Narrow Escape Mildred was in her way home from work after a long day of working with school children. She’d been a volunteer at her daughter’s school for several years now, both on the play ground and in the classroom. Today she had, also, volunteered in the lunchroom. She was still picking spaghetti out of her hair. She loved working with the kids most of the time but her daughter was getting to that age now where ‘mom’ was more of an embarrassment than a comfort. That’s why Mildred had requested to stay in the elementary school for the next term. Her daughter would be in junior high when the next school term started. So many things to do today. Many errands to run. She began to tick off the places where she needed to make stops. She had to pick up her dry cleaning since she had forgotten it every day for the last two weeks. She had also forgotten to stop at the post office for mail that could not be delivered, after someone knocked down her mailbox. Then she had better pick up a new mailbox at the hardware store. Denny worked there. Her nephew would fix her up with everything she needed for the repair. Probably even come and fix it for her. She was lucky to have so many family members close to home. She’d lost her husband a few years ago but she had managed by herself and with some help from her daughter. But she had good neighbors and friends she could call if she really needed anything. “Dry cleaning, hardware, post office,” she said out loud to herself. She could remember things easier when she did this. Her head was so full of what she needed to do. Maybe she should just write it down. “Pharmacy, grocery store. Probably should get some gas if I see a good price,” she continued to speak out loud. “Okay,” she said. “Dry cleaning first.” Mildred loved to chat when she had the time and sometimes when she didn’t. She had been coming to this dry cleaner’s for years and the same couple of people were always working there. She could afford to be friendly, right? After a nice chat she got back in her car and drove away. She happened upon the gas station and filled the car up before moving on. “There’s the post office,” she said. “Better stop there while I am in the area.” She had to park around the side of the building, near the jail, and walk to the front. She knew the people in the post office very well too, so she had a nice chat with her friend, Fran, who had worked there ever since she could remember. They caught up with the day to day gossip with their neighborhood. After returning to her car, Mildred turned on the radio to keep her company. She loved the ‘oldies’ station and sang loudly, off-key, but she didn’t care. She didn’t have to rush home as her daughter was studying at a friend’s house. The hardware store looked deserted. She was the only car in the lot and considered they might be closed for some reason, but she saw Dewey looking out the door and motioning her to come inside. He’d heard of her mailbox incident and had the supplies at the counter for her. “I can come over tomorrow afternoon and put it up, if that’s okay with you,” he said. “That would be wonderful,” said Mildred. “I’ll make my special chili that you like and you can have dinner with me for your help.” “I can’t wait, Aunt Mildred,” said Dewey. “You’re the best! I’ll just keep the supplies and bring them when I come over.” “Sounds like a plan,” Mildred replied as she gave him a hug before she left the store. It was strange how everything seemed to be deserted. She passed very few cars on the road. She had a bad feeling that she couldn’t seem to shake, but shook it off anyway and turned the radio back on. “…Special Bulletin. A man escaped the county jail earlier today and is believed to be hiding in the area. He left the jail on foot after stabbing two guards. The man is of average height and build. White. Mid-thirties and wearing a gray prison jumpsuit. If seen, do not approach. He is dangerous. Leave the area and call for help….” The announcer went on to give a more detailed account, but Mildred’s mind had gone into overdrive thinking about the town being in danger. This had happened before and there were discussions at all the town meetings about lack of security at the jail. The turnover of security guards was ridiculous. No one stayed there for long. Now Mildred was really spooked. She decided to stop at the closest grocery store and make the pharmacy her last stop. She wanted to get home and make sure her daughter was safe, as well as her home. Of course, at the grocery store, she ran into a couple of neighbors. They discussed the jailbreak at length and what they could do to make their homes safe until this man was found. One of the neighbors had seen a bunch of police officers near the post office and ‘crime scene’ tape roping off an area behind the feed store. He’d asked the feed store owner what was going on and was told a woman’s body had been found, murdered, behind the store not thirty minutes earlier. “I was at the post office about an hour ago,” said Mildred. “I even parked on that side of the street.” “You were lucky, then,” said the neighbor. “That could have easily been you.” Mildred hurried to get the items she needed from the store and nearly ran to her car. She threw the small bag into the passenger side of the front seat and headed to the pharmacy for her daughter’s medication. She called her daughter to let her know what was going on and to stay inside her friend’s house until she came to pick her up. Mildred was driving faster than she normally would but she wouldn’t feel safe until she was at home with all the doors and windows locked. She needed to be with her daughter and she felt she wouldn’t rest until this man was caught. What her neighbor said about the murdered woman was haunting her. It could have been me, she thought. Mildred was in line at the drive-thru window for the pharmacy pick-up. She was agitated and anxious to get out of there. It should only take a moment to get the medication. She had called it in earlier in the day. Finally, it was her turn at the window. She made eye contact with the pharmacy tech. The young man looked upset. “I’m here to pick up my daughter’s medication,” said Mildred. The tech looked her in the eye, then turned around to speak with the pharmacist. “I’m afraid there was a problem with the script,” said the tech. “You need to come into the store so we can straighten it out.” “I’m in a hurry,” said Mildred. “I don’t have time for this. Just tell me what the problem is and fix it. I have to pick up my daughter.” “No,” said the tech, still looking her in the eye. “You have to come inside to fix this. I can’t let you have the medication until you do.” “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Mildred put the car in gear and started to pull away. “Please park in the handi-capped spot by the door,” said the tech. “You will be able to leave quicker.” Mildred was so frustrated she almost floored it to get to the front of the pharmacy. She was really pissed now. Her daughter was waiting. A killer was on the loose. If her daughter wasn’t out of the medication, she would forget it altogether. She parked in the space, as she was instructed, and ran in the door. Of course, the pharmacy was in the back of the store, just adding to Mildred’s frustration. When she approached the pharmacy counter, the tech and the pharmacist were waiting for her. “Something must be really bad,” said Mildred. The tech and pharmacist came out of the enclosed pharmacy area and sat her down in the chairs that were provided for customers. “What is going on?” Mildred was starting to lose it. The pharmacy tech spoke first. “I could see into your car since I am located higher up than your vehicle at the drive-thru window. There is a man crouched down in the backseat floor board and he has a large butcher knife. I had to get you out of that car.” “I called the police,” said the pharmacist. “That is why we instructed you to park by the front door.” Mildred almost passed out. She started crying with the shock of how close she had come to death. If not for the tech, the man might have killed her and her daughter. The tech put his arm around her and let her cry. After a few minutes, a police officer arrived to speak with them. The officer informed them that they had apprehended the man and he was indeed the man that had escaped from the jail. The knife still had blood on it so they would be able to prove he had been the one to murder the woman behind the feed store. Mildred was so grateful that she had not left the pharmacy as she had almost done. They all went to the front entrance and gave their statements. Mildred was given an escort to pick up her daughter and return home. The officer checked her home because she was so frightened and it was all clear. She and her daughter thanked the officer and together gave thanks for the quick-thinking tech that had given Mildred her narrow escape. Several hours later, Mildred’s daughter was asleep and she was preparing for bed when a knock sounded at the door. She looked out and saw the police officer from earlier standing on her front porch. She opened the door to see him smiling. “This is just a follow up to make sure you are okay,” he said. Mildred smiled back and opened the door wider. She never saw the butcher knife he was holding behind his back.


(Brief mentions of drugs and sex) It is dark and it has been for some time.

I don’t know how long I have been in this location.

I have to say though; it is quite comfortable, being between two soft pieces of fabric.

I’m okay being here.

I am not being man handled like I was before.

Although, I do miss my friends.

I had plenty of friends before someone placed me here.

I had all kinds of friends.

There were usually a few of me, but Abraham Lincoln and George Washington were always there and occasionally I would see Ulysses S. Grant and Benjamin Franklin.

I feel a human hand around my body.

What is this?

Am I being removed from my comfortable spot?

Is this daylight I am seeing?

I can’t remember the last time I saw daylight. “Look at what I just found in my pocket.

It’s 20 bucks.”

A woman’s voice says. Followed by a man’s voice saying, “drinks are on you tonight.”

And I know I will no longer be in my comfortable spot.

Someone will place me in a wallet and be rejoined by friends.

“Hello, friends,” I say. “Hello,” they all say back. Even though I have never met these particular friends, I already know them.

It’s mostly George Washington but there is a Lincoln here too.

I am the sole Andrew Jackson. As we travel together, we discuss our travels.

Most George Washingtons have similar stories, traveling with other George Washingtons and being exchanged for petty things like a bag of chips, a can of soda, and packs of gum and then given as change.

Many have spent their time in bodegas, supermarkets, and the occasional sweaty strip club but one of the George Washingtons in this wallet has been to a Macy's which the other George Washingtons are all keen to hear about.

I have been to Macy's as well Nordstroms and Bloomingdales, so I am not that impressed by George Washinton’s story.

I have also been to a ski resort and a casino in Las Vegas.

Those were my most exciting trips, but I too have seen plenty of bodegas and supermarkets.

I try to sound interested in these stories but they are all the same.

“Two Budweisers please,” the woman’s voice says as I am yanked away from my friends.

I am happy I will now find new friends.

Hopefully, these new friends will have more exciting tales to tell.

I usually travel with other Andrew Jackson’s and hope to be reunited with a few of those.

Their tales are more interesting than George Washington or Abraham Lincoln’s tales.

The tales of Benjamin Franklin are almost always interesting.

They seem to see a lot of white powder, naked women, and people with questionable morals. I am placed on a hard surface for a minute or two before being handled by a rough hand and placed in a neat stack, facing the same way as other Andrew Jacksons.

I am happy to see them. Once again, even though I have never met these particular friends, I already know them.

We greet each other and follow with telling stories of where we have been.

But as with most cash registers, we see friends come and we see them go at dramatic speed until it slows and then stops.

We are all familiar with what happens when it stops.

Some of us go into a large envelope, a few may go into a pocket or a wallet, some of us remain in the register.

 As someone takes us out and counted, we wonder who will go and who will stay.

Benjamin Franklin and Ulysses S. Grant always goes away.

They almost always keep George Washington and Abraham Lincoln in the cash drawer.

