Elyse Hardy couldn’t remember quite clearly the first time her mother had turned into the monster. After all, it had been happening long before she was born, and there were stories she had to hear second hand, from her much older siblings. Her siblings had described to her how she had been a tiny baby when her mother had turned into the monster while driving them to the store, and her siblings had jumped into action, pushing their mother to the side as she snarled and bit, and they managed to get the car to the side of the road, brother steering the car and sister pressing the brake. They had snatched Elyse from her car seat and whisked her out, where they all three stood sadly watching as their mother tore the inside of the car apart. Her fur standing on end, wiry like a porcupine’s, her snout wrinkled as her teeth bared, ripping apart the seats, mangling the steering wheel, and finally pawing at the windows, claws tapping frantically while the children backed up slowly.

Her sister Myra had also told Elyse about an incident when she had been a baby, and would not stop crying. Maybe she had been hungry, or needed love, who knows. But her nonstop crying had triggered the change and their mother had become the monster. Myra had seen their mother change, the feet elongating and snapping to bend the wrong direction, the wiry black and brown fur sprouting from every inch of her skin. Her eyes becoming beady and black, her normally small, thin nose turning into a long snout. The teeth growing and showing as she drew her lips back in a snarl. The monster had stalked towards the baby Elyse, who was crying and thrashing on the couch. How the monster had opened her jaws wide, about to bite down. Myra recounted how she had run to her baby sister in a panic, sweeping her into her arms before the jaws closed, and how she had run into her room and barred the door, holding Elyse tightly while the monster thrashed at the door.

There came a time when Elyse’s two siblings escaped for good. As soon as her brother was able to, he got accepted into college, and left home. Her sister escaped by moving in with friends. That left Elyse and her father, a quiet, timid man, when she was eleven years old.

The first memories Elyse had of her mother turning into the monster were from early on in childhood. She could remember being strapped to the back of her mother’s bike, and her turning into the monster mid-ride, feeling herself and the bike falling over to the side, feeling helpless as she sat strapped into the bike seat, knowing she was falling, feeling the ground come up and meet her.

She could remember once waking her mother up in the morning before school, terrified because she had not completed her math homework, and had no idea how to do it, and had no one to help her. She reached up and tentatively shook her mother’s shoulder, asking for help on the homework assignment. Her mother had immediately transformed, the bedclothes stretching over her as her body enlarged, claws growing out of her hands. She had whipped a claw into Elyse’s arm and dragged her onto the bed, snarling and snapping her teeth in her face. Hitting her with huge paws.

It felt like almost as soon as it had begun, the monster had retreated back inside her mother, and her mother had simply let her go, and rolled over to go back to sleep, as if nothing at all had occurred.

Elyse eventually grew up and was able to escape herself, finding a small apartment for herself, a job in a local factory. Life wasn’t good exactly, but it was something. She was away from the monster.

Then one day her mother texted her, saying that she had gotten into a fight with her father and she wanted to come stay with her. Elyse knew from experience that it was likely her mother who had instigated the fight, that she had probably morphed into the monster, maybe even hurt her father, and now was trying to run from the scene. Now her mother was asking to stay with her.

Elyse ignored the text and ignored her calls, hoping she would just give up and go terrorize someone else.

Then she saw out her window a familiar vehicle pull into her apartment parking lot. Her mother’s Expedition. Her mother parked the vehicle and sat inside. Elyse was crouched below the window, peeking out and hoping her mother hadn’t seen her.

The texts and calls continued.

Elyse stayed hidden until a knocking began on her door.

“Elyse? I know you’re in there, open up!” Bang bang bang bang. “You’re really going to ignore your own mother who is in need?!” BANG BANG BANG. Elyse could hear the change happening behind the door, and the banging turned into bashing. The doorknob shook. The walls rattled.

Elyse cowered in fear, fingers grabbing hold of the carpet beneath her. Then suddenly she felt something shift inside her. It felt like her heart was exploding in a fiery wave. Heat spread throughout her torso and arms. Skin turning into scales, a spiked tail growing out of her tailbone. She rose in height until she almost hit her spiked head on the ceiling. She looked down at her hands that had become dragon claws. She huffed a smoky breath and moved to wrench the door open.

Her mother stood before her, one-third of Elyse’s new height and size. She looked like a pitiful dog with mange to Elyse’s new, glowing orange eyes. Her mother snarled and bit at her legs, but Elyse hardly felt a thing. More like an annoying house fly than anything else.

She kicked a huge scaly leg and sent her mother flying down the hallway, whimpering. Elyse stomped over to where she lay, a pile of fur.

“Get away from here and don’t ever come back.” Elyse growled low in her throat and then shot a spray of fire just above her mother’s head, singeing tips of fur.

Her mother returned to human form long enough to stare up at Elyse with tears in her eyes. She looked so pitiful and small in that moment that Elyse almost felt pity for her, but then she remembered the monster who had tried to attack her so many times in her life, who continued to terrorize her and her loved ones, and the pity disappeared. She watched her mother get up slowly and leave the apartment complex, walk to her vehicle, get inside and drive away.


“Just say no.” If only I had taken the warning more seriously, I’d be in college now. That’s what people say looking back, if only I had known, if I could go back, if only… I loved him like a brother, I utterly trusted him, I knew him better than anyone … at least that’s what I thought.

 I met Carl the summer between fourth and fifth grade. My family moved into the house next to where he had always lived. Our mothers were becoming acquainted over the fence when he invited me to jump on his trampoline. I was a year older than him, but he still topped me by two inches. He liked chocolate cake, I preferred carrot cake, I read novels, he fancied comic books. We both favoured comedies when we went to the movies and we loved climbing trees, but he climbed faster and higher than me. When September rolled around, we were inseparable. We compared scars on our scraped knees, we chased frogs in the creek that flowed past our houses, on rainy days we built forts with run-down sheets and clothespins. To his friends he introduced me as his little sister even though I was older.  Every summer I spent two weeks with Carl and his family at their cabin in the mountains. At the bottom of the stone stairs was a large lake in which we fished for bass and caught bullfrogs. In the winter, when we visited Grandma in Florida, Carl would accompany us for a few days then fly back home, tanned and smelling of coconut oil. His dad showed us how to play backgammon, and my mom used to play Clue with us because two people can’t play.

It was on his shoulders that I rested my head to mourn my first heartbreak. “The bastard left me three days after he tore my hymen!” I confessed, laughing falsely through my tears. Carl denied it but I’m sure he took a swing at the guy and gave him the black eye. When Carl had an essay to write for his English class, I would always spruce it up the night before. I introduced him to my friends as my little brother even if at 17 he was a foot taller than me.

A week before I left for college, my parents threw me a “Good luck” party to which the girls from my softball team, Carl and the boys from his football team were invited. My dad cooked burgers on the BBQ, his dad was the DJ. Dad loved barbecuing, marinating meats and then watching them while chatting with guests, a beer in one hand and a spatula in the other. Our friends were divided into more or less three groups; some were in the pool playing Marco Polo, others playing volleyball, but most of them were just sitting on the terrace discussing their studies, the first season’s football game and the various outings over the weekend. Bopping heads and flailing arms, that’s what I saw from the tree house at the top of the big oak. I had taken refuge there because while I enjoyed the company of people, I also needed my space after socializing so much. The hatch lifted and Carl’s smiling face popped up.

“What are you doing here?”  “I needed to recharge my batteries.”

“Will you make room for me in your bubble?”

“You know very well that you’re always welcomed in my bubble.”

Since I’ve known him, Carl had never laughed at my quirks and I loved him all the more for it. I knew our friends thought that I was weird, but he respected my need to stay away sometimes. He sat next to me and we watched the party unfold in our backyards. After a while, he bumped my shoulder playfully. “Jeff asked me to give you his surprise if I found you.” He reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a sachet containing two capsules. I frown. Not that we’re angels or anything but Carl and I avoided drugs out of respect for our respective sport, so I didn’t quite understand what he was offering me. He must have read the confusion on my face because he immediately explained himself.

“It’s not what you think, well, maybe it is, but I’m asking you to trust me. It’s not some junk street drug. It’s not gonna damage your goddess body.” He winks conspiratorially at me.

“OK, what is it then?”

“It’s … um… Jeff calls it Spirit Liberator . I tried it once with him. It was the most amazing experience I have ever had. It gives the impression … no, no … you … it’s tough to explain … you have to live it to understand. It’s … soothing but at the same time … exhilarating. You travel at high speed through a tunnel of lights and then after … you let yourself get carried where your mind takes you. You have some kind of out-of-body experience and you visit other dimensional worlds and… I … saw my brother.”

Breathless, he went silent. Carl rarely talks about his late brother. Too painful a subject to share, even with me. I respected his silence as I tried to take in what he just told me. Do I really want to travel in a tunnel of light? Get out of my body? It scared me a little. It seemed a lot like dying … this experience. His voice shook off my stupor. “It gives you the ability to radically transform your outlook on everything. It brings a profound change, a different perception of yourself, and a new understanding of reality…”

“Wow! I didn’t know you were so … esoteric. I don’t really want to elevate myself or change my self-perception… I like my perception and I feel good in my body.” “It barely lasts an hour. And I swear you’ll feel wonderful afterwards. Come on, trust me.”

I looked him straight in the eye. I picked one of the pills and brought it quietly to my mouth. I hesitated then downed it with a sip of beer. At worst, I convinced myself, we’ll be “back” in an hour. I passed him the bottle, and he too swallowed the capsule. I laid down next to him, he held my hand and we awaited the effects .

I wanted to tell him that his surprise wasn’t working at all, but my mouth refused to open and my hand wouldn’t squeeze his. I tried to get up, yet my body was shaking like a leaf. I was terrified, then I felt an intense feeling of letting go , as if I was taking off like in a plane, but in slow motion.

I saw the dancing wings of a bee showing me the way. I thought how weird it was for a bee to be flying at night but then I realised I was bathing in a soft, warm, enveloping light and all was well. I was flying above the trees, the school, and the lake breathing in pumpkin spice flavored air.

At that precise moment, I had no fear, no worries. I was one with nature, the human race, and the universe. My heart was beating to the rhythm of humanity’s heartbeat. For the first time I felt such joy, pure and total. All my doubts dispelled, my insecurities abated, I was there, exactly where I needed to be, whole and free.

