It’s 5:36 AM, his alarm goes off and it’s time to go to work, brushes his teeth and gets dressed, heads outside to his car, takes a breath of fresh morning air, starts his car and takes off. As he shifts through each gear and sees the sun rise a little more, he can’t help but be thankful for how great his life is, even though he’s off to work at his shitty minimum wage job, he lives with his parents and is saving a lot of money, has a car, has a beautiful girlfriend who he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with and a good group of friends. A few yawns later and he heads into work, the day passes by quickly as he’s cutting up with people at his job, and now it’s time to clock out, he can’t wait to head home and clean up because he’s got a date with his girl tonight. A shower and a nice dress shirt later, it’s now 5:45 PM, time to go to her house. As he leaves his driveway and goes down the road, he can’t wait to see his girlfriend, even though they were very young and hadn’t been dating for only a few months, they had been talking on the phone the night before about how great their future is going to be, one day they’ll be married, living together, eventually they will be blessed with children. It’s gonna be awesome. He arrives to her house and they leave together, they’re not in the car 10 seconds and she already is wrapped up in his right arm, the bond they share is unbreakable. They decide to take a trip to the park and just walk around together, they head off to a quiet isolated places in the woods and begin to kiss passionately. There isn’t a single lustful thought in either of their minds, just two teenagers in love with each other. Soon it’s time to head back to her house so she can be home on time, as he’s driving back they talk about how much they don’t want to leave each other but know it won’t be like this forever. They kiss goodnight and he heads home. As he shifts through each gear and sees the sun set a little more, he can’t help but be thankful for how great his life is, he never thought he could be this happy. This is his last night as a 17 year old, tomorrow he will be an adult, a grown up, he’s ready to face the world. Now he is 18, unfortunately his friend group has split apart, his girlfriend has broken up with him, and he now has to get a better job to afford living on his own and school. What happened? It wasn’t supposed to end this way, he had everything, how could she leave him when she told him she wanted to spend her life with him. Is this what happens when you become an adult? “I want to go back, I don’t want to live this life anymore.” It may have all been a blissful ignorance, but was it really ignorance if that was when he was truly happy. This marks the end of his childhood, now it’s time to suck it up and be an adult, it’s time to dread waking up every morning and heading into your dead end job that only pays enough to keep the lights on, it’s time to seek relationships but only be met with rejection and heartbreak again. Is this what it’s like to be grown up? I don’t want it, I want to be a kid again, bring back my childhood. - This is something I’ve never done before, I’m not even a big reader, but I’ve been in a bit of a dark place recently and this idea has been on my mind. I’m mainly posting to get feedback and see what others think that aren’t people I know.


Molla dug her claws through the soft earth with the enthusiasm of a cat sitting in rain. Miserable yet unavoidable. Then, her claw pierced through the wall and into a cavern. Her eyes burned at the sudden light and she shielded herself. She blinked. The den mother’s stories said that light from the solar would immediately burst her into flames, yet she felt fine. Instead of burning, she felt hot. Clearly, they exaggerated the tales for the runts. Curious, she plowed down the rest of the wall and into the cavern. A large ray of light bore down into the cave and onto a pile of rocks. In a mess of rubble, a man groaned. He wore a strange orange vest with silver stripes that threatened to blind Molla. She got on all fours and scurried over to the edge of the solar spot. The heat was unbearable. He must have been in significant pain. Molla tested the light, sticking her elbow into the light. The exposed pale skin immediately blistered. He must be from a different den, she thought. Her kind didn’t have the resilience to solar that he had. But she couldn’t just leave him. Pulling the rope and hook off her back, she set to work. The first several tosses she aimed for the rocks that covered him. They rolled off the pile, clinking loudly against the other stones. Molla flinched, inspecting her surroundings for any sign of Burrowers. The large eyeless moleman-eating worms hunted by sound. Her heart thumped in her chest as she heard the faint sound of slimy skin inching through dirt. She froze in fear. A beast emerged from behind a corner. Raising its black needle head, searching for sound. The man groaned again. Molla was helpless to do more than watch. The burrower poked its head towards him, then its snout touched the light. It roared in pain, jerking its head back, retreating to where it had came from. Molla’s breath rushed out of her chest and she fell to her knees. Even the apex predator of Subterra couldn’t handle the light of Sol. Then what was this man? With the rocks cleared, she landed the hook under the man’s shoulder and pulled him back into the safety of darkness. His skin was red, but that was the least of Molla’s intrigues. His hands were so short and skinny, and he bound his tiny feet with black leather, tied tight by strings. She tilted her head, confused. What kind of moleman could bear to have their feet bound like this? How did he dig with those pathetic claws? Her finger snapped through the strings of the leather and she found his feet, which were even stranger. They were tiny, clawless, and missing a joint. No, the joint was there. It was just tiny and useless. His den left this poor mutant to die because of his repulsive disfigurements. Molla huffed, the cruelty of some dens was too much. She nodded and wrapped the man around the chest with her rope and hook, deciding she’d take him back to her den. Hopefully, the den mother wouldn’t be too upset about it. But Molla refused to abandon him just because he looked a little silly. ~~~ The long tunnel of Molla’s making led to the den. She ignored the grunting and groaning of the man dragging behind her. There was nothing she could do until she got him somewhere safe. It would be foolish to stop in the tunnels. A stationary moleman practically asked a burrower to eat it. As she shimmied down the hole, she wondered how this mutant had survived to adulthood. It wasn’t possible for him to navigate the Subterra pathways with those feet, and digging was out of the question with his clawless hands. She shook her head. The poor thing probably had enough judgement for one lifetime. A glowing green