For Andrew Jackson, it is usually a toss up. I feel myself lifted out the register and placed on the same hard surface I was before.

I pray to stay.

Staying means seeing more friends come and go the next day.

Going means being put away, perhaps in another drawer and perhaps in an ATM.

Although there is a rumor that some disappear for good. When they place George Washington and Lincoln back in the drawer, I pray it is time for me to go into the drawer.

I hold my breath before being placed in the envelope with other Andrew Jacksons and a Benjamin Franklin.

From here, we remain together.

We travel but where we are going, no one is sure.

We are likely to end up in a bank, but sometimes it is back into a wallet and sometimes a drawer.

As we move from place to place, we all speculate together where we will go.

Until someone pulls us out of the envelope. I take in the new surroundings, trying to speculate where I may be.

A home?

A store?

An alleyway?

But it appears we are in a bank.

This is the least desirable place to be for a dollar bill.

I look at the numbers on my fellow Andrew Jacksons.

None of them are lower than 2018.

I look at my number: 2014.

I was hidden away between those two pieces of fabric for so long, who knows how old I had become.

From what I know, you don’t see a bigger gap than eight numbers between the other Andrew Jacksons and I worry.

What happens now? I am moved from place to place, being separated from the Andrew Jackson's I arrived with and joined with new Andrew Jacksons.

Someone mixes us up and counts us and they move us again and again.

Someone moves us between drawers, envelopes, hands, and trucks. And then I hear a noise I have never heard before.

I hear the screams of my friends.

Even though I have never met these particular friends, I already know them.

And their screams are terrifying.

It is not until I get closer that I understand their screams.

They are being torn into small pieces.

As I get closer, I scream too.

Until I am torn into small pieces too.

They have shredded us all.

Now instead of Andrew Jacksons, there are strips of what used to be Andrew Jackson, George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Ulysses S. Grant, and Benjamin Franklin.

But now, no one can tell who we used to be, we are now all worthless and are now ready to sleep after a lifetime of exchanging from one place to the next.


Toasted     “Ladies and gentlemen, for those of you who don’t me, I’m Peter, Rob’s best man. I was there from the beginning, when Rob and Cindy first met. Rob tells people that he and Cindy met while hiking. This is technically true, but it’s not the whole story. Rob’s a modest guy and doesn’t like to brag, so now I’m going to completely embarrass him by telling you what really happened.     “Rob and I were up at the lake, on the mountain trail, when we heard a scream. We ran toward the sound and found a lovely young woman crying and pacing, distraught and alone on the trail. Cindy here had been hiking with her German Shepherd, Muffin, and her then-boyfriend. We’ll call him Richard, or Dick, for short. They’d seen a large black bear on the trail and Muffin decided to summon his inner canine warrior and chase the bear. So, Muffin takes off into the woods, chasing the bear. Dick, apparently after several moments of hesitation, so I’m told, reluctantly takes off after Muffin.  Upon hearing Cindy tell this story, Rob takes off running in the direction of the dog and I follow him, after making sure Cindy was okay by herself.     “So, I’m following Rob, who’s moving through the woods faster than I thought humanly possible, jumping over tree limbs and bursting through bushes like a stunt man in a movie, until we finally see the dog in the distance. The dog’s still running deeper into the woods. No sign of Dick, in case you were wondering.   “We begin to hear water, which, if you’ve been to the mountain trail, you know is the river where the little waterfall feeds into the lake. We get closer and we see Muffin, trying to swim in the river. The bear, being a better swimmer than Muffin, is long gone. We caught a glimpse of him way on the other side of the river, heading further into the woods. We did not, at any point, catch a glimpse of Dick.     “But now here’s Muffin, being tossed about by the rapids in the river and beginning to head downstream. Toward. The. Waterfall.     “So, here’s the part where Rob, predictably, being the good guy he is, jumps into the river to save Muffin. Luckily for Muffin, Rob is a pretty good swimmer. He manages to catch up with Muffin before the poor dog goes over the waterfall. Rob grabs him by the collar and starts swimming toward the bank. I’m standing around like a dumb ass, because this is all happening so fast. I even forgot to whip out my phone and shoot a video. That would have been epic. Anyway, Rob gets to the bank of the river and checks Muffin for injuries. No animals were hurt in the making of this story, by the way. And still, no sign of Dick.    “We didn’t have a leash and couldn’t risk Muffin running off again, so Rob picks up Muffin, who, you’ll remember is a German Shepherd, not a small dog, and fireman-carries him back toward the trail.  Poor Muffin was too tired to fuss about that, at this point. It took nearly a half hour to get back to the trail carrying this gigantic dog. And still, you guessed it, no sign of Dick.     “We finally make it back to the trail, where poor Cindy is crying with worry, maybe more for the dog than the boyfriend. She sees us coming and her face lights up. She runs toward us, fastens Muffin to a leash, and gives us both hugs. We traded information and stood around talking for a while, waiting for Dick to arrive. Forty minutes later, he finally shows, covered in scrapes and dead leaves, and looking very annoyed that the dog was already safe and that he had nothing to do with it.     “That, my friends, should have been the end of the story. But no. The next morning, while watching the local news, I see Dick being interviewed on camera for a story about bear sightings in the area. Apparently, other hikers spotted the bear, and a news crew had arrived after we left.

   “Anyway, here’s Dick, talking about how he was hiking with his girlfriend and how her dog ran after the bear, and how he had to run after the bear to save the dog. He added some colorful details about how he had to jump into the rapids to save the dog from going down the waterfall and how he’d gotten badly scraped up in the process. I thought about Rob’s bravery and his humility, and just shook my head.    “And that should have been the end of the story. But again, no.     “Two weeks later, I’m reading the local news online and I see this story. There’s Dick again, accepting an award from an animal rescue group, for saving his girlfriend’s German Shepherd from a tremendous bear.  He’s giving a speech about the importance of animals in our lives. I’d almost believe it if I hadn’t seen his face when he finally got back to the trail that day.  By this time, I’m kicking myself for not having shot a video of Rob rescuing Muffin.     “And that would have been the end of the story, if not for Cindy. Cindy appreciates a good man, and Dick wasn’t making the cut. Another week or so went by and Rob’s phone rings. Cindy had jettisoned Dick from her life. This is where the real story begins, the one that led us to be gathered here today.     “’Muffin and I would like to thank you for saving his life’ she said. They got together for coffee and the rest is history. The moral of the story is this. Nice guys don’t finish last. Sometimes, it just takes a little while to get there.     “A lot of times, at weddings, people like to talk about how fate brought the happy couple together. That’s nice. But let’s look a little deeper. We have some other entities to thank for bringing us together today. We have a wild bear, a dog named Muffin, and a self-promoting Dick. So, thank you bear, thank you Muffin, and ironically, thank you Dick.     “Raise your glasses everyone. To Rob and Cindy and Muffin. May you have boring hikes for the rest of your lives.”


Callie’s entire body is shaking. She’s being ridiculous, she thinks. This shouldn’t be as hard as it is. Despite the fact that they’re shaking, her hands are clutching onto the heart-shaped box cutters as hard as they can. She knows she should let go. She’s worked to get to the point where she can, yet she holds on with all the force in the world. It’s not the first time she would be throwing out her box cutters. She has to throw them away whenever they get dull. However, this time is different. This time, there’s no identical pair waiting for her in the box under her bed. This time, she won’t be going out to buy more. The heart-shaped box cutters have kept her afloat for ten years. Whenever she was drowning, a simple slight of hand would bring her to the surface. The sight of blood would ground her. Callie remembers when she first saw them at the stationery store near her house. Her thirteen year old self thought they were adorable. She remembers thinking that if she was going to do such horrible things to herself, she might as well romanticize it. And that, she did. She wrote poems and stories of how much the pain soothed her, refusing to acknowledge any of the sorrow it brought her afterwards. Ever since she started therapy, she tried to find excuses to keep cutting. She can’t count the amount of times she’s said something along the lines of “It only harms me, so why shouldn’t I?” . Countless therapists assured Callie that it wasn’t true, that it harmed others. They also kept telling her that her body cannot distinguish when trauma is self-induced, but she didn’t care. She thought, “What was more trauma in a life already riddled with it?” It wasn’t until she met her current therapist that she was able to see things somewhat differently. The shift started slowly. She noticed that everyone around her seemed to grow, yet she stayed stuck. At twenty-three, she was still in the same place she was at thirteen. She has lost all her friends and relationships because she chose her pain over them. The slashes across her skin became her only companion. Then, one day, Callie realized she wanted to change. She wanted to try to experience a different life. It’s been ten years since she last bathed in a pool, and she misses it. Perhaps she even wanted to find a partner and have the courage to undress in front of them. Yet, part of her wished to remain safe. To remain stagnant. She realized she self-harms because it’s comfortable. The pain reminds her of what she knows. When she has nothing else, she has her self-inflicted pain. It’s the only constant in her life. Which is why she’s here. Crying over a trash can, holding onto her box cutters. Her therapist had challenged her to throw them away, to go without access to them. She’s at the point in her recovery where she had plenty of other skills she could use to cope, yet sometimes she still turned back to cutting. It was a way for her mental illness to remind her that it’s still there, that it would never leave. She acknowledges that her depression won’t magically disappear. It will still be there, but she will cope in other ways. Still, part of her is going to miss the pain. Nothing will ever compare to the cuts she inflicts on herself, but she’ll learn to be okay with that. At least, that’s what part of her thinks. The other side of her keeps telling her to turn back, to put the heart-shaped box cutters back under her bed. It tells her that she won’t be able to survive without them, that self-injury is the only way. Her knees wouldn’t hold up her weight, taking her down to the floor. The box cutters never left her hands. This ritual was taking too much out of her. Her thoughts were a whirlwind. Will I be able to live without it? What if nothing makes me feel as good as my misery? Will I ever feel safe without this despair? She could stay the entire night thinking next to the trash can. Callie knew that this was going to happen, which is why she considered rescheduling this goodbye ceremony. Maybe she could get away with doing it another day, she’d still do it, just not today. But part of her knew that wasn’t true. If she didn’t do it now, she never will. She’ll keep rescheduling, making excuses. It had to be today. She had to say goodbye. She holds the heart-shaped box cutters in front of her, and recites the words she had come to memorize for this occasion. “ Thank you for helping me for so long. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have been able to cope. You were there for me when nobody else was. However, I realized that our relationship is toxic. You control me. You cause me pain. You don’t actually fix anything, you just make me put it off. I keep coming back to you precisely because the relief you give me is temporary. I can’t stay in this relationship that doesn’t help me anymore. I love you, but I hate you. I hope to never return to you again. I am setting myself free. Goodbye.” Callie drops the box cutters onto the trash can. She’s still crying and shaking as she ties the bag. She probably looks a mess, but in this moment it doesn’t matter. Taking the bag, she walks through her apartment hallway until she makes it to the garbage disposal. She hesitates, but throws the bag in it. For a moment, she stands there and debates taking the bag out. Even though it would be disgusting, she can take the bag out and grab her heart-shaped box cutters again. She can return to safety. But she doesn’t. Callie turns around and leaves, heading back into her apartment. She feels different. Despite the emotional toll this has taken on her, a sense of relief washes over her.

