoke up. "They said something about a treasure hunt. Felicia came this morning and said she'd found some clues, and they could solve the mystery." "Any idea what this mystery was, or what kind of clues?" the detective asked. May looked at her husband and shook her head. Julius shrugged. "I don't know. It sounded like kid stuff. I was happy they found something to keep them busy–it's been a tough week, not a lot of fun for them." "This is good news. That Staddler girl, Felicia, and her brothers practically grew up in that gully. If they are down there, your kids are in good hands. Felicia will get them out or help if they're in trouble. She's a tough kid." May suddenly changed her opinion about Felicia Staddler. "Okay, we'll get a couple of fellas on the ATVs and have them run the gully. If we hear anything, we'll call you immediately. The same goes for you. If they show up, give me a shout. Stay put." Tired from carrying the broken mirror through the woods and down the slope to the gully floor, Juno and I sat on a log. Standing a few feet away, Felicia flipped through the book's pages. "Okay," she announced. "I know what to do, but I gotta say, this is pretty weird; your grandpa sounds like he went crazy–but if what he wrote down is true…." "…. then that's Grammie Berta in the mirror," I said, finishing the girl's sentence. "Is Grammie trapped in there like those bad guys from the Superman movie?" Juno asked. "Kid, you're too gullible," Felicia answered. "Do you think it's true, Autumn? Was Gramps crazy?" "Of course, he wasn't. Don't listen to her. She doesn't know what she's talking about." I said while glaring at Felicia, who stood defiant, her hands on her hips, jaw jutting out, and staring back. "Gramps was sad, that's all. He spent all his time looking for Grammie. He was heartbroken." "Then Grammie is in the mirror?" Juno asked. "Stop jabbering, and let's do something!" Felicia ordered. "Get the mirror and put it in the creek. Make sure the glass is facing up." Juno looked at me, panic in his eyes. "It's okay, Juno. The creek isn't any deeper than your knees, and you can stay on the bank; I'll go in the water." I told him, taking hold of the mirror. "Just help me carry it to the edge." "You promise I don't have to go in the water?" Juno murmured. "Promise I don't have to go in the water?"

Felicia whined, mimicking my brother's plea. "Geezus, kid, you'd have to try pretty hard to drown in this little creek!" "Shut up, Felicia! Leave him alone! He almost drowned, you know! He's allowed to be afraid." "Gee, sorry!" Felicia snapped back. "That was a long time ago, and he was little then. Even if he fell in, he couldn't drown, is all I'm saying!" A minute later, I stood in the creek, the water just above my ankles. The mirror lay submerged just as she had instructed. "Okay," Felicia ordered, "Now we get some big rocks to anchor it in place. The mirror can't move while we try and open the gate."  Felicia stuffed the book in the pocket of her jean jacket and gave the next instructions. "Everyone gathers around and places their hands on the frame." With a glance at Juno, then me, Felicia said, "Juno, you can sit here on the grass and hold the bottom. Autumn and I will hold the sides." "Then what?" I asked as we moved into position. "Then we look through the water until it goes flat. Your Grandpa's book says that when flat water moves over the mirror, the glass will move like the creek. That opens the gate." "Then what?" This time, it was Juno asking, sounding much braver than he felt. "Then we wait to see who shows up first," Felicia told him. "What do you mean, 'who shows up first?' "Juno's courage cracked with his question. "It might be your Grammie Berta in there, or someone else, but the book says there are also other– things –on the other side. Things that want to come out and be on this side." "What do we do if we see one of those

things ?" I asked, masking my concern with false confidence.

"Simple pimple!" Felicia replied. "We just muck up the water. They can't get out." At first, the soft undulation of the clear water made it hard to focus, and we had to hold our eyes open wide to see our muddled reflections in the broken mirror. Then the water turned flat as though it wasn't there at all. We forgot about the stream and looked deep and long into the mirror. The glass began to move. Hypnotized, we leaned in ever closer. Two hands slapped against the mirror from the other side and held. The face of a long-haired, old woman appeared, looking dark and sad, and she stared at us from beneath the glass, but I saw no relief in her eyes. I saw evil. The glass turned dark, its surface moving in slow, syrupy rings and curls. At the edge where the glass touched the wooden frame, pale, wrinkled, bony fingers crawled out. Unable to pull away or explain, I reached for the hands. Felicia's eyes went even wider. The words from the sentence underlined profusely in red ink in the notebook raced across her mind.

"NEVER LET THEM TOUCH YOU!" "No! Autumn, don't!"  cried Felicia.  "SPLASH THE WATER!!" It was too late. In the mirror, falling deeper beneath its surface, the black glass folded around me like a blanket. In shock and horror, I looked pleadingly back at my baby brother. I reached a hand to the edge for Juno. Juno plunged his hand into the creek, clasping his hand around my wrist. The twisting curtain of blackness curled over my face. The old woman's pale arms pulled me deeper into the dark water; her fingers gripped tightly on my hips from below, and my brother clinging to me from above.

Numbed by shock, Felicia pulled back from the water, but her hands would not give up their grasp on the wooden frame, and she saw the boy follow his sister beneath the water and through the gate. She watched through the flat water as the woman's face reappeared. As she felt the water filling her ears, her final conscious thought told her that the woman behind the glass was never Grammie Berta Kalenteri.

Felicia watched the world wash away.

The mirror rose and rode the water, following its bends, rushing through the small, rolling rapids.

A few miles downstream, a group of children frolicked and splashed. A boy pointed upstream. "Look! I see a boat!"


I hear faint footsteps heading towards my door. I listen for a moment. Loud at the beginning of the step and quiet as the rest of the foot comes down. They’re walking with the ball of their feet, not wearing heels though you can’t hear the click at the end. Only Margret, Shannon, and Alexa walk like that, but Alexa wear’s heels. A faint tick sounds through the office, like a bone popping. Margaret has joint issues. From what I’ve heard and researched, Joint Hypermobility, born with it. Just to be sure I listen for the jingling of her bracelets. That’s when I hear it, just over the sound of conversation outside my office. I already know what she’s here for, so I grab the witness statement from my drawer and set it at the edge of my desk closest to the door. I hear the distinct creak of my office door opening. Insead of looking up and pretending I didn’t know it was her, I simply point quickly and get back to typing. Margaret is my assistant. She’s in her early 20’s and hasn’t mastered business casual attire yet. She just wears black and white. It makes her blend in with everyone else, she has no personality in her clothes. Makes her unremarkable and ordinary. No professional will remember her. She has dark hair and a kind face. That won’t work for her here the way it works in bars though. She wants to be an attorney one day, she starts law school in August. She’ll get eaten alive in there if I don’t thicken her skin a bit.

“Hurry up.” Until I said something she was just standing and staring at me. Waiting for me to greet her I suppose. Maybe she thinks I didn’t know she was there and was just pointing at the exact thing she needs for no reason. She’s not going to get a greeting though. She saw me point, she knows I heard her open the door. She needs to read social cues faster. That's the only way to read a witness and know which buttons to push for the answers you want. “Now.” I say sternly, she’s walking too slow. You have to be quick, efficient. Always look like you are doing something important even if you’re just playing snake on your laptop. “Make sure all witness statements and transcripts from the Buckly trial are ready by Monday morning. I’ll need them Tuesday for my meeting with the partners.” I say, all without looking up at her. “Of course Ms. Conley.” She hurries out of the room and shuts the door. I hear her exhale and mutter something under her breath. We have thin walls.

I assume it has something to do with the fact that it’s 3:30 on Friday and the transcripts are at the courthouse. The courthouse that is backed up all day and isn’t open on the weekends. A rather impossible task, but she has two options. She’ll either somehow get the transcripts over the weekend, or she won’t and come to me saying the soonest she can get them is noon on Monday. If it’s the latter and she comes to me scared and asks to get them later, I’ll scold her then tell her to hurry along. If she comes to me confident saying that she is working as quickly as possible and she’ll get them to me as soon as she can, I’ll feign neutral acceptance. The meeting with the partners actually isn’t until Wednesday anyways. I know I’m sending her on a goose chase, but she’ll need friends in the court house. Bailiffs, judges, bookkeepers. She needs anyone and everyone she can get. I sit typing on my computer until I finish my opening statement and plan my cross examinations for the trial I have on Monday afternoon. After completing those and saving them to my shared drive, that my computer at work and laptop both have access to, I look up from my monitor. That is when I see my office is dark except for the light radiating off of my monitor, and my phone sitting silently and happily on my desk. I look towards my floor to ceiling windows and all

I’m met with is a dark cityscape, the moon and clouds but no stars. You can’t see stars very well here, and most of the time, not at all.  I tap the screen on my phone and check for new notifications. None, as per usual. I look around my office slightly in a daze, I normally register time and how long I’ve been here while I’m working.  There is a cream colored loveseat by the windows, topped with a throw blanket with different shades of blue and purple, and throw pillows in the same colors. In front of me I stare at the frames on my wall, bachelor's degree in philosophy, law degree, and letter I got saying I passed the bar on my first try. That was just as impossible as Margret getting those transcripts to me by Monday morning. Those three are all in matching frames, equal lengths apart, evenly placed across the wall. I’m looking at them from behind on one side of my L-shaped desk. The other side is sitting to my right. In reality I took two desks and put them next to each other to imitate an L-shape. I’m picky and couldn’t find one I liked, so I made one myself. Behind me are bookshelves full of books, plants, nick nacks, vases, miniature busts of my favorite Greek goddesses. No picture frames though. There are none of those in here. No pictures on my desk, nor on my walls. I don’t even have a cute picture as my computer screen saver. It’s just an inspirational quote, that same one is set as my phone wallpaper too.