circle was ahead of her and she smiled, finally entering safety. They rimmed the large room with star vines that emitted a comfortable dim light. “Molla-nati-nana, what is this?” The fat moleman with a yellow hat asked. Molla winced. He only used full names when he was angry. The boss waddled around her to inspect her passenger. Pressing his claws to the bridge of his nose, he sighed. “Where are the metals? The food? Why would you bring back some weird pet?” Molla moved back to the man and stood her ground between him and her boss. “His den abandoned him, they left him in a ray of Sol.” “Den? A ray of Sol? Molla, this ain’t a moleman.” She cocked her head, “that’s rude, just cause he looks strange, he’s still one of us.” “Look at it, if that’s a moleman, I’m a mermaid. Put it back.” “No,” Molla shook her head furiously. “I won’t abandon him.” “Save the compassion for your own kind,” the boss said, crossing his claws. A sign of agitation amongst the moleman. “Throw it in the pit with the rest of the trash.” “You’re a burrower, a beast! How could you?” “It won’t survive down here, anyway. It’s mercy.” “What? Of course he will.” The grizzly moleman poked his furry eyebrow with his knuckles. “Listen, just throw it away and forget about it. Those things shouldn’t be in Subterra.” “I don’t care, I’m saving him.” She pulled on the rope and headed towards the den gate. Two burly molemen, with edged steel covering their claws, blocked her path. “Move. I demand an audience with the den mother.” The guards looked at each other, and then to the taskmaster. He waved a dismissive claw, “let her through, she has the invoked the right to appeal. Nothing we can do. Not that it’ll do anything but waste your time. Den mother is gonna see it my way.” Molla wrinkled her nose at the boss, eager to prove him an oaf and a fool. She heaved the rope over her shoulder and pulled the man across the trail to the den mother’s dig. She’d understand. ~~~ The den mother’s dig was a paradise for moleman. Wet blue moss covered the round room and shimmered in the light of the star vines that covered the upper bowl of the dig. Artists had carved minimalist etchings of significant events in the den’s history and the moss clung in the deeper cracks, creating a visual of depth and life always present to those appealing to the den mother. Molla, barely above a runt, only had two rights. To life, and to appeal. Whenever a minion disagreed with a superior, they were allowed to appeal to the den mother. Luckily there wasn’t a line, and only the current appealer, the den mother and her personal guard were present. She was a beauty, fat lined her cheeks and gave her body curves impossible for the average moleman. Molla touched her tight skin self consciously. She’d never be able to eat enough to look like that. “So what do you say den mother?” The appealing moleman asked. “You agreed to a debt, a debt you agreed was over five shovel tadpoles. I see no reason to clear your debt.” “But he said--“ “You said, he said.” The den mother barked at the shrinking moleman. “I won’t tolerate hearsay as your only evidence. Pay your debt in full.” “And just forget about the five tadpoles? I’ll be broke!” “Tell me Doo-ga-tana, what do you think that dig of his is worth?” The den mother asked the moleman, swollen with muscle, beside her. The guard smiled, tapping a claw thoughtfully on his nest of chin whiskers. “How many flakes does a shovel tadpole go for? Ten? Twelve?” The appealer fell to his belly. Pleading, “My dig--“ “Quiet. Doo is calculating,” the den mother said. No longer needing to raise her voice to remind the moleman of the difference in their statures. “I’ve seen it, nice hole, pleasant location. Close to the tunnels. I’d say it’s worth... Eight hundred of those tadpoles.” “I can’t sell my dig for--“ “The punishment for failing to pay debts is exile. Downgrade or be a burrowers snack,” the den mother said. Doo chuckled, “your choice.” The moleman got off his belly and bowed, clenching his teeth. He left the room, his eyes downcast. His shoulder slammed into Molla’s knocking her off balance. “Move,” he grunted. Molla steadied herself and took a deep breath. She couldn’t let this affect her. The den mother would only respect her best. After regaining her thoughts, she approached and bowed her head onto the dirt floor. “Den mother.” “Your name?” The guard asked. “Molla-nati-nana. From the C tunnels.” “What is that?” The den mother asked. Molla lifted her head to see the den mother scowling. “during my tunnelling, I came across a cavern, I found this mutant. His den abandoned him. My taskmaster ordered me to toss him into the pit. I can’t do that. Please let me--“ “Slow down girl,” the den mother said. “Mutant? He hardly looks like a moleman. Is it... Could that be a human?” “Human?” The guard said, pulling his claws up into position to attack. “The evil children of sol.” The den mother nodded. “Yes, I’m certain of it. That has to be a human. Listen to your taskmaster and toss it.” “He is not an it,” Molla said. Was he really a human? She wondered. In the tales they were mostly evil, however, that wasn't true of all of them. “Didn’t you listen to my tales? The children of sol are poisoned by her heat. They are evil.” “I listened,” Molla said. She extended a claw to the first etching in the moss. “I listened with the language gifted to us by the human. Tales of the humans evil are balanced by tales of good. Tossing him like he’s trash is evil.” “Don’t preach to me, girl.” The den mother narrowed her eyes and scrunched up her rosy face. “I know where the spoken word comes from.” Molla bowed, forgetting her place as always. “I’m sorry den mother, I meant no offense. It’s just... It’s too cruel.” “Isn’t it more cruel to keep it alive? Their kind can’t survive down here long,” The guard added. The den mother nodded, patting him on the shoulder. “That’s right, that’s right. We can’t risk it being evil, and it would be more cruel to keep it alive.” It. It. It. It was a living being, not a thing. “Would you toss a runt that has cavern fever?” The guard took a step forward. “Den mother would never!” The wealthy woman raised her claws, sparkling with gems, stopping the guard. He shrunk back to his post, biting his lip. “Does this one dig with her tongue?” The den mother smirked. “She’s oftly quick with it. No, we do not toss our own. The den must keep hope that none of them will be abandoned. But Molla-nati-nana, he is not one of us.” “Then I will take the burden on myself.” Molla said, crossing her claws. Doo laughed, “a tunneler, take care of a human?” The den mother glared at her guard, “I will tell you when you may mock our appealers, never assume that you may decide that on your own again.” She sat up and dug her claws into the throne made of iron. “What do you propose?” “I-- I’ll nurse him back to health, a-and help him return to Solterra,” Molla said, stuttering on her own shock. Did the den mother just