Callie is finally free.


March 21, 1974. The day in Port Townsend would be forever known to the locals as “The Shopping Cart Parade” day. The chain of events kicked off as Leo Rauscher emerged from the IGA with his bag of groceries. The cool breeze leisurely wafting through the parking lot brought thoughts of cruising on his boat that afternoon. “Happy Birthday to me...Happy Birthday to meeee,” he crooned to himself softly while twirling the keys to his sleek new Jaguar XKE around his right index finger. Stepping off the curb, he made his way across the parking lot towards his cherished dream car. A broad smile spread across his face as he drew closer to his prized possession. Perhaps a drive to Hurricane Ridge rather than a sail? Glancing upwards, he let the sun's warmth envelop him. It was decisively a top-down kind of day.

Seagulls swooped overhead, and Leo watched as crows swooped in to hassle them, vying for control of this prime hunting territory.

Leo's attention shifted to his left, where he noticed his elderly neighbor, Mrs. Crosby, cracking open the back window of her 1957 Ford Del Rio station wagon.

“Good morning, Mrs. Crosby,” Leo hollered, elevating his voice to reach her weakening ears. Her pastel blue hair, fortified with a sturdy layer of hairspray, defiantly resisted the wind as she busied herself with loading groceries into the back, oblivious to Leo's greeting. “GOOD MORNING, MRS. CROSBY!” he bellowed this time. This time, his voice pierced through Mrs. Crosby's aging ears. “OH, oh good morning, young man.” Though she had been neighbors with the Rauscher family for over sixty years, his name eluded her memory, though she recognized his face from next door. “LET ME HELP YOU WITH THOSE,” Leo offered, approaching her. “Oh, thank you,” she responded gratefully, stepping back from the cart. Leo momentarily set his own bag inside the cart, the fresh loaf of pumpernickel bread shifting to the side. He grabbed her bag of groceries, hoisted the paper bag out, slid it into the back, and nestled it snugly next to the inner wall of the car to prevent tipping—a five-minute drive home was no reason to risk catastrophe. Given Mrs. Crosby's penchant for a leisurely pace behind the wheel and her ninety years, perhaps someone should have reviewed her driver's license long ago. Leo straightened up and pushed the cart away from her car. “THANK YOU, Leo. You're a good boy,” Mrs. Crosby praised, reaching into her purse and withdrawing a flowery coin purse. She opened it, fetched a dime, and placed it in his palm. Leo met her kindly, faded blue eyes and remarked, “WELL, THANK YOU, MRS. CROSBY,” tucking the dime safely into his pocket. She patted him on the arm and headed to the front to settle herself inside. Leo cautiously backed up the shopping cart across the parking lot, keeping his eyes on Mrs. Crosby at all times. Aside from the wobbly wheel, he could hear a distinct jangling sound. Someone had hooked a bike security chain around the front of the cart and locked it in place. Moving swiftly to the front of the cart, Leo grabbed the handle just as Mrs. Crosby maneuvered her car to line up for the drive home, three blocks straight ahead. As she reversed, Leo realized she wasn't stopping as expected. "Mrs. Crosby! Mrs. Crosby! Wait, stop!" Leo cried out, but she continued slowly backing up, the cart jolting with a clank and a thud. Without thinking, Leo seized the cart's handle as Mrs. Crosby shifted gears and drove forward. However, the bike chain lock had become wedged under the chrome bumper, causing the cart to move along with the car. "Stop, Mrs. Crosby! For goodness' sake, stop!" Leo yelled, but his voice went unheard. Desperate to prevent the cart and his groceries from spilling onto the street, Leo attempted to dislodge the stuck cart. His efforts were in vain. As Mrs. Crosby accelerated, Leo stumbled in large strides trying to keep pace. Realizing the imminent danger, he started to release his grip on the handle but the realization sat in that she was speeding up. Doing so would cause him to skid across the pavement. Instead

Frantically, Leo grabbed the cart again, clutching the handle with all his might. Panicked, he hopped onto the back of the cart. Just like he did when he was a kid..

"Mrs. Crosby, please stoooopppp!!!" His grip on the cart handle tightening as the car accelerated down "Boson" street. He bent his knees, feeling like he was skiing behind her, heart pounding with each passing moment. Praying fervently, Leo hoped he could make it through the last two blocks in one piece. A sudden whoosh startled him as a black crow swooped by, landing in the cart with a thud. "Get out, you stupid bird!" Leo exclaimed, his voice tinged with panic. The crow hopped onto his bag of groceries, its sharp beak tearing through the paper bag to eye the loaf of special order pumpernickel. Leo's hands ached from the strain, sweat beading on his forehead as his legs turned to jelly. He knew he had to hold on, his gaze narrowing at the thieving crow. "Oh, no you don't, bird! Get away from my bread!" Leo's heart raced as he clung to the shopping cart tethered to the bumper of the car. His knuckles white, fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins in a strange mix of terror and dark amusement. As they approached the final intersection, Leo gazed ahead at "Enterprise" Boulevard, a bustling street awaiting their chaotic intrusion. The car showed no signs of stopping at the stop sign, pushing Leo to the brink of sheer panic. With jaw clenched and eyes squinting, he fought to maintain his precarious hold, knowing one wrong move could spell his doom at any moment. But just as Leo braced for the worst, fate twisted its cruel hand. Mrs. Crosby, the driver, obliviously sailed past the stop sign, hurtling into the crowded thoroughfare. A glimmer of hope beckoned from the left, but Leo's gaze met the wide, frightened eyes of a woman in a Volkswagen Beetle to the right. Frozen mid-sip, a soda can trembled in her grasp as she lurched forward, the screech of the brakes echoing in the chaotic scene. Fizzy liquid sprayed in a frigid burst, adding to the pandemonium. The car stopping several yards from the cart. Despite the peril, a flicker of dark amusement danced within Leo—a sense of the outrageousness of it all. Clutching the cart tighter, he murmured desperate prayers under his breath, his fingers straining.

Meanwhile, the indifferent crow continued its feast on pumpernickel, ignorant of the impending calamity.

Home, a sanctuary amidst the madness, loomed ahead, urging Leo onward. "Hold on, hold on," he urged himself, his voice charged with urgency. "Move aside, you blasted bird!" he growled, determined to salvage his dwindling groceries.

Suddenly, Mr. Cromwell, the postman, appeared in his peripheral vision, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief as Leo swiftly maneuvered past. Later, Mr. Cromwell attempted to recount the surreal scene to his bewildered colleagues. In his telling, a station wagon cruised by, towing a shopping cart with the Mr. Rauscher holding on for dear life, behind it. Inside the cart, a crow gleefully feasted on groceries, while in the wagon, a majestic black and white cat observed the chaos unfolding before him. Leo's heart raced as he locked eyes with Snuggles in the open back window, silently urging him to retreat. With a mischievous glint, Snuggles shifted into stealth mode, poised for action. Eyes narrowed, ears flat, butt wiggling. In a swift, calculated move, Snuggles launched himself towards the startled crow, aiming to seize his prey. However, fate had other plans as Mrs. Crosby accelerated slightly, propelling Snuggles over the crow. Startled, the crow fled, leaving Snuggles to careen into Leo's chest, and a pungent reminder on top of Leo's head to his passing. Claws bared, Snuggles involuntarily latched onto Leo's neck, sinking his talons into tender skin. “SON OF A BITCH!” Leo's cry pierced the chaos, met with a plaintive “Meeeooooowwww” from Snuggles as the precarious situation intensified. It took every ounce of Leo's self-preservation to keep his grip on the cart handle. The impending disaster loomed large, sending shivers down his spine and his heart racing. The sensation of dread was thick in the air, suffocating him with fear. That's when salvation came. Mrs. Crosby slowed to a crawl and started to make the left turn into her driveway. Snuggles leapt off to the left to get himself out of danger, his fur standing on end in terror. The left turn caused the chain to be released from the car, and the cart with Leo in tow headed towards the curb just in front of his house. When the side of the cart impacted the curb, his body tensed, anticipating the worst. Leo jumped from the cart, rolled, and landed softly in the grass right of way. Leo sat frozen in place against the cool blades of grass.. By now Mrs. Crosby had exited her car and walked to the back. She looked over at Leo sitting in the grass, a combination of amusement and concern in her gaze. “OH! You boys.” She waved her white-gloved hand in a dismissive manner. Then her eyes widened, a new realization dawning on her as she observed Leo. “I don't recall Leo having a twin brother,” she said, her voice tinged with confusion and curiosity. Leo sat and took a deep breath, his body trembling with the aftermath of the near-miss. As the adrenaline started to ebb away, he felt a mix of relief and disbelief. His limbs felt like lead, his whole body shaking with the intensity of the moment. “OH! HEY!” Mrs. Crosby exclaimed, breaking the tension. “YES?” Leo yelled back, his voice shaky. Mrs. Crosby pointed to her head. “YOU HAVE SOME BIRD DOODY, JUST HERE,” she said pointing to the top of her head. With a final smile, she headed towards her front door and disappeared inside, leaving Snuggles sitting at the door, a silent witness to the chaotic events that had unfolded. Leo fell back onto the cool grass.