 I hear a chime. Excitedly, I picked up my phone, looking for the icon of one of my dating apps. Maybe Instagram or Snapchat. Hell, I'll settle for a Facebook message at this point. Instead I’m met with a notification telling me if I scan my app at Starbucks tomorrow I’ll get double stars. At least I know what I’ll be doing in the morning.

I pack up quickly, stuffing my laptop into my tote bag, followed by my phone, empty tupperware, and case files to look over for the third time. Walking out of my office I grab my coat and reusable coffee cup. It’s empty now but I don’t like leaving things at the office over the weekend.

I see Fred at the end of the hall as I walk out. Fred is one of our custodians, I see him almost every night. “Hey there little lady. You’re leaving even later than usual.” He checks his watch as I sigh dramatically and look him in the eye. He reminds me of a grandfather, not mine though. I don’t even know mine. “Yeah, I got distracted again. I didn't even realize it was already 10:30 until I looked up and saw I was shrouded in darkness” We both laugh. I turn to walk past him and smile. I don’t get to smile here often, being “The Shark” of the office means being nice isn’t in my wheelhouse. But it really is. Appearing mean and chaste works better in this business though.

As I’m walking past him, my smile fades but he says “Don’t let me see you over the weekend. Take a break. Go on a date or something. You deserve a vacation from this place.” Just as quickly as it left, my smile returns again and I turn back. “How do you know I’m not already in a relationship?”

I ask jokingly with the raise of my eyebrow. “Because there is no ring on your finger.” He mirrors my expression back at me and taps his left ring finger while holding it up to me. “I could have a boyfriend or a girlfriend.” I lower my eyebrow and cross my arms. “You could but I don’t think so because you are here all, waking hours of the day. If you’re in a relationship with anything it’s that desk of yours.” I lower my arms and giggle. “That’s a solid point you got there. I’ll call the detective's office and let them know they need you on staff.” He laughs and I see the crows feet near his eyes deepen. “I’m perfectly happy where I am.” He retorts. I give him the most genuine smile I have. “Have a good night Fred.” I throw over my shoulder as I turn towards the elevators. “You too Constance” I leave the highrise made of glass and steal. All sharp lines and polished to perfection. I’m walking along the road and all I hear is cars zooming by and the girl’s heels clicking on the sidewalk.

I soon find myself walking into Flax. It's a relatively small business where I buy all of my pens, highlighters, legal pads. Just about everything I need to be able to do my job well. “What’s up boss lady” I hear from the counter on my right. “Why are you back so soon? I thought you just picked up some of my good pens the other day” Alyssa says as I redirect my walk to the counter. “I did, highlighters this time.” I look at her and smile.

Alyssa is about my age. She’s married to Vanessa and has a daughter about two years old now. I remember when I walked in one day and she was blown up like a balloon. You could feel the joy radiating off of her.

She hands me a photo, not a photo on her phone, a physical photo she printed out. Even though this is the twenty-first century and everyone has phones that are capable of containing photos, she still prints them out, so when she shows them to her regulars, they get to hold it in their hands. Alyssa is an old soul, she even has vinyls playing on a record player behind the counter instead of playing the radio through the overhead speakers. I absolutely love it.

I take the photo and look down at Emery, their daughter. I start my walk towards the highlighters while staring at her chubby cheeks and pigtails while she eats ice cream. “God she seems so big. I feel like you were just pregnant.” I say over my shoulder towards the counter while in front of the selection of highlighters. No one else is here this late, so we continue our conversation by yelling over the store.

“You’re telling me. My body hasn’t recovered yet. I still pee every time I laugh.” Alyssa returns. That sends me into a fit of giggles while I’m reaching for my regular pack of highlighters. “I’m serious.” she says in a high pitched voice “Vanessa has been obsessed with dad jokes lately. I’ve been peeing my pants a lot.” She continues. That makes my fit of giggles turn into full on laughter. Laughing so hard I have to lean over and clutch my stomach to keep from falling on the ground. When I catch my breath I look over at her and wipe a tear. “The fact that you laugh that hard at dad jokes is embarrassing.” I still haven't completely stopped laughing so I choked the words out between breaths.

“It’s not the jokes, it's her laughing at her own jokes for like five whole minutes every time. The jokes are so bad, not even Emery laughs.” That makes the smile on my face turn into laughter again. I’m stuck laughing to myself, envisioning it and repeating her sentence back to myself in a high pitched and out of breath voice. Once I finally regain the ability to breathe, I walk towards the counter again. “You’re kidding. She does not.” I say incredulously while setting the highlighters and picture on the counter. “Oh but she does. I’ll have to film it and show it to you next time you come in.” She scans the highlighters and takes my cash. I give her exact change as always. I do however stuff a 20 in the tip jar. She sees it and tries to hand it back to me but I start running out the door faster than she can get out from behind the counter. “Oops sorry, I’ve got a very important call from my boss. Gotta go.” I yell over my shoulder as I round the corner out of the parking lot and onto the sidewalk. I’m still giggling to myself a bit when I hear “It’s like 11 o’clock you lair.”

My apartment is down the street so I just walk. There is no point in spending money on a taxi when my feet can hurt just a little bit more and I can enjoy the sky.

I always liked night better than day too. Being left alone but knowing someone is still there with you. Sleeping in separate rooms, but if you need them you could call them and they’ll come.

Even the dark is comforting, the stars in the sky, all the animals outside, asleep. It’s not quite the same here though. Even the night kind of feels like day. It’s like no one sleeps in LA. When I get upstairs I’m met with a cold, dark condo. The smell of the candle I lit last night and coffee I made this morning still linger in the air. I drop my bag on the coffee table in front of my couch and collapse onto the deep green fabric. I sit and stare at my ceiling for a while. I have a ceiling medallion surrounding the ceiling light so I follow the pattern with my eyes for a while. I don't know how long I lay there thinking about home, but I do know that home isn’t really a place for me. I know it’s like that for some people, and for them it's a person, a loved one of some kind. For me though, it’s a feeling. Comfort I think, I don’t get to feel it often so I think of the few times I do have it. That is home for me. My only interruption is from

the bubbling of my stomach, reminding me I haven't eaten since lunch.

I haul myself up, slip off my heels, take off my coat and throw them both at a cream colored armchair. I have a thing for cream furniture. I grab my phone out of my bag and hit play on an audio book I’ve been listening to. I couldn’t tell you the characters names or what the book is even about but I prefer hearing people talking than the silence of my empty condo. I reach into the freezer and grab a frozen dinner, I was never really taught to cook. The best I can do is rice and maybe some cookies if I devote my entire day to it. After pouring a glass of unsweetened tea I hear the beep of my microwave telling me my meal for the night is ready. I just stand and eat at the counter, I can't be bothered to move to the dining table I have. It’s big enough for 6, but there is normally only 1 sitting at it. Once I’m done with my mediocre food, I put on a robe and a face mask and watch one of my favorite movies. I turn all the lights off and sit in the dark like I used to do when I was a teenager. Only this time I have wine. I sit and stare at Kate Hudson and Matthew McConaughey fall madly in love with each other, surrounded by friends and family and coworkers. I check my phone again. It’s 1:47, my screen saver is telling me it gets better so I should smile, I still get double stars at Starbucks, but nothing new. This is my life. Every day of it.


The darkness was coming. How I knew it, I couldn’t explain. But it was coming for us and one thing was clear in my mind. I needed to flee. My dad had already begun running and he was screaming my name over and over again, his voice gaining more and more strength. His legs hit the asphalt with the speed of drumsticks, played by a skilled drummer. His voice roaring my name started to get overpowered by the rain which gushed from the grey cloud-covered heaven. One side of the sky had changed to an intense black colour and it spread fast, like when you accidently knock down a glass of water, and it starts to ooze along the dining table. Even if my legs were glued to the ground, I realized that my only chance of survival was to move. I picked up my bag and ran towards dad who was already a few yards ahead of me.