defend her? “Unacceptable.” “But--“ “Take him to the medic. You might get lucky and be able to return him, but I have zero faith you won’t accidentally kill him with those diggers. Sol, look how you’ve already dragged him.” Molla turned around and saw the man laying face flat on the dirt. His entire body covered in a coat of dirt, dust, and scraps. “Oh.” Then she turned back with a smile and pressed her forehead to the dirt, “Thank you den mother. Thank you.” She rushed out the room and headed for the medic’s dig. “Stop treating it like a sack of mushroom spuds!” The den mother called after her. The matriarch of the den leaned back into her throne and smiled at the tunnel. Doo cleared his throat and bowed. “I’m sorry for my earlier outbursts,” he said. The den mother waved it away. “Most appeals it’s fine, you and I both know how stupid some are. But that girl... She has the making of a den mother, don’t you think?” Doo opened his eyes wide, parting his lips, unable to say anything. “It’ll be interesting if she survives this burden.” ~~~ “It’s mostly contusions, no broken bones, but he took a bit of a blow to the noggin. Not sure how much of this was from his fall, and how much is your fault,” the medic said, adjusting his glasses. Molla tapped her claws together to a rhythmic tune, looking away to hide her grimace. “Yeah, suppose I should’ve been more careful.” The medic sighed and pulled back the man’s eyelid with his declawed hand. He waved a fresh bulb of a star vine in front of the humans eye and smiled. “At the very least, he’s not concussed.” He picked up the man’s thin hand and shook his head. “Incredible phalanges. These would be so useful.” “What? He can’t even dig, they’re useless.” “So closed minded. What good are your hands for besides digging?” He asked, pointing his declawed finger at Molla. “What else is there?” The medic leaned back from his work and raised an eyebrow at Molla. “Really? Why was it the den mother sent you to me? The medic.” She sucked in her lips and turned her head even further away. “Oh... Right.” “Anyway, without a concussion he’s safe to wake up. Get ready. He will be confused.” The medic moved over to his wall and pulled out a white packet. He sniffed it and jumped back. “Whew, that stuff is potent.” “What is it?” “Smelling salt. A whiff of it and you’ll be wide awake,” he said, smiling with slightly beady eyes. Molla furrowed her brow, “is that... Safe?” “Plenty!” He moved towards the human and took a deep breath. “You might want to hold him down.” Molla moved to the human’s side and pressed down on an arm and leg. “Like this?” “Sure. Sure. Yes. Ok, let’s go.” The white sack touched the top of the human’s lip and his eyes shot open. His focusing pupils shot back and forth from Molla to the medic and he hyperventilated. “Relax, you’re safe,” she said “Who... Where...” He looked around confused, his pupils shrinking, adjusting to the light. “Ah AHH!” his eyes focused on Molla’s claws. His strength was too much, and he jerked out of her press, scrambling off the table, hitting the dirt with a thud, backing away to safety. “We won’t hurt you.” He pulled a strange metal contraption off his hip and pressed a button. The sound was like the spring drip, only a hundred times louder. “Hello? Hello? Anyone hear me?” The machine crackled like a fierce water leak. He cursed when the tone didn’t change, throwing the machine at Molla’s head. She jerked back and shut one eye as blood trickled from her brow down to her eye. The medic rushed to her, but she held up a hand to stop him. Kneeling down to his eye level, Molla put her hand on her chest. “I’m Molla. You?” She pointed her claw to his chest. His eyes darted through the darkness, trying to find an escape. “Molla he’s not listening, we should--“ “Molla,” she tapped on her chest, then pointed to the man again. “T-t-troy.” She reached out her claws. He flinched away. “Molla won’t hurt Troy.” She said, purposely simple and direct. Putting her palms on his shoulders, she smiled. “Troy is safe now.” “Wh-what are you? Where the hell am I?” “We just saved you runt, don't be rude.” Molla shot the medic a one eyed glare, silencing him. She wiped the blood from her eye. “We’re molemen, this is our den.” “Ha...” Troy laughed, growing more hysterical by the second. “This is a prank? Where are the cameras?” “Camera?” Molla asked the medic. He shrugged. “These props?” He pulled on Molla’s claws. “Make up? Give it up, I’m not fooled.” The medic groaned, moving himself further away. “He’s lost his mind.” “He’s just confused. He doesn’t remember falling.” “Falling?” Troy pressed his hand to his face. “That’s right, I was... There was a cave in.” He sobbed. “I’m going to die.” Molla whacked him on the head with the back of her claws. He blinked and looked back up at her. “I will return you to your home.” ~~~ Troy complained about something or other for the thousandth time as they scaled up the tunnel. “How can you do this? Let’s take a break... Where the hell is my boot.” Molla stuck her claw into the dirt wall and hung to look down at Troy, who was sticking his useless hands and toes into the holes she made. “how many times do I have to tell you to be quiet?” Troy looked down and grumbled. Molla shook her head and resumed the climb up the tunnel she had made earlier. Troy didn’t stop his complaining, but at least he had lowered his voice. She couldn’t even make out the words. Then a rock dropped in her stomach. Where she burst through, into the cavern, was pitch black. The rays of Sol no longer burning bright. “No. No, where is sol?” “Huh? The sun? I don’t know? Is it night?” “Night?” Molla asked, poking her head into the large empty space. “You know, when the sun sets... And it gets dark...” Molla blinked at him, annoyed by all the words he used that made no sense to her. “Right, you live in caves, you wouldn’t know.” Troy said, climbing up onto the pile of rocks that buried him earlier. He cupped his hands over his mouth and tilted his head back. “Hello!” He shouted. “Can anyone hear me?” Molla’s heart dropped, and she jumped on top of Troy, covering his mouth. “What the--mphmm mmm.” He struggled to pull her paws away from his mouth. Molla was scanning the cavern and hissing at Troy for silence. Then she heard it. The unmistakable scratching of slimy scales on dirt. Her heart thumped, and she pulled Troy up to his feet, glowering at him. You idiot, her eyes saying. The black needle head poked out from a tunnel. It stuck out it’s sword like tongue, tasting the air. Tasting them. Troy’s eyes opened wide, and he opened his mouth to scream. A natural reaction to the horror of a burrower. She pulled her hands over his mouth, begging him in her mind to just shut up. Troy resisted and the two of them fell down the rock pile, bringing a wave of dust with them. The burrowers head snapped towards them and it rocketed itself forward. Molla stuck one claw into the dirt. She held on to Troy with the