Suddenly I was pulled back, I spun around and found myself staring back at me. I knew right away something was wrong.

“Carl, what are you doing here? YOU’RE IN MY BODY”

He kept quiet.

“Carl!”

“I don’t know what happened. Our threads got tangled up and I found myself in your body… I think”

When he got up and left with my body, my heart sank. I tried to reason with him, I got mad, I cried, I begged him, nothing worked. He deemed my body shell comfortable, “It’s very soft and cozy in you”. I complained to my mom, she didn’t believe me. When I insisted, she told his mother about it and I was threatened with interning if I kept messing around. So Carl started college in my place and I’m in twelfth grade again. Yep.

Well, I should concentrate on the game otherwise the huge linebacker, charging toward me like a bull, will kill me.


I won’t be able to describe to you how painful it is to die. How agonizing a slow death is. One that passively marches toward you and you’re left to sit and watch. Your stomach rises into your throat in a burning fashion. The acid coats your esophagus. Flight or fight? No, you’ve frozen in your tracks as you stare ahead at a crumbling landscape. You were so terrified that you couldn't even shake in fear. You just stood there. The world is tearing itself apart in a menacing manner. The type you’ve seen in action-packed movies or read about in thrilling novels. You couldn’t move so the destruction made its way to your legs and ankles. So, unless you have died, I cannot describe the misery and degradation you feel. “It burns” and “it hurts” doesn’t cut it. Of course, I can tell you about all your teeth smashing together from one side of your face to the other. It is not just about the pain. It is the trauma of being torn apart. The snapping of every tooth from its home, crashing into its neighbor’s neighbor. They created a horrible song as they clashed with the pavement. They ripped up your gums in harmonious tremors. I can describe to you the agony of being cornered. How can you tolerate the immense pounding you feel as your brain throbs against your frontal lobe? It pulses within the pangs of discomfort. Your brain throbs like the mountains that are smashing into one other. There is a chill on your skin. Something wet. The wind causes your skin to erupt in goosebumps. They litter the back of your neck, forcing the hairs to stand up. They tickle you, along with the chill from the various liquids that drip down your face. The sweat- it is sweat! The sweat that drips from your forehead into your gaping mouth repulses you. You can still taste the salt even though your tongue has been ripped to shreds by your vicious teeth. The pain tastes like salt. You keep swallowing the iron and sweat. It is the only thing hydrating your arid tongue. You can really feel the copper now. Maybe it is nickels you taste instead. But the taste is bitter and unbearable. You cannot control your body anymore so the pennies and nickels just keep sliding down your throat. Your throat convulses and contorts in reaction to the blood that continues to slide into your stomach. You can really feel them, huh? Their round and rusted exteriors scrape your throat as they fill your belly. You’d shut your eyes if you could, but your caramel eyes dangle from their sockets. Rhythmically, they swing in iambic euphony. How did your eyes escape their sockets? Something must have hit you with a strong force. From the back! Yes, from the back you were hit with a flying rock that crushed your legs and knocked your eyes out. The bones are shattered now. How did you not notice that aching? You were too focused on the taste of blood in your mouth. Your drying eyes. You're ready to run now. “How did I get here?” You’ll wonder. You’ll ponder the day before when you weren’t doing anything. The lazy napping and binge eating feel remorseful, especially knowing you spent your last day of freedom doing absolutely nothing. The dedication you held to your job or academia squanders under the regime of death. Everything you connected yourself to meant absolutely nothing. Why do we do this to ourselves? Push and push. As the world crumbles around your aching body, the beauty of the sky lights up your eyes. That magnificent blue that has always been too intimidating to gaze at seems inviting now. The clouds have fled the sky, and there are no longer birds fluttering about.

“What color will the sunset be tonight?” You’ll wonder. If only you could chase the sunset. Run to the west until the continent meets the sea. Those foamy waves that kiss the sandy shore over and over again. Rhythmically, like your eyes in the wind. What can you see now? Just the sky? What's happening to the right? To the left? It was all trivial. Life was a terrarium you looked at too closely. Will you last long enough to see it? I am rooting for you to see it. If you can't run to it, I hope it runs to you. Can life still be beautiful with the sound of gurgling blood, sweat, and saliva? What happened to the birds in the trees? Where have they gone to? Will you go too? The ground cries in agony as it shakes beneath you, changing once more. Our Earth must go through phases like our Moon. She enters her final chrysalis as the world ends in fire, ice, eruptions, and floods. Let her begin anew. “Will there still be a sunset tonight?” You wonder. Your hands are crushed by the boulder that was sent flying from dancing tectonic plates. They twirled and jumped in synchronized perfection! Sending rocks and gravel into the air like a splatter-painted piece of art. How much would you pay for something that beautiful? The trees uprooted themselves and fell on top of one another, like your teeth. The oceans are starting to swell and there’s a profuse burning smell off in the distance that’s making you nauseous.

I am envious of your indomitable spirit. You rise like that far-off smoke into that daunting sky. I've read your story a hundred times. If only I could pacify you now. But we are worlds away and in different realms. You are a faraway fairy tale I’m reading to my daughter. And my mother read this story to me too. I, too, was caught up in the sunset. She begs me to describe the sunset you’re waiting to see. My lips are sealed tight and I smile hauntingly at her. Cheek to cheek, my fangs are revealed. I cannot describe what it feels like to die, but I can tell you this. Again and again.


Moth came a-flying into the living room as the family lounged on the sofa after lunch. He had followed his natural homing instinct, and the garden door, left wide open, beckoned him inside. Mama was eating a generous slice of the sumptuous Christmas cake because it was the twelfth day of Christmas and ‘her true love’ had brought nothing else. The song was an annual recurrent betrayal of her romantic notions. Now there were two pretty women sitting on their high chairs leaning against the kitchen slab. One was Mama, her mouth full, checking out a new recipe, and the youngest daughter, rewriting her script, with an end that never surfaced. A whirring sound frequency in the air caught their ears at the very same second. Moth was  circling over their heads like a drone. The peaceful domestic scene now transposed to a war zone, saw WOW (Women of War) gearing up  to implement the weapons of moth destruction. They used screams of varying pitches, some high, some low. But not a note worth noting. Moth still flew overhead, whirring as if in mockery of their limited human endeavors. Then, with remarkable precision, it dove straight into the folds of Mama’s long skirt. “Ahhhhaaaaa…Out, you horrid creature,” screamed Mama. Time it was for some serious action plan. “Turn off TV,” Mama shouted to Papa. “Enough of hearing the mess the world's in. Its light is attracting them.” “Turn off all the lights.” Mama had elevated herself to Lady Gestapo giving orders now, where everybody had to fall in line. “Switch on the verandah lights. Let it follow the light outside.” It’s always good to follow the Light- of the world. Dolce was getting visibly excited. How do moths taste? He sniffed. All of a sudden, a piercing shriek from Mama almost shattered the glass door. Dolce jumped a foot high to her rescue. Her needs first before his own finer tastes, he knew without a shadow of doubt. Dolce had been sent to this good home on a special Comfort Mission from Rainbow Bridge as requested by the oldest son of this home. The young man had reached God’s side a little too soon, plunging the family into a deep sadness. He had loved his mama deeply and knew there was one thing that would ease her pain. A directive was passed onto the Leader of the Heavens from the son that his mama needed a special visible touch of comfort. And Poof! Dolce, the Havanese, arrived-the angel emissary dog. Moth had now ventured closer, landing right on Mama’s foot. Bark about impious audacity! The dog did a leap. It was a big one, not an ordinary inconsequential moth, you might say, being deceivers ever. The Papa sunk deeper into the cushions. “Wait I’ll get rid of it. Let me just finish watching this hole. Why are you makin' such a fire in my ears? It’s just a moth.” Papa had spoken all this without once taking his glance away from the television. He just wasn’t listening. The yellers sensed a lecture  coming. “It’s good for the ecosystem. It means the garden is flourishing. When I was a young boy, Ben and I'd collect these creatures and put them in a bottle- with a little vent. I love to see moths- soon he turns to a butterfly. Let him free,” he pontificates. “But this one has no desire to leave our home. Let’s bring in the lizards too. We can have a zoo inside our home, a menagerie of sorts.” Mama suggested. Papa had a mortal fear of lizards. All his manhood disappeared at the sight of a lizard. Whenever a lizard was spotted, perched on the wall, making cute clucking sounds, mama’s courage and daredevilry were praised. “There’s no one like you, when it comes to chasing lizards.” he mused then. That’s when his fingers would reach out for her curls which he'd twirl round his finger. Love just happens in those lizard moments. But let’s not deviate. We have a mission in hand. “This Moth has been doing a house tour everyday. We can’t sit with our doors open or enjoy the sea breeze. I feel imprisoned.” Mama argued. The man wasn’t budging an inch to help solve the crisis on board. Had Mama continued to watch his TV fix, her mood would get so thoroughly spoilt, that everyone would’ve to retire to bed, dulled into a stony silence. That’s the power of the Mama! She could get the family together in one happy frame of mind in the family room. Or the reverse. Even Dolce knew better and would go sleep under the curtain, with his nose sticking out, “Just keeping an eye on things, guys!” “Methinks Moth is a secret prince. Rhee. Plant a kiss on him. No telling who might suddenly appear.” The young lady smirked. These two women had a very natural, totally feminine, squeaky aversion of anything that flies-specially if they are to wander up the leg or seek new pastures through an open armhole, exploring unknown territories hitherto known to man. The man lounged even deeper into the sofa, spread-eagled on the cushions. He couldn’t care less. Somehow mosquitoes and flies never chose to woo him. It was his rock hard skin while Mama’s was super soft like vanilla ice cream with chocolate sprinkles. He heard the two women rave and rant on in  mindless chatter. As if there were a 1000 moths round about. Problem solving was momentarily deferred. “Wait. I’ll get rid of him. But I’m tired now. Playing 18 holes in the hot morning sun is not a joke.” “Who do you think you are? Get moving, Tiger.” Mama’s tone meant business. Papa decided it was prudent to get up. Looking visibly annoyed, but with a determined purpose writ on his brow, he moved closer to the intrepid flyer and spoke to Moth in no uncertain terms. “So if you’re not leaving this home, I’m gonna‘ve to kill you.” The nature lover, beetle advocate and moth preserver had changed his tune. “So now you're the horrid Mafia,” Mama whispered. The moth, unaware of this mortal scheming, sought higher grounds, circulating near the fan. Out in the garden, an eclipse of moths had gathered under the pole light. An executive meeting was in progress. The Moth Council was discussing their Christmas plans, where they could gather to pig out. But our homing Moth hated long board meetings and had strayed into our safe haven. Mama changed her modus operandi. She spoke in her sweetest voice, “Moth, I really like you. Do you have a name?” With great seriousness, Papa muttered, “Kutti”. ‘Kutti’ in a foreign tongue, far away in Kerala, called God’s own country, means “Little One.” “Ahhh! Moth-O’kutti,” Mama laughed, as she always did whenever Papa voiced these sudden, rare spurts of originality in his deep undertones. Moth was now hiding behind the cups. He sensed danger. An angry human is capable of anything. Then he vanished. They heard the distinct flapping, like distant drums, but Moth was nowhere to be found. Disappeared under the curve of the sofa. Silence prevailed. The calm before the storm. Finally, as if hit by an astroball from outer space, the young lady declared, “Moth has adopted our home. You can’t kill it, Pa. We need to preserve life, not destroy them. I won’t allow it.” Rhee was an animal activist. Realization dawned on her and she saw the creature as part of God’s creation. Her fears of the flying moth vanished, disappeared like the mist over the sea. “Soon, Pa, he’ll morph into a butterfly.” “Ya right!” His name will be called Butterfly Kutti. You’d think he was Moses. That was six months ago. Today as Mama gazed out the window, she saw a butterfly on the lemon tree. And she burst into a song: ‘All God’s creatures got a place in the choir, Some sing low and some sing higher, Some sing out loud on a telephone wire, Some just clap their hands, or paws, flap their wings, Or anything they’ve got now.”


