#Welcome to Serial Sunday! ***A reminder for all SerSun writers: I am noticing a significant drop in feedback on the thread. Please keep in mind that feedback is a requirement. You must leave two feedback comments (one comment on two different stories). It doesn’t have to be an in-depth critique, but your comment should list at least one thing the author has done well. Feedback is the main purpose of this feature, and it’s how we all learn and grow as writers.*** Now onto the good stuff... To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join. Please be sure to read the entire post before submitting!   ***   #This week's theme is Purity! To continue our monthly theme of ‘morality’ for May, we’re going to look at ‘purity’ this week. This could mean different things for different characters. What does purity look like in your world? What does it mean to your characters? Are they striving to rid themselves of unclean desires or actions? Is purity a godly thing, or more of an earthly thing in your story? Will good v.s. evil cause a ripple that will change everything? These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. /   ***   #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I will be releasing the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. * May 23 - Purity (this week) * May 30 - Redemption * June 6 - tbd (check back later this week)   ***   #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. (Using the theme word is welcome but not necessary.) This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 6pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Please make sure to read *all* of the rules before posting!   ***   #The Rules: * **All top-level comments must be a story.** Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt/post is not allowed. * **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. * **Stories must be posted by Saturday 6pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. * **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on other stories (2 different stories) to qualify for rankings every week.** The comment **must** include at least one detail about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. You have until the following Sunday at 12pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements. * **Keep the content “vaguely family friendly”.** While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask! * **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalogue. Please note: You **must** use the same serial name for each installment of your serial. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   ***   #Reminders: * **Make sure your post on this thread also includes links to your previous installments**, if you have a currently in-progress serial. Those links must be direct links to the previous installment on the preceding Serial Saturday/Sunday posts or to your own subreddit or profile. But an in-progress serial is not required to start. You may jump in at any time. * **Saturdays I will be hosting a Serial Campfire on the discord main voice lounge**. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * **You can nominate your favorite stories each week**. Send me a message on discord or reddit and let me know by 12pm EST the following Sunday. You do not have to attend the campfire, or have read all of the stories, to make nominations. Making nominations awards both parties points (see breakdown at the bottom of this post). * Authors who successfully finish a serial with at least 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the subreddit. Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). * There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news! *** #Last Week’s Rankings - - u/ATIWTK - - u/stickfist - - u/Xacktar - - u/Badderlocks_ - - u/vibrantcomics - - u/EdsMusings   ***   #Ranking System The weekly rankings work on a point-based system. This week, I’ve added a *brand new category* for points. Here’s the breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 6 points - Second place - 5 points - Third place - 4 points - Fourth place - 3 points - Fifth place - 2 points - Sixth place - 1 point **Feedback:** In order to be eligible for feedback points, you have to complete your 2 required feedback comments. - Written feedback (on the thread) - 1 point each, up to 3 points (5 crits total on the thread) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 1 point each, up to 3 points. * *Note: Completing the max for both is equivalent to a first place vote. Keep in mind that you may not use the same feedback to receive both written and verbal feedback points. Your feedback should be actionable and list at least one thing the author has done well.* **Nominations:** Making nominations for your favorite stories will now earn you extra points! - 3 points for sending your favorite stories to me, via DM, by 12 pm Sunday, est. You may send a max of **six** nominations. (The 3 points are the total.)     ***   ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday. Check out to learn more! - Sharpen your micro-fic skills by participating in our brand new feature, - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts.


It had been a month, and my face was starting to itch. I was sitting in the car, waiting for the opportunity to strike, while rain poured and thunder bellowed outside. I reviewed the name and the address on the package. John Smith, the resident of 565 First Avenue, was a divorced parent and a woodcarver. When the clock struck 1, I went outside with the package under a black umbrella. Water splashed under my feet, as I reached the blue porch and knocked three times on the door. “Who is it?” A voice shouted from the inside, almost drowning in the sound of rain. I remained silent and knocked three times again in continuous succession. The door opened, and I saw the familiar face of John smith. “Are you John Smith?” He was roughly the same height as me, though a little skinny. In many years of experience, he had the perfect face I had ever seen. His broad but taut face, acne-free skin, flat nose, and skinny lips were rare for a 33-year-old man. Still wearing his dirty pajamas, he was the embodiment of Sunday noon laziness. “Yes, I am John Smith. How may I help you today?” “May I come in? The rain is killing it today,” I said with a broad smile. His eyes showed hesitation, so I stretched my smile a little more. He saw the package in my hands and said, “Come on in.” He welcomed me into his lovely house, which was equipped with a cramped kitchen and a spacious living room in the front. The passage in the middle made way for the two bedrooms and bathrooms. It was an ordinary house for an ordinary man. The sharp smell of cigarettes was in contrast with the earthy smell of the rain outside. “I have a package for you.” “You came to deliver a package in this storm?” “What can I say? We pride ourselves on doing the best in any condition.” I handed him the wrapped box. He raised his eye and looked at the package, inspecting it with his observant eyes. After being satisfied, he shrugged his shoulders and threw the pack on the sofa. “If you could give us feedback and sign here.” I handed him the clipboard. “Do you have a pen?” I checked my pockets and lied, “I must’ve accidentally left it.” “No worries, I’ll bring it.” He left for his room, enabling me to accomplish my intended task. Seeing men and their habitat up close always gave me a new perspective, and this situation was no different. I envied seeing pictures of him and his family laughing and enjoying vacations together. My eyes scanned around, absorbing as much information as I could about him. I saw a mirror right outside the kitchen and grew self-conscious of my slacking face. A black Bombay cat caught my eye as she strolled towards her bowl. She locked eyes with me and displayed the flehmen grimace, as though she had seen a ghost. I ignored her and examined John’s work of wood-carved animals. He came back with the signed form and said, “here you go.” “Thank you for your time. This is a nice owl,” I complimented John with a thin veil of resentment. My wood carving skills, which I had been practicing for weeks, were no match for him. “Ah, got an eye for art, I see. What’s your name?” He asked while glaring at my neck. “Robert Williams,” I replied as I massaged my neck to hide the scratch mark. “What a coincidence, your last customer’s name was the same.” He caught me off guard. I had underestimated his eye for the minute details. No, I had to remain calm. He couldn’t know, or it’ll all fall apart. “It must be a common name.” “Hmm, yeah, I suppose so,” he said, displeased with the excuse I gave him. Lightning struck outside, which made John a little jumpy. I went to the window and pulled the curtain to see the ominous clouds and the raging storm. “The rain isn’t pulling any stops, is it?” “You can stay here as long as you like,” he said to fulfill a mere formality. Thus began his lazy Sunday routine of watching TV. He opened the package while I leaned against the window, observing him. The package comprised a blood orange clock, with the hour hand pointing at 13. There was also a note wishing him for his birthday, which was last week. The late present from somebody anonymous did not thrill him, so he put it on the desk and surfed through the channels, at last stopping for a breaking news broadcast. “There has been a disturbing development in the missing case of Luke Orwell. The police recently found his brutally mutilated body-” Power went out, possibly because of the rain. The entire room turned bleak and silent, except for the roaring of the unstoppable storm. The cat hid under the sofa where John sat, paralyzed from dread, still gawking at the black screen of the TV. He must’ve gone through the signature list and read the recent names. I had to do something before I lose the chance because of my foolish mistake. “Do you have any candles?” “Uh… yeah… sure.” He scoured for the candle and match sticks. In a moment, I heard a match strike, and the pale skin and