“Happy Birthday to me.” and he closed his eyes.


Wally tucked and rolled into the aisle of Halloween costumes, then army crawled his way to the other side. He was nearly spotted, but his military training put him at an advantage to keep a low profile and out of sight. Reaching the end of the aisle he sits up, back against the aisle, and holds his knees to his chest. Sweat pours down his face and his heart races, thinking back to how he was nearly taken captive. He never thought working as a cashier in retail could be so dangerous. Some of his co-workers were already taken against their will, and Wally refused to go out like that. He was hired to do a job, and that’s what he was going to do. So now to plot his next move. “I think I saw him go this way”, Wally hears what sounds like a big burly man say. The voice is too close for comfort and Wally knows he must go now. He remembers seeing 2 men holding guns, but the 2 women seemed empty handed. With no time for hesitation, Wally jumps to his feet, and keeping his back against the wall of costumes, quickly looks around the corner into the main aisle. Looking to the left, then the right, he sees it is clear. Darting straight across the main aisle, he dives behind a table filled with half folded onesies. Wally notices that the employees in the infant section did not properly fold the onesies, nor group the sizes together. He takes a mental note to make the Department Manager, Prudence, aware of the situation once he makes it to safety. After resisting the urge to fix the onesie table, Wally crawls on all fours deeper into the infant section, towards the dressing room; Maybe he will see Prudence on his way. Wally knows there is a phone at the dressing room, and he can call for help. “Did you clock out already?”, he hears a familiar voice say. It is one of his co-workers, Shelly. She is walking down the main aisle that Wally just leapt across. “Oh my goodness, I forgot!”, another voice says. It is Prudence. Wally is baffled how calm she is, given the danger she is in by still being on the clock. Still on all fours, Wally turns around and crawls back towards the edge of the infant section by the onesie table. If he could reach Prudence before she goes back to clock out, she would have to fix the onesie table. “Pssst”, Wally hisses at the girls, leaning into the main aisle, with only his head visible. Neither girl seems to hear. “PSSSST”, Wally hisses slightly louder. Shelly spots him. “I’m off the clock”, she quickly responds. With no hesitation, she turns around and follows Prudence back to the timeclock. Wally rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to getting himself out of danger. He couldn’t waste anymore time. “There he is!”, one of the ladies with the burly man screeches. “Young man…YOUNG MAN”, one of the ladies, also burly, shouts out. In tow was a younger looking lady, and the 2 burly men holding BB guns. Wally curses under his breath. He knew he could only blame himself. His compulsive need to tell Prudence to fix that onesie table caused him to be spotted. He quickly flips his badge over so his name can’t be seen. “Do you know if you have any more bullets in the back for these BB guns?”, the first burly men bellows. His black and red checkered shirt reminds Wally of a lumberjack. Wally quickly searches his brain for a way to get out of this. Being a cashier, it is not his job to check the back for stock. “Sorry sir I am just a cashier this is not my department let me see if I can find someone that works in that section to help you I’ll be right back”, Wally responds all in one breath. Before any of them can respond, Wally was making his way back towards the dressing room to call for her help. He will call someone to fix the onesie table as well. He keeps his head down, as to not make eye contact with anyone. The Holiday season hadn’t even started and people were already flooding the store. He thinks about how the Pre-Holiday season has never been this bad. “I told them not to put the Halloween Costumes, Thanksgiving decorations AND Christmas decorations out this early.” he thinks to himself, recounting the conversation he had with the Manager in charge of the Seasonal aisle. “Hey Wally! Why are you covered in sweat?” a friendly voice says as he reaches the Dressing Room. It’s Kathy, the store Operator. “I was nearly taken hostage.” he says while bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath from power walking to the Dressing Room. “I need you to page someone to check the back for BB gun bullets.” “Sure thing.” “By the way can you fix the onesie table at the edge of the infant section? Prudence is on lunch.” “Sorry, no I have 5 minutes before I get off” Kathy responds. Wally rolls his eyes and curses the overnight stockers for not cleaning their area. “Shoot. Well I need to get back on the register before they page me.” Wally wishes Kathy well and makes his way back to the front: The opposite direction of the BB gun family. Wally reaches the front and settles behind his cash register and turns on his light. This is exactly where he’s supposed to be…he is only a Cashier. Wally spots his Manager walking towards him and gives him his best customer service smile. “Hey Wally, can you do me a favor?” his Manager asks while flipping off the switch to Wally’s register. “Of course I can.” Wally responds cheerfully. “Can you please go to the back and see if we have any bullets for a BB gun?”


I lift my head from under the cool waves only to hear that Dave is still - still - laughing about the tumble I took (that oaf). The day’s been just peachy, all soft winds that perfectly rivaled the monsters we’re riding, clouds painted in the sky in milky swirls. I reckon it’d all be swell if only I had better company: in all of Australia, Dave’s gotta be just the worst bugger around (the fall wasn’t that funny.) I got to Cairns quite a while ago and still can’t go a full day on the water without a spill off the board. I’ve gotten better, for sure, but there’s always the one at least. My mates say that it’s bad bone structure, that the cushy North American weather made me weak. I’ve yet to bother telling them that I grew up in Montreal, where the weather was many things and “cushy” was rarely one of them. Well, some other day. Even under the surf I can hear the blonde’s warbly voice when he calls “get up here, you bludger!”

I oblige, only because it’s the smart thing to do. Not because Dave told me to do it. Dave can get pissed (and will, if the blue cooler sitting idle on the shore is anything to go by.) I come up for air and see the violet board floating jauntily away. I’m there in two long strokes, much to the disappointment of my surfing mate. Tosser. We’ve been at it for the majority of the day, and even though my skin is pruning and the waves are getting restless all I feel is bliss. This, right here, is the life. After another tumble on my part and one of Dave’s too (which I doubt I’ll ever shut up about, you should have seen the way his arms windmilled before he fell in. Serves him right) we emerge from the water. I’ll never admit it, but every time I walk away from the waves I imagine I’m in a music video for “Take It Back”. Terrible habit, especially considering the Buffet-love is Dave’s doing. That and it always subconsciously makes me walk slower. Liv always makes fun of me for that, which I assume is what she’s going to do today as well. “Hurry up o’er here before ya get pulled back in, ya Yankee!” What did I say, huh? I’m not even Ameri- nevermind, then. Liv is my favourite person, period. Long hazel hair perpetually sunkissed, light freckles, and dancing eyes. Biggest Aussie I’ve ever met. When I first met her, that brilliant March morning, she came right up and shook my hand so hard I thought my bones would pop and spoke with the thickest accent I’d ever heard. She listens to Rolf Harris, says things like “no wucka’s”, calls Cairns “way out in the woop woop”, and once wrestled an alligator. When she told me that she owned a kangaroo, I whole-heartedly believed her. Hey now, you would too.

She was the only good thing about that day, I know that now. She had been in Canada to visit her cousin Al and had been booked for a flight that left two days before. Maybe Montreal wanted to send me one last parting gift to make up for the crap hand it had dealt me because her flight ended up getting delayed. “Freak storm” is what they told her, I believe. That's how she ended up taking the same plane as me, and when we got off at the airport she stumbled upon me at my absolute lowest: eyes red-rimmed and nose leaking like a faucet, seeking out my luggage on the belt with the same feverish energy that a mother might look for her lost kid in a Walmart. I might as well have had “Hapless And Hopeless” tattooed onto my forehead in papyrus. That, or “Just Got Fired From A Job That Brought Me Stress And Not Much Else And Then Realized That I Wasn’t Truly In Love With My Boyfriend, So It Was Almost A Relief When He Told Me That He’d Been Banging My Sister For Weeks, But Also Not Really.” Both work, I’d say. Now’s not the time to dwell. Life goes on, you either walk with it or get trampled as it rolls on by. She reached out for me then, and she does the same now as she hands me a towel. I can’t help it; I decide to test out a phrase I heard from Dave’s brother last week (still can’t tell what’s an actual Aussie-saying and when Matt’s just yanking my chain). “Liv, what’s the John Dory?” It’s tense for a moment, Liv narrowing her eyes, me sweating from exertion and fear-of-having-just-said-something-terribly-offensive, Dave stumbling outta the water. Then her face breaks out into its natural grin as she says “not too much mate, just hopin’ to bum a stubby off this yobbo’s cooler before the piss up tonight. Oi, you’re comin’ to that?” Dave looks offended and sputters at the comment and I feel euphoric.

I wrap the towel closer ‘round my bathers and start walking with them back to town. Hours later, I find myself standing in almost the same spot, peering over Matt’s shoulder into the grill. It takes everything, and I mean everything in me to not comment on the fact that he is, quite literally, throwing shrimp on the barbie… I can’t do it, I really can’t. I open my mouth and find a grill fork haphazardly stabbing the air right in front of my shoulder. Even in his slightly frilly peach apron Matt still looks menacing as all hell when he mutters “put a sock in it.” I heed his advice and make my way towards the water. It’s a brilliant party (or “piss up” as seemingly only Liv says): everyone is right drunk and a bout of karaoke has already begun on the edge of the surf (no one has a karaoke machine, by the way, so it’s more drunkards swaying and humming than authentic Japanese interactive entertainment. Same difference at parties like these.) I’ve had a load of prawn and am on my third coldie when Matt and Liv amble over. “So, how long’s it been now?” I don’t need context to answer his question. “Two years, seven months, three days.” They ask the question about once every two months, so as much as I try to not keep count of the time they’re on it. Liv whistles and Matt pats my back affectionately. “Long time to be down under, I reckon.” He’s right, it’s certainly not a small amount of time, especially when I’m so far away from… Well… Home? I look to my left in time to watch Liv pop a shrimp into her mouth with one hand and uncap a bottle of brew with the other. To my right Matt is looking slightly perturbed by the action, his hand still draped on my shoulder. I don’t need to look behind me to know what’s happening: Sienna and Arie and their kids are making sandcastles, Leo from the dealership in town and Matilda from the surf shop are fiddling with the grill and pretending that they haven't been crazily in love with each other since they were teens, a drongo is undoubtedly trying to get a group together to surf the now-black waves, and Dave is trying to start a sing-a-long of “Mañana” (to no avail).