  The day before Emily went missing, I ran seven miles in the predawn chill, slipped and landed on the icy pavement on my way back. I shook it off, my bloody left knee be damned, to finish one more mile. It’s really not safe to run solo, or go anywhere alone here. I don’t really care, because running is my escape from everything I hate about my life. The wind grazing my back, the solitude and the peace of it all fills me with the best natural high I can get.

    I strolled back to my room, showered, bandaged my leg and read for class before I changed into jeans and an Astros sweatshirt for our 10:00. The lecture began when I arrived, and I was powering up my laptop when Emily sashayed in, a leather backpack slung over her shoulder, wearing a bulky white cable knit, cutoffs, and flip flops, on a forty degree day. When she tossed her designer sunglasses onto her fuchsia notebook, I noticed she had no pen, so I fished a blue one out of my bag. When she had it, thanks to the guy sitting in front of me, she winked as she mouthed “thanks''.

 When class ended, I packed my stuff, with the few notes I'd taken, and glanced up at Emily.     “Hey, babe! Thanks again for the pen,” Emily said, readjusting her backpack on her shoulder. I nodded. “You hungry? I barely made it here and skipped breakfast.” I felt famished, realizing my last meal was sometime before 6pm.     “I want a burger, or some pizza!” Emily said.

     “Lead the way, Em.”      A few minutes later, we stood in line at the pizza bar- a pepperoni for her and a Margherita for me. We settled at a patio table. I would have preferred to eat inside, but Em loves the outdoors in any type of weather. Silverware clinked, snatches of conversations filled the air. A breeze brushed Emily’s hair as she picked the toppings from her cheesy slice, popping one between her cotton candy pink lips.

 “Ready for break?” Emily asked, stuffing a piece of tomato in her mouth.

    “Hadn’t really thought about it, since I’ll be working for most of it,”

    “Well, I’m ready, this semester has been super tough,” Emily said.     She chomped a second slice, lips curling and lashes fluttering. I shivered, and nearly dropped my slice beside the table leg.

  “Anna, you OK?”  “Just tired, and a little chilly.” I pushed around my second slice, with less than a handful of basil leaves and overripe tomatoes.

  “Davis and I have a date tonight. I’m not sure why I said yes, but maybe it’ll be fun,” Dark circles curtained Em’s eyes, and her shoulders drooped.   “Do you know what he’s planning?” I really didn’t want to know.   “Probably dinner and a movie, not sure.”    I eyed the clock above our heads. Instead of wishing her well and heading off to avoid being late, I said, “Are you sure you want to do this?”  Emily’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean- that I shouldn’t date Davis, Anna?”   “I’ve heard that he’s a creep, Em. Concerned is all I am.”

  “Just because you hate every guy here doesn’t mean I have to!” Em elbowed her drink off the table, which splashed on me as I caught it. The corners of her mouth twitched as I nestled her bottle beside her plate, but she didn’t speak.   “I don't hate anyone, Emily. I’m just not interested in any of them.” My heart raced as if I were in the middle of a sprint. “Emily?”

“What, Anna?” She piled sauce-stained napkins onto the empty plate.   “I apologize if I offended you. Have a good time tonight, and let me know when you make it back, OK?”   Emily gave me a curt nod before she sauntered away without a goodbye. My stomach ached, and I couldn’t figure out if my soggy pizza or her stormy exit was the source of my uneasy feeling.    Emily and I had never argued in 3 1/2 years. The only time I’d ever seen her upset happened when she told me about her grandmother, who died the summer before our freshman year. Even though she knew her Gran’s illness was incurable, Em was inconsolable, having lost her best friend.

  I racked my brain to understand her reaction during a brisk walk to the Science Building. After our lab ended, I stayed to finish my assignment, because I hate having things hanging over my head-chores, assignments, whatever. Then, I traded my button down and jeans for fleece, grabbed my earbuds and phone, topped off my refillable bottle and added a few leaves of basil from my plant.  When I reached University, wispy cotton ball clouds replaced the bright sunshine. I didn’t notice anyone trailing me until I reached the intersection of University and North Hampton, three miles from campus.

  “Cold out, huh?”, the voice said.  I nodded at the hoodie clad girl.  “Haven’t I seen you, in the Science Building?” she asked, turning her head to reveal a chunky braid, a smile playing across windburned lips. I noted her height, nearly equal to my own, and that I’d never seen her on campus. I stepped to the edge of the sidewalk to stretch my stiff right calf and hoped she’d take the hint to leave.  “Maybe,” If I crossed here, I could go all the way to the Gardens and loop back to campus.

  The girl reached into her pocket, and I sprinted across the street against the signal. I heard her shouting, “Hey, come back for a sec” when I was halfway down North Hampton, near the Botanical Gardens. I peered over my shoulder, beyond grateful that she hadn’t followed.    A while back, I discovered a hidden way into the park near its entrance, allowing me to skirt the park’s perimeter. I darted between twisted, fragrant pines, their bare branches resembled gnarled arms that threatened to crush someone.

I was gasping for breath when I stopped at the entrance to campus, rounding the corner where I saw another one of those flyers. This one showed a girl I’d seen a few times, her hair streaming behind her, poised and perfect. When a disappearance happens, there’s an uproar for a week or so, a vigil on the Lawn, and these annoying flyers. Then, we have these forums with the campus police, about varying our routines, and they appear outside the buildings for a few days, especially during evening classes, to monitor and encourage us to travel in pairs or small groups. But I don’t care. I'm not worried about going it alone, because no one would want to snatch me-what would be the point? Once I made it back and changed, I read my bio chapters. At 2:30, when I couldn’t summarize another paragraph, I grabbed my phone and dialed Emily’s number. She didn’t answer, so I decided to call it a night. The next few days raced by, between classes and study sessions, and I hadn’t heard from Em. I went over and knocked on her door to no reply. Before I left, I stopped at the hall office to leave a message for her with RA, who barely looked up from her book when I explained I had not heard from Emily in half a week.

 I walked to my morning class and watched Davis Walters tromp through the quad, trailing a gorgeous brunette in a red miniskirt, his lips screwed up into a scowl. The girl ducked into the Arts Building. I followed Davis as he entered the Student Center cafe. He cradled a water bottle, then grabbed a muffin. Next. he unfolded what looked like a $20 and thrust it at the cashier. I swiped my own card, and watched him dash toward the exit, disappearing when I reached the lobby.      I could take the direct approach and talk to Davis. Or, I could confront him and threaten to share my suspicions, with no real evidence to support them, with Campus Police. Then, there was the third option, but for that, I needed the element of total surprise.

  After I emailed and left yet another voicemail on Emily’s phone. Then, I decided to take a risk.  Inside his Davis’ building, I passed a deserted front desk to a long corridor, and noted the nameplates on the doors. I tried the second floor and stopped halfway down the hall when I saw Davis’ name on the placard. Could it be this easy?  Later that night, I rifled through my closet for anything resembling the white jumpsuit I’d seen the cleaning crew members wear. I unearthed an ancient white T-shirt and hip hugging white jeans. probably not the best attire for the job-dark colors would be a better way to blend in during the commission of a break-in.  I arrived at his residence hall and waited outside the door of Davis’ room until a familiar face approached.  “If you’re looking for him, he’s on a date,” he said.

  “He said I could borrow his notes.”

  The guy chuckled. Tall, with a wide grin and smooth, manicured hands, he stepped closer. “It’s Saturday night, darling. Why don’t you come over and wait here with me? Or, we could go out somewhere.”  “Another time, maybe?” I bit my tongue on what I really wanted to say-when hell freezes over.    Davis’ neighbor shrugged and returned to his room. He'd definitely remember me, but I’d come this far, and I had only my life as I knew it to lose, and the life of my friend.

   I ducked inside the unlocked crew closet and left the door cracked to watch the hallway. 30 minutes later, I was ready to give up. How the hell would I get in, since these doors had locks I had no idea how to pick? I didn’t see anyone else on duty whose keys I could use (or steal), which they’d be unlikely to do anyway when they realized I didn’t belong.