uncertain eyes of John shined under the burning orangish glow of the candle. He was stepping away from me, scanning the exits to escape. His mind was starting to doubt the decision of letting in a stranger. I had to improvise the plan. He couldn't know that I knew what he was thinking. “If you allow, I would love to see more of your beautiful wood carved animals.” He thought about the decision, and announced, “They’re in my bedroom, I’ll bring the collection.” I couldn’t let him be alone, or he could call someone. “But first, I should contact my employer and tell him that I’ll be late because of the storm. Can I have your phone, mine’s dead.” He clenched his jaws and unwillingly snarled, “Sure.” I stretched the phone, searching for the bars, at last getting one in front of the passageway connecting the bedroom and the bathroom. I kept glancing at the door, making sure John didn’t shut it close. He walked towards the living room with a big box as though possessed by dread. I followed him and gave him back his phone. The entire box was filled with diverse animals, each more distinct than the earlier. "You're the most creative man I've met," I flattered him. "Yeah, thanks," he mumbled absent-mindedly. "Isn’t it wonderful, you can morph a block of wood to this," I picked up a figurine, “this little animal. Giving it a new shape, a new mask, a new life.” “Not a mask per se,” he relaxed a bit, talking about his beloved creations. “I like to think that what I carve out was already hidden, deep beneath the surface. I don’t change the essence, just bring it out to the world.” “Forgive me, but I disagree. Everybody wears a facade these days, helping them to be what they want or have to be. From a perspective, that mask they carve out becomes their essence. Live a day in other person’s shoes, and you’ll see that everyone’s the same underneath the flesh. It’s only our mask, what we show to the outside world, which makes us unique, like these animals.” “I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree,” he was afraid of opposing me. “I don’t want to impose any longer, but may I have a glass of water.” In an instant, his eyes showed hopes of escaping me. “Just a moment,” he said in haste as he bolted for the kitchen. I stood up to follow him when he turned back, and reassured, “Stay there, I’ll bring the water.” “That’s polite of you, but I am afraid of being alone in the dark.” He went to the counter and filled the cup. He kept on glancing at me over his shoulders, preventing me from getting close to him. As he turned around, his arms knocked over some salt. He couldn’t stop his hands from trembling. He had connected the dots. The game was up. “I am sorry, clumsy hands, I suppose,” he gulped. “It alright,” I said as I bent down and helped him. He stepped back and maintained his distance from me. The longer I waited, the more chances he had of escaping. “If you aren’t feeling great, you should lie down,” I urged in an attempt to search his bedroom and unmask the hidden secrets. “Uh… yeah”, he cleared his throat and announced, “I’ll be back in a minute.” “Where are you going?” “Um… I uh… I’m going to the washroom.” He spun around, pacing away from me as fast as he could. This was it. This was my last chance before things escalated. I grabbed him from his back and threw him in the mirror. His head banged against the mirror, breaking the mirror into shards. “What-” I jabbed him in the gut, and he stumbled back to the wall. "Stay away from me!" He brought out a concealed kitchen knife. "I know how to use this." He swung the blade towards me, like an amateur. I stepped back and evaded his attacks. The shock from the mirror was making him sloppy. Thunderous lightning lit up the room, and I saw John clearly, determined to live and fight, plunging towards me with the knife. I held his wrist, twisted it, and struck below his elbow, making him let go of the blade from his broken arm. I kicked him in his legs, and he collapsed to the ground. He used his other arm to crawl away from me, but I stepped on his arm making him howl with pain. “Shh…” I bent down and put my finger on his hot, burning lips. I held his chin and brought the candle a bit close to measure his jaws. The skin was soft with a bit of oomph, just how I liked it. His eyes had a creepy similarity to my mother, in terror of thinking about what was going to happen next. “Stop trembling,” I threatened in a stern voice, like my father’s. Yes, it was perfect. I made him sit against the wall. I took one of the largest and sharpest shards of the mirror. “Who… Who are you?” “I told you already. I am Robert Williams, though I am thinking of changing the name.” “Why?” He asked me in a shrill, shaky voice. I didn’t pay heed to his question and took his arm. With the shard, I sliced his arms and legs to immobilize him. He winced in pain, and he asked again, shaking with fear. “Why? Please… please let me go.” “More you shake, more imprecise I will be. Believe me, you don’t want me to be imprecise.” “Please, I have a son,” he pleaded, trying to reach for the humanity robbed from me. “I hated my father.” I sliced his arms again, and he shouted in pain. But the deafening storm drowned out everything. I took out my knife, which I had since I was a kid, from my pocket and put it on the ground. John whimpered at the sight of the blade. Sweat trickled down his messy hair. “Take the money, it’s uh… it’s in my bedroom, behind… behind the-” “Shut up. I am not here only for your money.” I held onto his neck and inspected the back of his head. “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” I said after seeing tiny shards of the glass in the back of his skull. “I shouldn’t have hit you this hard. But I wouldn’t be a professional if I couldn’t do a challenge.” I took some wet cloth and cleared his face from the neck up. “What do you want? Take it… take everything. Please… just leave me.” “What I want is not yours to give; it is only for mine to take. I am almost ready. Don’t worry, this will all be over soon.” I took the shard and dug it in his thigh. His eyes bulged out, and he screeched in excruciating pain. I took it out and cleaned it with a cloth. “Are you one of them? Those sick… savage… cannibals? Are you going to eat me, you monster?“ “Please, don’t think so low of me. I am nothing like those insane and inhuman criminals. I appreciate the human body and mind, especially the face.” He swung another punch at me with his frail arms in vain. “Being courageous, are we today? Tell me, how’s your wife, John?” He broke down crying, “Please don’t… don’t hurt her. Take my life… my life instead. Don’t hurt her.” “You’re a good man John. How’s John junior handling the divorce? It’s much harder for a kid, you know? DO YOU KNOW?” I cut a massive line across his stomach. Blood gushed out of him and turned his clothes red. Ah, the familiar, sweet smell of fresh blood. “Don’t hurt him,” he whimpered like a dog. “I beg of you. I’ll do- I’ll do anything.” “Stop worrying. Everything will be fine. If anyone has to worry about this situation, it is me.” With the knife, I stabbed his other thigh. But by this time, he had suffered enough. “I don’t enjoy doing this, you know,” I confessed, “I didn’t dream of doing this when I grew up. But, they say what they say, a good son follows in his father’s footsteps. If anything, I am the one who suffered more than you. I was a victim then, and I am the victim now.” I took a moment to consider how much I sounded like my father. He croaked like a dying frog, “No, I don't want… I don't wanna die." “Hey, hey!” I slapped his face as he was losing consciousness. “I like you all to be awake when I do my work.” I clutched his blue face and squeezed his cold cheeks. With a sudden surge of strength in him, he grabbed my collar and whispered in my ears. “You will pay for this. You will suffer for the rest of your life.” I pushed him back and said, “I already am.” I dug my fingernails under my neck and showed him my red, juicy flesh underneath. John averted his gaze and shut his eyes. I peeled away the month-old face and threw it on the floor. “Not a beautiful face, I know. But my mother loved me or at least tried to. My father couldn’t suffer the sight of me, and how did that end up for him,” I momentarily became nostalgic for my messed up childhood. It had been decades since I had seen my face. That ugly, coward, helpless little boy who couldn’t stand up for his mother or himself. “Let’s come back to the present, shall we? This is the last step now, John. Stay with me. Do you have any regrets?” “Letting a sick man like you enter my house.” In his last moments, his fear of me turned into hatred. It was hard, stopping myself from stabbing his helpless self in the chest right there. “Stop saying I am sick. I am nothing but a victim like you are right now.” I took the knife and carved a thin line across his hairline on his forehead. He tried to pull away, but cuts and bruises on his arms and legs were sapping away his strength. “You know, you are the first person who knew what was coming to him, and I admire that. It certainly made things interesting for a change. You can find peace in this that I now know you better than anyone has in your entire life. Your sacrifice will help me endure my trauma, and I will be eternally grateful for it. Do you have any last words, any unfinished task you would like me to complete?” “Go to hell.” He spitted blood and saliva at me. I took a deep breath and remained calm. I wiped the blood off my face. “Very poor choice of words.” With the help of my hours of experience, I carved the entire face and took the face’s flesh with precision. John exhaled his last breath while his eyes stopped moving. Underneath the flesh, everybody looks the same. The stiffness in his body remained. I stood up, admiring possibly the finest work I had ever done. I put his naked body in a bag and started cleaning the house. While I tried on the skin in the bathroom, I heard a phone ring. I grabbed his phone out of my pocket and answered, “Hello. Yes, this is John Smith talking.