It’s been two years, seven months, and three days since I landed in Australia. It was going to be a two-week vacation, a time to relax and get my life back on track. Get away from endless work, my cheating ex and lying sister, the push and shove pace of the city. Find a spot in the world that my emptiness hadn’t touched. I met Liv on that first day, Matt and Dave on the third, and everyone else in the weeks that followed. I got a job down at Leo’s on my fifteenth day, started my first novel only a week after that. Couch surfed for a few weeks ‘til I made some cash, then moved into a little place with walls I’m repainting in patterns that rival the Cairns’ clouds and a patio out front that lights up at night from the moon beams cast down on it. I cancelled my flight back on my eighth day, and in two years, seven months, and three days I have yet to look back.

I smile. “Not too long.” Matt’s palm gives my shoulder a quick squeeze before lowering to the sand, and Liv dives into another tale about her time in the Bush. Laughter flows all around as we sit under the night’s blanket of stars. This is the life.


I see her as soon as I open the restaurant door, waiting politely in the queue for the hostess. “Linda!” I say warmly, and we share a heartfelt if a bit awkward hug. I extend my arms and we stretch back without letting go to take a look at each other. “You look great!” I exclaim at the exact same moment as she says “I love your hair!” and we laugh as we pull each other back into the hug. Linda’s shape hasn’t changed over the years, beautifully rounded. She had confided it made her feel self-conscious back in the 1980’s but it has always absolutely perfectly suited her larger-than-life personality. Now, her shape is basically what is expected at our age and my own form has conformed more than I liked to admit. “How are you?” I ask with a roll of my head and a wry smile. Where would we even begin to catch up after all this time? “I’m good” she assures me with a little helpless shrug as we follow the hostess to our table. I remember so many times we’d met for dinner after work, one or the other of us always late, always rushing but making time to see each other even when we lived 30 miles apart. Now we live thousands of miles apart and were lucky to be able to arrange this lunch. Never one to ignore the elephant in the room, she blurted right out with “I’m so glad you responded to my post. I am so sorry we never got together after Jim died and before I moved away”. “I know”, I replied, “there was so much going on and..” I trailed off, not sure how to end that. I knew that she never really liked Jim, he was so much older and she thought he was “slimy”. Years before she had broken the cardinal rule of not criticizing your best friend’s partners even when they are, because they will inevitably get back together and you can’t take back those words. I remember the phone call from her, when my sister and I were driving back from the funeral parlor. “Not right now” I had told her, “please call again”, but she hadn’t. “How’s Jack?” I ask, thinking of the room he had occupied in their old house, with the unmade single bed and how she’d told me he sometimes snuck into their big bed, acting silently and leaving again when they’d finished. She accepted that arrangement and I was not one to judge, not having been married longer than 10 years or having had any children. “Good, she said, we’re happy”. I grinned and asked “Is he raising goats yet?”. Years before, I had stayed at Linda and Jack’s house while I had multi-day meetings on the Peninsula and since I wasn’t a full member of the Academy my travel wasn’t paid. We had such a good time that we started planning our future aging in a communal house, where Jack would raise goats and we would grow our vegetables.

Linda glanced at me quizzically, and I said quickly “Just something he said years ago”, realizing she didn’t remember that. That hurt a little, since I remembered those couple of days very fondly.

It’s funny how something that is so memorable to one friend will not even be recallable to the other, but I had experienced that so many times I let it drop, navigating to safe territory by asking “Keeping busy with the grandkids?” She relaxed a bit with that, a huge smile showing that same adoration I seem to see on all my friends who are deeply interwoven with their grandchildren’s lives. Honestly, Linda was always meant to be a grandmother, even when she was an absolute technical legend in the microprocessor industry. Not only her grandmotherly shape, but her cooking and crafting and decorating seemed ready-made to step right into her 60s. I tell her “I bet you’re the perfect Grandma”, and she smiles, acknowledging. “It’s so great to be able to spoil them. I never felt I could with my own kids, I guess I was probably too tough on them”. “No way!” I say. “You’ve been a great mother to them”. I remember babysitting one time when she and Jack had wanted to attend their big company holiday party. When I got there, her 5 year old daughter was in the bathtub, and Linda had said goodbye to her then, leaving me with a naked little girl who was trying not to cry. I also remembered how she told me she wasn’t sure she even wanted a son who didn’t want to go to college, but I don’t bring that up.

We update each other on what we know of mutual friends from long ago, illnesses, and former lovers. We discuss how we handled our parents’ estates and assure ourselves that our own estates will be easier for whoever is stuck doing that for us. I tell her about my life now, the plant nursery and the last few jobs I had before I retired.

“Sometimes I think about all we endured as early women in technological roles and I wonder if things have gone backwards”, I offer. “I know!”, she agrees. “But then again, the things we’ve seen and endured would never happen as blatantly as they did then.” “Like someone hiring all the beautiful young college hires like that IT department manager did? It was like girlfriend tryouts for him.” “Or some disgusting older man bringing unwanted romantic valentines to a married woman with a sexual innuendo, year after year?” “How is it”, she asks, “marrying again? How much do you tell him about your other husband?” “Ah”, I reflect, “Not as much as I’ve told you!”

She laughs with a wicked grin. “OK so not about that afternoon with the colleague and the other woman then?” “No. I mean I could, but I don’t want to give him ideas. I didn’t like it all that much.” She laughs in agreement. “Yeah, I haven’t told Jack about that time with Stan, either”. I pause. “I honestly think he’d understand, but at the same time it’s not only your story so it may not be fair to Stan or his widow”. It’s always striking to me how I can share so many intimate details back and forth with someone for so many years, and then be completely out of touch for so long. It seems strange, yes, but it’s become a common thing with me. When I have a friend that I see frequently, we share everything, and when that changes due to circumstances, we just, well, stop until we are in person again. Most of the time it’s easy to pick back up when we do see each other again, but not always. Today with Linda, we jump right back into that intimacy, but what was it about that time that made it so easy to confide? How can this one lunch bridge 20 years when I haven’t had this kind of conversation with any of my newer friends? I say “I wish we could keep in better touch”, and she gives me a kind smile. “Me too”.

“Remember how we’d talk for so long on our work phones, office doors closed but still working, running test cases or code integration or whatever, but just staying on the phone?” “I do! We just had so much to figure out, mostly about men as I recall” “True! We couldn’t have those conversations anywhere else.”

She tells me “When I think about it, I don’t know how we ever survived all that.” “Right! I would never want to go back to being that age, would you?” “Oh, God no, can you imagine?” “No more than I could imagine being this age back then, I guess. I’m glad we’re friends, Linda, it was all a lot more bearable with you to talk to.” We part with another hug, saying we’ll keep in touch and that we’ll be hoping for another in-person opportunity soon. “Ask Jack if he remembers about the goats”, I say.