“Eliza! You have to run faster! The darkness is approaching!” he shrieked. The tone of his powerful cry would’ve, in an ordinary case, made me half-deaf. But over the sound of the booming thunder, it was barely audible. Dad rushed down an unlit alley and I followed him, in lack of own instincts. I tried to remember all of the turns. Left, right, right, straight forward, right, but the turns soon became too many and my already spinning head couldn’t keep up with the information. I turned my head and saw the terrifying reality of what we were escaping from. Everything placed under the dark side of the sky had turned into ash. The darkness was literally pulverizing everything in its way.

People were running all over the place. A couple of old people who weren’t able to keep up with the inhabitants with fresher muscles, fell down to the ground and were turned instantly into ash the moment the darkness shadowed their weak bodies. My head would not turn back, it was physically impossible. The vision of all the dying people and my hometown steadily turning into nothingness was excruciating to watch. My clothes, soaking wet with sweat and rain, were itched to my body and my legs started to go stiff.

I imitated my dad’s tiniest move, every sharp turn, every rattling breath. He increased the tempo as the darkness was closing in on us with rapid speed, and I fought to hang on. I had never been significantly athletic and my aching legs and my pounding heart were solid proof. I released the bag hanging across my gangly body and it fell to the rain-covered street. Even if the bag hadn’t weighed much, it was still a small relief when it left my shoulders. Then a thought suddenly hit me and I stopped dead in my tracks.

“DAD, OUR HOUSE!” I cried, my throat vibrating, in the rain that kept flooding down. Our simplistic red cottage would be shadowed by the darkness within a few seconds, and then disappear with it.

“We can hardly carry it with us. Come on Eliza, we have to keep moving!” And the both of us spurted on. I wondered if the darkness would stop spreading when it reached a certain limit or something. I strongly doubted it would. Only a few minutes ago, the sun had been shining and its beams were casting light over the city. But now the feeling of my bronze-coloured skin cracking of cold was overwhelming.

I pinched my arm while continuing to speed forward. Two red marks appeared in my frozen skin, but I didn’t feel any pain. But I didn’t wake up either. Sweat was

sippering between my shoulderblades, along my spine and I shuddered.

This can’t be real. The thought repeated itself in my head. The ground, buildings and people getting pulverized, it wasn’t something that possibly could happen. No, it couldn’t. No. Right?

My chocolate coloured waves for hair were whirling behind me in the wind, I could almost feel the straws of hair tangling together and forming snarls and knots. My whole body was shivering, and the thin fabric of my t-shirt was not improving the situation.

“Make it stop!” I yelled to no one in particular, however the voice of mine was too soft to cut through the roaring thunder. The once white sandals on my feet were not ideal to run in, and as a result of that, deep red blood was leaking from two large abrasions. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

I pinched myself again and to my disappointment nothing happened, aside from creating two new nail-formed marks.

Maybe this was an extremely powerful dream, I thought, maybe a dream in which I need to do something more severe than pinching for it to cease? We ran on a street lined with stalls. A market had been taking place just before the darkness arrived, I swiftly remembered. Now, almost every stall had collapsed due to the strong wind. On my left, I could glimpse a box filled with shining objects. When we came closer, I realized what they were.

They were guns.

Without thinking I stopped and grabbed one of the many metal handles. I kept on moving my legs while looking down at the object clutched in my hand. I held it in a steady grip, like my life depended on it. Which, for the record, it did. Suddenly four squiggly words appeared carved in the cold steel.

I am the solution.

Unknowing of what the hell I was doing - as if someone else controlled my limbs - I pointed the barrel to my foot and simply pressed the trigger. A loud bang seared through the storm and a wave of pure pain consumed me. And then I fell. Fell into nothingness.

But it didn’t take long before my eyelids opened wide again. I sat up with a jerk. A plain unlit room with light green walls and way too many bookshelves appeared in my field of view. Outside of the windows a cobbled street lightened by yellow streetlights and red cottages on the sides could be seen.

I was home. It had been a dream.

I took a deep breath of relief, but when I did so an agonizing pain welled up inside of me. It hurt so much, I couldn’t think and I couldn’t locate where the torturous agony was coming from. My own howl filled the room. I lifted the quilt I had been sleeping beneath with a shivering hand and saw a big, gory hole in my left foot. Pictures from the dream flashed before my eyes. Panic filled every cell of my body, until it almost overpowered the inflaming anguish pounding in my foot. I raised my left hand from under the quilt, afraid of what I would discover. My suspicion was confirmed when I looked, because in my hand rested a cold silver gun with three letters carved into the shiny metal. And when I with difficulty opened it, one of the shining bullets were missing.