For centuries, the Moon watched from her unerring perch. She spun carefully around the Earth that was the center of her universe, gazing with curiosity at the blue and green orb that drifted along with her. She understood her role and carried it out with the utmost sincerity. Sure, she lost her temper a few times. Well, more than a few times. And, yes, there was that one little incident where she kinda sorta let water cover the entirety of the planet she was responsible for. But, couldn’t every woman understand how tenuous hormones were at certain times of the month? She loved Earth, and she felt special. She was the one and only Moon. Unlike the moons of Jupiter or Saturn, she was the lone planetary body caught up in the orbit of Earth. And for years upon years upon years, she meandered along in a month-long ellipse. For Earth’s part, he just resolutely sat. Moon wondered what he had going on down there. He seemed lush and refreshing. The verdant greens and deep blues certainly seemed to suggest a complexity that she could see even from miles away. Yet, after millennia of being within arm’s reach of each other, Moon never heard a peep from him. She was waning. Making herself smaller and less noticeable. She did this every month. Sometimes she was flashier. Sometimes she shrank. Sometimes she shone so brightly she knew the Earth was simply ignoring her ebullience. Regardless, on this particular day, she was waning when all at once a small disturbance caught her attention. A small burst of light and motion seemed to be shooting forth from the surface of Earth. Not only that but it was coming right toward her. This was it. Earth was finally acknowledging her! The little object continued to move in her direction. Then, all at once, it seemed to fall wretchedly short. Instead of continuing its linear path, the object started circling Earth. Moon couldn’t believe her eyes. This had to be the biggest tease that the galaxy had ever seen. In a matter of minutes, the object disappeared. Her disappointment matched her phase and made drifting into invisibility that much sweeter. Still, she carried on. Days and days went by. Earth sent multiple objects into its own orbit. They never made it to Moon, and she was seriously starting to wonder about Earth. How could one planet be this self-absorbed? She rolled her eyes. This was getting out of hand. Determinedly, she decided not to spare another thought to Earth besides the duties she was compelled to uphold. She had plenty to look at from her place in this galaxy, thank you very much. Earth thought he was the center of the universe, hmm? Well, she’d show him. Maybe Sun would even team up with her, and they could show Earth who *really* ran this show. Her plan to ignore him was coming along swimmingly. She spent her days in the company of Mars and Venus. And, if she felt like calling long-distance Saturn was always available. She was always trying to spill some gossip about Uranus. And, the meteoroids were always flying by with little snippets. For instance, Pluto was apparently going through his emo phase. He said he might not even want to be a planet anymore? Without a doubt she had plenty to occupy her days. Earth didn’t even cross her mind. (Except those late nights that she stayed up too late thinking about his curves and the way he tilted on his axis.) Everything was fine. Until yet again, she saw an object blasting through Earth’s atmosphere. She sighed. Not this again. She did her best to look the other way. No reason to give Earth the attention he so obviously needed. She was mostly succeeding until the object was suddenly closer than any had ever ventured before, and it showed no sign of slowing down. Oh, God. She hadn’t had any advanced warning! If she had known she would have made herself more presentable. Filled in her craters a little better or something. Too late. The object was imminent now. She almost couldn’t contain her excitement. She hoped Earth didn’t mind a little high tide. She barely even noticed when the object landed with bony legs that jutted into her body. For long moments, the object just rested against her. Then, all at once, a flurry of movement. She was surprised to see the forms that spilled out. Puffy and rotund, stepping carefully across her dusty surface. They looked nothing like the life forms Saturn had gone on about. These three...things were calculating. Gentle. Carefully cataloging what they saw. What they felt. She had never been under so much scrutiny. The attention was a little off-putting but after eons of waiting, she couldn’t complain too much, she supposed. All at once, one of the figures attached something to her person. The most colorful little pendant, standing proudly. Red, white, and blue. A gift from Earth? She couldn’t believe it. At last. He loved her. He really loved her.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, a theme word, a sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **** This week’s challenge is to use the above image as *inspiration* for your story. You may interpret the image any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you follow all sub and post rules. You do not have to use the entire image. You can use any part you like (i.e. the colors, the subject, the setting, etc.).   ***   #Last Week I was so excited to see so many stories on the thread this week, and so many unique interpretations on the prompt. It was great to see several of you join in again for our Micro Campfire. While it’s not something I can promise every week for sure at this time, I will host each Monday that I can. If you aren’t on our , come by and grab the Micro Monday role so you can join in on the fun! Okay, onto some spotlights... #Crowd Favorites: - - Submitted by u/\_\_kxtty\_\_ - - Submitted by u/katherine_c #Bay’s Spotlights: - - Submitted by u/pathetic_optimist - - Submitted by u/nobodysgeese   ***   #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. One story per author. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words will be disqualified from being spotlit. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **I accept nominations for your favorites each week via a message on reddit or our discord.** You have until 1pm EST Monday to send them in. Each Monday, I will spotlight two deserving stories from the previous week that I think really stood out. I will take all nominations you make into consideration. But please remember, this is not a contest. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some feedback.** While it’s not a requirement, I encourage everyone to read the other stories on the thread and leave feedback. I will take all of this into consideration when making my selections each week. **Do not downvote other stories on the thread.** Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   ***   ###Subreddit News - We’ve recently updated our subreddit rules. Please take a moment to or take a look at our sidebar. - Try your hand at serial writing with - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


After almost three decades of ruthless competition amongst the richest people in the world one particular individual, Marco Zælioli, emerged as the first man to break the trillionaire threshold. Impressive about the man was not only that he started from almost nothing, investing at the young age of 18 and that he made his first million by the age of 25, he also was the CEO and creator of the first spacemining agency AND the biggest tech company in the world. His spacemining company owned a huge number of assets such as huge intergalactic mining ships and an almost infinite stock of minerals ranging from precious metals such as platinum and gold to less precious minerals such as hydrogen and carbon. Another special thing about Marco was that he saved millions of lifes during the 2032 climate crisis. Parts of the world had been flooded while others were plagued with diseases and droughts, causing millions to immigrate and creating conflicts at the borders of many nations. Huge immigrant camps were a sad reality during that period wich nobody knew how to adress. Misogynistic politicians further escalated the situation wich reached its critical point in 2034 when one politician suggested to raid the immigrant camps. Fortunately it never came to this thanks to Marco, who showed up just at the right time, opened the doors to his spaceship and gave everybody a free ticket to a new world. A new spacenation was born, of wich he was the founder and president. Most people were transported to the moon wich had previously been terraformed and rendered habitable. However it quickly became selfevident, that to survive the people had to adapt to their new environment, become miners and extract oxygen and water from the lunar surface and other extraterrestrial bodies. On top of that one has to keep in mind that these were all people of different cultures and religions wich led to a huge clash of cultures. Because of this cultural clash and because of the traumatic experiences suffered losing their homes most people abandoned their former religious beliefs while some few went the opposite way of the spectrum becoming more extreme than ever before. However most of these people were expelled by Marcos spacecouncil and sent back to earth. Yes there were some terrible terrorist attacks but fortunately due to the immediate and radical action of the council most unstaible individuals were sent back to earth. This lead to another conflict (we will get to the other great conflict later) with earth threatning to shoot down the shuttles with the "extremists", to with Marco responded that he would see this as an act of war and that he had nukes pointed on all major cities of the earth. He argued that the earthlings were to blame for the climate disaster and that this was part of the price they had to pay. In the end the Earthlings had to give in and accept the troublemaker immigrants also because marco simply had to much technological power (we will come to this later). After a week of intense debate in the 2032 climate crisis summit, held in germany, all nations (exept northkorea) in an effort to stop or at least slow down rising sealevels agreed to a set of terms and conditions wich drastically limited the amount of CO2 emissions per capita, banned the consumption of meat and introduced a new climate tax wich every company had to pay. These actions worked but sadly were too late, as historians would later recall. Millions of people lost their homes and immigrated into space. Thousands died. Some experts estimated that if it wasn't for Marco the world would have been either overpopulated and undernurished due to the lack of land or in a new never before seen worldwar for ressources. Negotiations with the Earth started soon after but the USA aswell as China didnt recognize the spacepeople as a nation and tried to drive a hard bargain on vital ressources such as food wich led Marco and the spacepeople to initially primarly dealing with the EU. This was the first great conflict that emerged between the spacepeople and the earthlings. On top of basically owning space and leading the second biggest nation by population after china, Marco also owned the second most valuable company in the world, wich was actually the company he started with. "Smart Brain Interfaces" was -as the name suggests- a smart glass company wich replaced the smartphone in the early 2030s. With ER technology the glasses could pick up brain waves and brain activity, decode it and use it to take an imput wich would be directly visualized in the smartglasses. It was a genius concept and it didnt take long for people to dump Apple and Samsung for the next big hit. It was a technological revolution and it gave Marco incredible Power from a political point of view. Apple was now mostly a smartwatch company, as smartphones were ridiculed by the masses and regarded as reliques of the past. Infact, the most popular meme of the decade wich racked up more than 10 billion views made fun of smartphone users, wich the meme depicted as "not having enough brainpower to control the smartglasses". On top of the meme there was a picture of a man with smartglasses and a graph over his head performing all sorts of complex brainwaves labeled "big brain smartglass users". In the middle of the caricatures one could see a shimpanzee holding a smartphone in his right hand and a graph over his head showing a flat line without any brainactivity labeled " smooth brained iphone users". Under the two pictures comparing the brainactivity of smartglass and iphone users was a third picture showing Marco during a Smart Brain Interfaces event wearing smartglasses with an off the charts brainactivity. This was a reference to one of Marcos presentations in wich he failed using the smartglasses due to a technical error. This is my first short story and i hope people enjoy it at least a little bit. Upvote if you want to see a part two after this long and interesting exposition. I have some great ideas for the actual story but i don't know if its worth it to continue and i am currently out of time. If i get over 25 upvotes i will do a part two Edit 1: spelling and additional information. Ps.: please drop mistakes in the comments. I am very bad at commas and english is not my main language.