That’s the thing about this city, it comes to life at night. Lights and vibrant colors dominate the city filled with tourists spending every minute with smiles and office workers drinking the stress of the day. But as daytime break the cheerfulness dulls, replace with rush hour and glum faces of people stuck in traffic and workers who were tired of doing jobs they never dream of doing. Many are stuck with it. Every person is busy to care that one person among them doesn’t belong to the crowd. A girl with pearly white skin, splash pink hair, and steel-gray eyes. She wore a black crop top, a black short skirt, and barefoot. Those alone should have attracted attention but they failed to notice her despite standing in the middle of scorching Philippine sunlight. Failed to see there’s no trace of shadow beneath her feet, or that she stood few centimeters above the ground. She also glides instead of walk. She smirked as she peered at the phone of a high school girl. The girl made a deal to meet after school with her secret boyfriend. “Be careful not to get caught. Maybe I should tattle on you? Follow you home and tell your mom?” she said with a wicked laugh, but the high school girl tucked away her phone and cross the street, weaving herself between the honking cars. She shrugged and glides to another person to spy. No one would care, no one sees her. She can invade anyone’s privacy and they would never find out because she’s invisible to the human eye, she who guides spirits of those who killed themselves instead of fighting to live. She can do whatever she wants without anyone caring, she had done so for millennia. She existed long before the first car, witness wars, celebrated with humans as Armstrong left the first human footprint on the moon. Watch television get bigger and thinner, phone screen get bigger and powerful. She saw it all, except, they never saw her. Her shoulder dropped a bit before she looked up to a building across the street and sigh. The sight of a crying man at the roof, tentatively stepping to the edge annoyed her. “Jump already,” she mumbled and snapped her finger. A parchment appeared in front of her and the picture of the man on the rooftop was on the paper, below was his name, Eduardo. Age, forty-six. His work, lawyer. Cause of Death, suicide. Reasons, losing the will to live after his family got murdered after refusing a bribe. Time of death, one-thirty in the afternoon. She looked back at the clock of carinderia behind her. Seven minutes before Eduardo’s death. She lowered her eyes and froze at the sight of the young man, not older than nineteen standing behind the display of cooked food. His coffee-brown eyes looked straight at her. “You can see me?” she asked passing through the small seating area, but before she can glide beside him, his suntanned skin paled and he passed out. “ Ay diyos ko po !” His female coworker shouted. “ Manang , Danilo collapse! Manang, your son!” The coworker sat beside him and shook his shoulder and put a finger over his nose. “Danilo, wake up! Manang, he’s not breathing!” A chubby woman in her forties rushed out from the back of the carinderia and join Danilo’s coworker. The mother looked as if she’s about to hyperventilate as she kept calling her son’s name and told his coworker to call a taxi. “Let’s bring him to the hospital.” She pressed a finger on her forehead. “Filipinos are too dramatic.” She hovered over them and frown at Danilo's soul rising soul slowly rising out of his body. She grabbed her parchment and used it to slap the soul back to its shell. “It’s not your time to die. Wake up, I need you physically conscious to know if you really can see me.” Danilo opened his eyes and gasped for air. His mother crushed him into a hug. “ Hijo! Please don’t scare me like that!” She opened her mouth to get Danilo’s attention. She wanted to know, needed to know if he can hear and see her, but the screams across the street made her turn. The parchment still floating beside her now blinking with words that say, the soul ready for collecting. She looked back at Danilo. He got back on his feet, glance around, and like everyone's gaze across the street. There was no sign of him seeing her. Danilo would react another way if he can indeed see her, but his unseeing eyes passed her and the parchment. She glided out of their carinderia and levitated above everyone. A bitter smile appeared on her lips as she floated over the traffic and stunned faces of the people around. Ever since she got this job, not a single person hear or see her, how could she expect a man from a modern time to notice her? She shook her head. What the hell did you expect? She mocked. She approached Eduardo’s spirit, looking lost as he wanders out of the crowd forming around his lifeless body. “Eduardo, I need you to come with me.” He looked at her, at her feet floating from the ground. “Are you the angel who will bring me to heaven?” She laughed. “Oh, I’m not.” “Are you the devil then? Did God deemed me unworthy to be in heaven with my family?” She grunt. “Look, you’re not going to heaven or hell. If you hadn’t kill yourself you might have gone to heaven, but since you did, you’re leaving with me.” Eduardo’s face fall. “Where are you taking me?” “We will go to a place where you’ll face a different judgment. Where you go next all depends on what kind soul you are, if you learned something in this life or needed to reincarnate to a similar life.” “Is it possible for me to request to be with my family?” Occasionally there is a soul who refused to go with her and she needs to resort to force and violence to make them, but souls like these are hard in their way. He wasn’t refusing but isn’t willing either. A headache to deal with. “Probably,” she replied. A lie. Souls from suicide are usually put through a painful trial, one of the mildest was getting reborn onto similar fate over and over until they live through the hardship and died a natural death, or by accident as long as they didn’t end their own life. The hardest place is close to hell, where the soul experiences joy and then is thrown into a wave of unspeakable despair. And there’s her, not dead nor alive. She looked at Eduardo. “If you don’t come with me, who knows what other beings might come for you,” she said and after a few more words, she sighed with relief when Eduardo took her hand and let her guide him away. *** Danilo stared up to the sky where the woman with splash pink hair and gray eyes flew with some foggy thing hanging in her hand. Ever since she appeared early in the morning when he opened the carinderia, he can’t help noticing her. The hair and the eyes were part of it, but she also got a supernatural vibe about her. Her eyes were cool and dull as she looked back and forth, then there are her feet as she moved inside people’s personal space. Her bare feet weren’t touching the ground, she doesn’t have a shadow and a strange piece of paper appeared at the snapped of her finger. He wanted to scream in fear at first, but then he heard her talk to everyone, but everyone ignores her, and each time they go she looked dejected. He pitied her, but the feeling only lasted for a few minutes. Only lasted until she turned to look at the clock and caught him looking at her. He covered his face and let out a laugh. He fainted. He can’t believe passing out from seeing her glide toward him. “Danilo, this is not a laughing matter!” his mother scolded. It’s dark outside now and his mother has been talking about the suicide all day. He can almost write about the dead’s lawyer story with his eyes close. “As pitiful as that man was, our business will suffer for sure. People will not eat in a place close to where someone killed themselves.” He rubbed his mother’s shoulder. “ ‘Nay , relax. If you don’t, your beautiful fat will attack your heart, and I’ll be an orphan.” She reached for his side and twist her fingers in a tight pinched, he yelped. “I’m strong as a horse, I won’t be dying soon.” Danilo laughed. “That’s good,” then seriously said, “The moment the news gets old, everyone will forget. You’ll see.” “ Sana nga, ” his mother wistfully said. *** After delivering Eduardo’s soul, she returned to the street where his body the drop. They cleaned the area. Her eyes traveled across to the street toward Danilo’s carinderia. The cooked meals were gone, the seating area tucked away to the side. She found him right away pulling a metal grille of the carinderia . She tilted her head, unable to understand why she felt so strongly about him, but instead of thinking so much about it, she floated up and stood beside him. She waited until Danilo pulled the key from the lock and say, “Hi,” Her heart raced as he turns to her and smiled. “Hello,” he said. “You can see me?” “Yes,” She glides backward, “How?” “I don’t know,” he dropped the keys to his shorts pocket, “I just did the moment I saw you when I opened the carinderia earlier.” She looked down, trying to think of what to say, for millennia she dreamed of speaking to someone, really speaking, and not only communicate with souls she needed to convince to follow her. A living person who will talk to her and make her feel noticed. Now, there’s one standing in front of her and all she could do is choke at her tears. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Danilo asked, the panicked on his face as he grabbed her and dried her tears with his hand made her cry even more. “It’s been so long since someone touches me!” His hand stopped moving. “What?” And you think Filipino are overdramatic , said a sarcastic voice inside her but she kept wailing while Danilo took her hand and walk. *** Not that he usually pulled a girl to follow him, but that night, Danilo can’t help but smile as the people looked at him like some lunatic. Seeing someone with the hand in the back like they’ll pulling something when they see nothing is the perfect recipe of being mistaken as someone with a loose screw. If only they could see and hear the girl floating behind him, everyone will run screaming. He should be scared too. He knows nothing about her, but he can’t bring feel any fear. Even when he collapse earlier, it wasn’t fear, but overwhelming surprise, and a strong sense of being pulled out of himself which caused him to lose consciousness. Her command, however, made him felt as if his soul was tossed back to his body. He pretended not to see her, thinking maybe she was a product of his imagination, but after touching her, he knows, she isn’t. He can’t even think of leaving her after seeing her cry of happiness simply because he can see and speak to her. “Here,” he said offering her a cold drink from the vending machine near the park where he brought her and let her cry it out. No one cares. No one hears other than him. She shook her head. “I’m not human, not anymore anyway, I don’t need human food or drink to stay alive.” “Okay.” He opened the lid and sat beside her on the bench. He looked at her small feet, clean feet. “Don’t you wear shoes?” “Don’t need it.” She floated up, crossed her legs, and softly land beside him. He whistled and she blushed. “What are you now?” “I’m not sure.” “Okay. You said not anymore, that means you use to be a human. How did you die?” No answer. “Where do you live?” Silent. He changed the question. “How old are you?” “A millennia.” He spat his drink. “What!” He coughs and dried his mouth. Chug down the rest of his drink. She turned to him with all seriousness. “I’m more than a thousand years old.” “You don’t look much older than me, younger even. Eighteen? Seventeen?” She sigh. “I’m one-thousand-one-hundred-twenty-seven years old. Satisfied?” No. Danilo thought but decided to give it a rest. “I’m Danilo.” “I know. I heard them call you.” “Right. Your name is?” “I can’t remember.” “Are you serious?” She nodded, her face blank. A short time later she took a deep breath and told him everything. The painful tale of a past she can’t remember, not even her name, only that she committed suicide and her punishment was waiting for the souls of those who committed suicide. Knowing most of them are victims of injustice and she can’t do anything but watch them die, and some even suffered a bit more before dying. “Today is the first day, I felt free, and tonight, I strangely feel content,” she said with a smile. A sweet and soft smile but dim and lonely like the moonlight shining on her, it created a halo at the edges of her hair. “If somehow this is just a dream, I’m happy to remember that once I was not invisible.” Danilo felt his heart ached, it’s as if she will fade away the moment the clouds shaded the moonlight. He reached out as she slowly levitates from the bench. “Tala,” he called. “What did you call me?” He anchored her down and caressed her cheek, “Tala, the goddess of the stars. That name suits you, and I’ll always see you, I can see you, Tala.” Thump. “Ow!” she cried. The people in the park turn before moving on. She was too busy rubbing her butt and stretching up to notice, but Danilo saw it. They turn. The people turn. “Strange, I can’t float. Something’s wrong I can’t summon—” She paused and no matter how many times Danilo called out she remained silent and then tears flooded her eyes. “Tala!” “I remember now.” Danilo let go of her shoulders. “Your name? She shook her head. “My past. I murdered them. I murdered my father, my stepmother, and my half-siblings. I killed them all in their sleep and tried to kill myself. But I was saved and given this punishment. My first task was to watch my mother get abuse and killed without knowing who she was, not even remembering as her soul beg me to go with her.” Dread spread through Danilo, not because of the crime she did, but for her. She lived so long and suffered without remembering, but that in itself is mercy. “Everything will be fine. You must have a reason for doing it, and you’re regretting it now.” *** She turned to Danilo in horror. “You don’t understand, I receive this punishment for my crime, for my jealousy and cowardness. And now, they’re lifting it off me and leaving me here as a human. No friends, no family, no one who cares. That name doesn’t suit me.” But she also refused to be called in her old name. Danilo cupped her cheek. “Tala, you have me, I care, I’ll be your friend and family, okay?” His bright smile pushed the darkness away from her human heart. She nods and took his extended hand as he stood up. “Let’s go home.” Home, she loved the sound of it. I’ll do my best to be useful , she inwardly promised him. After walking fifty-meter, however, she felt like a burden. Danilo saw her winching from the pain at the sole of her feet, not use to walking again, and offered his back for a piggy ride. She loved his scent, his warmth, and she isn’t sure she will be able to love him other than a man. She leaned her mouth close to his ears. “I don’t want to be your family, I want to build a family with you someday.” She felt him tensed, then in a hoarse voice he replied, “Yeah, me too.” A small giggle escaped her lips. She pressed herself on his back, hugging him, eyes heavy from unpeaceful rest through the millennia. *** Danilo groaned at the indecent thoughts running through his head. He wrapped his arms tighter on Tala’s legs and continue his way back home, carrying the woman who journeys through many human generations and be with him. Danilo looked up at the moonlit sky and whispered a silent thanks. That’s the thing about this city, no one notices except those who take time to look a bit closer about the mysterious things happening every day.