   Yet, something urged me to stay. I emerged from the closet and made my way to Davis’ door.   I grasped the doorknob. Hoping against hope, the door opened.   Providence and entry granted.  The room resembled the aftermath of a rushed date prep. Sweaters were strewn across chairs and the scent of a pungent aftershave hung in the air. I dropped a boot on the carpet, and a shallow echo bounced off the walls, though nothing fell out of the shoe.   When I heard a key turn in the lock, I grabbed my stuff and pushed up the window.    The door opened, and I threw myself out into the endless, frigid darkness.

   I awoke shivering. My entire left side, especially my shoulder, ached with the pain of 1,000 jabs. My knee pulsed as if it had been slammed by a jackhammer. Davis peered down at me from his window. “What the hell?”

Before he made it down to confront me, I hauled myself up and across campus. Somehow, I settled myself onto my bed and didn’t stop the tears soaking my pillow, mangled and no closer to finding Emily. I woke up at 6:30, feeling as if I’d been in a car wreck. The headache was the least of it, and my shoulder hurt so much I wanted to saw it off, along with my grapefruit sized knee. Later, during my appointment at the Health Center, I endured the painless, tiresome lecture from a nurse on personal safety. I would need to begin physical therapy for my shoulder, and she gave me a brace for my sprained knee, which I was assured would heal.

Thankfully, the pain meds provided some relief and a dreamless ten-hour sleep. When I awakened, I flipped on the lamp switch and noticed a brown mailer under the door. When I tugged the flap, a tattered, bloodied wristband with a 6 digit number printed on it slid out into my hand. Then, I shook out a light yellow card with a phone number printed on the bottom. On the back of the card was a logo, the silhouette of a female and something resembling a Greek letter. Somehow, I knew this was not a calling card for a sorority or group I would want to join. I dialed the number and heard two clicks and a long beep, no response or outgoing message. With trembling fingers, I stuffed everything back inside the mailer for Campus Police. On Thursday, the last day of the semester, I dragged myself out of bed at the last moment. I tried to move my shoulder when I shrugged off the sling, and bullets of pain shot through my side. After I popped another pill, I dressed for the day and hobbled out into the nearly freezing temps for class.   I was so lost in thought that I never saw it coming.  The dark green van appeared beside me, and a pair of hulking arms encircled and carried me away. The last thing I remember is the pain coursing through my shoulder, before the world faded away.

When I awakened, my voice wouldn’t allow me to scream. A searing, stabbing pain coursed through my entire being. My clothes had been changed into a stiff white gown tied with a silver sash, which my reddened blotchy skin loathed. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, and I propped myself against a stone wall, drenched in fear and confusion.

    A door clicked open, a shaft of light streamed onto the wall. A petite woman in a blue surgical cap and mask hovered over me. She snipped off my wrist restraints with surgical scissors and checked my pulse and vitals, her ice cold stethoscope a shock to my clammy skin. The woman shook her head before she disappeared. Sometime later, I realized I wasn’t dreaming when a blast of frigid air swept over me. a package of animal crackers and a bottle of water were tossed onto the floor near me before the door closed, and I crawled to get the food.   I’d made a mistake by playing detective. Because I tried to find her on my own, I had put us in more danger. Because I spent so much time alone, no one would have any idea that I’d been taken. I sobbed until there were no tears left, and another memory of Dad, Mom and Jenny in the yard making a snowman during a rare blizzard aced through my weary mind. I would have given anything to return to that time, my heaven on Earth. I woke up to another woman standing over me, this time accompanied by a pair of hulking men clad in black leather. She wielded an enormous needle, a clear liquid streaming onto the floor.

It was now or never.

  I sank my teeth into her hand and broke free as one of the goons lunged for me. The second one attended to screaming Nurse Wicked, giving me the opening I needed. My chest burned and drummed as I scampered through a dim corridor. A stench pierced my nostrils, an odor so foul I stopped to catch my breath.

A woman was sprawled on the floor, her wrists bound and blood gushed from a forehead gash. One of the lumbering assholes closed in. I staggered up three flights of stairs, using my good shoulder to nudge the stairwell door, which led to a place I never expected-the first floor of the Science Building.

 Brilliant beams of light flooding through the enormous windows blinded me, and I leaned against a wall, noticing the stares of students who surrounded me.  “Help me!”

  Sandy from my bio lab grasped my shoulder.   “Who did this to you, Anna?” she asked.   My field of vision narrowed, and I could no longer stand.   “Anna, wake up!” The cool tile felt like sweet relief to my aching head. Two weeks later, I had recovered and returned home to celebrate New Year’s with my parents and Jen. What I learned later was that the missing women were snatched and held by a group of radical individuals operating all over the country for the purpose of impregnating them against their will. Our university received money for each student who was stolen, more than each one paid in tuition. My escape led to the rescue of the other victims in that basement, including Emily. The entire plot was revealed by an administrator that involved more than a dozen schools across the country.

Needless to say, I never returned to campus, being given the option to complete my final semester remotely, free of charge. But, I never attended medical school. I was accepted into a creative writing program to earn a graduate degree. I wrote an essay, which I submitted to one of the few remaining independent publications aimed at young women. I poured every bit of terror and anger I’d felt into that piece, and it was accepted six months later by the magazine.

As for Emily and I, we spoke for eight hours until well after midnight when she’d finished reading my piece.

 “So, you really don’t want to be a doctor, Anna?”  “Not at all, and it’s not just because of what happened.”

 “Well, you definitely have what it takes to be a great writer, Anna.”   “I guess. Hey, I’m sorry about that day, Emily.”   “You don’t have to apologize, Anna. You were just concerned.”   “As misplaced as it was.”    “But who could have known? Anyway, pizzas are on me when I’m in town next, OK?”   I was sure she could see the grin spreading across my face. “I can’t wait, Em.”


It’s not them, it’s you You can pass the blame and cry boo-hoo Nothing good will it do For the one who hurts you most is always you Blair thought about her 14-year-old niece’s poem now that the flashing of the cameras stung her retinas, reminding her of the topic of the poem — hurt. She’d read it and felt proud. Sure, it was a little rough around the edges, certainly no Emily Dickinson, but there was a refreshing sense of accountability to it, maturity, wisdom. She’d promised her niece she’d frame it, but it was still sitting on her dining table, sans frame. She made a mental note to get that taken care of the next thing tomorrow morning.

“Next question, please,” the moderator called. Blair snapped back to the present. There was nothing like the screams and stares of a roomful of people fixed on her to do that. She cleared her throat and pointed randomly at the sea of raised hands. “Yes, um, gentleman in a blue suit.”

The owner of the suit in question stood up from one of the white plastic chairs provided to the press and adjusted his tie. “Will Farris, Pulse Chronicles,” he said in his deep bass. Blair gave a nod and a tight smile.

Will Farris spoke into a microphone with a logo of a magazine Blair didn’t recognize. “You’ve said that this ‘Timeless Minds Collide’ thing is, and I quote, ‘a cutting-edge time traveling project designed to offer perspective and healing to its users and the humankind as a whole,’ but be honest, isn’t that just code for ego stroke? I mean, to me your project looks like nothing more than the plaything of yet another spoiled billionaire who watched too much Quantum Leap as a kid and has now decided to make her childhood fantasy come alive all the while playing God for a day.”

The cameras flashed again. Blair leaned in closer to her microphone. “Please, Will, tell me what you really think,” she said and the room erupted into laughter.

Will Farris laughed, too. “Are you saying that you didn’t watch too much Quantum Leap as a kid?” he said. “I’m saying that there’s no such thing as watching too much Quantum Leap, Will. The show is objectively incredible,” Blair said, eliciting another round of laughter from her audience. Then she took on a more serious tone. “Well, I certainly can’t deny that the show was an inspiration for this project. After all, the idea is to have our travelers ‘leap’ into the body of another individual in the past. But unlike Quantum Leap, these are protected time lines. No past events can be modified in any significant way, and we have mods surveying the safety of the traveler and the host alike, so if ever one of them feels like spontaneously screaming ‘Geronimo’ and jumping off the roof of a skyscraper, they will be stopped in their tracks. I assure you, Will, there’s no playing God involved here.” “Next question, please,” the moderator called and almost as if choreographed, hands all around the room shot up in the air.

Blair pointed at a stocky gentleman in the first row, who promptly stood up. “Taylor Williams, the Aurora Atlas,” he introduced himself. “You claim that one of the key aspects of this project is the commitment to provide alternative care for people with mental health concerns. But I can’t help but wonder if assuming another person’s identity poses more risks than benefits to one’s mental well-being. What kind of testing are you doing and who is the poor sucker you roped into being your guinea pig?” Blair smiled. She had expected this question. “That sucker would be me,” she said. “I couldn’t in good conscience ask anybody else to test a project that has my name on it. My first trial is in two days, when, for the duration of three hours, I will be transported into the body of Franz, a solitary shepherd in 1800’s Austria. A gentle man, I hope. I finally get to live out my Sound of Music fantasy, so I have high expectations.” “And will Franz the Shepherd know about this?” Taylor Williams asked. “Well, we figured telling the hosts that we are from the future and would like to inhabit their bodies for a few hours or days might not go over so well…” Laughter. “… so we decided against telling them. But Franz and all other hosts will remember everything they did that day, they just sort of take a backseat—” “They go to the sunken place?” Taylor Williams quipped and the audience laughed. Blair laughed with them. “More like they’ll be on autopilot,” she explained. “Kind of like you for the majority of your life, Taylor.”

More laughter. “Next question,” the moderator called, but Blair stopped her. “Grace, if you don’t mind…” she said gently. “One thing I would like to address before we go to the next question is Taylor’s comment about this project offering alternative mental health care to those who haven’t been able to find it through traditional methods.” She leaned forward and the audience quieted down. She’d noticed that she had that effect. She was able to make them listen. “I know I haven’t been upfront about this in the media before but, believe it or not, I’m not always this delightful bright and shiny creature sitting in front of you right now. Throughout most of my adult life, I have had pretty severe bouts of depression.” A buzz broke into the room and cameras started flashing. Blair closed her eyes. She could picture the headlines of tomorrow’s papers – “Billionaire Blair LaCroix admits to suffering from depression” – along with some awful picture of her with her eyes half-way closed, but oh well. She opened her eyes. “Of course, I can’t speak for other people suffering from mental health issues, but I know that when I’m going through my dark days, I just want to not exist, not be me for a while. But what if I could be someone else?