I readied the rucksack on my back, and took the first few steps on my journey across the library. We walked down the aisle of empty shelves until we reached a large pile of collapsed roof. We clambered up the boulders of broken concrete and twisted metal bars sticking between the rocks. At the top, we could see the thin gap between destroyed masonry and exposed rock. I crouched down and crawled into the hole. Beneath me, loose rubble shifted with each step. Above me, unforgiving rock loomed; a whole island capable of ending me in an instant. I continued along the shaft for a hundred metres or so until the tunnel narrowed, becoming only around half a metre wide. I stared at the space, rocking side-to-side, trying to work out the best way through. Eventually, I decided to try a sort of sideways shuffle. I rotated my hips and slid into the thin space. As I squeezed through, I could feel my back scratch against the mass of debris and exposed metal. The further I travelled, the thicker and dryer the air got and with each panting breath, dust scratched the back of my throat. Every inch of my body was being scraped, itched, and probed by the crevice. I continued like this, my spine aching from the strange contorted angle for several metres, until the space widened out again, and I could stretch my back to a more comfortable position. We continued, passing through a couple more tight turns, until we emerged from the channel, finding ourselves on top of one of the large bookshelves. I held out my lantern, casting light into the uncharted space. I could only see so far, but every shelf in range was filled with books. Not a single one was missing. Wherever we were, we were the first. Kit reached down and grabbed a book from the shelf, checking its cover. “Eurgh, poetry.” She flung the book down onto the floor below. “We’re still in fiction?” “I did say this place was big.” “I guess I thought we’d at least be in another section by now.” “Look on the bright side. It’s a different subsection,” Kit shrugged, as she climbed down the shelves. I followed her down. We began walking along the aisles past the ancient books. Some looked damaged, ruined by moisture in the air, or eaten by dust, while others looked almost new as if placed there yesterday, and the Archipelago had never existed. We began scoping out the room for our next route forward. We followed the perimeter, looking for a path over the debris, but to no avail. Instead we would have to head through and under. I found a small crevice heading west. The remains of the library had poured down either side of the aisle, but it left a small space just wide enough to shimmy through. I walked down it some ten or so metres until the space became too thin to go any further. “I could try and peel some of this stuff off the wall, create a wider space?” I called back to Kit. She grimaced, staring at the loose stones around us. “If you do that, good chance you’re going to bury us down here.” She turned around. “We’ll find another way.” “And if not?” I replied. “Then we head back to where we started and try from there.” I bit my tongue, but I was determined not to have to retreat. I was certain there must be a way out of this room. I walked out ahead of Kit, tracing the southern wall. The lantern waved back and forth in my hand, glancing against the wreckage to my right, until suddenly it caught a hint of shadow at the bottom of the ruins. I crouched to get a closer look. Even kneeling, the gap only came to my shoulders. I got down further, lying prone on the floor, the lantern stretched out in front of me. The space continued to shrink, slowly lowering until the clearance was perhaps no more than forty centimeters. However, a small slit continued well beyond the lantern’s reach. “Are you really that desperate?” I looked up to see Kit standing beside me, hands on her hips. “It goes on for a long way. Maybe it comes out in another room.” “That’s a big maybe.” “Got to be worth a shot.” I sat up quickly so I could remove my rucksack. There was no possibility of it and me making it through the gap together. Kit lied down on the floor next to me, squinting at the route. “Fine,” Kit sighed. She sat up and took some rope off her back, tying one end of it around my ankle. I looked at her with a scrunched face. “If you reach a deadend in there you won’t be able to backtrack,” she said, fastening the knot. “If you get stuck, call, and I can try and pull you back.” “Okay,” I nodded. I felt a hint of renewed confidence, Kit’s small act feeling like a blessing. I pulled the rope to make sure it was tight, gave a final confirmatory nod, and began the crawl. The first twenty or so metres passed without difficulty, but soon the ceiling forced me down to my stomach. I inched forward; snaking myself along the floor. I rotated from hip-to-hip, pushing myself off with sprawled knees, as my sweaty palms clasped for purchase on the floor. With each wriggle I could feel my shoulder blades brush the mass above me. My pace was a fraction of even a crawl, but I was making progress. With each outstretch of an arm, with each push-off of my toes, I made another few centimetres. I began panting with exertion; the hot air of my breath bouncing back off the floor. I strained my eyes upwards. Ahead, slowly approaching, I could see a point where the ceiling widened out. I continued on with renewed determination. However, the last few inches were the tightest. I placed the lantern on its side to push it through. With the space so tight, I was unable to free my shoulders, and I had to rely on only my legs to wriggle forwards. Slowly but surely, I slithered through to the other side until my arms and head breached through the gap. With my hands now free, I reached out to the sides and used the leverage of the walls to haul my body through. I caught my breath before rolling over and inspecting my surroundings. I was in luck. The ceiling had fallen, but only as far as the top shelf. Two wedges of concrete slid from either side, but were held up by the other’s weight, leaving the aisle free. I was locked between the two racks, but I could stand, and the route looked clear. “Kit, we’ve got a way forward.” “What’s it like?” the echo shouted back. “Trapped in an aisle. But looks like a clear route west.” “Good work. The bags are too thick for the space. We’re going to have to empty them and do half a bag at a time, that sound good?” “Got it.” Kit set about getting the gear small enough to fit through the space. Once done, she tied the rope to one end of the bags, before securing a second rope to the other, so she could pull them back through to be refilled. I pulled on the rope, listening to the fabric slide along the floor, until they reappeared through the small crack on the ground. I sent the bags back and we repeated the process with the second half of the contents. Once more, I listened to the slow shuffle of the bags grinding their way along the tunnel. The sound drew closer, but then, the rope went taught. I tugged hard, as my greasy hands slid across the fibres. The bags were stuck. I pulled again. Still nothing. I pulled a third time, this time leaning back and using my full body weight. I felt it twitch forwards. One more pull and there was a crack, the sound of stone falling to the floor. The bags were free and I hastily reeled them in. “What the heck was that?” Kit called out. “The bag was stuck.” “And…” “I had to pull it free. Think it got caught on something.” “Yeah, the ceiling. The ceiling that you just ripped a piece out of..” The panic hit me. I immediately fell to the floor, staring back down the tunnel, trying to see if there was still a way through or if the collapse had separated us permanently. My eyes followed the rope as it trailed off into the darkness. My chest tightened, and I felt nausea seeping up from my stomach. I was uncertain if the blackness was a cave in or merely as far as the lantern’s illumination could reach. My breath grew shorter and sharper, as I pleaded for the gloom to relent. Then, I saw a small flicker of light, and straining my eyes, I could see Kit lying down on the other side. My head collapsed to the floor in relief. “Looks like there’s still a way through,” she said. “Thankfully,” I replied, trying to inspect the crawlspace. Somewhere, it had been disturbed. But beyond that brief sound of the stone cracking against the floor, we had no idea what damage had been done. “Pull me through,” Kit cried out, readying the rope in her hand. “What?” “Be quicker than crawling. More fun too.” I raised my eyebrows but complied. I stood back up and began pulling on the rope, dragging Kit towards me. My energy was weakening, and I groaned with each pull on the rope. I stared to the ceiling as I pulled; looking at the debris that was patiently waiting till one day gravity would take over, and the sky could collapse upon us. I listened closely, trying to decipher if each rustle was merely Kit sliding along the floor or rubble shifting, preparing to collapse. I could hear a rock roll gently, and small pebbles scurry. I pulled harder, desperate to end the unease. Slowly, more and more of the rope appeared, until eventually two hands emerged from the small hole. “That was much easier than crawling,” Kit smirked. I reached out a hand and pulled her to her feet. She looked down the aisle ahead of us. “Guess we see where that goes.” “Yes… but maybe a break first.” I wiped away the sweat from my forehead. “Yeah. Good idea.” Kit pulled up one of the half empty bags and laid down, using it as a pillow. “Take a nap,” she said, pointing to the other one. “What time is it?” “I don’t see the sun, do you? Ain’t no star to tell you when to sleep down here.” I chuckled and lied down beside her. We turned out the lanterns, and with the library reduced to complete black I fell asleep quickly. \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* We had no idea how long we’d slept. When we woke, the island above us could have been a bustling market, or in the dead of night. For a brief moment, time ceased to be a real thing. As Kit and I set off again, we were in our own world. Weather, the turning of the Earth, the coming-and-goings of others, all were irrelevant to us. The next leg of our journey was much smoother. We were confined to our one aisle, but it seemed to continue without interruption. We met a few obstacles. On occasion a large beam had fallen through and we had to either clamber over, or crawl under to get through. However, compared to the previous attrition, things were becoming easier. Over the course of what I estimate were several hours we marched West, and then, when we found a break between two aisles, headed south. We left behind the humanities of literature and religion, and entered into the natural sciences. Eventually we reached another section of open library where the structure was perfectly intact. I climbed up a couple of shelves and looked out over the top; neat metal rows - filled to the brim - stretching off into the darkness. I hurried back down and lifted up one of the books. *Our Changing Earth.