Warning: some people die. The two nurses on night duty stood in the doorway of the children’s ward as still as snowmen, and just as cold. The older one was taller, thin as a rail, and stooped in the shoulders from a lifetime of bending to the gossip of the other nurses in St. Nivelles Memorial, the other was a plump young brunette with a dimpled face more suited to giggling than fretting. With mouth barely moving, the young nurse, Evangeline, whispered, “That one’s a goner. Sad…so young he is.” “Aye. The prime of his life. But Marley never lies.” Moonlight shone through the window and across the floor of the sixteen-bed ward. The two beds by the window, like most in the large room, were occupied, but in the one to the right of the window, a black cat sat upon the chest of the patient like a fat black spider. Its paws were curled under its chest, its tail around its haunches, the tip waving rhythmically like a larghissimo metronome. Evangeline ‘tsked’ and the cat’s ears twitched. Maggie pulled the shorter woman back out of sight. She said, “I’ll alert Mr. Peeves when he comes in. Come now Ev, let’s finish our rounds an have us a cuppa tea.” Mr. Peeves was the head orderly. A large, grizzled man lumpy with muscles in odd places and a rubbery scowling face topped with a fat grey unibrow. At the first grey light of dawn, Nurse Maggie accompanied Peeves and his assistant to the poor boy’s bed. In the doorway Peeves halted, his assistant, whom he called Smiley, bumped into his backside. Maggie said, “Oh for heaven’s sake. It’s just a cat. He’s not even here. You know he leaves when the last breath is expelled.” Peeves muttered, “You mean stolen.” Maggie shook her head and rolled her eyes. Smiley snickered. Peeves whacked Smiley on his vast forehead with the heel of his hand, but Smiley kept on with his idiot’s grin, a slick of saliva glistened on his protruding lower lip. Peeves growled. “Shaddap. That thing’s not just a cat. Mayhap not a cat at all. Steals the breath he does. It’sa spawn of something from hell, it is. Mayhap Lucifer himself.” Maggie said, “Oh Mr. Peeves…granted Marley is a tad bit unusual. But if he’s anything other-worldly, he’s an angel. An angel of death that gives comfort in one’s last moments on this earth.” Peeves shuddered and cautiously stepped into the room. “Pah!” He squatted low to look under the beds, his knees cracked like pistol shots in the quiet, early dawn stillness. The squealing behind him made him jump and curse under his breath. It was Smiley wheeling in the gurney; Smiley giggled, and Peeves turned on him. ‘whack ,’ another blow to his head. “I tole you. Shaddap. And grease them wheels for Godsake.” As the odd pair wheeled the gurney down the hallway towards the back entrance of St. Nivelles, Maggie greeted the day shift nurses as they came on duty. The pretty blond said, “We erd the cat did its job again last night.” “Yes Francis, Marley attended the young lad with the lung sickness early this morning. The poor lad sounded like he was drowning…and oh, all the blood he was coughing up. All night he went on. When he quieted a little after one, Ev went an checked on him. Marley was with him.” “Ahhhhh,” both day nurses exclaimed in unison. “Yes, the cat comforted him to be sure. The young mister had a smile on his face.” Later that evening, Maggie headed to the C Ward which consisted of four private rooms in a short hall. The C Ward was called ‘The Silk’ for often its temporary residents wore fancy bed clothing of rich fabrics. She was surprised to hear Peeves’ gravelly voice from the doorway so stopped and peeked in.

The large man sat at the edge of the bed nodding to the middle-aged man in it. Maggie could decipher no words, but the low voices made icy fingers tinkle down the piano keys of her spine. Peeves was not one with bedside manner, she herself found him repulsive and smarmy. She grew irritated with herself for halting in her duties, shook her head, and entered the room, “Ahem,” she said, clearing her throat. Peeves turned around and stood. His cold eyes under the fat grizzly brow threw sparks of malice as his lips widened into a grin. His few remaining teeth stood like mildew blackened tombstones in a long-forgotten graveyard. She shuddered and said, “Mr. Peeves, be on your way, there are two beds in Ward A that require attention.” “Ma’am,” he said with a nod and a smirk. He picked up the empty mug from the small bedside table and departed. A tall, grey, beaver-felt top hat sat on the table. It had a maroon velvet hatband; it was the hat of a well to do gentleman. “I hope he wasn’t too offensive,” she said to the gentleman in the bed. Mr. Burton turned his rather handsome face in her direction and said sleepily, “No…fine…tea…” Maggie frowned and held Mr. Burton’s wrist to check his pulse. It was slow and regular, but she was concerned about the fogginess that the man exhibited. He was to be released the next morning- had received a clean bill of health from the doctor earlier that evening. “Hm. Well, you get some sleep. Big day tomorrow, you’re going home.” “Hmmmm.” He snugged down lower in his quilt and drifted off. At dawn, Maggie greeted the nurses coming on duty as well as the doctor. Dr. Weatherby was a stout man in his mid-fifties with beady black bespectacled eyes and a fringe of shoulder length white hair that hung from his bald pate like a privacy curtain around a bed. He had inherited the hospital, the cemetery behind it, and the admirable home located behind the wrought iron fence that surrounded all three. Maggie said, “You’re up and at it early today Dr. Weatherby.” “Nurse Maggie. Uh…yes. We are admitting a new patient to the D Ward this morning. An elderly woman.” It was Dr. Weatherby’s duty to be present when new arrivals came in. Over the years he had grown lax in that duty, barely concealing an apathetic attitude towards the impoverished, a characteristic Maggie found appalling in a doctor. He was adamant of the duty when it concerned newcomers to the C Ward and also the D, which consisted of four rooms with two beds each. The D Ward was known as ‘the Golden Hall’ as it catered to those in their golden years. It was there that Marley was found most often. Maggie said, “Nothing too serious I hope.” “Stomach pains, some vertigo…one never knows at this point.” “Well, I shall meet this new patient this evening upon my return to duty.” “Yes. Go on home now, you look dreadfully tired.” Maggie cringed at the doctor’s tactlessness. He was this way with all the patients…except the C and D Wards; she supposed it was why she was extra kind to them all. She could put herself in other’s shoes and being ill was no fun at all. Later that evening Maggie headed back to the hospital for her night shift. She rented a room in a small house on the other side of town two miles from the hospital. To lesson her walk time by ten minutes, she cut through the alley alongside the doctor’s house and then walked through the graveyard. She knew her way through the dark graveyard well but carried a small lantern anyways, lest a fresh grave pop up in her path. She was walking briskly through the alley when the sound of men’s voices made her stop halfway. When she recognized them, she put out the light and crept to end of the alley where she could hear the men but not see them. Peeves raised his voice, “It’s me neck on th’ line, doctor . I wan me fair compence!” Dr. Weatherby said, “I hired you when no one else would. We had an agreement, and I shan’t back down, sir.” “Ahhhg!” Peeves horked up what sounded like an oyster and spat wetly. “We’ll see bout that den.” Mr. Peeves clumped down the back stairs as the door closed and the light through the window by it went out. The vile man was wearing a tall grey top hat. Alarm bells rang in Maggie’s head like the town was on fire. She decided to take the long way around. The last thing she wanted was to come upon Peeves in the graveyard alone. At the hospital, Francis ran to her quite upset. Maggie said, “Mr. Burton…?” “Yes. I found Marley with im two hours ago. I don understand…he was recovered was he not?” “Yes. He was. Where is Mr. Peeves?” “Ah…last I saw, he were in The Silk, makin up poor Mr. Burton’s room I spect.” “Thanks Fran.” Maggie bent to pet Marley who’d come up beside her silent as a shadow. “Good kitty.” She then headed to meet the new patient. On her way to the D Ward, Maggie peeked into the room in the C where Mr. Burton had passed. The bed was freshly made, the vase on the table empty of flowers. She continued on towards the softly lit room the new patient had all to herself. Peeves was there, standing by her bed, putting Mr. Burton’s white roses and pink begonias in the vase on the table by the window. The elderly woman clapped with delight and said, “How kind of you sir. And that doctor too. So kind.” Maggie grimaced. Peeves bowed and said, “It’s my pleasure Lady Maude. Oh. This ere’s Maggie, she’ll be carin ferya this evenin.” “Nurse Maggie,” Maggie corrected. Peeves left and Maude said, “What a nice gentleman. He has brought me warm milk and an extra pillow…I didn’t even ask for such things.” “Yes, quite a pip that one. How are you feeling Mrs. Hodges?” “Oh, just Maude please. My tummy hurts a bit but I’m no longer dizzy. I fell you know. Whacked my backside pretty good. The doctor says I had an allergic reaction to something I ate.” “Is that so? Well, I am happy it’s nothing serious. You’ll be out of here in no time.” Maude laughed. Amidst all her wrinkles she had sparkly blue eyes the color of a summer sky. Her teeth were pearly white and perfectly straight as expensive dentures ought to be. She had a few wisps of light auburn hair across the top of her thinning scalp. She said, “I’m not sure I want to leave so quickly.” Maggie understood. She was not the first lonely elderly person she’d met here. “You’ve no family here then?” She sat on the edge of the bed. “Alas, no. My dear Robert passed…oh…going on eight months now. Our one surviving son was awarded an Earldom down in Lanksmithy, don’tchoo know. It’ll be four days afore he can make it here. Though I expect that woman he’s with will have a frazzle at him going at all. She’s with child don’tchoo know. It’s just me and Bertraum- he’s getting on in years too now- and Miss Mary, she’s his grand-daughter.” “I see. Well, Lady Maude, perhaps I will come call on you some afternoon, I’ll bring lemoncakes.” Maude clapped her hands endearingly like a little girl. “Oh, I would so love that.” “I’ve got to be going,” Maggie said, rising. “I’ll check on you in an hour or so.” “Oh, Nurse Maggie?” “Yes?” “That little kitty, the black one…does it belong to Mr. Peeves?” “Why do you ask?” “Well, it seems to follow that man everywhere.” “Hm. Marley is his name and no. The cat belongs to no one, he is a free spirit.” Maggie picked up the ceramic mug on the night table and said, “This is cold now. I’ll go warm it for you.” “But---” “I insist.” Before Maude could protest any further, she whisked out of the room. In the apothecary, Maggie smelled the milk. Peeves had added vanilla…and almond extract? She dumped the milk into a wastebucket and heated a fresh one, adding vanilla but finding no almond. She was perceiving Mr. Peeves’ odd behavior had gone from disarming to quite disturbing. She found Evangeline in the children’s ward and said, “Please take this to Lady Maude and sit by her side this morning.” “Yes ma’am.” She took the mug and bustled off, her backside jiggling like fresh goat’s cheese in big round bags, and her shoes squeaking like mice on the tile floor. The children’s ward was nearly full, the common flu was going around, and the A Ward with its sixteen beds was always near full.