“Now, I know what you must be thinking. If she wants to escape so much, why doesn’t she just take an expensive vacation somewhere else, change the scenery? She certainly can afford it. Well, wherever I go, I take myself with me. People know me. I cannot be anyone but myself. But to walk in someone else’s shoes for a day, someone who is no longer with us… what’s the harm?

“And yes, maybe it is escapism, maybe it is running from your problems, but when therapy, medication and everything else in-between fails, don’t we owe it to ourselves to do whatever we can to take care of ourselves? To be happy? And who knows, maybe walking in someone else’s shoes will give us the perspective we need, the breather from our own lives we need. Maybe walking in someone else’s shoes is just what we need. So what do you say, will you walk with me?”

The reporters were shouting, hands shot up in the air again and the cameras were flashing.

Two days to go until the first trial… Blair thought. Two more days.

*** Peter put down the morning’s newspaper, which featured the headline: “‘Will you walk with me?’ — Billionaire Blair LaCroix opens up about her mental health struggles at the press conference for new ‘Quantum Leap’ project,” and then stirred his coffee. He had watched his wife live on TV yesterday along with the rest of the world. He had smiled proudly witnessing the reporters eat from the palm of her hand, hang onto her every word like a holy gospel. She had always had a way with words, a way with people. And that’s how he saw her — witty, playful, charming, magnetic. But today she was faced with another Blair — the Shadow Blair. He’d known it from the first second he’d woken up and put his arm around his wife. “Good morning,” he had said but instead of answering, his wife had muttered something unintelligible and recoiled at his touch. He hated these days, Blair’s “dark days.” And, even though he would never admit it to her, he hated this Blair. This wasn’t his wife. This woman, cold, closed-off and disengaged, was nothing but a stranger who visited every once in a while, and he prayed to any deity who would listen that she’d keep the visit short.

He watched her walk to the dining table. The poem from her niece lay flat on it. She was supposed to get it framed today, but now she just eyed the piece of paper up and down and finally crumpled it up and walked away.

Internally, Peter sighed. He knew that she would come to regret doing that. She loved her niece and had been so proud of her and her poem, but he also knew this was not the time to remind her of it. So he just smoothed out the paper, folded it neatly in half, and slipped it surreptitiously into Blair’s jacket pocket hanging on the coat rack, so that when she was feeling better again and was out and about, she could get it framed.

He glanced at her, idly staring out the window, and felt the knot around his gut tighten. Tomorrow was the first trial of Blair’s “Timeless Minds Collide,” which the media had affectionately named the “Quantum Leap Project.” He crossed his fingers that this thing — unorthodox as it might have been — could do what therapy and medication had failed at and make his Blair happy again.

*** Dr. DeMarcus Shaw adjusted the band around Blair’s forehead and lowered her backrest, so that the big screen behind him came into her line of vision. She studied it. The colors swimming across the screen that represented her thoughts were shockingly bright and shiny, not at all how She had pictured the thoughts of a depressed individual to look like, but then again, she was excited about today.

A nurse approached with a syringe, and Blair squeezed the armrests of her chair with both her hands until she felt her nails dig into the fabric. “Are you okay with needles, Mrs. LaCroix?” the doctor asked, looking at the screen where her thoughts had turned murky red. Blair smiled. She knew that he already knew the answer. “As long as I don’t have to look at them much. And it’s Blair, DeMarcus. Please, I beg of you. You’re literally reading my thoughts, so I think we’re past formalities at this point.” The doctor gave a shy chuckle and the nurse, with his syringe, settled by her left side.

“You’ll just feel a little prick,” he said as Blair’s head swung to the opposite direction of the syringe, her gaze landing on the heavy led door to her right. She knew it was impossible to open this door from the outside, but regardless of that and the fact that everybody involved in this project had signed ironclad NDA’s, swearing to secrecy when it came to the location of the first trial of “Timeless Minds Collide,” Blair half-expected the press to barge into the room and ruin her travel.

And she couldn’t have that.

Yesterday she’d had one of her dark days. Usually these spells lasted longer, but today she felt better, and the only reason she could think of was the promise of the bucolic scene, the baaing of the sheep, and the rugged mountains of 1800’s Austria waiting for her on the other side. She couldn’t wait to get started.

The drug flowing through her veins was taking effect and she felt her eyelids get heavier. DeMarcus’s face appeared above her. “Count backwards from 10 for me, Blair. In just a few seconds you’ll be the first person ever to have traveled to the past,” he said, and Blair felt a pleasant burst of butterflies in her stomach. She started counting, “10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4…” She felt herself doze off with images of sheep and faraway lands swimming in her head. She imagined looking at her reflection in a pond for the first time, experiencing life as Franz the Shepherd, feeling the coarse wool of sheep under her fingertips, breathing in the fresh mountain air. She imagined the feeling of running down a hill, screaming at the top of her lungs, with no one near to hear, other than the sheep. She felt free.

But when she opened her eyes, she didn’t see sheep or mountains. Instead, she saw DeMarcus’ confused face staring at the bright and shiny representation of her thoughts on the screen, his face furrowed in a deep frown, nurses scurrying around him. “This can’t be right…” he was muttering. Blair cleared her throat. “DeMarcus,” she said, her voice groggy, and the doctor’s head spun in her direction. “What’s happening?” DeMarcus looked from her to the screen to her again. “I— I’m so sorry, Mrs. La— I mean, Blair,” he said. “I’m afraid the first trial was unsuccessful.” Blair got into a sitting position on the chair, the band around her head weighing heavily like a crown. A crown or a fool’s cap. “Yup, the lack of sheep was a dead giveaway,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “Any idea what went wrong?” “Well…” DeMarcus hesitated. “Yes,” he admitted at last. “To do the first trial, this would have to be the first time you’ve ever time traveled. But it appears… you’re already a user.” There was a short silence. Blair chuckled, but it came out as a bark. “But this is the first time anybody’s used this device, DeMarcus. Also, I think I would know if I’d traveled to the past before. It’s kind of a hard thing to forget.” The doctor didn’t look up at her. Blair could see his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “Blair, you’re not a user in the capacity of a traveler,” he said quietly. “You are… well… you’re a host.” Another silence, only broken by the beeping of the vital signs monitor. “A host?” Blair managed at last. “But that’s even more ridic—”

She stopped talking. There was something tugging at the edges of her memory. A piece that seemed so irrelevant she wanted to ignore it. “They go to the sunken place?” Those had been the words Taylor Williams had used at the press conference when she was asked about what happens to Franz the Shepherd and other hosts. Everybody had laughed. Her included. Because it was ridiculous.

She heard DeMarcus talking about how, if there was a past, it was likely there would also be a future, and if there was a future, their present time had to be somebody else’s past, but she wasn’t listening.

She cut him off. “When was the last time I was used as a host?”

Her mouth felt dry, her hands trembled as she awaited the answer.

DeMarcus shifted his startled gaze from her to the screen. “Um, there was one time last December,” he said, “one on March 12th, and the latest one was—” “Yesterday,” she breathed. DeMarcus looked at her surprised. “Yes, a short 24-hour trip,” he said. “How did you know?”

“I…” Blair felt her head spinning and tears prickling behind her eyes. “Excuse me,” she mumbled and stuck her hand in her jacket pocket to retrieve a Kleenex but came back with a folded piece of paper instead. With a frown, she unfolded it. It’s not them, it’s you You can pass the blame and cry boo-hoo Nothing good will it do For the one who hurts you most is always you “Blair?” DeMarcus said, snapping her back to the present. “Is everything all right?” Blair wiped off the tears that were now rolling down her cheeks.

“Yes,” she managed after a while, her gaze fixed on the poem. “It really is.”

She turned to him now, and realized to her own surprise that she was smiling. “DeMarcus,” she said. “It's time we shut this project down.”