* “Do you know where we are?” I asked Kit. She leant down and read a series of numbers on one of the shelves. “Fifty-five,” she thought for a second. “Earth Sciences.” I raised my hands to the air. “Well, this is it then, right? There’s got to be something here.” Kit tilted her head with a half smile. “With a bit of luck.” She looked over my shoulder. “Also means we should be near fifty-seven and fifty-eight too.” I raised an eyebrow. “Biology and botany. Useless to you, but if you want Haddee to not drown you when you get back…” “Okay. So let’s set up here for a bit then? Stay however long we need.” “Sounds good,” Kit said. It’s hard to say how long we remained in that section of the library. Our work was intermittent. We would work a few hours, sleep briefly when tired, and then return. For much of the time I wouldn’t see Kit. She was in different sections, painstakingly choosing the best possible collection of books for Haddee, and cataloguing items to hit on future visits. But every few hours we would return to share anything interesting we’d found, or maybe talk about our lives outside of the library. The rest of the time was spent reading. Given that we are in an archipelago, I initially started with books about the sea, hoping there may be some clues. Momentarily I thought I found the solution. A book described the concern of rising sea levels caused by ice melting. However, my optimism quickly turned to disappointed frustration. The seas would’ve risen slowly, over decades. Given the turmoil we know happened when the Archipelago formed, its formation must have been a matter of weeks or months instead. Furthermore, a map of an “iceless globe” showed the sea levels wouldn’t rise high enough. It would be enough to reduce the continents, but not swallow them. After scouring countless books, I found no other possible clue of what could’ve caused the Archipelago. I had poured over every relevant title I could find, and yet had nothing to show for it. Despite all my hope, geography and geology held no answers. I shuffled back to our meeting spot and found Kit trying to ram an additional couple of books into her bag. “Here, eat this,” she said. Before I could even react, an apple landed against my chest. “Thanks.” “I’ve got a couple of pastries for you to eat afterwards too.” I looked at a number of provisions laid out beside her bag, as she desperately crammed in another thick, plastic-coated book. “What if I’m not hungry?” “You’re bigger than me, you need the energy.” I laughed and sat down next to her. I took a long sigh and lent my head on the shelf behind me. “No luck?” she asked. I shook my head. “Not convinced I’m going to get any answers here.” “Well, maybe it’s time to move on. The yearly periodicals were always the end goal right?” “Definitely.” “Then we head there.” “We won’t make it there if you keep ditching provisions for books.” I nodded to the pile on the floor. “We’ll have enough.” Kit rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I think I spotted a good route through botany.” “Yeah?” “Yep. Let’s eat, pack up, and I’ll show you the way.” After I had eaten the snacks forced upon me, and Kit had successfully managed to squeeze another three books into her bag, we decided to venture on further into the library. I followed Kit through the aisles until we reached a mound of scree sloping upwards. At the top, I could see a large, flat sheet of metal disappearing over the summit. “Those metal sheets run all over the place, suspended across the ceiling.” Kit pointed to one behind us. The silver grill stretched south across the room, hung on thick cables. “Looks like they used to run wires or something.” “You reckon it’ll go the whole way?” “Worth a shot. Besides, we got way more to carry this time.” Kit looked down at the box full of books by her feet. We couldn’t be certain we’d return the same route. The books were too precious to leave to chance. “Could do with an easier route.” We climbed up the slope of dirt and brash until we reached the thin metal gangway. It was no wider than I was, and the roof was low enough that it would be a slow crawl forwards. But the route seemed unencumbered. We developed a train. I pushed the box of books in front of us. My rucksack was tied to my legs and was dragged behind me. Behind that, Kit dragged her own. Between our crawl and the cargo, our pace was slow. But we made smooth steady gains. The metal pathway hovered above the library. Caveins, that from the floor would be impenetrable blockages, seemed to effortlessly part for the corridor. Every so often a collapse would cover our path. But at this height, the rubble was never thick or firm, and we were able to push aside any impediments, sending the concrete to the library floor below. When we weren’t plowing through blockages, we flew like birds, high above the floor below. Through the grills in the metal, I could see down to the untouched books. We passed over zoology, into psychology, then ethics, and then philosophy. In the space of a few hours we had managed to travel more of the library than we had in the entire time before. We passed over a section of collapsed roof and into another portion of open library. “I reckon we might be reaching the end of philosophy,” I called back to Kit. “Yeah, can’t imagine there’s much more.” I continued on eagerly, watching the books pass beneath me. As we passed the halfway point of the room, I pushed on harder, kicking forward with my toes on each crawl instead of dragging on my knees. The extra force was absorbed into the gangway, and the suspended bridge began to sway gently with each passing push, the cables creaking and tensing with our weight. The sound was a gentle rocking that reminded me of a ship at sea. Ahead, there was a tunnel where the gangway crept over the cave-ins. I kept my eyes focussed on that spot in front of me, watching it draw closer-and-closer. I took a last look down. We were hung four or five metres over one of the aisles. On either side, I could see the tall racks of books that had been left for centuries, and would be for probably many more. Then, with another pace, the drop below disappeared and was replaced by dark concrete that sat just beneath the metal grid. The gangway creaked once more. But this time the sound was different, louder, less like a lullaby and more like a scream. I froze on the spot, refusing to move. Another screech as the whole library groaned. Silence fell, before being broken by a brief popping noise. Kit mumbled, “Shit.” There was a snap. Metal bending and breaking, followed by a loud clattering that reverberated off the walls. My bag pulled back sharply. The rope around my leg slid down my calf, gripping onto my ankle. My leg shot back with the force, before the knot slipped over the end of my foot. A second later, I heard the dull thud of the bag. “Kit!”, I cried out. I tried turning around but the gap was too small. I strained my neck left-and-right, trying to get some kind of visual. “KIT!” No response again. I started edging backwards a few centimetres at a time. With each movement I called out to Kit. Each time, nothing. One more step and my foot landed on air. I hovered it for a moment in the empty space, reaching out for some kind of purchase. I moved back further till both my knees were on the edge of the platform. I reached out a leg: back, side-to-side, down, trying to find something solid. There was nothing. I positioned my hands on the edge of the metal plate, and gently pushed my body off. Tensing my arms, I slowly lowered, until I was dangling from my fingers. I looked down to check my landing, and let go. I dropped a good two metres before my feet landed on the ground and I tumbled backward, landing hard against my coccyx. I ignored the pain and shot back up to my feet. Kit was lying on her back, eyes shut, her head lying on its side, arms outstretched beside her. I called her name and ran towards her immobile frame. I reached her side and leant down, inspecting for signs of life. “Kit, Can you hear me?” My voice was broken, tears threatening at the corner of my eyes. She twitched; a momentary flicker of the eyes. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m here.” I grabbed her hand and held it close to my chest. Her face scrunched, and her eyes slowly opened. She let out a soft groan. “Can you hear me? Are you okay?” Her face grimaced with every heartbeat as she slowly pushed herself off the floor. “Yeah. One second.” I placed a hand on her back, helping her up to a sitting position. “What hurts?” “My head.” She held out her arms and examined her legs. “But I don’t think anything’s broken. Just… ow.” “Good.” “Yeah.” She looked to the ground in front of her. “I’m gonna need to rest a while if that’s okay. Sorry.” “As long as you’re okay. That’s all that matters.” I headed to my bag, took out one of the water canisters and passed it to her. She took a sip. “That was… not fun.” “What do you remember?” “Too much”. The browns of her eyes were thin, swallowed by wide, glassy pupils. “I… I thought I was dead.” I sat down beside her and reached out an arm to comfort her. “Like, I’ve done some stupid stuff in my time. But I never thought, never truly felt, I was dead before.” “It’s okay...” “I was scared, Ferdinand,” she interrupted. “I’m still scared. I just feel panic. Here…” She grabbed my arm and held it to her chest. I could feel her heart punching hard against her ribcage. “That.” “I know,” I said. “I was so worried. I was terrified about what had happened to you. I’m frightened too.” She leant forward and pulled me in tight, stretching her forearms across my back. I held her close, feeling her warmth against me, as I let out a long breath. She was safe. Kit needed to rest, so we decided to stay put untill she felt better. I climbed up the collapsed rubble just high enough to pull down the box of books still left on the metal shelf. After, we spoke for a little while longer before deciding to sleep. Neither of us could rest easy. The adrenalin and fright clung to our veins, refusing to relent. I could feel Kit moving restlessly. I was facing away, but sensed her slowly shift closer. She placed an arm on my waist, and leaning in closer, rested her head against my back. I rolled over, and placed my arm under her head, her face resting on my shoulder. I could feel the damp from wet cheeks through my shirt. She stared vacantly at the shelves next to us. I petted her back, unable to conjure any words. She didn’t have any either. After a couple of minutes of quiet embrace, she turned her gaze to me. She whispered a single “Thank you” before turning into my chest, and closing her eyes for the night, finally asleep.  \ Next chapter published 1st June.


The bar sat in a glade in a mist-wrapped pine forest, and the first I knew of it was the blue neon sign cutting through the fog: *Juliet’s.* On one side of the sign was a flashing feathery wing, and on the other, a red-lit pitchfork or a trident. I couldn’t tell you how long I’d been wading through the mist before I found it. But I do know that my death, and my life prior to it, hung on the very distant edge of my memory. Trying to recollect it was like trying to grab a handful of the fog. I could tell you I had a wife and a daughter — but I couldn’t tell you their names or even their hair colour. The bar was pretty dim and it took a while for my eyes to adjust. Music hummed, drifted like waves in the background. Bluesy saxophone with a woman crooning in the gaps. The tables were slats of wood. Lights dangled low from the ceiling like orange bowls on threads of string. “What can I get you?” said a woman standing behind the bar. Her face was winter-pale, hair pumpkin-orange. She was drying a tumbler with a dishcloth. ”What is this place?” I said. ”Juliet’s. Didn’t you see the sign?” “I saw it. But... I don’t get what a bar is doing in a forest?” ”Serving spirits.” She laughed at that but I didn’t. ”Want to try a martini?” she asked. “I do a pretty good martini. On the rocks.” I shrugged. ”Sure.” What else was there to say? “You must be thirsty,” she said as she poured the gin. “Bet you haven’t had drink in a long time.” ”I guess I haven’t.” I looked arounds at the empty booths and stools. “Why am I the only one here?” She poured a shot of vermouth into the glass. “I only just opened. You’re the first to find me!” ”Oh.” “Try this.” She slid the glass across to me and it was only then I realised I had no money. For the first time since walking in those woods, I looked down at my clothes. Jeans. Striped tee with a smear of red on it. Blood, I guessed. No wallet or coins in my pockets. ”Relax,” Juliet said. “I don’t charge. I’m not here for profits. And certainly not for prophets.” She only grinned at that one. ”Who are you?“ I asked. ”What do you think of the drink?” she replied. ”I haven’t tried it yet.” ”You should. Before the ice melts and dilutes it.“ She put her tongue out and bit on it. Then she said, “I’m someone who has been above and been below. Someone a lot like you, except you’ve not been above or been below.” “I don’t follow,” I said. ”I used to be an angel. Then I used to be a demon.“ That should have probably bothered me, being inside a bar run by a demon, but it didn’t. Nothing seemed to bother me anymore. The numbness where my heart used to be was everything. Like my heart had been replaced by a wad of tissues. “Oh, now I get the logo,” I said. “The wing and pitchfork. Angel and devil.” ”Exactly.“ “Are you Lucifer,” I asked? ”Hardly,” she said. “I wasn’t cast out of anywhere. I’m just someone who got fed up with everything. You know, before I quit the final time, before I left hell, they tried mixing the entire thing up. Sinners went to heaven to be fixed up, while the pious went to hell for being too pious.