All Hallows Eve, a perfect night for revenge. Halloween, a night that represents candy and fun to some and demons and witchcraft to others. While the children and adults alike walk around the neighborhoods in costumes varying from rotting zombies to pretty princesses, teens sit in their basement, summoning ghosts and performing rituals, thinking they are too cool for trick or treating. Which is exactly what makes this night the perfect night for revenge. We have been planning this for months. We all knew that popularly obnoxious Finn would be throwing his annual Halloween party, not that any of us had ever actually been invited. It has been this way for years. We are considered the weird kids. We are the artists, theater kids, gamers, tech wizards, pranksters, and sci-fi nerds. We may be weird, but we are not a group to be messed with, and frankly, we are tired of being bullied. It was time for us to have our revenge. Everything was planned to the letter. We had an operative on the inside, Maddy, who technically wasn’t one of the “weird kids” but was the older sister of one. She was sick of watching her baby brother get bullied at school and agreed to help us. She was on the inside, having actually been invited to the party, dressed as you might guess in a skintight spandex suit, leather jacket, and DIY utility belt as a secret agent (so discreet). Her job was to bolster a little bit of fear into the party goers. She was going to just happen to stumble upon a website that shows the spooky history of houses. Of course, this information was being fed to her by Rachel, our resident ghost writer who was currently sick at home. Rachel had an unhealthy fascination with horror. She had seen movies so scary and intense it would not be allowed in my house. She seemed cold and distant to most, and I will admit, she scared me at first. She mostly stuck to her own company, but she had become fond and accepting of our group. We at least knew none of us would turn up dead in one of her novels. While Rachel was at home inventing stories, I was walking by the house, monitoring the goings on. I was playing the role of outside surveillance, keeping things in line, and making sure everything went according to plan. I figured no one was bound to recognize me in my inflatable T-rex costume. I probably looked so ridiculous that I would be easily overlooked, which is exactly what I was going for. The costume was hot, especially in this Florida heat, but it was great for hiding my surveillance gear. I had my binoculars out as I spied through the plastic covered eye hole in my costume. Honestly, this house was the perfect setting for our little prank. It was a two-story wooden looking home painted a light grey that appeared spooky in the dark. The trees and shrubs were well trimmed, and the grass cut. The house stood proud with its little porch and its rocking chairs, the balcony hanging over and shading the porch, and shutters lining the windows. It looked like the stereotypical haunted house, just before the haunting. It even had fake cobwebs and plastic skeletons climbing the railings. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to read the message, the light blinding in the surrounding darkness. From Rachel. They asked about the house. Teenagers were too predictable. We gave Maddy a simple job. All she had to do was introduce the idea of a website that came up the with the spooky origins of each house and then read the made-up stories that were fed to her by Rachel. We gave her one rule. No matter what, she was never to bring up the idea of searching Finn’s house. This was to protect her, so they would never figure out she was an accomplice. We knew she didn’t have to bring it up anyways. You know what they say, curiosity killed the cat. We were relying on that same curiosity. Someone was bound to ask the spooky origins of Finn’s house, and when they did, it would be the death of them. It seems we had predicted right. My fingers flew across the keyboard on my phone and I pressed send. On cue, the lights of the house went out, and a collective scream rang out from the house. The fun had only just begun. We were riding on the premise that not one of the teenagers in that house knew what a circuit breaker was, where it was, or what to do with it. It was not exactly a stretch, and our hypothesis was quickly proven to be true. With the house blanketed in complete darkness it was time to send in the skeletons. The wide eyes of the teenagers peeked out the windows as they crowded together to get a closer look. I knew as of right now, all they saw was a T-rex standing in the middle of the street, facing the house. They couldn’t see me, or my binoculars. And besides, Halloween was the one day where standing in the street in an inflatable T-rex costume wasn’t considered suspicious. I hit send. Connor, our theater kid parkour artist, creeped to the edge of the balcony, let loose a couple of plastic skeletons he had tied to the railings, so they looked like they were dropping off the roof. He also dropped some plastic bones by themselves for an extra effect. Connor was a very athletic boy with a background in gymnastics. He was constantly jumping over things and climbing up places that probably shouldn’t be climbed. He had a love for musical theater, which is why he was considered one of the weird kids. He was good too as he could both sing and dance beautifully. It was too bad he was shamed for it. But his climbing skills had come into good use, especially since none of the rest of us could dream of climbing the roof. The teens were startled by the skeletons, but no screams emerged. We knew this was only the beginning of our revenge plan. We had more in store for them, they would just have to wait and see. It was time to bring in the ghosts. Now, when I say ghosts, I do not mean the sheet ghosts that you see in that popular trend they just brought back. What I mean by ghosts is a couple of nerds dressed up in ripped grey clothing and white face and body paint. There was a street light close enough to the house that would give just enough light to make their backyard creepy and give us an eerie look. This was my cue. I exited the street and quickly dumped my T-rex costume, with help from Ollie, a gamer who just happened to know how a circuit breaker works. Ollie was actually really funny, though most people would never know. He loved to game, and we would often come over to his house to play. We were terrible, but he never said a word. He liked to crack jokes and he was full of knowledge most people would find useless. Who would have thought we would need someone who knew how a circuit breaker worked? I certainly didn’t, but it is incredibly useful. We entered the backyard, clothed in our ghost costumes with a little bit of fluorescent silver glitter to make up appear shimmery in the darkness, like a mirage, our phone blasting your top of the line “ghost sounds,” like anyone knew what a ghost sounded like. The sounds drew the teenagers to the window where they met their second horror. This time we got screams as we were noticed, shimmering in and out of the darkness. In sync, we turned our heads and marched to the windows. Of course, we were only the distraction. We had given Maddy one more important job in all of this, to open the door. So, while we had all the teenagers inside distracted by the skeletons and the ghosts, she was to leave the door open for our last crew of nightmares. We set the last part of our plan in motion. We sent in Liz and Jackie, our tech girl and our prankster. They built things with their hands and made things work. Their job was probably the hardest, they had to make things happen and we did not give them much time to do it. They were dressed to blend in with the party, in pirate couple costumes, and had previously gone unnoticed. Given only the few minutes Connor, Ollie, and I made for them, they set to work setting up a holographic projector at the end of one of the halls, setting things up to fall, and creating the greatest part of our illusion. They had to scurry around in the chaos without drawing attention. They could be called out if someone just happened to catch them moving around the house while everyone else was concerned with the hauntings going on outside. Luckily, those two are good at sneaking around and avoiding detection. They get themselves into a lot of trouble, but they rarely ever get caught. Everyone knows it is those two, but the teachers and principal can hardly ever prove it. Without evidence, they get off quite often, much more than they should. Once again, we put our climber to use. Remember that streetlight I mentioned earlier. Guess who had just climbed the pole and was messing with the light? We didn’t want to accidentally break the light, so Connor was just supposed to cover the light with a dark blanket for a few seconds to create a flickering effect. As soon as that happened, the yard would go dark, and we would have about two seconds to bail out of sight in complete darkness. The light flickered and we dashed away from the sight of the window. We only knew we had been successful from the blood curdling screams that shook the house. Time to bring this party to a close. We scurried around the side of the house to the front door, where a sliver of light peeked from the thin opening. I watched a couple of kids fade into the night as they bailed from the party. Smart kids. They would probably survive a horror film, unlike the other idiots in the house. We grabbed our sheets from Connor who met us at the door, and we slinked into the chaos, just in time too. Liz and Jackie had done an absolutely beautiful job.  The show had just begun. A cascade of plastic cups came sliding off the countertops onto the tile flooring. Heads turned and teens jumped. They were trembling, mumbling prayers or complete nonsense (I’m not sure which) under their breaths, holding up finger crosses, and hiding behind a few brave or stupid (it really is a fine line) people. One poor soul had passed out on the floor. I felt kind of bad, but at the same time, not really. The group turned and rushed for the door, which I quickly slammed shut with my foot. It was almost pitch black and they were too concerned with the door to see me. No one bothered to check to see if the door had actually locked. Predictable. They just turned and ran up the stairs, only to be met by our holographic ghost, which really wasn’t all that great, but it didn’t have to be, they were already scared to death. The faded whispers of ghosts echoes through the room. The sentences and phrases could barely be made out, but if anyone listened closely enough, they would only hear a stupid conversation we had with each other in what he thought was a ghost whisper. We had agreed that this was more of a realistic ghost sound than the stereotypical moaning. It seems the party goers agreed. They scuffled down the stairs, tripping and trampling over each other. Several tumbled down the stairs as they were tripped or pushed. Utter chaos had erupted, mixed with the screams, whimpers, and tears of the scared to death teens. Our extravaganza had finally reached its finale. Liz and Jackie had planned from the beginning where the most important pieces of our show would be placed in the house. We all knew our places. We took the stage and turned this cookie cutter house on the block into a real nightmare. The house was dark with plenty of hiding places. It didn’t take much setting up, only needing a few key cords in place to create the illusion. We created the perfect house haunting, pulling and pushing furniture, swinging and slamming doors, knocking non-breakable objects onto the floor (we weren’t monsters), moving things, and overall, just making a lot of noise and chaos. One final ear-splitting scream emerged from the crowd. Girlfriends clung to their boyfriends necks, people trembled in fear, several covered their eyes or ear mumbling under their breaths, and one idiot demanded to know what the ghosts wanted. This was it, our time to make an appearance. Connor, Ollie, and I dubbed our other ghost costumes, throwing the sheets over our heads and stepping from our hiding places. Ollie held up a tablet that was currently video chatting with Rachel, who had also dubbed a sheet over her head. It was this moment that these gullible teens finally figured out this whole thing was a prank. Liz and Jackie stomped down the stairs in sheet ghost disguise. Liz was holding the holographic projector and Jackie a spool of string. They stared at us, eyes wide and mouths agape, in shock and realization of what had actually just happened. No one moved, fearful of the other tricks we might have up our sleeves. We didn’t have to say a word. They all probably knew who we were, even with our ghost disguises, though I bet not one of them knew our names. Rachel, Connor, Ollie, Liz, Jackie, and me, Aubrey. The artist, theater kid, gamer, tech wiz, prankster, and sci-fi nerd. We were the outcasts and the troublemakers. They all knew this was payback for the years of torment they made us go through. So, not one of us said a word, because we didn’t have to. We had shown them tonight what we were made of. We had put our collective skills to work and created a Halloween extravaganza no one was likely to soon forget. Of course, we knew things would not end here. The bullying would never end, but we had had our moment and we were proud. We had tasted revenge and it was sweet. We could hear the sirens in the distance as one of the neighbors apparently called the cops. I wonder why? We figured it was our time to depart. Like after every great performance, we joined hands and took a bow, before marching straight out that door and into the night.