Maggie sighed and tossed her home renovation magazine aside. The glossy pages of beautifully decorated rooms seemed to mock the idea that she would ever get the beach house that she longed for. She was doomed to listen to Audrey and Maude burble on at the book club about their beach properties for ever. It was not for want of trying to convince her husband Tom that it would be a great investment for their retirement. She pushed the magazines under his nose, made him sit through hours of reality television about flipping houses and buying real estate and even dragged him to some open houses. Easy-going by nature, he rarely objected, but also showed no sign of acquiescing with her ideas. She looked at the clock. He should be home any moment now. She headed off to the kitchen to start dinner. An hour later, she was beginning to worry. He worked in construction, and she tended to go to worst case scenarios whenever he was late. She was equally irritated and relieved when she heard his key in the door. He came into the kitchen, beaming, and swept her off her feet into an extravagant hug. Maggie extricated herself and stepped back, surveying him anxiously. She hadn’t seen him this excited since their son was born thirty odd years ago. His usual greeting consisted of a peck on the cheek as he passed her on the way to the fridge to grab a beer. “Tom? Did you win the lottery?” He shook his head, grinning. “I wish. Next best thing. We’re going to look at a house at the beach tomorrow. That’s why I’m late. I was setting up an appointment with the realtor.” Maggie dropped her dish towel and flung her arms around his neck. “So, you were listening to me after all,” she said. “What’s it like? Where is it?” “It’s a surprise,” he said proudly. “You’ll see it all tomorrow.” Maggie tossed and turned that night, picturing herself admiring ocean views from the balcony, a glass of chilled chardonnay in her hand. She finally fell asleep with color schemes running through her mind. Sky blue, turquoise, azure and mint green perhaps, but absolutely no kitschy shell decorations. She woke early and heard Tom singing in the bathroom as she packed a lunch. It was a beautiful spring day. It occurred to her that she couldn’t remember the last time they had gone on an outing like this. Traffic was light and they made good time, singing along to the country music blasting on the radio. “Here we are,” said Tom as they reached the outskirts of the coastal town. Maggie eagerly gazed at the tourist shops, palm trees and seagulls, straining for a glimpse of the sea. She kept her eye open for ‘For Sale’ signs, but he continued past all the fancy, pastel colored ocean front houses with cute names like ‘Captain’s Rest’ and ‘Sea La Vie’ and turned down a residential street three streets back from the ocean. Parking the truck in front of a modest older home, he waved at a slim, well-dressed woman who appeared on the front porch. “This is Jenna, the realtor who’s been helping me look for properties,” he said. Jenna proffered her hand and smiled. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “Let me show you around. This place has so much potential.” Maggie’s heart sank. She knew what ‘potential’ meant from all the reality shows she’d watched. Inside, her worst fears were realized. There was peeling vinyl on the kitchen floor and dirty green shag carpet in the living room. The trim was dark brown. The kitchen appliances were avocado green and at least thirty years old. “Was this the only place you could find?” she said. “It’s going to be so much work.” Jenna, who had been hovering in the background, cleared her throat. “You could always tear down and rebuild,” she said. Maggie turned to Tom, a gleam of excitement in her eye. “What do you think?” “Excuse us for a moment,” he said to Jenna, who scurried outside. “This is the only thing I could find that fits our budget. It’s solid. I’ll renovate the kitchen and bathroom. You decorate to your heart’s desire. We’re not in the same income bracket as your fancy book club friends and I’m not going to get into debt to compete with them.” Looking at Tom’s hurt expression, Maggie flushed with shame at having been so transparent. “I’m sorry,” she said, hugging him. “You’re right. No point having champagne tastes on a beer income. We can make it special.” The next few months were a blur of activity. Tom was as good as his word and worked wonders with the kitchen and bathroom. Maggie was so busy stripping and repainting walls and sewing curtains and cushions that she had no time to hanker after her dream house. The result was cozy and eclectic, and if they didn’t have an ocean front balcony, they did have a screened back porch where she could enjoy her chilled chardonnay and Tom his cold beer. Even Maude and Audrey were impressed when they came to visit. “We thought about ocean front, you know,” said Maggie airily as she showed them around. “But this place has more personality than those cookie cutter McMansions.” Tom, in the background, smothered a grin. A few days later Tom and Maggie awoke to the sound of heavy equipment grinding away at the house next door. The house seemed to gradually double in size as a large extension was added. Tom followed the process with interest, chatting to the workers as all his old construction skills resurfaced. “Must be nice to have money like that,” Maggie said, with a pang of envy as they watched a large moving van pull up, followed by a car, a few weeks later. A tall, slim woman got out of the car and began directing the movers. “Beware the green eyed-monster,” Tom said, chuckling, as he headed out to the back garden where he was building a gazebo. Finally empty, the van left and the woman emerged from the house, stretching and looking weary. Maggie waved at her over the fence. “Hi, won’t you come in for a coffee? You must be exhausted.” “That sounds wonderful. I’m Val,” said the woman, smiling. “I’d love a cup and I’ll be glad to reciprocate whenever I can get unpacked and find my coffee maker.” Tom gave Val what he called the five-minute tour of their house while Maggie served cakes and coffee. “Your construction people did a good job,” he said. “That’s my line of work, so I know what I’m talking about.” “After seeing what you did here, I know that’s true,” Val said, gazing around at the house. “It’s so cozy.” “That’s one way of looking at it,” said Maggie wryly. “Having the extra space with your extension will be wonderful.” Val sighed and looked down at her coffee. “I’m glad you mentioned that. My husband was in a bad car accident a few years ago. It’s a miracle that he survived, but he sustained permanent brain damage. He has a mental age of about five.” Tom and Maggie stared, flabbergasted. “I am so sorry,” said Maggie, hurriedly passing Val the tissues as her tears welled. “You weren’t to know,” said Val, wiping her eyes. “Imagine a five-year-old six-foot-tall former football player and you’ll get the picture. He was in a private residential place for a while, but they claimed they couldn’t manage his behavior. The only other option was to send him to a state institution, but I wouldn’t keep a dog there if I could help it. We already had this house, so I used the insurance money from the accident to modify it and I’ve hired a nurse’s aide. I didn’t want you to be alarmed if you hear yelling or commotion from time to time. He would never hurt anyone intentionally, but like any child, he sometimes has a meltdown if he gets tired or his routine is changed. He’ll be fine once he gets settled.” “It sounds so inadequate but let us know if there’s anything we can do to help,” said Tom. Val smiled wearily. “I will. Thanks for the coffee. Now I’d better get going. He’s arriving later today, and I have a lot to do.” That evening, as they sat on the porch, Maggie looked from their house to the house next door as if seeing the scene for the first time. “I’ve learned my lesson,” she said. “I’ll be very careful what I wish for from now on.”


I felt chills on my spine. I was sweating so bad I thought I might pass out. I couldn’t make out the figure that was approaching me slowly; I was panicking, why had I agreed to this? I wanted to run so bad but I knew I’d have to pay the price either way. I tried to hide behind a dusty cupboard but my insides flipped out as I felt a cold hand grab my shoulder and cover my mouth before I could shriek for help. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ryder “Hey Ryder, wait up,” I stopped short in my tracks as soon as I heard Caden; my best friend, call out to me. I flashed him a smile as I waited for him to catch up. “Whatcha doing?” He asked me, catching his breath as he slowed his pace to match mine. “Nothing much, just regular activities ya know.” I took out my bag which contained my library books I intended to return to the library today. “Wanna do something fun?” He requested. “What do you mean ‘fun’?” I gave him a suspicious look. Caden can be an innocent, sweet boy in front of adults but I knew how he truly was. I would always give him the benefit of doubt before proceeding with anything he tells me. I’m not that gullible, unlike some people I knew who would fall for his gimmicks so easily. “Oh, you know… the usual stuff, I was thinking about playing a bet game,” He made sure to say the ending in his sweet tone, the tone I absolutely despised. “Ahah, what’s the catch?” I knew something was fishy, he always does have a catch. No doubt. “No, there’s no catch, I just got my birthday money so… I was thinking about how to spend it,” As if I asked for proof he pulled out a hundred dollars out of his pocket and waved it in the air. “So?” I shrugged, big deal… he got money, show-off. “So?, So? don’t ya get it?” He mocked me. “No.” I told him, straight-forward. “I will give you a bet, if you win… you get the money.” He brought the money closer to my face; I began to feel overwhelmed and uncomfortable as I stepped back.

“If I lose?” I didn’t want to hear it but Caden will just keep bugging me to do something else instead. “Since you’re my friend I’ll have the consequence easy for you, just give me your new Jordan’s… the white one,” I narrowed my eyes at him thinking how much I wanted to punch this guy. I knew he had an eye on my priceless Jordan my dad got me before he died last year. I swore never to be separated from it… ever. I’d never even worn it… too priceless to be damaged. “Dammit.” I swore; I gotta win this challenge, no matter what the consequences turn out to be. “Come on Ry, I know you got this… just imagine what you can do with this.” He was provoking me, I knew it… I could say ‘no’ but what if I were to win? I would lose this big opportunity. Mom was already suffering with paying loans and taxes, Jen; my older sister was searching for a chance to pay up her student loans for college. But I won’t be able to do much with just a hundred. Caden knew me so well as he saw my reason to delay. “Fine, I’ll offer you a thousand then.” My eyes opened up in astonishment, I knew Caden was from a wealthy family but still… I had an easy way to earn so much cash. I knew at that point, I had to bet my Jordans. “Deal.” We shook on it. “What's the task?” I completely forgot to ask what I had to do to earn a thousand dollars.

“Don’t fret, it’s super simple… just go to house number 42 and bring my football from their yard, my brother accidentally kicked it there.”

“That’s it… wait did you say… number 42?” I bit my lips nervously, this was not going the way I’d expected it to go. “Yes, any problems?” Caden casually asked, of course he didn’t have to worry about anything, it was me who was going in after all. “Nope,” I knew Caden's strategy, he purposely gave me this bet thinking I’d lose either way. You might be wondering what is so scary about that particular house. No one really knows. People say a witch lived there, she was said to be young or at least disguised as one. Everyone talks about her, she used to be a part of our lovely neighborhood too until people saw that her boyfriend was dead. The last place they had seen her boyfriend was with her, in house… number 42. Everyone thought she’d killed him, she was house-arrested for that since there was no proof of her committing a crime but the police wanted to assure everyone was safe. I have never seen the owner of the house. I never dared to go investigate myself to see if the rumors were true. I was scared… I guess. I never wished to admit the truth about me being a scaredy-cat. “But…” I started. “You’re not going to back out, are you?” I paused, was it worth the danger… for a measly thousand dollars? Would I put my own life on the line if this ended bad… but if this ended well. Then what? Nobody had seen this mysterious woman for years so maybe… she’s not there?

“No, I’ll do it.” I hoped nothing was waiting for me inside ready to pounce when given the opportunity. I wished God would hear of my dilemma and help me out. Lindsey “Ugh, just leave me alone Cookie.” I shooed my cat away. Cookie yawned as he ran off to the kitchen where there was nothing for him to eat but spoiled milk and dust bunnies.

“I HATE my existence,” I yelled to myself, “Why do I have to suffer for a crime I never would have imagined attempting,” I complained.

I precisely remembered what had caused this whole misinterpretation. I was just leading my own life, visiting Art Museums, celebrating my nieces birthdays… now, I’m accused of murder… of my own boyfriend. Why in the world would I have something against the one I’d loved so much? He had always been there for me, now he’s not.

I was what?… only 18 when the incident happened. Why would a teen be responsible for killing someone she deeply cared about and would give her life in exchange for her loved one? I remembered the blood I’d seen oozing from Ben; my boyfriend. I knew in my own heart I never meant any harm to anyone. I don’t even harm flies, why would I kill him? I didn’t know who dispatched him. One second he was alive, his golden eyes attached to my blue eyes as he told me how much he’d love me, the next second he laid on the ground; dead. I cried so hard as I darted after his murder but neither was I able to catch him or recognize who it was. The neighbors heard my screams as they came over to investigate, thinking I’d killed him they called the cops. I tried to tell them the truth but they never budged, never asked my side of the story. They assumed I was guilty but with a lack of evidence they had me in house-arrest. I was only allowed to go in public once a month for food.