“ The song changed. The sound of an old fashioned bass guitar rippled down my spine. “How did that go?” I asked. ”A disaster. But who cares, right?” ”A disaster?” ”At least,” she said, “in my opinion. Because then no one was happy. You died and you got fucked — excuse my french. You tried to live well, you got screwed, you lived the life of a sinner, you got screwed. Maybe rightfully in that case, but still, everyone got screwed. And that didn’t seem right to me. No nuance.” ”So you opened this place?” ”Yep.” ”And... Where is this place? Where are we?” ”Limbo,” she said. “They closed it down for centuries, you know? Because they couldn’t find anyone to run it. So everyone either went to heaven or to hell. Like I said, no nuance. You’re the first soul to arrive here, so that’s great.” ”Why did I come here?” I asked. ”Because I invited you! And I’m going to invite a lot more people.” I shook my head. ”I don’t remember that.” ”How’s the drink?” I still hadn’t tried it. I took a toothpick and stirred it idly. Finally, slowly, I took a sip. It didn’t taste of liquid. Or of alcohol. ”Careful,” she said. “It’s strong.” The drink tasted of memories. There I was at home. Hiding a bottle in cupboard beneath the stairs. There I was filling up a flask before work. ”Shit,” I said. There I was getting in the car. Drinking from the flask. ”*Shit*.” ”I told you it’s strong.” There was my beautiful daughter. My wife. Getting in the car after me. Headlights. Swerved too late. Screech. Scream. Shattered glass- “What the fuck,” I said, gasping, slamming the drink back down. ”Relax,” Juliet said. The drink had filled up my heart as if it had been an empty cup sitting in my chest just waiting for this. And now this poison had splashed into it, this black liquid. And it was being sent through my body, through my veins. This horror and self loathing, pumping through my being. ”Did I... Was that me?” Juliet placed a hand on mine. “Yes. But it’s okay.” ”Why am I here?” I whispered. “I should burn in hell if I did that. ” ”It’s never that simple,” said Juliet. “That’s why I opened the bar. It’ll be packed before you know it.” ”It is simple,” I said. “I killed them.” She shook her head. “It takes a lot of sun to grow a tree tall.” ”Huh?” ”Your childhood. Do you remember that? Your father? Do you remember being bullied at school? Losing your job?” ”What does that have to do with anything?” ”Take another sip,” she said. I stared at the glass. ”*No*. Never again.” “Take another sip,” she said. The way she said it, it was so gentle, so warm, that my body reacted before I had a chance to deny it. I picked up the glass and drank. ”Do you see?” she asked. I saw my daughter. I saw myself walking her to school every day. I saw myself skipping meals after I lost my job, so her and my wife ate. I saw myself having tea parties with her instead of socialising with work colleagues. I saw my wife, her mermaid-tailed dress as she glided across the church. ”You’re not good. Or bad,” said Juliet. ”You’re just a product of your life. Like everyone else.“ She took the glass from me and put it down behind the bar. I didn’t watch as she made a coffee, but I could taste it in the air. ”Here,“ she said. “This’ll suit you better. Why don’t you go sit at a booth? They’ll be here soon.” ”Be here? Who will be here?” ”I’ve invited a lot of people. Because there’s no one just good and no one just bad. Your family are on their way and they’ll want to sit with you.” A blade of ice-cold worry stabbed into my chest. ”*My family?* After what I did? I can’t...” ”You can,” she said. “This bar isn’t here to punish people. Or to reward them. It’s just a place where people can talk and be and help mend each other. And I’ll be here to help, too. So please, go sit down. It’s about to get very busy.


# 2. The Not So Great Beyond It took the better part of the afternoon for Adam to stop asking repetitive questions. Otis sat patiently through three hundred ‘why’s and ‘where’s before finally losing his cool and telling the man to suck it up. “We all got to die some time, just happened to be your day was today.” Those words had sent a cold silence into Adam that carried the three deceased into evening. No longer compelled to help by the young man’s weeping, Otis floated over to Maggie as she stared across the desert toward the setting sun. Despite the macabre nature of the hill, it provided spectacular views of the mountains, towering high and jagged above the flat expanse of dried rock. “That’s breaking it to him gently?” she asked with a hint of a smile. Otis sighed and stayed quiet for a minute, looking for something far away. “No, I’m not sure there’s a way to do that. It’s why we bet, isn’t it?” “No doubts there, but ‘we all have to die sometime’ is a bit rough.” Otis shrugged. “How about: Sorry, kid, there might be a great beyond but this ain’t it. All your friends are somewhere high above the clouds while you’re stuck here kicking around with our dusty old asses.” “It is an improvement.” A fly buzzed through Maggie’s nose, she swatted at it. It had been nearly fifteen years since losing her body, but she still hadn’t managed to kick the instinct. “Never thought I’d miss squashing flies.” “And I never thought I’d miss repairing shoes for people who hated my guts, but here we are.” Beneath the tree, Adam finally managed to float from his kneeling position to an awkward stand. A hard determination had replaced the tears in his eyes. “He’s going to run,” commented Maggie. “They always do.” Otis glided toward Adam, but the kid was already moving. Adam churned his legs as if it still mattered and zoomed across the dusty ground like an undead bullet. Otis and Maggie watched as his pale form streaked across Hangman’s Hill, heading for the desert beyond. “You really don’t want to do that,” called Maggie, putting no effort into it. “Everyone has to experience it at least once.” Adam heard neither of them and ran as fast as he could, trying to outrun whatever horrible limbo he was stuck in. Then, he hit the barrier. A blinding wall of white energy shot into the sky, soon fading to a wisp like a transient version of the Aurora Borealis. Adam flew backward, his otherworldly energy bursting and throwing up puffs of greenish white steam. “And down he goes. Good legs on him though. Took me forever to figure out how to move like that.” Otis flexed his legs as they hovered an inch above the ground, a strictly performative act that helped bring a sense of normalcy to a situation that was anything but. In the spirit world, movement was a matter of will more than anything else, and Adam clearly had that in spades. The explosive force of the barrier threw Adam backward, leaving him stunned and rotating midair. When he had recovered enough to feel pain, he let out a curse so loud that it could have cleared the desert for miles. Of course, the only people that heard it were the deceased. “Now that’s a swear I haven’t heard before.” Maggie whistled. “Alright, I guess I’ll take a turn.” She walked to where Adam was floating, still sizzling from his collision. “Hurts like a bitch, don’t it?” “How? How does it hurt?” Adam’s voice was strained and filled with pain. “Not sure exactly, but most try it at least once.” “Where the hell are we?” Maggie floated down, kneeling so they were eye level. “I don’t know, but we have some guesses. Why don’t you come over with Otis and me? We’ll fill you in.” Adam tried pushing himself to a standing position but succeeded only in pushing his limbs through the unnoticing earth. He grimaced and kicked his feet, sending himself into a slow spin. “Ah, yeah, that’s not how it works here. Try thinking about floating upright, but make sure you don’t go too high. Next, you’re going to get the bright idea that you can fly out of here, but let me tell you, it’ll hurt worse.” Maggie thought about her first attempt and felt the burning sensation on her scalp from where she had hit. “Suffice it to say, we’re penned in. It’s a pretty pen – when there aren’t rotting corpses that is – but it’s still a pen.” Adam strained, floating to a lopsided standing position. “Is this Hell?” “If it is, God didn’t put anyone here to torment us except us.” Maggie smiled. “Probably closer to the biblical concept of purgatory.” She floated in Otis’s direction and motioned for Adam to follow. He didn’t move, instead looking at her with suspicion. “Oh, come on, you’re part of the club now.” Maggie motioned to the scar around her neck and tried to ignore the neat bullet hole in the center of Adam’s forehead. Lucky for the kid, there were no mirrors and he wouldn’t be able to feel it. Adam floated forward, unsteady at first, but finding his way. “As far as we can tell, we’re stuck here.” Otis made a motion to the hill. “On Hangman’s Hill?” asked Adam. “Well, as it turns out, that’s not what the natives called it. The first hangman probably thought it looked like a good place to die, and didn’t bother to read the carvings at the base of the tree, or the signs along the trail to get here for that matter.” Adam squinted at the base of the tree. “Those are words?” “Just because our forefathers were ignorant, doesn’t mean we have to be.” Maggie rolled the words over in her mind, feeling a sting of pain saying them again. “She’s a bit touchy on the subject. It’s why she was hung in the first place.” “For reading the native tongue?” “Shoshoni,” corrected Maggie. “For suggesting we’re equal with them.” “Turns out, freedom isn’t actually meant for everyone.” Maggie stopped the rage bubbling inside and thought about the memory of what it was like to take deep breaths. It helped bring her back to a sense of relative calm. “In a fitting fate, the men who hung me couldn’t read Shoshoni. This was a place of communion with the gods, and that script was meant to keep unwanted spirits out of the conversation.” “Unfortunately, we think that’s what’s got us penned in.” Adam put his head between his legs, turning his slow spin into an endless somersault. “So, we’re stuck here forever?” Maggie chuckled at the morose corpse spinning like a children’s top. In death, she had found humor in the little things. “Not to put too fine a point on it, yes. You can stop that spin if you like, just think—” Adam let out a choked sob. “You’re embarrassing yourself more than usual for a man who’s soiled himself in front of company.” They might not have been able to smell it, but there was a telltale drip off Adam’s corpse as it swung lightly in the evening breeze. Adam stopped spinning and glowered at her. “You have some kind of—” “Boy, the sunsets sure are nice,” broke in Otis. “Why don’t we all take a moment and enjoy that before we return to this existential debate.” Over the horizon, the sun sank low in its arch, bathing the desert in blood red light. The blue sky turned shades of purple streaked with gold. Jagged outlines of far distant mountains became silhouettes of teeth consuming the fleeing sky. A coyote howled in the distance, waking for a night of hunting. Adam took a moment away from his petulance to appreciate the natural beauty of their surroundings, but quickly became distracted by the memory of his own corpse. Otis looked at him with genuine pity. “That’ll be gone soon enough, don’t worry about it.” “What happened to yours?” “Well…” “I think there’s still a rib bone over there somewhere.” Maggie pointed toward the hanging tree. “But the animals out here are hungry and quick. Trust me, they may not be here yet but they’re coming.” “What my tactful friend here is trying to say is that it’s all part of the cycle of life. The earth has fed you for many years, and now it’s your turn to give back.” Otis gave Maggie a reproachful look. “That is a nicer way of putting it,” admitted Adam. “Best we turn around and talk about something else.” On cue, moonlight reflected off a pair of eyes approaching from the darkening desert. Otis grimaced. “Maggie’s right though, they’re hungry. This might be the way of things, but it’s going to be gross. Why don’t we just walk away?” Adam’s eyes were fixed on the coyote. “You really don’t want to watch that.” Maggie was already floating away. Adam didn’t move. “Look, you might think you’ve seen it all, being that you’ve died and arrived on the spiritual plane, but watching yourself get eaten… No one needs to see that.” Adam remained silent. “Suit yourself, kid.” Otis joined Maggie just as the first coyote made its way up the hill. “Shoo! Get out of here!” Adam yelled. Otis shook his head. “That one’s going to be a handful.