The opening and closing clicks of the shutters of the cameras feel like a part of me now. Lights flash, some white, some blue, some red. I’m blinded. Chester is walking behind me, his hand on my back, trying to protect me from the crowd and comfort me at the same time. My parents and Courtney got left behind, calling everyone they knew to get enough money to get me out. Microphones are shoved at my face, trying to get a word out of me. But I’m not going to say anything. Anything and everything I say will be used against me. I pointed out to the lawyer that not saying anything could be used against me too, but he gave me a look that clearly said that I had brought this on myself, so it would be best if I just shut up now and let the professionals handle this. But I didn’t do it. Why doesn’t anyone believe me? Oh right. The boyfriend is always guilty. Contrary to popular belief, all guys aren’t creepy jerks. Some guys love their girlfriends. Some guys are normal. Some guys are not murderers. ****** I had spent hours in this interrogation room, the walls seeming to close in every time I looked around. Ms Davis, the police officer stared at me with an unrelenting gaze, her face tired but determined. “Caleb Lowell, I’m asking you one last time, why did you kill Ophelia Winters?” “And I’m telling you one last time, I didn’t kill her!” “Then why were you seen at the crime scene with her blood on your hands?” “I already told you, I was trying to stop her wound from bleeding any more." “Because you felt guilty after stabbing her?” “No, because a normal person would try to save their girlfriend’s life after she’s been stabbed.” “After you stabbed her?” “I didn’t kill her! I loved her! Why would I have any reason to take her life?” “You tell me.” “But I didn’t do it!” “So you didn’t know that she was pregnant? With your child?” I look at her, numb with pain and anger. “It wasn’t my child.” ****** “So she cheated on him, and the other guy knocked her up? That seems like a pretty solid motive to me.” “But he is still denying murdering her.” “I can hear you guys, you know.” The lady who was interrogating me and her colleague stop talking and look at me until I look away. Ophelia. Beautiful, moody, maddening. She had told me that she loved me. When had she stopped meaning it? When had she decided that I wasn’t anything to her? How could she have possibly thought that I wouldn’t find out? We hadn’t even slept together. But I didn’t kill her. Please believe me. ****** University. She was a quiet presence, seemingly everywhere but not really anywhere. Ophelia kind of always melded into the background. I would never have met her had it not been for a friend of mine. He suggested going to watch the school play, a reimagination of ‘A Midsummer Night's Dream’. I didn’t even concentrate on the story. When Ophelia appeared, everything else came to a standstill. She was marvellous, her expressive eyes and her rhythmic voice making me restless and calming me at the same time. Her dress seemed to float around her like a cloud. After the show, I congratulated her in person, and soon we started hanging out more. I don’t even remember when we stopped being friends and started dating, it all just felt so natural and meant to be. She loved me. But I loved her more. ****** “Who is the father of Ophelia’s child?” “Why should I tell you? So that you can convince him to prove me guilty?” “No, because he might be guilty.” I looked up, startled. I can’t tell them. Telling them would put me off the hook for sure, but it would mean betrayal. And I hate betrayal. “I don’t know who the father is. I do know, however, that it wasn’t me.” “Why are you protecting him? You must hate him for what he did.” “Trust me, I don’t. If anything, I hate myself.” “And why is that?” “I couldn’t stop it from happening.” ****** I had invited her over for a few days to meet my family. She immediately hit it off with my parents, her demure nature impressing them. When she did open her mouth to speak, what came out was always witty and clever. Then she would clam up again for a few more hours while the rest of my family was still reeling with the after-effects of her statement. Everyone was convinced that I wouldn’t find anyone better than her. I had agreed at the time. She became good friends with my sister Courtney, though there was a stark contrast to their personalities. Chester approved of our relationship, and I saw them laughing to jokes and bonding over shared interests. I thought nothing of it at the time. Even when I saw her hang out with him without telling me, I was just happy that they were getting along. I hadn’t known at the time that the worst was yet to come. Demure little Ophelia wasn’t as modest as she seemed. I don’t expect much from a relationship. All I expect is for my partner to be faithful. How hard is that? Just concentrate on your partner for a period of time. That’s all. And she managed to break the only expectation I had. She managed to break me. I wish that I could have done that day differently. Instead of going back to my house, I should have gone to hers and waited. If I had done that, I wouldn’t have been greeted by the sight of her and Chester going at it in the living room. I wouldn’t have gone completely ballistic. I wouldn’t have cut off both of them when they tried to explain. I wouldn’t have called her a slut and said that Chester wasn’t my brother anymore. I wouldn’t have ignored their calls. I wouldn’t have been helpless when she lay there dying a few days later. ****** I had gone over to Ophelia’s place to tell her that I was willing to work on our relationship if she stopped seeing my brother. I wasn’t ready to see her lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood. I wasn’t ready to see the gaping wound in her stomach, staining her clothes. I tried to stop her bleeding, but it wasn’t working. She opened her eyes and smiled at me. I called the police and an ambulance. ****** “You’re still not going to tell me who it is?” “No, I told you that I don’t know who it is.” “I think you do know. I don’t know why you aren’t telling me though. It would easily take the heat off you.” At this moment, another police officer entered the interrogation room and whispered something into Ms Davis’ ear. “Bring him in. I’ll be right there.” “What happened?” “It seems that we have a person willing to confess something about Ms Winters’ death.” “Who?” She looks at me, trying to discern my sudden attentiveness. “A Chester. Why, do you know him?” Chester? What could he possibly have to confess? He had told me that he wasn’t her killer. “Caleb? Do you know Chester?” I knew there was no point in lying now, he had gone and screwed it up anyway. “Yes, Chester, he – he is my brother.” ****** I sit there in the room, unable to stay still. Chester came to confess. Was he lying when he said that he didn’t kill Ophelia? Should I have believed him when he said that he loved her? Ms Davis enters the room, looking slightly triumphant. “Chester has confessed to being the father of Ophelia’s child.” I stare back, unblinking, without an expression on my face. “I think that we have arrived at our prime suspect.” “Chester? Just because he made her pregnant, it doesn’t mean that he killed her. How can you be so sure?” “Because he told us that he did.” ****** The police should have looked closer. They should have scoured everything, inside and outside the house. If they’d done their job well, they would have found the only proof they needed to free any suspicion off the Lowell brothers. A note. Lying in the bushes of the backyard, having flown away from Ophelia’s desk. Explaining why Ophelia had decided to take her own life. Maybe if they had found the seemingly insignificant paper, they would have gotten the real truth out of Chester. That Ophelia threatened to stab herself, and that Chester had merely pulled at her knife only to see one second later, that the knife was already plunged into her stomach. That Chester had panicked and ran, believing that he had murdered her. When in the end, it wasn’t his fault. It was no one’s fault, really. Just an unfortunate series of events. ******


Night Caller – By Beulah Lee Harris I looked out at the frigid night and shivered. Not because I was cold, I was wrapped up warmly enough, but because I was afraid of whatever might be lurking in the dark.    It was so remote where we lived in the foothills of the mountains. Our nearest neighbors, Greg and Jeanie, were an hour’s slow drive away and the town where I worked was an hour in the other direction. We thought it was a wonderful find, this wooden cabin in the middle of nowhere, a little way up the mountain – our little love nest far away from the rest of the world.    ‘Even a hermit can get lonely out here!’ Aaron joked as we looked out at the beauty of the cold rugged landscape that surrounded our new life. ‘It’s going to be great!’ He enthused, as if he had to convince me, but I was sold. I loved the idea of this loneliness together, and it was great. At first. At first even the wood chopping was romantic. How could it not be when we could look forward to snuggling up next to the fireplace with red wine and loving words? I didn’t even mind the long trek to town and back each day. I did the accounts for The Jolly Rooster burger chain. Stupid name. What chicken would be jolly about being served up between two halves of a bun? Aaron worked from home developing his photographs and writing his nature books, although he had to venture into to town too sometimes to use the internet. We could not even use cellphones and relied on a rather unreliable landline. It was the perfect life for us, until it began to change. Aaron had to go back to civilization for a while to meet with his publisher. He was only gone for a week but when he returned something in him had changed. Or perhaps it was me being paranoid. I have always had jealousy issues and although he denied seeing his ex when he was away, I didn’t believe him, no matter how much I wanted to. Things went downhill from there and the remote cabin became just that. A lonely place, a place without love. A place as cold as the snow on the mountain peaks. When Aaron told me that he had been offered the chance to go work for a few months in some God-forsaken place near Afghanistan, I accepted it. Actually, I embraced it with relief. Perhaps the time and distance between us would heal us and we would become what we had been not too long before. I managed fine on my own, having made sure that Aaron did a whole lot of wood chopping before he left. I did have internet at work but Aaron had warned that he would not have access where he was going, so I had no idea if he was alright. I worried, and I missed our fireside nights, missed his arms around me, his laughter, his whispers in my ear. I missed him even more when the calls began. There was nothing, not even the heavy breathing one might expect in a b-rated horror movie. My hellos were met with silence, silence more ominous than it might have seemed if the calls had not happened after dark. The police did not seem to take me seriously and said there was nothing much they could do.   ‘Stop calling here!’ I shouted in frustration and anger one night. “I’m not scared of you, I have a shot gun!’ I did too. I kept it loaded near the front door. Still the calls happened and I stopped answering the phone, letting the answering machine get it. The light flashed but there was never a message. I got home from work one afternoon as the sun was already setting over the highest peak. I parked the pickup truck and climbed the steep steps up to our unfenced garden. Feeling a bit achy from flu, I got into bed right away. I was just dozing off when the phone rang. I ignored it but got up anyway and ran a hot bath. I could hear the phone ringing again, but I stayed where I was, luxuriating in the warm scented water. I should have taken the phone off the hook but I never did in case a message ever did get through, a message from Aaron. I was about to heat a can of soup when I heard a noise outside. My heart began to beat a mile a minute and I grabbed the shotgun. The caller…he knew I was there and this time, this time he was coming for me, I knew it.