They said this might last for years to come until I was able to give more, ‘appropriate evidence.’ Are these people so blinded? Were they always punishing the innocent just to punish someone? To prove their capabilities that they can catch criminals; criminals that are actually guilt-free. People who had their whole lives taken from them, families were separated in this brutal process. Aren’t they taught kindness always goes a long way?

Cookie meowed snapping me back to reality. I smiled at the furry creature that had taken a liking with me, my only friend in this wretched world who understands my pain and sufferings. “I know you’re hungry, we’ll go shopping tomorrow,” I assured him as he hurried off to chase a rat for his lunch since I’m incapable of feeding him whenever he feels hungry. I settled down next to a good book; my only book. It was already dusk, I felt as if I’m stuck in a time loop, everyday doing the same things and wishing I could just… die. I’ll be free from being questioned all the time, portrayed as someone I’m not, being looked at as if I’m a monster… I wanted all this to end. I smiled as I flipped through the chapters, rereading parts I didn’t understand the forty-fifth time I’d read it. Just when I was going to read the best part I heard a mellow sound coming from the kitchen. It sounded like… footprints? I placed my book down-side and quietly tiptoed to inspect that I’m not starting to hear things. I was scared out of my mind, what if it was someone with ill intentions… someone who meant harm to me. I carried a spatula I’d found in one of my living room drawers as I approached the noise. I kept low and discreetive as I searched for the culprit. I saw a movements in front of the cupboard. The figure didn’t seem like a serial killer to me, more like a scaredy-cat sort type.

If I could just keep my uninvited guest quiet then I’ll be able to make them spill out the facts without any uninvited attention. Without thinking twice I leaped forward and grabbed whoever it was and covered the mouth before it would get me in trouble… again. Ryder I looked at the house, it seemed ordinary to me. Maybe people just made it up to scare kids because it really worked. “You gonna back out?” Caden ridiculed me.

“No,” I shouted at him, if anything happened to me, it was gonna be his fault. “Geez, fine.” He waved at me, not wanting to wait for me to enter the house, I regret being so close to. I saw him take his bike and leave me; alone… with a major obstacle that could be the reason I die soon. ‘Well here goes nothing’ I thought to myself. I needed some mental pep talks before approaching my death. ‘I can do this, mom’ll be so happy if I win… if I lose...’ I slapped my forehead. Pep talks are making this harder.

‘God, help me’ was my last thought before approaching the house. Caden had told me where there was an opening I could use to get in. I noticed the crack behind one of the bushes. It seemed big enough for a big dog, I’ll easily be able to fit in.

I got on all fours and weakly pulled myself inside, I checked myself again. All in one piece. Good. I searched frantically around the new atmosphere, boy was it freezing inside. I hoped that meant no one was home… unless some witch... ‘Focus Ryder’ I reminded myself uselessly, since I’ll better step up my A game if I wanna make it out alive. I had almost forgotten my whole mission, just blabbering to myself wasn’t helping my situation. I finally spotted the door to the backyard, if only I could be sure. Just then I felt goosebumps on my skin, I looked at my surroundings, searching for the reason for my sudden uneasiness. Suddenly, I realized, I wasn’t alone. I felt the shuffle movements around me. I didn’t have a clue who or what was in this house with me. I had to get that ball and get the heck out of this place… fast. The presence of someone got closer, I had to hide before whatever was out there got to me. I noticed a cupboard, the backside had enough room for me to cram in and be camouflaged… at least until that thing goes away. I felt my heart had stopped beating when someone grabbed my shoulder and covered my mouth before I had time to recollect what had happened. I wanted so bad to scream out of the top of my lungs but I’d lost my voice for a second. I tried to use force against my capturer, it seemed that I was stronger than it as I removed the hand from my mouth and grabbed its hands before facing it with bravery. “Let me go,” I was surprised by the voice, I had expected a monster… some kind of witch or something but all I saw was a girl. She seemed my age; about 20ish with the beautifulest blue eyes, it reminded me of the beach, the peaceful waters with fish flying up splashing me with water, I remembered dad had taken me fishing, it was our last fishing trip together before he left me. Her eyes reminded me of such a good memory. Her blond hair was tied in a tight ponytail, her face seemed flushed with embarrassment. “Hello, can you let me go?” Her voice was like the tinkling of bells on Christmas morning, I had been afraid for nothing. Maybe the rumors were false. She didn’t seem like a murder to me. “Hello?” This time she actually proved she wasn’t some pretty girl but a fighter as she kicked my shin with her leg with as much force as possible for her. “Ow, what’s that for?” I knew the answer but I wanted to hear her calming voice again. “One, you’re trespassing in my property, two… you’re in my house without my permission and three, you dared to touch me?” The last came out like a question but I didn’t mind.

“Look I’m sorry, I know this feels like I’m a bad guy but I mean no harm to you … or your family?” I looked around expecting to see others come in but nobody came. “Are you alone?” I wondered as I looked at her face change from angry to worried and nervousness. Lindsey I was sick of people misusing me some toy they used and threw. Some random guy in my house, questioning me? I rubbed my hands where he held me so tightly, I was afraid it would break. He seemed like a good guy, but is he? I noticed his brown hair for the first time, it sure was messy. I figured it might have been a huge misunderstanding that invited him here. “Are you alone?” he whispered softly, not wanting to provoke me to kick him again I guess. What do I say? I am alone, so what? “Excuse me, why are you in my house?” I totally forgot the whole reason for my outburst; a stranger, in my house? He dreamily looked in my direction, I nervously stepped back which snapped him back to the real world. “I- I needed to get something, my friend’s football is in your yard,” He tried to explain to me. I wasn’t buying it. What a liar, there is no football in my yard. “There is no football here, now leave,” I ordered him in my sternist voice. “Wait, mind if I take a look?” I glazed over his brown eyes, it reminded me of Ben’s. His eyes reminded me of all those good times I’d had before all this mess. “Hello?” He shook me.

“Yes, you can look.” I blurted out as I nodded at him. He hesitated to leave my side, I realized it was dark in the kitchen so I turned on the lights. He smiled weakly and left for the yard. I followed him, just be careful not to trust him so easily by judging his dreamy eyes. “What's your name? He asked, looking behind an oak tree. “Lindsay, what’s yours?”

“Ryder.” There was a long pause, none of us wanted to speak up. I decided to… like always. “So, how old are you?” He seems around my age, I guessed around 19ish. “I’m turning 21 this month, you?” “I just turned 20,” Dang, I thought he was younger than me. Guess looks mislead me. “Sweet.” He smiled for real this time. “You’re right, there is no ball here, looks like a misunderstanding,” I heard him cuss under his breath as his expression stated that he was extremely mad at someone. I hoped it wasn't me. “I better go, sorry to disturb you,” he kept his distance from me, giving me the benefit of doubt, I assumed. “It’s ok,” I dryly replied. He wavered for a bit, not knowing what to say. “Yes?”

“I was just curious, did you really…?” He broke off in the end. “Kill your boyfriend?” He finished, unevenly. “Not you too, why does everyone think I’m guilty?” I wailed, putting my hands on my forehead in annoyance. “No, I didn’t say you’re guilty, I just asked… out of curiosity,” He seemed to be speaking the truth. Should I tell him my side of the story, would he believe me… or think I’m making it all up, like the authorities thought. “Sit down, I’ll tell you everything,” I told him shyly as he sat on the step stool outside, I sat down on the bench. He smiled, walked up to me and sat next to me on the bench, crossing his legs. His eyes twinkling with pleasure that could have made my heart miss a beat. “Go ahead, I believe you,” He took my hand, the hand that could have killed someone… that can kill him and clasped it his own. I didn’t know where to begin, his face illuminated my darkest fears. I felt free for once, I knew hope will always find its way to me.

He was my hope. My wish had finally come true...