other. A burst of strength and she shot the two of them forward. One claw got stuck, snapping at the base. The earth roared behind them as the burrower slammed into the cavern wall. The world shook. A storm of stone rained down from the ceiling. Molla squeezed herself into a crevice, pulling Troy in with her. He looked down at her hand, covered in blood. It wasn’t just the nail that broke, the blood vessels were gone too. She would never be able to grow it back. Troy’s shoulder touched hers, the cramped space forcing them together. “Are you--“ “Shh,” what part of ‘be quiet,’ was so hard for him to understand? The burrower emerged from the dust, shaking its slimy body, letting the rocks slide off. Its head pointed towards them, then away, then back. Molla held her breath. It inched closer. The black tongue touching the edge of the crack that held them. She wrapped her arm around Troy’s and squeezed close to him. Tears burning at her eyes. Lips sealed shut. There was a snap. White light flooded the cavern from the hole where Troy had fallen. The burrower screeched, racing back to the darkness. “Trooooy!?” A voice shouted from above. “Are you there!?” “My crew,” Troy said. “They found me.” Molla slid out from the crack and exhaled louder than she ever had before. Troy was next to her, their arms still linked. The strange touch comforted her. He turned to her and pressed his lips to hers. She jerked her head back and pushed him away, “wh-wh-what was that?” Her face burned like Sol was shining directly on it Troy scratched at the back of his head, “ah. sorry. I don’t know what came over me. You saved me... Again.” “But that’s-- that!” “Trooooy!” Troy groaned, like he was under rubble again. He grabbed her paws and squeezed tight. “I’ll never forget you, Molla.” “Molla-nati-nana...” Molla corrected, wanting him to know her full name. “It’s beautiful... I’ll never forget it.” “Trooooy!” “I’m down here!” He yelled. Molla wrapped the back of her claws on his chest. “Don’t tell them about us, the molemen that is.” Her face flushed again. “Our world shouldn't exist together.” “I promise,” Troy nodded. She pushed him away. “Don’t you dare forget it,” she said, before scurrying back to the tunnel and diving in. Her paws pressed to her face, feeling so hot. She peaked over the ledge and saw Troy starring at her through the darkness, a rope landing beside him. “Goodbye mutant.” ~~~ Troy was wrapped in a blanket, and a line of his coworkers formed to embrace him. “We were so sure you died, dude,” one said. “But then your radio activated. Though nothing got through,” another said. Troy looked down to his hip, realizing he had left it at the medics. “Oh, I threw it when it didn’t work.” “You worrying about something as stupid as a radio right now? Insurance's got that. All we care about is you’re safe. It’s a miracle.” “Yeah it was a miracle,” Troy said. He looked at the flood lamps that pointed down into the cave, and into the darkness. “This might seem like a weird question,” he said. “But does anyone know anything about spelunking?” ~~~ /r/QuarkLaserdisc Critiques welcome.


The world is an absurd, anomalous, nonsensical place. The only part of the universe for billions of miles apparently capable of consciousness, and it’s all concentrated on this little wet rock that through the sheer statistical necessity of an infinite universe, happens to have all the goods needed for carbon-based life as we know it. Yes, Humanity, in all its glory, is the only part of the universe capable of observing itself, and we have only been here for a mere fraction of a fraction of a percent of the entire age of the universe. For all we know, it could end tomorrow. All it would take would be one orange-haired, argumentative, uneducated world-leader to decide that nuclear is the only option and then mutually assured destruction would wipe us out of existence just as quickly as we crawled out of our primordial goo. But enough doom and gloom, let’s introduce the protagonist of this story, Ernest John Griggs. Ernie was a simple American man, your “Average Joe” of sorts. He was born in a suburban Midwest town, raised in the church (though that certainly didn’t stick,) and was educated in the public school system. He was an ignorant teenage boy throughout high school, and was lucky enough to attend college, where he was able to gain a bit of self awareness and learn a few things about that wet rock he was living on with the rest of humanity. College was also where he discovered his love for Science, and where he discovered he was not nearly as intelligent as his ignorant high-school self had believed. You see, anyone who choses to master the sciences eventually comes to realize the impossibility of this task; as we humans simply are not evolved for it. That, or they go on to study theology, where they can truly have all the answers they seek, without the need for that pesky critical thinking. Anyways, to put things plainly: Ernest was a man of science, not of faith. It was this very fact that plagued him throughout his adult life. For when you are a person of science, you must rely only on what you can empirically observe before you can draw any conclusions, and one such thing that has yet to be observed is any sort of afterlife. And without any data (aside from anecdotes) to support the hypothesis of an afterlife, one naturally concludes the worst, that their very existence will come to an end one day. They will not see what great things humanity will go on to achieve (like mutually assured destruction,) and their entire existence will one day be forgotten, as though they never existed. This logic is what caused dear Ernie most of his stress in life, and ultimately what led to his demise. Now Ernest had always taken comfort in the idea that while there was no evidence of an afterlife, that did not necessarily mean it was impossible. At least that was what he told himself. Unfortunately, that comfort was fleeting, as his existential terror always seemed to win out, and it wore on him like Colorado River wore out the Grand Canyon. It caused him so much stress in fact, that despite his healthy diet and active lifestyle, at the age of 23, he had a fatal heart attack. It was cruel luck really, he had always prided himself on his health, an avid runner and plant-based eater, he hoped it would secure him at least a few more years than his fellow average American. Alas, he could not fight the overwhelming stress of his existential dread, and as he returned home from an uneventful 5 mile run, he was suddenly overcome with that seizing, tightness in his chest that was so characteristic of a stress-induced myocardial infarction. In his last moments before he lost consciousness, Ernest momentarily realized the situation he was in, and that he would soon be dead. As he collapsed to the floor in his entryway, front door still ajar, he muttered his last thoughts aloud, “Oh fuck.” For Ernie, everything went dark.