I looked out into the darkness and I saw him! A large shadow rising up the slope, coming into our garden towards the house…towards me! I raised the window and took aim. I shouted, ‘You get away from here!’ Perhaps my voice was lost in the howling wind because he kept coming, so I fired the gun and saw the shadow fall. The police. I had to call the police. I shut the window with trembling hands and exhilarated, I ran to make the call. Now those skeptical police would finally believe me about having a stalker. When I got to the phone, the lights on the machine were blinking red. A message…maybe there would be a message this time. I decided to listen before I made the call to the police.   ‘Hi, baby.’ It was Aaron! ‘I miss you so much, and I’m sorry if I scared you with all those calls…I tried to get hold of you so many times but nothing was working. It would ring and I could hear you but you obviously could not hear me, so I never left a message. No point.’ He laughed. ‘I’m back in the country now, so I will be home in a few days, but this is the number of the hotel where I am staying.’ He left the number and rang off. Thank God! Oh, thank God! I began to cry from relief but also from the shock of having just shot the stalker. First things first. I had to call the police. The red light was still flashing…another message. I played it.    ‘Hi honey, it’s Jeanie. Thought I’d call because Greg heard on his two-way that there is a huge storm coming in a few hours. It’s going to be a bad one and we might all get snowed in for a while so he’s coming up to your place to drop some supplies off with you. It’s just gone seven so he should be there around eight.’ Oh, my God! No…please no! I ran to the window and could just make out the dark shadow of a man slumped on the ground. I looked at my watch. It was seven minutes after eight. END


TW: murder To whom it may concern,

My name is Rob Conway, and I’m a monster. We all were back then. Monsters with an insatiable appetite to hurt others. But it wasn’t our fault. At least that’s what I tell myself at night to fall asleep without dreaming about him. It wasn’t our fault. It was the Shadow’s fault. But let me tell you everything from the top… It all started in 1956, in Newberry, a small, coastal town where the cliffs met the sea, and the everlasting green hills were dressed in groves and rivers. It was a nice town to live in. Not as busy as the major cities, and not as dull as the villages of the area. But, despite its beauty, Newberry didn’t offer us much: a few record stores, one or two pubs for the drunkards, and nothing more than that. So, my gang (Billy the Dull; Smith the ‘Smithie’; Davie the Bigfoot) and I had to find other ways to pass the time. First, it was bike rides around town, but that grew dull very quickly. And then—it was Smithie’s idea I remember—we built a fortress in Newberry Grove. We spent most of our time there, fencing with twigs, talking about the girls we liked, smoking our first cigarettes, and having a first taste of beer. We called it, the Newberry Saloon and it was a lawless land where we were the outlaws, the sheriffs, the knights, and the kings! That’s how life went by in Newberry. And it was oh-kay, I gotta admit, nothing wrong with all that, right? Well, there was nothing wrong with Newberry, except for the Shadow. You see, the Shadow was always there as we grew up. We saw it in the windows of stores, in the woods, and in remote parts of the city. Sometimes the Shadow followed us home. The Shadow never picked one person to follow. It somehow managed to follow all of us. I don’t remember when I saw the Shadow for the first time. It must have been before the time I started to form memories, but it was always there, following me, watching me when I was sleeping. But how can you tell something like that to others? Some would call me mental, or worse. But that was a good scenario. I was mortified that someone would confirm my story, and that’s when the Shadow would become real. I always called myself crazy, because I thought that the Shadow was of my own making, a twisted vision of my mind trying to trick me, until the summer of 1956. We all sat down, cracking a six-pack of cold ones, having our second-ever smoke. It was the smoke, the beer, maybe it was the heat of the summer, but I decided to share my crazy. “Screw it,” I said and stood up. I turned and pointed at the Shadow, and I saw it in their eyes. “You can see it too?” I asked. They all nodded with somber eyes. I could see it engraved within them: they knew where I was pointing at. I wasn’t crazy. And know, you can think that this was a children’s story, but let me tell you what happened after that. That same night, when I came home, my father was in his armchair, with the local paper in his arms, and the Shadow standing right behind him like a guard. My mother strolled inside with an anxious smile, serving him a drink. She glanced at and left back to the kitchen. “Where have you been?” my pa asked. “The Saloon,” I said. My father rolled his eyes, lowering the paper, “This nonsense again…” He took a sip of his drink and eyed me carefully. “You see, Robbie,” my father said, staring at me along with the Shadow. “Your mother and I…we know.” “What do you know, pa?” I asked. “That you can see the Shadow,” my pa said and leaned closer. I swore that I heard the Shadow chuckle and grin. I could feel its hunger, its longing for something that I couldn’t understand at the time. I remained silent and my father smiled. “You see,” my father said. “I think it’s time I tell you what my pa told me.” “Okay,” I said uncertainly. “We all see the Shadow, son,” my father said almost compassionately, and he was never so compassionate. “We all see it, and we must obey it. He is the one in charge. We do not resist, and we do not ask, we just do, do you understand?” “Why?” I said with terror. “Because I said so, Robbie!” my father shouted, slamming his glass of whiskey on the table beside him. He cleared his throat and rubbed his tired-looking eyes. “Look,” my father said, calmly again. “We never address, and we never challenge the Shadow, do you understand Robbie?” My father was scary, and I didn’t feel I had a choice. “I do,” I murmured, and at that moment, the Shadow became clear as day, dark like a stormy sky or a nebulous, winter morning. “Attaboy,” my father said, as he always did when I said something that he approved of. “Let’s have dinner now.” And so I did. Ever since I could not only see the Shadow, but I could hear it, whispering things to me during the night. Its slimy, rotten voice pierced into my mind, like a parasite feeding from my own sanity. At first, I didn’t understand what the Shadow said, but the more the days went by, the clearer I could understand its meaning.

When I met with the gang again, they all had the same terror in their eyes, but it all affected us differently. Davie seemed colder, distant. Billy became harsher as his jokes were insulting and he shared all sorts of crazy ideas. Smithie was like me: mortified. The Shadow became a part of our gang. We never talked to it. We never talked about it, but we let It follow us around. It followed us to the fortress and when we took our bikes out for a ride. It followed us when we bathed in the river. And it took all the joy away from the little things we did, replacing them with vile thoughts we didn’t want to have. But we obeyed the Shadow. One day, a new kid came to town. George DeWitz was his name, and his smile is still engraved in my mind. George was not your typical 1950s boy, and certainly not a typical Newberry boy. George was always dressed in lighter colors and one day we saw him wearing a dress. We all noted how George behaved more like a girl than a boy. We didn’t mind George. He seemed like a good boy. But the Shadow didn’t agree with us. “He is not normal, Robbie!” my father had shouted at me when I told him that I wanted to invite George over for dinner. “No boy like that will ever set foot into my home! And if you are like him, you better pack your things and leave!” The same night, the Shadow repeated those words; words that I do not care to write here, and words that no one should ever write. It said all types of words for the boy we knew as George. I didn’t believe that George was any of those things, but the Shadow had a weird way of poisoning us. Eventually, I cracked, and I didn’t want to go against the Shadow. We started calling him names; the names Shadow taught us. We started hazing him, hunting him down, striking with sticks. Whatever the Shadow commanded. One day, the Shadow even ordered us to throw him into the river and we did, without asking, without addressing the Shadow, because we were all afraid of it. That’s when the Shadow made us take it too far. It told us to haze George and trick him, make him believe that we will hang him. We took George out to our now ravaged fortress. We placed a noose around his neck, and we pulled him up, and up. We were laughing I remember, and I can’t feel more disgusted by that memory. If you had been there, you’d see children believing to do the right thing—what the Shadow commanded. It was Davie and Billy who enjoyed it the most, but we were all laughing because the Shadow told us to. We were laughing and poor George was choking. We would stop, pull him down, let him leave. But the Shadow never told us to stop, so we never did until George was no longer fighting. Until George was dead. No one ever pinned the murder on us, and George’s parents simply skipped town. We were never punished for our mistakes, and that was our punishment. We all felt ashamed. Dirty. We wanted to be punished. We wanted to be thrown to jail and rot. Poor Billy even went to the police and told them what we did. They all laughed and let him leave. Billy told us that some even thanked him. Our crime went unpunished, but we deserved punishment. We never talked again with the gang. We all left for college, and no one ever returned to Newberry. Years later, I learned that Billy took his life, tired of listening to the Shadow. Davie joined the Army and never returned home. Smithie tried to redeem himself, track the family down, and George’s father killed him with a shotgun on their front porch. George’s father went to jail and Smithie died the way George died. But we all deserved what happened to us. Me, I’m still here, and now that I write all that I know that it was our fault. Because I escaped, but it took me many years to do so. All I had to do was address the Shadow, and I did one day. It was a day that the Shadow commanded me to kill another boy like George. It was the same thing my father had told me one day: “These men should be put down like sick dogs.” And for the first time, I asked. “Why?” I asked with tears in my eyes. “Why do you call him that? He is a person! Why do I have to kill him? He is just like me and everyone else!” The Shadow’s grin vanished and its eyes didn’t glow as hot anymore. “Why!” I shouted, louder than my throat could handle. And a why was all it took for the Shadow to retreat to its smoky, dark home, away from me. Why was all I needed to ask to make the Shadow go away. If we had addressed the Shadow, George would be alive, Billy and Smithie would be alive. Davie would be here, with us, and we would all be a happy gang. But we never dared to do it, and that was our fault. Our fault. It wasn’t my pa’s who told me to not to address the Shadow. It wasn’t George’s who chose to be who he wanted to be. It wasn’t the Shadow’s fault for being there. It was my fault for not ever asking why. I can’t write another word without thinking that it was all my fault. And I can’t live with that burden anymore. I might have won the Shadow, but it took everything from me. Whoever reads this, remember. Always address the Shadow, even when everyone tells you not to. It’s the only way for you to live.