#Hello r/Shortstories! For the last four months, we’ve been running a here on the sub. I’ve had the pleasure of watching numerous writers build an entire world from scratch, and I’ve watched their characters grow and develop as they’ve faced different challenges. I’ve seen each and every SerSun participant improve week to week and it’s been a delightful experience. I’m back again to celebrate another writer completing their serial! Let’s take a moment to say to u/mattswritingaccount! He’s been a part of the WP family for quite a long while now and an active participant in our discord. I’ve enjoyed getting to him and he’s a delight to have in the community.   ***   #Have Skeleton, Will Travel - Written by u/mattswritingaccount If you haven’t yet read the latest installments of his serial, I encourage you to check it out. Take an afternoon, kick your feet up, and dive in. **A brief synopsis from Matt:** Short version? *Have Skeleton, Will Travel* is about the life and times of a wandering skeleton that is new to this whole "undead sentience" thing. Basically, poor Larry was murdered and brought back to life to serve (albeit for a very short amount of time) as one of the mindless servants to a necromancer. When the necro died, Larry for whatever reason didn't dis-animate. And that's where we start things off. It's mainly a fun little look at turning a fantasy world on its head. - - - - - - - - - - - -   ***   #A Chat with u/mattswritingaccount about Serial Writing So let’s take a few minutes to chat with Matt about his experiences writing a serial. ##**What have you learned throughout the serial writing process?** Well, I did this serial specifically to get some practice with writing humor. It's not a main focus in my personal writing most of the time, so I wanted an outlet to specifically focus on it. I wasn't sure if I could translate some of my oftentimes-dry attempts at humor to the written word. So it definitely was fantastic practice for that. ##**What did you enjoy most about writing this?** There were two things I enjoyed about writing Have Skeleton, Will Travel. For one, I loved seeing everyone's reactions to some of the various scenes within the story. I enjoyed seeing something that I thought would be amusing hit right, and when it hit wrong - it leads me to my second thing. The feedback I got from the other writers, between comments on the threads or via SerSunday Campfire, were ABSOLUTELY invaluable. And that applies to both this writing as well as my other works. One other aspect I enjoyed about the story came from the Campfire presentations. Initially, the first few chapters were read outloud by other readers and it was fun to see how far into the story they got before having to suppress a chuckle. ##**What was the biggest challenge you faced and how did you overcome it?** The biggest challenge, for me, was getting in a humor mindset in the first place. I have a very dry humor honed through way too much exposure to things like Monty Python and the Princess Bride. I wasn't sure if I could DO a humorous piece at all. As to how I overcame it, well... I'm also really stubborn. So I figured darn the torpedoes and just dived in with both feet. ##**What advice would you give to writers who are thinking about writing a serial for the first time?** For one, you definitely want to at least try it. Just like trying a new vegetable when you were a kid, you never know what's going to hit without trying it. If all else fails, you can always just shrug and say, welp, I tried - instead of just wondering "what if" forever. If you're having issues figuring out how to do a serial, you could approach it this way. If you've been on WritingPrompts for a while, you've likely written a short story or three for various prompts. Well, a serial then is nothing more than a 500-850 short story, weekly, with the same characters. As long as there is SOME tieback to the previous versions, you're already set. I HIGHLY encourage people to give it a try. It was a lot of fun that I will definitely be doing again - about the time Larry's ready for round two.   ***   Thank you so much, Matt, for giving us a peek behind the curtain, as they say. It has been such a joy to watch your story evolve over the past few months. Larry is a character that will stay with a lot of us for a long time. I wish you the best of luck on your future projects. And maybe we’ll see you around Serial Sunday again.   ***   ###Subreddit News - We’ve recently updated our subreddit rules. Please take a moment to or take a look at our sidebar. - Try your hand at serial writing with - Sharpen your micro-fic skills by participating in our brand new feature, - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


The hallways of the ship lay dormant. Not a single soul was stirring or dared to do so. It had happened in mere hours, one of the alien experiments escaped and ravaged the crew with terrifying efficiency. A few crew members still live, trying to survive the creature, but it won’t be long until they meet their eventual doom as well. Suddenly, the onboard intercom crackles to and a voice is heard. “To any crew mates that are still alive, I say this with a heavy heart, but there will be no rescue. “I have already sent a distress signal warning any vessel who comes across us to never board our ship, and if possible, to blow us all to kingdom come. I am sorry to have condemned us to this fate, but we all know it is for the greater good” The voice pauses for a long while. He is audibly heard sighing before resuming what he was saying. “It was an honor to serve alongside all of you,” the voice on the intercom then pauses once more and his voice is shaky. Taking another deep breath, the man speaks once more “If there is a god out there, may he have mercy on our souls. This is Radio Master Nigel signing off, for the last time. Goodbye my friends.” As the still playing song wraps up, the click of the intercom being disconnected is heard and the ship once again falls silent. Two Radio operators sit together in their compartment, one of them having just finished his final message. A quick nod from him indicates for the two of them to begin tearing apart the communication controls to ensure that any message that is sent out reaching for help will never be sent. When the deed is done, the two radio operators look at each other and take a seat. “Now what?” one of them asks. “Now?” The younger radio operator leans back in his chair “Now we wait until both of us die,” The younger operator who asked the question nods and too leans back into their chair. “If you’d like, I can shoot you now. Spare you the trouble of starving or whatnot” offered the older radio operator. “There’s only one bullet left though, besides, I already promised that I’d die alongside you,” The second operator chuckles at the adamant nature of his colleague. But, he still very much appreciated their conviction to a promise. “Suit yourself,” “Hey Nigel?” asked the younger operator. “Yes?” “I think I’ll try this Sinatra fellow you keep buggin’ me about” A very large smile spread across the older operator’s face. He grabbed his tablet and his headphones and swung his chair next to the younger operator, pointing out his favorite song from the artist. “Trust me dude, you are going to love this guy” “That awaits to be seen,” said the younger operator as he placed the headphones upon his head. The older operator smiles once again before pressing start on the song. In the silence, the faint words of the song can be heard “Fly me to the moon...