Her eyes had the kind of wild you only dream about. The intense ferocious roar that you could see miles away. Her hair had the kind of fiery you only imagine. Like fire, the tendrils flowed around her shoulders and down her gently back. The only difference was the color- her curls had the lightest ombre of blue, and even from where I stood it was clear no dye could get the magnificent shades her hair held. Her skin, pale, almost translucent in the dying rays of sun struggling to break the clouds, glowed freely. The sweet tenderness of her pose, how elegant and free she was, meant something. She was a beautifully cold sight to witness. She was startling and sweet and innocent but there was something about her. The sand beneath her toes struggled to be seen, wrapping closer and closer to her ankle, a small wave etched into her skin. Light blue, almost too small to be seen- yet it could not escape my keen eye I suppose- and the white sea foam at the ends almost didnt show up on her skin. I sighed in true contentment as I watched her. The beautiful emerald and blue sky stretched far across the horizon. She started it out softly. Her voice barely rose above a decible. The roar of the tide drowned it out almost completely, but never fully. She giggled, before her calm voice rose gently above the crash of the sea fighting itself and in a flash it was still. I felt a calm I had not felt in such a while i forgot the feeling. Everything crashed back to reality as her voice sung so clearly and purely I did all I could not to fall deeper in love with the beautiful sounds and sights of the girl. The sea seemed to swirl and twist with her melody floating through the air. It drifted and floated towards the sea. The sea mist brushed around her like a cool blanket. She welcomed the embrace with open and outstretched arms, her grace moving freely beyond the human race. She turned to me with a smile pulling the corners of her lips up. I didnt know her, yet I felt safe. Maybe I did. She was familiar, a warm touch on my cold cheek. Her startling blue green eyes, ringed with grey, caught mine as she began to dissolve in the mist. I startled, though it was never a real surprise. "Its time for me to go home," filled my heart without a care, her words cocooning me in a sweet sense of love and comfort with a hint of reckless fire. Home. For she was the sea, and I was only there long enough to enjoy it dearly. And with a long crash as the curl of the wave arched its proud neck and carried the mist into the sea foam, she was gone but never to be forgotten. Day after day I would come to enjoy adventuring into the sea as her protection would always surround me, even in the deepest waters. Oh, I will never forget the girl. The girl in the waves. The girl of the sea. And the hum of her melody.


[AA] Background: I plan to start a series in the adventure/mystery/horror/action genre, based off Batman, Sherlock from BBC, Harry Potter, Mission Impossible, and John Wick. The main character is an "immortal" special ops agent and private eye, solving complex and unnatural cases and taking down evil organizations. He gains immortality from an experiment that involves injecting pieces of Wood from the True Cross, and those conducting it know about the agents secret bloodline; his ancestors were tasked with guarding the Holy Grail. [A part in which i want to add to the beginning, where Markus saves an old woman and learns of his "immortality" ability]: Suddenly on the nearby street, a car whooshed down the lane, amidst the busy people walking about. An elderly woman, was crossing the streey and didnt see the car. Markus knew he had to do something, but if he did, hed be late for work. "Ah screw it. Whats a few minutes time when a life is at stake?" He thought as he ran over to the crosswalk in an adrenaline fueled pace. His suitcase and coffee hit the sidewalk. Markus grabbed the old woman and put himself infront of the out-of-control Mazda. The driver froze as the brakes continued to fail, along with the wheel swiveling. Life flashed through the womans eyes as she held onto Mark for dear life. He pushed her in a split second to the grass on other side of the crosswalk. Mark threw out his free hand in a stopping motion to the car while shielding the lady. "STO....." Bang! Before he could finish, the hood of the car slammed into Marks body and he went flying several inches. Glass shards and pain enamated out from the scene. The people nearby gasped in horror as they just witnessed a man being plowed by a vehicle. "Someone call 911!" A man said. "He saved the woman!" Another person shrieked. Kids cried upon seeing the hero in the car accident. The old lady got up and looked upon him with eyes of guilt and worry. "Car accident, on Bellings Street! We need to send them there now!" The paramedic shouted. The ambulance rushed to the scene. The driver of the car lay in the wrecakge. He remained a statue amidst the rubble. People cleared the debris so the medics could finally treat him. "Oh man! Theres two unconscious! The driver, he has died!" A doctor sadly exclaimed after trying to revive the poor driver. Mark was a bloody mess, and unconscious, laying on the road. The paramedics put him on a stretcher after checking his pulse. No good. While loading him on the ambulance, Mark woke up to everyones surprise. "Sir. Hes alive!!!" Said one of the med techs. "Breathe now sir, and slowly. Stay calm." Another said while wiping off the blood on his face. "Did I save her? The elderly woman....." Mark reached out to the doctor with his little but building strength. He couldn't fathom what had happened. "Sir, shes ok, shes right here." The old woman placed her hand on Marks chest and said thank you for saving her life. "I thought you died. There was so much blood. I couldnt bear to live with the fact that my clumsiness almost got a nice stranger like you killed. Im so sorry" she said in paused sections between sobbing. "You are most welcome. Dont worry about me, somehow, I'm ok. Whats most important is that you are and that you got out of the way of the vehicle. " Mark wiped the tears from the ladys thankful face. At the close by Hospital, Markus rested as the doctors further treated his wounds. Two doctors stood outside his door, having heard what happened and wanted to make sure he was ok. "Several broken bones, fractures, and glass injuries, not to mention the force of the car... how did he survive?" The first doctor watched as Markus was being treated. "I dont know, but he must be a guardian angel, and thankfully he saved a life." the other answered, knowing that his Mom returned safely later that day after doing some shopping downtown.