This is chapter 39 of a book I am writing titled "Sengoku." The book is based off real life warlords from Sengoku era Japan. In this chapter, the famous monk Kennyo is desperate for revenge against big-time warlord Nobunaga Oda, and kidnaps the four main female characters of the book: Sakura, Misa, Kaiyo, and Yukari. Please enjoy the chapter and let me know if you have any feedback! The eleven men stood in front of their horses, their hands on their weapons, ready for anything. Oda on one side, Uesugi-Takeda on the other. Nearly five feet separated the two groups, though they were working together. Several monks stood in front of them, silent. Finally, a jingling sound could be heard coming closer. “Finally.” Nobunaga said. “About time,” Ieyasu remarked. Kennyo walked to the middle of the small clearing and waved his hand behind him, gesturing for the men behind him to do something. What that something was was bringing out Sakura, Misa, and Yukari. “Get your gross hands off of us!” Yukari complained. “Misa,” Kenshin said as he was about to rush forward, but a large hand stopped him. “Wait,” Shingen said, “we can’t act too fast. We don’t know what he’ll do.” Kenshin reluctantly stayed put. “Tie them to the tree,” Kennyo ordered. They were then roughly tied to a large tree by the outskirts of the clearing. The men were somewhat relieved until they noticed it. Hideyoshi spoke first. “Where’s Kaiyo?” Kennyo looked over at the girls, confused. There should have been four of them, not three. He looked back just in time to see a final girl being dragged out from behind the treeline, this time much more forcefully. “Master,” one monk said, “we tried to get information from this one.” “What?” Kennyo asked. “She wouldn’t talk, Master Kennyo.” They pushed her to the ground in front of him onto her knees. If looks could kill, then Kennyo would have been obliterated. He walked a little closer to her, seemingly unphased. “So this is the woman warlord in training.” He reached out toward her ever so slightly. “Leave her alone!” Hideyoshi was about ready to explode with anger. “Careful, lad,” Masamune warned quietly. Kennyo straightened himself and turned towards Nobunaga. “These are the women that are important to you, yes?” Nobunaga said nothing. He simply stared, livid. “I heard they’re your ‘lucky charms.’ It would seem that they have bad luck for themselves, though.” “Get to the point, Kennyo.” Nobunaga said, feeling more impatient than was humanly possible. “What is it that you want?” “I want your head to roll.” “Well you’re not getting that!” Sakura yelled. “This man is a tyrant, and yet you defend him?” Kennyo asked. “He’s no tyrant,” she said. “At least he didn’t kidnap four women for no reason,” Yukari remarked. “Your head will be the one to roll for taking Misa,” Kenshin said through gritted teeth. “Even the God of War cares for these women?” a monk said. “Nobunaga must have cursed them!” said another. Kennyo silenced them with a look. “Kennyo, you have the power to stop this,” Shingen said. “Just let them go. They’ve done nothing wrong.” Kennyo turned to Nobunaga. “Die, Nobunaga, and I will let them go.” “He’ll never bend to you, Kennyo,” Misa said, her hand twitching. “You can’t win this fight.” Kennyo frowned. Misa looked over to the angry warlords and noticed something odd. Just as she was about to speak up, Sasuke appeared behind Kaiyo and cut her restraints. She grabbed Kennyo’s staff and swung it out underneath him, causing him to trip over. She then got up and began running to the girls, but several monks stood in her way. Sasuke walked up beside her and they shared a nod. Kaiyo ran and slid underneath one, pushing his leg up and causing him to fall to the ground face first. As Sasuke disarmed two other monks, Kaiyo swiped her leg out and tripped one. They continued running toward the girls, but five more came. They stopped and looked back at Kennyo who was being helped back up. “I should have known better than to stand near a woman being trained by the Devil King’s men.” “Your first mistake was underestimating a woman,” Yukari said. Kaiyo finally spoke, turning to the girls. “Are you girls alright? Did they do anything to you?” “We’re fine, Kaiyo,” Sakura said. “But what about you?” “I’m perfectly fine. Those idiots really need to work on their interrogation skills.” This did not reassure anyone. Hideyoshi grew more irate by the second. “How dare you lay your hands on her?! I’ll-” “Hideyoshi, calm yourself,” Mitsuhide said quietly. “We must get to them first.” Kaiyo turned to Kennyo. “Let them go, and I won't beat you to a bloody pulp.” “Such language from a woman!” a monk said. “No wonder the Devil King wants her.” “I bet the others are the same!” “Enough chatter,” Nobunaga declared. “Kaiyo. Bring the girls to us.” “On it, my lord. Sasuke, cover me.” Sasuke nodded. “Kaiyo…” Sakura was clearly worried. Kaiyo looked over at her and winked. Kaiyo began running, sliding underneath monks and kicking them away when they wouldn’t budge. Sasuke protected her from those attempting to attack from behind. Two monks grabbed Kaiyo from either side, but Sasuke was quick to kick one away, giving her the opportunity to throw the other to the ground. They quickly reached the girls and Kaiyo cut the rope holding them with a sword she had stolen along the way. She hugged the three girls tight before turning back to the group of monks she and Sasuke had just run through. “Get them,” Kennyo commanded. “Do your worst!” Kaiyo yelled, pointing the sword at them. “I can take you all on myself!” “With all due respect, Kaiyo,” Misa said, “no you can’t.” “Gee, thanks, Misa.” The monks brandished their swords and they stepped closer and closer. Kaiyo decided it was better not to count how many added themselves to the group just then. “Okay, yeah, you’re probably right. We should run. Now.” The monks descended. “Run!” The girls bolted for the warlords across the clearing. Sakura reached them first. Yukari fell, however, and a monk was nearly on top of her, ready to strike down. Sasuke kicked him out of the way and grabbed her. The girls finally reached the warlords, and they stood protectively in front of them. “We told you that you couldn’t win, Kennyo,” Yukari said, shaking her head. “You should’ve listened.” The men readied themselves for battle. Mitsuhide handed Kaiyo her sword. She tied it to her side, where it belonged. Unsheathing her sword, she looked at the monks before her and thought for a moment. Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide were already in front, ready to protect her. Kaiyo looked back to the girls, hiding behind Nobunaga, Kenshin, and Sasuke. She called out to the men. “Lord Nobunaga, Kenshin, Sasuke, take the girls and get out of here! Ieyasu, Mitsunari, Yuki, I want you to follow them until you’re all somewhere safe. Masamune, Mitsuhide, Hideyoshi, after Kennyo with me!” Kaiyo jumped out from behind Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide and ran past several distracted monks after Kennyo. “You heard her, men,” Shingen said with a smile. “Let’s go.” “I do not take orders from a woman,” Kenshin said. “Oh no you don’t,” Misa said. “Get on your damn horse now! We’re going.” She pushed the astonished man up to his white steed and went to climb on by herself. Kenshin quickly regained himself and helped her up. Nobunaga called to the Oda warlords from atop his horse with Sakura. “Hideyoshi, Mitsuhide, Masamune, protect Kaiyo with your lives.” The three nodded and jumped into battle with Shingen and Yoshimoto. Kaiyo bobbed and weaved in and out of the battle, hardly using her sword. She did not want to take more lives. Mitsuhide and Hideyoshi were as close to her as they could get without drawing too many monks in her direction. Shingen and Yoshimoto danced along the clearing, taking down many of the untrained monks without killing them. Rendering them unconscious was all that was necessary. Kennyo saw the pointlessness of staying near the battle. “Master Kennyo, please escape!” “We will protect you!” “Your sacrifice is appreciated, my brethren,” Kennyo said. “It will not be in vain.” Kennyo turned and began running away from the battle. “No! Get back here!” Kaiyo sheathed her sword and began running after him. “Kaiyo, no!” Hideyoshi yelled. “Lass!” Kaiyo ignored them. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her through the forest after Kennyo. It didn’t take long for her to get close. Other than Sakura, she was the fastest runner. As she caught up with Kennyo, they entered a small clearing with a cliff to one side and a small rocky hill adjacent to their running path. “Kennyo!” He turned to look at her. Then, as if her voice had moved the earth, rocks began tumbling down the hill. Rocks big enough to crush a person. Kaiyo froze as she looked up. Then she was tumbling backward. Something had pushed her out of the way. She lay on the ground underneath that something breathing heavily, and it took a minute to realize what it was. …Kennyo? She looked over at the fallen rocks that had nearly sent her off the cliffside. Then she looked up and her eyes met his. They were tired, but held a kindness to them that she didn’t think would be there. He sighed and slowly moved to stand, holding his hand out to her. She hesitated. He waited patiently for her to take it and she allowed him to help her up. Kaiyo stared at Kennyo in astonishment before realizing her name was being called. She turned at the sound and took a step in that direction. She slowly looked back, however and contemplated. Here he was, on a silver platter for her to capture, just looking at her. And yet… “Kaiyo!” “Lass!” Kaiyo shook her head and began running in the direction of the forest where her friends were fighting. She stopped at the edge of the clearing and looked back one last time. Kennyo just stood there. She bowed to him and ran in the opposite direction. Kaiyo didn’t run as fast this time. She was tired. She reached the clearing finally and saw that there were very few monks left standing. The rest had run or were unconscious. She began running towards Mitsuhide, who had been the closest to her, when she felt someone push her over. She tumbled on the ground once more and struggled to get up. A very large monk, taller and bulkier than any of the warlords, grabbed her by the neck and raised her into the air. The warlords struggled with their opponents. “No, Kaiyo!” Hideyoshi was the only one to call out her name before the monk raised a knife high into the air. “For Master Kennyo!” Kaiyo gasped as he plunged the knife into her abdomen. The warlord’s eyes all grew wide and their jaws dropped. Masamune was quick to kick the monk away. Kaiyo fell to the forest floor with a heavy thud . Mitsuhide was there in an instant to pick her up. “Mitsuhide-” “Don’t talk now,” he hushed. He began running towards the horses near the opposite end of the clearing. “Masamune!” Masamune kicked the monk away one last time before running back. Some of the monks began leaving the clearing as the warlords rushed back to the horses. “Here,” Shingen said, holding his arms out to take Kaiyo so Mitsuhide could climb onto his horse. Masamune was the second to mount. “Masamune, ride ahead and set up an infirmary tent.” Masamune nodded to Mitsuhide and raced out of the forest. Mitsuhide took Kaiyo back in his arms. “Go,” Shingen said, taking out his sword again as more monks came after them. “We’ll hold them off.” Hideyoshi was still engaged in battle against two monks and could hardly even look back to the receding figure of Mitsuhide carrying Kaiyo on horseback. Shingen reentered the battle next to Yoshimoto. Mitsuhide was riding as fast as he could until he heard Kaiyo crying aloud. “Mitsuhide… stop…” He slowed down ever so slightly, thinking the fast riding was hurting her worse. “It’s alright, Kaiyo.” “Mitsuhide… make it stop…” It was then that he realized she was holding the hilt of his sword. It took everything in him to not shed tears in that moment. “I know it hurts, Little Mouse, but Ieyasu will make it better. Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.” Kaiyo continued breathing heavily in his arms and nodded. Back at the temporary camp, Misa’s hand was twitching horribly. She could barely hold it. “Misa, your hand…” Sakura pointed out. “What is it?” “It’s Kaiyo,” she said, tears in her eyes. “She’s hurt bad.” Just then, Masamune rode into the base and quickly dismounted. “Get a medical tent ready right away.” He turned to Nobunaga. “Kaiyo’s been stabbed.” Ieyasu immediately got to work ordering the soldiers to prepare for her. After a short while, Mitsuhide finally rode in with an unconscious Kaiyo. He dismounted in one smooth motion and followed Ieyasu immediately. “Kaiyo, no…” Sakura and Misa were already crying, fearing the worst. Yukari followed them until they entered the tent and ordered the other soldiers to leave. Ieyasu took apart Kaiyo’s torn clothes and got to work. He and Mitsuhide worked quickly to stop the bleeding and dress the wound. It was all they could do. Once Ieyasu had wrapped Kaiyo up in bandages, Mitsuhide laid her down on the infirmary bed and pulled a blanket over her. “That's all we can do right now,” Ieyasu said. “Now we wait.” Mitsuhide’s expression was unreadable, but Ieyasu knew he was worried. He had trained her day after day to become what she was. And yet, they knew nothing could have prevented this. Ieyasu left the tent, knowing Mitsuhide needed some time alone with her. Mitsuhide sat there watching her breathe for a few minutes until she stirred. He gasped and placed a hand on her cheek, turning her to face him. “Kaiyo?” “Mitsuhide…” She was weak and trying her best to breathe deeply. “It’s alright, Kaiyo. You’re safe now.” “And… and the girls?” “They’re safe, too.” Kaiyo nodded weakly. “Mitsuhide… am I… going to die?” Mitsuhide’s shoulders slumped. He had not prepared himself for such an outcome or a question about it. He did not want to lie to her. “I… I do not know.” Tears streamed down Kaiyo’s face. “Please… take care of the girls. Make sure… they’re happy and safe. And be nice to Hideyoshi… he worries about you.” Each word she spoke felt like a stab through the heart for Mitsuhide. “And tell Lord Nobunaga… that I’m sorry I failed.” “You did not fail, Kaiyo. You saved the girls. You did not fail.” Kaiyo’s breathing slowed. “Kaiyo… there is something I must tell you.” Mitsuhide looked away, attempting to prepare himself. “What… is it?” “I lo-” He stopped short when he noticed her eyes were closed. He lowered his head, resting his forehead against hers gently. “I love you.”