At five am Maggie was waiting for a young boy to finish with his bedpan. She looked towards the hallway to give him privacy and glimpsed Peeves skulking by. Maggie’s exhausted eyes perked open as she witnessed the small black cat-shaped shadow padding silently behind. “Com’on now Jimmy, pinch it off if ye must.” The boy grunted and Maggie took the bedpan and placed it on the dry sink hutch next to the door. She flew down the corridor and rounded the doorway to Maude’s room. She cried out in horror when she saw Marley laying on the old woman’s chest. Evangeline was fast asleep in the chair by the bed. She shook her and became afraid she, too was a goner. She slapped Ev across the face hard, the red welt sprang up against her pale skin, even in the low light of the lantern, it was quite a contrast. Ev’s eyes fluttered open. “Oh, thank god!” “Wh-wh-oh my.” Ev clutched at her brow. “I don’t feel so…” then she screamed when she saw the cat upon the old woman’s chest. The two nurses held each other until the cat departed. Maggie said, “Fetch the orderlies.” She then went back to the apothecary and discovered the wastebucket had been emptied. “Curses! I am so stupid!” She heard the gurney squeaking by in the hallway . ‘Good ole obedient Smiley,’ she thought.

In the alley alongside the doctor’s house, Maggie crouched and waited. As the sky lightened by dismal degrees, at last she detected the orderlies guiding a gurney over the combed dirt path towards a mound of dark earth she hadn’t detected in the dark. It no doubt had a six-foot deep, rectangular pit afront it. Dr. Weatherby came out from his darkened porch wrapped in a maroon and chocolate paisley robe lined with soft tan fur. The two men with the body halted at the grave. Smiley took off the way they’d come. The doctor passed a small item to Peeves.

Peeves said, “Thankee sir, and now we are done.” “Wh-wh-what the blue blazes man?! You’re far from done here!” “I’ve got me a mansion to attend to.” He held up the small item, in the strengthening light Maggie saw it was a key. The doctor tried to snatch it back, but Peeves pocketed it quickly. “Fill that grave!” Dr. Weatherby demanded and pointed to the grave, the body, and then stopped to get control of his temper. Maggie saw from her perspective the doctor drawing a pistol from the sash behind him. Before the doctor could fire, Peeves blew his head off with his own pistol, one he’d concealed alongside the body on the gurney. A doctor was no match for a career thug. The doctor’s headless body crumpled. Peeves laughed and turned towards the path that led back to the hospital.

Maggie crept out of the alley and ran into the graveyard. She quickly took in the scene: sheet covered body on a narrow table with wheels, an open grave containing an empty pine box, the lid lying against the mound of fresh dirt, and another body headless and heaped. She hefted the doctor’s fallen pistol and ran after Peeves. The evil man raced along the moonlit path through the cemetery, but he halted and shrieked, the sound comically high-pitched like a girl’s. Maggie saw a cat-shaped shadow in the path in front of him.

Before he could shoot the cat, Maggie cried out, “No!” Peeves whirled around. Maggie could not conceal herself any longer in the dark, dawn had come full on to display the graveyard scene in stark reality. He fired at Maggie. She felt a fiery, acidy burning in her upper arm. She screamed and threw herself to the ground, knowing she had to use her brain to defeat one such as him. As he crept closer, she remained still. As he peered over her, she held her breath. As Peeves knelt to brain her with his empty gun, she raised the pistol in her hand. He saw and dealt her a blow across her face. Maggie’s gun went off. When she sat up, she saw the awful man slumped in a heap next to her, his meaty arm across her thighs. Maggie wasted no time. She dragged the man who was twice her size down the path back to the grave. She dumped his body into the pine box in it and dragged the lid over.

It was full daylight by the time she finished. Her mind was racing. She needed to contact the sheriff and show him the graveyard and care for Lady Maude and…and…she collapsed to the ground, overwhelmed. As she sat in the dirt path and cried, Marley came out from the shadows between the gravestones and sat upon the fresh dirt of the grave. “Oh my. Seems he was indeed alive.”


Lachlan and Nye knew very well a haunting’s success lied in the delicate relationship between the haunted and the haunters, just like the food chain relied on the eternal dance between the prey and the predator. A falcon dies without a mouse to feed on, and so do the disincarnate. The two spirits had haunted Quaver House for decades, and they had learned to successfully prey on the manor’s buyers, feeding on their fears to the point where they ran away with broken souls that could never be mended. Three had been pushed to murder; four had been driven to suicide. The two brothers had died during a burglary in the eighties. As they broke into the house in search of valuable jewels to sell on the black market, Quaver’s homeowner promptly shot them down with his gun, and the ghosts sought revenge relentlessly, tormenting him until he turned the gun against himself many months later. His family fled, and the cycle of arrivals and departures thus began. It took a handful of tries before they truly mastered the recipe. The first two buyers that succeeded the original Quaver homeowners were elderly couples. In both instances, Lachlan and Nye were too quick to act. They unleashed the terror of shaking walls and ghostly appearances on the first night, and the couples died of heart attacks on the spot. Sudden deaths are rather peaceful and unsatisfying to a ghost, and these failed to feed their hunger for fright and dread. Subsequent hauntings were more on point. The duo lured new generations of homeowners into a false sense of safety in their first weeks and haunted them incrementally. For months of emotional torture, they both reveled in a feast of horror, tasting their victims’ succulent despair with a killer’s taste for blood. Shadowy reflections in mirrors. Bone-chilling voices whispering in the night. Scratches mysteriously appearing on the walls. What ultimately befell them was the plight that befalls all ghosts at one point or another. After a string of suspicious deaths and poor success on the real estate market, Quaver House was officially rumoured to be haunted, and not a soul dared to venture within its walls. The dry spell was difficult for the partners in crime. Without fright to feed on, ghosts starve and disappear. Their existence was threatened. Night after night, they hovered by the chandelier in the manor’s ballroom, waiting for a poor unsuspecting soul to pay them a visit, but a soul never came. Until that fateful October night, that is. They heard the sound of broken glass. Someone had shattered a window downstairs. This instantly triggered the spirits’ hunger. “It’s time,” whispered Lachlan to his brother. “It’s probably a burglar,” replied Nye. “What are we supposed to do? We can’t lead him on for weeks.” “It shall be a quick meal then. Sometimes, you have no choice but to keep it short.” Lachlan sat down at the ballroom piano and played an eerie melody, hoping this would startle the intruder. Nothing. The brothers sensed no fear whatsoever in the house. They made their way downstairs, remaining invisible to humans, in search of their prey. The parlour window was indeed shattered, but there was no trace of the man. “What if he left already?” wondered Nye. “No. Something’s not right. Someone is still here. Somewhere.” “Whoever it is, he’ll be out quicker than it takes for either of us to get any satisfaction.” “Nonsense! This might be the only chance we have to feed for another decade. We’re not passing on it. Let’s split.” The brothers searched the instinct that belonged to them while human. It was now buried deep inside of them, but it was still there. They had been burglars in their lifetimes, after all. A burglar’s first reflex is always to aim for the bedroom, where the valuables are. Lachlan searched the master bedroom, while Nye inspected both guest rooms. No one to be found. Lachlan made his way into the dining room. The silverware was still untouched. He felt an odd presence, as if someone had been there. The burglar must have passed by. Why was is none of the valuables had been taken then? Nye went for the lounge and the library. Again, no sign of life. Yet, he had this strange sensation of being observed as he meandered between rows of books. He knew this sensation very well, although he typically was not on the receiving side. The younger brother specialized in making the homeowners feel observed, preyed on, and he enjoyed watching unsuspecting victims glancing over their shoulders straight at him, unable to physically see his presence. All of a sudden, this sensation he typically thrived on was no longer enjoyable. The brothers reconvened in the parlour and were shocked to find the window intact. The glass shatters had vanished completely. “This can’t be,” said Lachlan. “The broken glass was right there.” “Was it? Maybe we’re just too desperate for someone to come. We see what we want to see.” “I sensed someone, he was right here, I’m sure of it!” “That’s what everyone says after seeing an oasis in a desert.” “It wasn’t like that, I—” His reflection was interrupted by a melody that felt all too familiar. Up in the ballroom, someone played piano. It was the very same piece Lachlan had played earlier. Slowly, both brothers made their way up the grand staircase again. The chandelier was lit, its amber glow refracting through the countless crystals hanging from its golden structure. At the grand piano sat a young girl with long raven hair, playing the keys perfectly in a bright pink evening gown. “That’s the burglar?” exclaimed Nye. “A little girl? She can’t be older than twelve.” “All the better,” replied Lachlan. “She’ll be easier to scare.” “Should we hide first?” “Hide? She can’t see us, you idiot.” “Yes I can,” replied the little girl. The ghosts stepped back as she turned towards them, her gaze intense and terrifying. “You’re…” began Lachlan. “Dead?” she concluded. “I am. Don’t be so surprised. You look like you’ve just seen a ghost for the first time. Have you never looked at yourself in the mirror?” “It’s impossible,” declared Nye. “You can’t haunt the house unless you died in it. We were the first ones to die here, and we’ve never seen you.” “You can’t haunt the house unless you died on the grounds,” she replied. “I was killed on the road by a drunk driver last year. The roots of the weeping willow on the front lawn extend beneath the road. Therefore, I died on the grounds.” She approached menacingly towards the brothers. “I had to wait, of course. You were too strong for me to act. But now you are weak. And this house is mine.” She opened her mouth, and the most dreadful of screams escaped from her throat. Blood flowed from her eyes, and her veins blackened at the surface of her skin. Lachlan and Nye cowered in weakness, unable to resist the banshee’s screech of fright. Their spirits fell to the ground, pulled into eternal damnation by the ghostly hands of the souls they had tortured over the decades, summoned by the eerie cry. The girl in the pink dress was now satisfied. Her hunger had been fed, and she got back to her piano for another melody. As they moved into an afterlife of pain, the brothers had learned a valuable lesson. A predator can prey all he wants, but there will always be another predator to prey on him.