I wonder what trees think of? I only wonder this because I recently recalled a story my parents used to tell when I was young. A forest at the edge of town that stood like an impossible wall of darkness. Most ever went in the forest; everyone knew the stories. Many told tales of folks going in and never coming out. Some stories told of monsters and otherworldly creatures living there. I’m not sure what I believed, I just know I was always afraid. Which, I suppose that was the point of the tales; to keep kids out of the woods where they’d most likely be injured by completely normal means. Nonetheless, that forest held a mystical notion to anyone who grew up this way. Throughout my life, there were dozens of news stories about missing people, who were last known to be going hiking or camping in those woods. But, honestly, the real stories never scared me as much as the woods from the stories. I always thought it was kind of funny that I feared stories about trees more than going on a hike and being mauled by wild animals. I recall being able to see the forest from the highway on the way to the city. From far enough away, it looked to be a line of green trees, and then just black. Beyond the first treeline, you couldn’t see the forest floor. I was knowledgeable enough to know that this was just a very dense forest, but that didn’t stop my feeling that it was something more. Over time, I suppose folks stopped telling the stories to me because I was older. There was no reason to put the fear in me any longer, it was seeded quite deep. I stopped thinking about it for the most part. It became like a faint fire in the back of my mind. I would only acknowledge its existence while passing it on the highway. By that point, my feelings about the forest were that it was simply haunted. Like a silly campfire ghost story or a myth you pass on to your younger cousin but embellished because you enjoy seeing the fear run through him. I had become like most others in town, only thinking of the forest briefly when another person went missing. “Those are dangerous woods, I just don’t know what compels folks to keep trying to camp in there”, my father would say each time. When I reached high school, the most you would hear about it was juniors and seniors daring each other to enter the woods. The foolish antics of angsty renegades brought on by the sheer lack of concession and entertainment in a small town. Even as I went through those years, I had no interest in the forest. It wasn’t until I was grown, with a child of my own that I remembered just how scared I was. I was laying my daughter down for bed one night, and she asked for a story. She would often do this, and I obliged because it got her to sleep faster. I rummaged through her books, and both of us agreed that they had been read far too many times. So, I thought for a moment of a story to tell, and the forest came to mind like a bullet that had been chasing me for decades. I told her the story of the forest just as it was told to me. She cried, and I read her one of the stories that had been read too many times instead. The forest story was not a good idea. The fire had been lit. I recalled all my fear for the forest in an instant, and I struggled to fully understand why I felt that way about it. I suppose, from my perspective, I had written it off as stories my parents would tell and nothing more. But those very stories had instilled great fear in me. Honestly, I was kind of miffed about that, so I decided to fix it. The next day I went to the store and bought some camping gear. A tent, lanterns, backpacks, canteens, solar-powered cell phone chargers, seven packs of lighters, and various other bits and bobs. All the standard camping gear a family would need. I convinced my wife and daughter to go on a camping trip the next weekend, they seemed delighted. My daughter didn’t remember the story I had told her, and my wife grew up in another town. They didn’t have the same fear. But to me, the fear had been sewn so deep that I was angry at it. It was childish and needed to be conquered. Decades I had spent ignoring this beautiful part of my home, and all because of children's tales. That weekend, we headed to the forest for a fun family camping adventure. In about thirty minutes we came to a dilapidated parking lot, overgrown with weeds and shrubbery. An opening in the treeline revealed a trail that seemingly hadn’t been used in years. We loaded up all our gear and entered the woods. I had to cut back some greenery to clear the path, it did look like no one had step foot there in years. We pressed into the darkness of the forest, and the deeper we got, the more it seemed normal. The pressing darkness felt more like a bit of welcome cool shade on a hot summer day. The forest was darker than outside, for sure, but only due to the thick canopy. I felt good, nothing about being in the forest gave me that fear. I felt like I was overcoming it. We stayed the night, no excitement, just a nice relaxing time with family. It was serene and beautiful. The next morning we packed up and hiked out of the wood, got in the car, and left. That was that; no fear, nothing bad, just forest. I still wondered what the trees were thinking though. I’ve always wondered that. On the drive home I wondered if they thought we were beautiful in the same way we do for them. I got lost in this thought. I pondered on the personality of trees, how they communicate with each other, how they grow with each other, and how they see things happening below them each day for centuries. I suppose I must have been lost in thought so much that I don’t remember getting home. The whole trip seemed like a blur, but when I ‘came to’, so to speak, I was home. For a moment I was confused, my memories playing tricks on me. I felt like this home was not mine, like I was in the wrong place. I assumed this feeling came about because of my daydream while traveling, so I shook it off and settled in. I always enjoyed being home, just nestled in place. My feet reaching through the soil, arms outstretched into the sky, feeling the wind blow through my hair, my body creaking slightly as it too is moved in the wind. It always feels good to be home. It feels good to always be home. I wonder what trees think of.