Hey Fancy Pants. It’s me and it’s what I still call you. Why not? I spend so much time thinking about the past. My marriage, my divorce, my daughter. It is so easy to think about all that has occurred and then focus on all the ways, the many many ways, that decisions were poor and moments were not super happy. The what ifs, the why, the what could I have done. Then the natural progression of could of, should of, would of. Really, what in the hell. I hate that almost as much as I hate, it is what it is. No. Absolutely not. It is NOT what it is. That’s weak acceptable of what can be different. Well now I am thinking about the future. What should I know? Well, all of this is a moment in time that has lots of choices for lots of different moments, future moments. I was recently told that I should be an observe in my life to allow for some opportunities to not be so worried regularly. Interesting concept and maybe applicable for thinking about the future. At times in work, I will back into a challenge so that the end is the beginning and the decisions may or may not be different based on what is hopefully the outcome. So future self, what do I want? Let’s start at the most granular. Happiness. When I say I want happiness my husband says, “ha-penis”. It makes me laugh every time and I can no longer say the word without a normal thought. Okay - clearly, I’ll find a different way to express that sentiment - which I actually want. Contentment? Not sure. I think so but in what way. In a complicit way - without fight, without drive? Not sure. Peace - oh yeah, that’s the good stuff! But can peace be completely fulfilled without some conflict? Now that is the interesting ying and yang question. Can it? Can any of these things occur without a polarizing opposite moment? Let’s take this in a different direction. Future self, tell me a day in the life of you. Well, I think that I wake up and have few aches. I stumble for coffee. I go outside and check my plants in my greenhouse. I text a good morning to my daughter as she is successful and happy elsewhere but not too far so I can see her. I feed my cats and chickens and then what? I work? I volunteer? I’m not sure. I am not my future self yet so I don’t know what the day in the life looks like. This is getting me nowhere. How about my life with friends? This one I absolutely know. My future self wants to have the friends I have now who are like the most beautiful snuggly blankets. I am constantly protected and kept safe. My heart remains intact and constantly filled with affection from them, and I towards them. So this one is clear. People who show up for me. But when I think future self, future self, how am I viewing my friends. How have they changed? How have a changed? Has there been a need to reevaluate and rediscover or has the relationships with each one been a never ending healthy intertwining of like minded thoughtfulness? Has anyone been removed from the fold by choice, by death, by request. Future self, there is no way to predict the future of other selves who are not you. Hold on, hold on. There has to be something of value that I can offer my future self. But I don’t know. My whole life has been a mishmash of different dedications. I was dedicated to a career. I was dedicated to being an alternative person - minded and in dress. I was dedicated to finding what was going to be my romantic person. I was dedicated to surrounding myself with the people who made me more “real” and “authentic”. That means, in the simplest and most ridiculousness, cool. I was dedicated to leaving my home state for another because in another I would find me. I was dedicated to returning home to see my family. I was dedicated to being a mom. I was dedicated to surviving divorce. I was dedicated to making money and doing whatever needed to be done on my terms. Now, I am dedicated to ensuring my daughter is the successful version of herself. This means wanting for her what she wants for her. A job, to not feel terrible with her chronic illnesses, a home of her own, maybe even a relationship with someone. In the past, my future self never could have predicted that wish. What is becoming very clear, future self, is that the only message that can be given is to stay open to all experiences good and bad. It is all of the experiences that are expected and more so, unexpected, that will provide the best version and guidance and advice to the future self. I have nothing to offer because all I know is the moment of now. I am content. I visit my plants everyday. I have a job that I am good at and am well respected. My daughter loves me and actually tells me - HUGE! My step daughter is in progress of acceptance and I suppose that could be considered a win. Who’s to say. My husband and I are communicating a great deal better and finally settling into a world in which we share our moments and upsets with security and without emotional landmines. Future self - enjoy the ride. Enjoy the ability to move easily with strength. Enjoy working. Enjoy books and movies. Laugh with friends. Talk to friends. Be ok with the moment in front of you. Happy, sad, angry, complete distress, overjoyed. All of these things put pits in my stomach because they are really big feelings. Try to breathe and focus on something that gives peace. The wind blowing through the bamboo. The birds. The running of the cats when they see me. The chickens following me around the coop. All of these may not be in the life of my future self but maybe they are or maybe they are something new. Future self - have FUN!