# 3. Another Hanging in Paradise The following month was hot, the sun’s scorching rays beating down on the packed earth and sending waves through the otherwise clear air. While neither Maggie nor Otis felt it, they did notice the stillness that accompanied the extreme temperature. Even the snakes, usually so fond of basking in the sun, crawled back in their holes for fear of being cooked in their own skin. Late summer was always that way, and brought dull boredom with it as the days went on. Adam looked up hopefully at the sound of every hoofbeat on the horizon. Whether it was a misguided prayer for rescue, or the promise of future company that wasn’t, Otis and Maggie found difficult to tell. In either case, the result was shit company and a disturbance of the tenuous peace the other two spirits worked so hard to achieve. Maggie sat in the higher bows of the hanging tree. Her ass hovered a few inches inside her chosen branch but was close enough to make the action feel real. Too much time floating through anything and everything was enough to drive someone mad. Pretending the rules of physics still applied was one of the many tricks she had learned to stay sane. From her perch, she watched the wagons and horses cut a wide berth around Hangman’s Hill and didn’t blame them – it was haunted after all. The sun made its way across the arid sky as she reflected on her death and the days that followed. Unlike the people hung after her, Maggie had been alone. Back then, the hill had been so quiet. While most of the deceased weren’t keen on talking, Maggie could hear their spirits rustling just beneath the crust of the earth. Most tried to find sanity, speaking with her and Otis for a day or two, but in the end, they all did the same thing. Six feet below the ground, thirty or so odd spirits lay horizontal with their eyes closed, pretending to be dead. Feeling particularly morbid, Maggie floated through the layers of the earth to peer in at the others, but there wasn’t much to see aside from dirt and otherworldly green energy. She and Otis had taken to calling them The Dirt Nappers. Neither of them was much for creative energy. They tried their best not to disturb them, but on the occasions they did, the spirits grew violent and became every bit of a poltergeist they could muster. One of them had moved a branch in a moment of particular passion, but Maggie had been the only witness. Maggie shook her head and floated back to the top of her tree. Watching the world slide idly by while sitting in the branches of her tree was as close to peace as Maggie had ever found. In life, there had been a profound calling for action every second to fight for every man, woman, and child on earth. In death, there was nothing to be done. Sitting and waiting for nothing was the best damned retirement she could have asked for, and Otis was right; the sunsets were fantastic. Adam on the other hand could find no such peace. He spent his days trying to break through the barrier, enduring the painful shock that went along with it each time and finding new and creative ways to curse. The sound of his cries broke Maggie’s calm and made it nearly impossible to appreciate the serenity that was her afterlife. Otis had always been good about knowing when to shut up. Adam always assumed it was his turn to talk and spewed a continuous string of unhelpful questions. One day, still sizzling from his latest escape attempt, Adam had fixated on the idea of pockets. “Why do we still have ‘em?” He pushed his hands through his pants for emphasis. “Have what?” asked Otis. “Pockets, why do we still have pockets?” Otis for his part encouraged the kid and didn’t make things any easier. “If you really want to keep yourself up at night, ask Maggie why she’s got a still-functioning pocket watch, yet I can’t fix my damned hat.” “Don’t start about the hat again.” Over time, Maggie learned that Adam wasn’t curious so much as eager for an opportunity to complain. “She has a what?” Otis laughed. “Oh, don’t worry about it, you’ll see it when we get to bettin’.” “Bettin’?” “If he asks another question, I’m going to run into the barrier myse—” Maggie stopped, going silent. In the distance, she heard hoofbeats, followed by whoops and hollers echoing across the desert. It was the telltale mix of excitement and testosterone that only came from impending murder. “You’ve got to be kidding me, another one?” Otis floated up to get a better look. Sure enough, a party of four men was riding toward the tree. “It’s that damned summer heat, puts the devil in men.” “Just in men?” “Oh, let’s not get into gender norms now, Maggie, there’s a hangin’ to watch.” Maggie glared at him but returned her attention to the riders. “I bet that’s Reggie again.” Otis scoffed. “Why don’t we just ask young Adam here.” Adam floated up beside them, struggling to maintain his balance. “Reggie?” he asked. “You probably know him by Reginald, the man that hung you.” “Oh.” Adam paused. “Yeah, he’s none too fond of me.” Maggie let out a slight whoop. “Told you, Otis. Could spot that man a mile away.” “Yes, and being right is such a lovely color on you. Now why would our dear friend Reginald want you hung?” asked Otis. “I may have…” Maggie turned toward him. “May have what?” “Slept with his wife.” Despite the circumstances, Adam still had a tinge of pride as he said it. Maggie scoffed. “To think, Otis and I were both unjustly strung up, and you’re just here because you couldn’t keep it in your pants. Well, The Hanging Tree really does take all types.” “Hey—” “Shut up, kid, it’s time to bet.” Otis watched the riders carefully. “He’s got a bag over his head, just like this one.” He jerked a thumb to Adam. “But he’s making a lot less noise, probably conserving oxygen.” Maggie looked down at the men, sizing up the victim. “This is a tricky bet.” “What are we betting on?” Adam hovered closer, still correcting for a constant, slow forward spin he couldn’t seem to shake. Otis ignored him. “You know he’s not getting enough air in that bag. Means he’s going to be quicker.” “Don’t think he does his core exercises?” “As a matter of fact, I don’t.” “What the hell are you talking about?!” Adam’s form glowed bright before settling to muted green. “We’re betting on how long it’s going to take this man to die once they string him up.” Saying it out loud made Maggie feel shameful, but not enough to stop taking mental measurements in her head. Besides, Adam would be a dirt napper before long; the crazy had already begun to eat into his brain. Adam made a disgusted noise. “Look, kid, we’re stuck, can’t do nothing about this poor bastard’s fate, might as well have a little fun. Think they’ll use a bucket, Otis?” “There has to be something we can do. No one should suffer a fate like this.” Maggie ignored him. “I’m going to say four minutes on the nose. Less if there’s a bucket, for obvious reasons.” “That is a long time to sway on the rope.” Otis thought it over. “I’ll take that action. The usual bet?” “Usual bet.” “You’re both pathetic. I’m going to do something about this.” “Have fun, kid.” Adam floated away from the other two spirits, towards the approaching party. Had they been able to see him, he might have cut an intimidating figure. The image of a spirit floating down from a hanging tree to greet bandits would have sent anyone running. Fortunately for the greasy men, confident atop their horses, they saw nothing but an empty tree. “Oh, this is perfect. You’re going to love this place, Larry” said the man in the lead with a hearty guffaw. “Bill, take his bag off.” “That’s not Reggie.” Maggie could tell immediately. The leader was too round about the middle, and Reggie only laughed once a job was done. One of the horsemen stepped down. Adam walked up until he was right between Bill and the to-be-hung. “Hey, get out of here!” he yelled. “Well this is new.” Maggie watched eagerly. Bill, a thick barrel of a man, took no notice, passing right through Adam on his way to remove the victim from his horse. There wasn’t even a shudder of acknowledgment or a cold chill. Adam yelled. “Screw this!” His spirit glowed bright once again. “How is he doing that?” asked Otis. Maggie didn’t answer, but was instead watching the horsemen, one of whom twitched when Adam’s form glowed. She couldn’t be sure, but it almost looked like the man had seen him. “Holy shit,” she muttered. “I don’t believe it.” Adam paid neither of them any attention and ran full speed at Bill. His spirit reached a blinding level of brilliance and then disappeared. Bill looked momentarily sick, his hand still wrapped around the rope connected to their prisoner. Then, his arm jerked out to the side, violently, snapping the rope taught and pulling the victim off the horse. Maggie watched as the bagged man fell in slow motion with a muffled cry. He twisted, trying to right himself, but landed firmly on his head. There was a sickening crunch as his neck cracked against the hard-packed dirt. Adam reappeared in the same instant, moving at high speed as if Bill’s body had shot him out like a cannon. His spirit smacked into the barrier, sending up a huge burst of energy, outlining the upper portion of the dome in its entirety. “What the hell did you just do, Bill?” The leader hopped off his horse and walked around to where the hanging victim now lay slumped. “Ah, Christ.” Bill looked around wildly, confused. “What just h-happened?” He ran his hands over his skin as if it were someone else’s. Maggie didn’t have to look closely to understand the position of the victim’s neck wasn’t healthy. It was slumped to the side at a forty-five degree angle, and the man gave no movement other than slight twitches of his feet. “Hell, he’s still alive. No point in hanging him now, Bill. He probably can’t feel shit.” In a surprising act of mercy, the leader pulled out his pistol and shot the twitching man in the head. At the same instant, an older man appeared, lying on the ground, right next to his body, neck still bent at an odd angle. “Holy shit,” muttered Otis. “Did Adam just possess someone?” “He sure did, and you lost the bet. Time to pay up.


Barrow House is burning. *The hissing of the heat and the lapping of flames like tongues, licking at the floorboards and the walls, gargling hot stones in its hell-throat...* It has been on fire for as long as I can remember, but it never burns up or down or out or in any direction except the present: it *is* burning. Not everyone can see it burning. Those who cannot pass by Barrow House without a glance, as if it wasn't there. Only some see and stop and watch, like Mr. Wilson. They don't know if it was Mister or Missus Barrow who started the fire. Maybe it was never proved. Once— If— The fire ever stops, we'll know. We'll know for certain then who started Barrow House burning. There are proved methods: scientific methods, they say. Not that I would know about that. I only trust what I hear. Some people are afraid of Barrow House and do not come this way at all, or take roundabout routes to avoid the sight and smell, which drifts beyond the property line, besooting the neighbouring houses, which is why they are vacant. *Who would want to live in such a place?* They say Mister Barrow was excellent at what he did but was a terrible husband. They say that. Missus Barrow was inclined to corporeal punishment. To this I can personally attest. *Mama, please—* They say Barrow House was an unhappy house even prior to the setting of the fire. *To this I can personally attest.* As I have told Mr. Wilson, "I feel as if I am both young and old at the same time." *...except the present.* "Remarkable," he says. "Absolutely remarkable. Now, please tell us what else you may remember. Spare no detail. Anything you provide shall be of profound importance to us." "Barrow House is burning," I say. It flickers in the night like a candle, and we are the wax. "You had stated earlier that Barrow House was not a happy place. That Missus Barrow was inclined to corporeal punishment. What may you tell us of Mister Barrow?" He was a good father. "He was a good father, they say," I say. *Mama, please—* Tongues lash Barrow House like leather straps. Mercilessly, despite their howling—of wind, whipping up the red-hot ash: *plumes and plumes…* A house like this forever cannot stand. A house cannot. "So it was Missus Barrow," says Mr. Wilson. *The great lumbers creak and crack. The furniture melts away waxen. Ear wax drooling from its mouth: an open door. The very construction hisses. One cannot endure such suffering indefinitely. The smoke*— was a relief from the heat." *Mama, please—* "Tell us." I remember now. "Yes, yes—("That's why you started the fire?")—because I… anymore…" "Hughie? Are you there? I made mama gargle the hot stones. I made her. Made her do it. Her hair flamed in black skin. *Hughie Barrow?* Barrow House is burning, and Mr. Wilson talks to ghosts. That's what they say. That's what they say.