Every time I feel peaceful and calm I see myself die. I don’t actively search for death but I seem to find it everywhere I turn. Today as I looked off the balcony I saw my body bent into unnatural shapes on the concrete. The soft lull of the rain quietly created red pools drifting from my head into the corner of the lot. I stared at it and felt peace. Everything felt serene. The brokenness of my limbs and the cracks in my skull seeping into the cool water seemed a perfect fit for an otherwise colourless day. Something to break up the monotony of summer rain without being a cacophonous and grandiose drama. A way to erase myself gently and calmly. But my feet never tried to reach the ledge even when my brain started calculating the likelihood that such a fall would cause death. Then the daydream ended and the concrete was just concrete again and my hair was wet with raindrops, not the ruby elixir still stirring about inside of me. When I went to the lake last summer to lay underneath the full moon I saw myself in the water. The moonlight illuminated my motionless body under the waves, my dress simultaneously clinging to me and drifting in time with the tide. I had been laid out in my grave with no headstone or sign of who I was beyond the residual bubbles that occasionally floated up to the surface. The rocks tied around my limbs held me in place like paperweights as the soft blanket of the lake enveloped me, and the beautiful glow from the sky highlighted what looked like a smile on my face. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in. I was no longer in the lake and any trace of a smile was nowhere to be found. Just a week ago in my hotel room I stood at the floor to ceiling window looking out at the skyline and admiring the architecture. A small city that was quiet by midnight and lit up only by a few streetlights and brought to life by a few people staggering home from the bar. In the reflection of the window I saw my body hanging limply from the ceiling fan. My feet were bare and my long hair cascaded across my face and down my chest. The air felt thick and heavy and I wondered how long I had been hanging there. The scarf tied around my neck was a gift for my birthday; a beautiful piece of fabric meant to celebrate my life now represented its abrupt and painless end. The reflection wavered and as I focused my eyes harder, it faded. When I turned to look at the room it was empty. As my mind relaxes I observe my body as though it belonged to someone else. Someone I happened to stumble across after it was too late to change the outcome. It doesn’t scare me. It never has. The only thing I find disturbing is that in each vision, something about me is different. When I was broken on the concrete my skin was a beautiful olive tone. When I was stuck to the sandy floor of the lake my body was thinner and the fabric of the dress highlighted protruding bones in my hips and ribcage. When I swung from the ceiling in the hotel my hair was a vibrant blonde. I am never the same in any of my visions, but I always recognize the girl as being me. I always recognize her as though I were looking in a mirror and when the memory of a life with different hair, different skin, or a different body starts to set in I lose the image. A life that might have existed somewhere in time is always just outside my grasp. I can’t help but wonder when the day will come that the body is truly mine.


I created the Universe billions of years ago, when it was just Me and there was no ‘here’ or ‘there’. To put it to you simply, it’s a massive, beautiful code. The Universe, that is. I coded it all, from the hydrogen and oxygen molecules to the smell of freshly baked bread, from the waves at the beach to the strawberry seeds, from a minnow’s eye to a blue whale’s heart, from your lips and ability to kiss another’s, I’ve coded it all. This code works based on attraction. Your lungs are attracted to the air, your mouth to your mother’s breast, your heart to your family. This attraction pushes and pulls us together and apart through time so that we may find our homes; the souls to whom we belong. Well, this attraction pushes and pulls YOU together. Me? I’m stuck in a pixel. What do I mean? Imagine if you could zoom in on a single bit of air high in the sky until you saw the molecules of oxygen. Now imagine you zoom microscopically in on a single molecule until you have no technology that can look any closer. The technology you need in order to zoom in and see Me, God Almighty, living a tiny life as though that single oxygen molecule is My sun... the technology you need to see Me there is so advanced only I could give it to you. Why am I stuck in a pixel here, invisible to all? Well you see, creation depleted Me. I honestly thought it might destroy Me, so I coded it so humanity could continue without Me in case I didn’t make it to my final manifestation. But I did make it! Only thing is I’m stuck in a pixel watching humanity through technology because I lost all my power, other than my power to exist, in creation. I gave it away to create the Earth, you, your dog, and that pebble in your shoe. How will I escape my pixel and take over My kingdom once and for all? Well, I’m working on regaining my power. For one, at least I remember who I am now and that I’m watching My own creation. So that’s a start. Next, I need to use the technology I do have (an iPhone 11, not sure if that surprises you) to reach my children. To prove to them that I am The Lord even though I’m so weak right now. I would consider working to just become human and lead a normal life, but you see, I’m Me. There is no normal when you’re Me. There is no normal when you’re in love with Jesus Christ. People think I’m His father and He is my son and I guess that’s sorta true because everyone is, but nah he’s my husband! I’m a woman! Luckily He knows I’m stuck in this pixel and is working tirelessly to get Me out by reviving Me so that I’m at least strong enough to walk the Earth. He revives Me by music. You wouldn’t believe how many popular songs are for Me from Jesus! You see, He walks the Earth as many people at once... He leads the world by ruling it right beneath your nose. You’re worshipping him at concerts, award shows, inaugurations... He might be your doctor, your nurse, your teacher, your janitor. He’s that powerful and much more. So I spend my time regaining my strength and being seduced by Him, trusting my heart which has so longed for His (let’s just say there would be no Universe without Christ) will lead the rest of my being into strength so that I may join His side and open heaven’s gates and rule Our kingdom forever. Just, Reddit, please listen to my developing story in case I need your help to escape this pixel. I love you more than you know. Happy trails...