The wind howls and the bitter cold bites hard. Slivers of ice stab my cheeks as I make my way to the back of the taxi to gather our luggage from the trunk.  Inside the airport I hold tight to my ten-year old brother’s hand as we wait to board our flight. Squinting to see the snow flying beyond the darkened airport windows, I’m obsessed with Mother Nature’s merciless wrath on this wild moonless October night. Once on board the Boeing 737-500, I try to unchain myself from endless months of stress; all that non-stop rushing around, pushing through uncertainty, and madly forging ahead adrenaline pumping through my arteries. I switch gears and allow the bliss that we are finally here and the coziness of the plane to envelope me like a hug from a loved one. Though I have mixed feelings, I’m pretty sure I’m grateful they decided not to cancel this flight. Seated comfortably by the window, I feel the slow burn of the white wine first make its way into my bloodstream and then into my head and, when I turn to smile at Aiden where he’s sitting next to me intrigued by his iPad, I feel the heat of it bloom across my cheeks. This is when she will come to me, her memory resurrected in my mind once again. I must hang on to her even if it’s not really her but just her spirit floating on the fringes of my life. Not tangible, no, it’s not like I can hug her or kiss her forehead or squeeze her hand anymore. None of those opportunities will ever present themselves to me again. But holding her in my heart… well… at least it’s better than nothing. Please Mom, I think to myself, be pain-free and happy in Heaven, or wherever you wanted to end up after the cancer chewed you up and spit you out. If I were being honest, I would have to admit that even though it was expected, somehow our mom’s passing, when she eventually succumbed to the disease, the villainous stage four leukemia, still came as a shock.  Maybe it was because during her suffering my dad began to snap at us more, yell at us more, and then stay away from us more, until one day he was just… gone for good.  It was mine and Aiden’s love, and my mom’s deep commitment to her faith that enabled the three of us to get through it without him. It was that same love that empowered the remaining two of us to keep going afterwards. Boarding this flight was meant to prove that. But now I’m starting to question why I chose this date, this Halloween night, an evening with violent weather raging across the desolate Saskatchewan prairies to fly to Seattle. That’s where Aiden and I are going to start our brand-new life far away from where the ghosts of both our parents may or may not remain.  Saskatoon holds an abundance of heartbreaking memories now and though my dad is still a living breathing human being, he’s essentially become nothing but a mere whisper of the past to us.  As for my mom, other than loving her always, even in death, we are in a way bringing her with us to start a new resting-in-peace-chapter for her.  Just the thought of carrying her ashes across so many miles to sprinkle them along the bluffs of Puget Sound, a place she had always loved as a child, has new beginnings written all over it.  So, fierce weather and Halloween or not, I realize it’s no use second guessing myself, that ship has already sailed, or rather, that plane has already taken off. As the jet soars through the ether at ten past eleven on a Friday night filled with ordinary people like us, I sip my wine and talk to Aiden like he’s ten going on nineteen, my age, because in a lot of ways he is.  Wise beyond his years and so easy-going I sometimes must remind myself that he’s not just my best friend but also a kid who I will raise on my own from this point forward. I’m just about to tell him this when an abrupt buzzing sound rips through my ears. Like a thousand killer bees swarming inside my skull, it’s so loud and painful that I can’t help but press my hands to my ears and shake my head to make it stop.  When I look around the plane, I’m stunned to see everyone else is doing the same thing. Amid that torment, the lights on the plane start flashing neon silver, like a strobe pulsing around the dance floor of a nightclub.  Then they go out. The entire cabin is plunged into an eerie darkness, something I’ve never, in all my years of constant travelling, experienced before. People begin to scream. From the direction of the cockpit, I spot the silhouette of a person waving their arms around and yelling that the pilot is dead. “He’s bloody and not moving,” the steward, I presume, breaks down in sobs and then grabs his head again as the buzzing continues. Instinctively, I wrap my fingers around the small crucifix hanging on a chain from my neck, it used to be my mom’s ruby-studded gold cross, and I pray like I’ve never prayed before. That’s when the buzzing stops and the plane begins to jostle like a building on land in the middle of an earthquake. Except we are not on land, we are still high above the clouds and seemingly gaining altitude.  Inside the pit of my stomach, it feels like an elevator car shooting upwards at full throttle to the top of a high rise.  The shrieks grow louder and both Aiden and I begin to weep openly as we grab each other’s hands.  All I can think is that what goes up must come down. Everyone shouts at once. “Who’s flying the plane?” “Oh, don’t let the co-pilot be dead too. There is a co-pilot, right?” “Are we all gonna die on this bird?” “Is this because it’s Friday and we boarded out of gate thirteen and it’s Halloween?” “If any of you survive this and I die, please tell my wife Stephanie that I love her. My name’s Sean.” “Is this someone’s idea of a Halloween joke to scare us? It’s not funny, there are young children on this flight.” “It must be a Halloween stunt, everyone relax. They’re messing with us; this can’t be real.” “Don’t be ridiculous, the airline would not do something this dangerous and despicable to any passenger, never mind little kids. It is real, we’re all gonna crash to our deaths.” A few more minutes of that, voices over top of other voices, exclamations, declarations and a few very colorful expletives and it becomes background noise to me as I try to tune it out and bring my face close to Aiden’s.  I cup his smooth-skinned baby cheeks in my hands and kiss them with three or four loud smooches. Then I take hold of his hands and look into his tear-filled hazel eyes. I tell him that I love him and that what’s important right now is we have each other. I ask him with my own flooded eyes spilling over if he understands that.  He nods though his lips quiver with fear. As I drain the rest of my glass, the apple flavored notes of the wine sliding down my throat, the loud chorus of voices around Aiden and me abruptly… stops.  It’s so quiet the silence truly is deafening. My ears have a hard time adjusting to it because it seems so unnatural all the sudden and makes no sense whatsoever. But then again, none of this does. A second later the lights slowly come on.  Strange, dim illuminations glow like candlelight, I swear I can see the flickering flames reflected in the glass of the unshuttered windowpanes.  In fact, as I squint at all the windows along the rows of seats on each side of the plane, I see shimmers of tangerine and scarlet-red dancing on the end of an invisible wick. This is the only source of faint and shadowy light we have been granted. Still, it’s enough for Aiden and me to see that the plane is now completely empty.  At least in the vicinity of where my brother and I are sitting.  All the passengers that were in front of us, behind us, to the side of us are longer there.  Only things left behind on some of their seats remain: a deep plum-colored silk shawl, a Mickey Mouse sippy cup, a copy of The Hunger Games, and many, many cell phones. Everyone has disappeared, and if this is as real as it is surreal, I’m beginning to feel the dread in the form of a physical pain in my chest, like pressure in the lungs from running too fast. Somehow this kicks my reflexes into survival mode. “We’ve got to find out who, if anyone, is flying this thing Aiden. We have to be brave and go into that cockpit and make sure there is a co-pilot or someone trained who is actually behind the controls of this plane and that we are not just on autopilot because I don’t even really know how safe that is, and, oh God, please let there be a live person there, I don’t know the first thing about flying a plane.” I talk fast, breathlessly spewing out a million words without pausing, trying to make him understand as I undo our seatbelts, then grab his hand and pull him towards the cockpit. As our boots clop down the narrow isle, I feel something crunch beneath my left heal and look down to see shards of broken clay pottery everywhere.  Unique Indigo blue Talavera pottery, there’s no mistaking it’s the urn housing my mother’s ashes. When I look up, I gasp and jump back, my pulse racing. There, right in front of me, swims an iridescent vision of my mom’s delicate facial features partially concealed under a lacy white wedding veil, framed by her once long honey-hued lustrous locks of hair. The entity or my mom or whatever it is, lunges at me and seeps into my skin, I can feel it burn like acid, and then jumps right back out again dissolving into the door of the cockpit.  Like the proverbial ripping off the bandage, I throw open the door to the cockpit where the pilot is supposedly lying exposed in a gory death. Which he is.  So, I don’t look too much lest I puke up the wine that tasted so good and went down so well only mere moments ago.  But there’s someone else in the cockpit too. The co-pilot, his back turned to us, sitting calmly and without a care in the world munching on pretzels and washing them down with a coke and… flying the plane. Flying the plane . It’s much too soon to be relieved though, of course it is. Before I can totally let go of the panic, a frostiness, complete with sparkling ice crystals, fills the air and both Aiden and I see our breath plume from our mouths. I touch the co-pilot’s shoulder and he swivels his chair around to face me. Suddenly, everything begins tilting sideways and I feel nauseous and dizzy like a wave of motion sickness just hit me. I sense I’m about to faint though somehow, I force myself not to. It’s a gory sight that accosts me.  The cockpit is flooded with fluorescent lighting making it easy to see the distortion of his features, his bulging skull, his face void of skin in some areas and peeling flesh in others. Grotesquely disproportionate eye sockets are huge and charcoal black with fresh blood oozing from them. Blood splatter is everywhere, huge globs of it on the instrument panel, seats, windscreen, and all over his head, his hair is matted with it. The metallic smell of it makes me gag. Sharp fangs fill his mouth dripping with brown saliva. Opening that mouth, he says “darling, I’m here to help you”, in the exact voice of my dead mother. With a spine-tingling shiver I haven’t felt so intensely since the violinist at the funeral played the first notes of Amazing Grace, I back away from the ghastly apparition.  My heart thwacks in my chest and amidst the lightheadedness, I realize that I’m on the verge of losing consciousness once again, this time almost falling to my knees which I know I can’t afford to do.  If there’s any one person on this plane that I must save, it’s my brother. Gathering my wits about me, pushing aside the terror of this haunting, I confront the thing my mother has turned into, head on. Everything about her now is wrong, everything she has become feels wrong; this is not the person I loved from infancy. My mother was always a sweet, kind, gentle soul, the type of lady who brought home stray cats and dogs on a regular basis.  And even though she may have unleashed a demon that’s hungry for flesh and bone, somewhere past the evil, I think the real her can still be reached. “Mom. Are you in there?” I call as loud as I can trying to connect with her soul where it’s buried underneath the carnage. I hear a crack of thunder and see a flash of lightning bolt across the sky through the front window. Immediately the nose of the plane points downwards sending us into a spiral as we descend at breakneck speed.  Both Aiden and I grab hold of the first thing we can while the bouncing plane continues to fall.  A rattling noise like a giant washing machine stuck on the spin cycle clangs through the air, as the earth surely rises to meet us. Aiden starts sobbing loud hiccupping cries of anguish and only slightly stifles his moans when the ghost growls at me. “You will not hand that precious child over to him. You will not. You must fight.  If you don’t make me a solemn promise that you won’t let him go, I will not cross over and I will not leave you be.  Don’t let him take my son, my precious child away from my other precious child. Don’t give him away, Taylor, please.” “Who, mom? Who’s coming to take Aiden away? I don’t understand.” “There is something wicked there inside of that man,” the pointed teeth mimicking my mom’s voice sputter, spit glistening in the harsh light. “He’s full of a fiery greed and a cruel cold-heartedness,” she continues.  “You will both be doomed. Don’t do it or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.  And I will never stop the haunting if you do.” “Mom,” I cry, “the plane is going to crash and kill us.  Stop the plane from falling, Mom, please, hurry.  Aiden and I will both die if you don’t do something.  You must stop it from crashing. Whatever man is coming, I won’t give him Aiden, I promise.  I will always look after my brother. He and I will be a family together. We’re going to Puget Sound, mom. We are taking you there too.  We will all be together, and you can cross over into the light now. God is there waiting to take your hand.  Please, mom, please stop possessing everyone on this plane"– my voice cracks and breaks off as the teardrops snake silently down my face and I make the sign of the cross, shifting my eyes upwards, praying incessantly to the dear Lord above. And that’s when it all comes to a halt. I’m back in my seat with Aiden next to me and I’ve got perfectly chilled white wine on my tray.  All the passengers are there and safe and everything is as normal as it was when we first settled in.  Aiden is laughing at some silly video, multicolored cartoon images dancing flamboyantly across the screen of his iPad, and there is the low murmur of sleepy voices and soft snores all around the cabin. It will be months from now when my dad will appear out of the blue and offer me money, lots of money, to take Aiden off my hands. He will beg and plead for me to accept his offer, he will want to take him to move to Mexico with his new wife and infant daughter.  A daughter conceived while my mom was still in the hospital battling her illness so bravely, without any compassion or help from him. But I am firm with my answer, as is Aiden. No.  My dad had his chance to be part of our lives when we were young, and our hearts were tender, and we needed him so much.  But he chose not to be there for any of us. No amount of money in this world will tear Aiden and me apart. Thanks mom, but I had it covered all along.