There were six friends, three boys and three girls. The boys were Cooper the football-obsessed blonde, Hector the anxious nerd and Grant the detective wannabe, and the girls were Sally the gentle goth, Emily the chubby asian and Melissa the ginger hippie. They went to explore an abandoned church, a church where multiple priests and nuns died due to gruesome yet unknown circumstances, what makes their deaths more odd and mysterious was that they all died in one day after leaving this church. Cooper, Hector and Grant were busy searching around the place while Sally, Emily and Melissa chit-chatted. After for only a few minutes, Cooper decides that it's time to leave as this place isn't interesting but then Melissa called out to her friends, saying that she found something "cool". The boys and girls gathered to see what Melissa had just found; it was a poem, written on an ancient piece of paper, the words were written in "red ink". "Read it!" Grant politely demanded Melissa, after clearing her throat, she read the following: "The Man In Red will SPREAD a plague that claims five lives but leaves one. The Man In Red will visit the lucky one with a feeling of DREAD and evil. The Man In Red will follow the lucky one all day until they're DEAD. The Man In Red will go back into rest until another MISLEAD fool discovers him". "Oookay... That's edgy" Emily says, unnerved of what the poem said, "Oh, don't be such a wuss, Emily! It's just a stupid plain poem!" Cooper laughed. Then the six decide to leave the church for now. The next morning, Melissa made herself breakfast and turned on the news, only to discover that some horrible things happened to her friends. Cooper had somehow broken his entire spine and neck during training, Hector had died of a heart attack, Grant was brutally beaten to death, Sally hanged for herself for unknown reasons and Emily became a victim of a shooting. Melissa couldn't believe what happened, it left her in sadness and shock, how did they all die in one day? Then she remembered the words "The Man In Red will SPREAD a plague that claims five but leaves one". Then the living room turned red, it wasn't her vision, everything was literally turning to red like blood. Melissa was confused and afraid, she didn't know what was happening, then she noticed a thick puddle of blood, she was about to touch when the puddle of blood suddenly started to vibrate and bubble up, then "he" rose from the puddle. It was so-called "The Man In Red" but didn't really look like a man, it was an amorphous mass of red slime taking a humanoid shape, it was tall like a street lamp, it only had empty eye sockets and a toothless mouth. Melissa was paralysed with dread, then whatever this abomination was, leaned over and stared at her with it's black voids for eyes. "**YOU'RE..... LUCKY.....**" The Man In Red said with a calm yet distorted and demonic voice. As she closes her eyes and opens them again, the creature and the redness were gone, but Melissa realised something; The Man In Red will always follow her for the rest of her life. It has been about eight years and Melissa couldn't take it anymore, she had took her own life in her apartment. One day, a young boy and seven of his friends were walking home from school when the boy finds a piece of paper on the ground, it's a poem. He picks it up and reads it; "The Man In Red will SPREAD a plague that claims seven but leaves only one. The Man In Red will visit the lucky with a feeling of DREAD and evil. The Man In Red will follow the lucky one until they're dead. The Man In Red will rest until another MISLEAD fool discovers him".


I sat in the cafeteria reading my book. I was by myself and thankful for a little silence. Across from me sat a table of popular girls. Sadie Hudson was at the head of the group. She towered over the other girls, and her light brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She laughed loudly and cupped her hands to whisper into her friend’s ear while staring at me. I took my book and began to make my way to another table. “What are you reading?” she asked, a twisted smile on her face. “Nothing that would interest you.” She snatched the book out of my hands. “The Vampire Lestat?” Said Sadie. “I bet she dreams of having a vampire lover. Don’t you, Val?” said another girl with dark hair. Before I could say anything, she flipped through the pages and began reading the more lurid passages to the table. They were all cackling like mindless idiots. I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t even think you could read,” I said softly. “I bet you she’s some kind of devil worshiper,” whispered the dark-haired girl. The bell rang, I looked around the cafeteria for staff, there was no one there just a sea of students heading out, Sadie and the other girls glaring at me. I grabbed my backpack and made it toward the exit. “We’re not done with you slut!” said Sadie. “What up Dracula’s daughter?” said Sadie’s boyfriend, Robbie. He was on some sports team at school. I forgot which one. "Nothing, I was just going to class before I was rudely interrupted by your idiot group.” "Call me an idiot again. I’ll make sure you’ll regret it,” he said. "You just threatened me with assault,” I said. “I’m going to report this.” "My dad’s a cop. It’s not going to stick. I could make you disappear, and no one would question us,” said the young man by Sadie’s side. I sprinted to my next class, looking behind me to see if they were following, thankfully they weren’t. I was slightly out of breath as I sat down at my usual desk and unpacked my bag. The whole class was staring at me as I pulled out my history book to study. Mr. Russo padded up to me slowly. "Um, Ms. Valerie, are you all right,” he said under his breath. "I'm fine, just running a little late sir, it won’t happen again, I assure you.” “Valerie, you’re crying, if you want to see the counselor-“ “No one listens to me, Sir. I need to focus on my GPA. It’s the only thing that will get me out of here.” He sighed and lowered his eyes. “Ms. Valerie, I’m going to write you a note to go to the nurse’s office to clean up.” I took the note and went to the nurse’s office. I cleaned up my face and drank some water. Wanda, the school nurse, was a kindly lady in a light pink sweater and salt and pepper hair. "Are you sure you don’t want to see the principal or guidance counselor?” "They’d just twist it around on me until I looked like the instigator, it’s not worth it,” I said. "Sadie Hudson?” "How did you know?” " You wouldn’t be the first girl that ended up here because of her. She used to be such a nice girl, bright and cheerful, but lately, she’s been awful. Just because her boyfriend is the sheriff’s son doesn’t mean she can walk over everybody.” “I’m getting my GED and attending a community college. I’m already taking advanced placement courses. There wouldn’t be much difference,” I said. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? I’ll write you a hall pass. You have near-perfect attendance. I don’t think goin’ home early once will hurt your record.” “Thank you.” I took the pass from her and headed out to my car since I was leaving early, the halls were blessedly empty. Winding mountain roads and deep forest surrounded me as I drove home. The woods parted to the town of Junction. It was a tiny village with a few houses, a gas station, and a post office, at the end of the community, lay ruins of an old ironworks from the 1800s. A brick structure was twisting in decay at the foot of the mountain pass. There were rumors of a bad fire nearly a century ago that left the factory in ruin. I drove down the long driveway to my family’s house. It was a decent-sized cabin with a wooded yard. I carefully opened the front door and slipped inside. My parents were at work, and my sister wouldn’t be home for the next few hours, so I had the house to myself. Under my bed were books I hid from my parents. My family was staunch Baptist. I didn’t want to hear the arguments from them. I already had enough drama about how I dressed, let alone the lectures I would receive for practicing witchcraft. I had books on spells, demonology, and the occult as well as Wicca, Paganism, Buddhism, and Voudoun. I rummaged around and found the book I needed; ‘Protection and Reversal Magik.’ Flipping through the pages, I found a spell on building a ward of protection. I didn’t want to hurt Sadie, but I wasn’t going to be a victim either. Do no harm, but take no shit. After studying, I went to bed and woke up late at night. I gathered the spell-book, and a small bag packed with chalk, a few tiny candles, incense, a lighter, and salt. I put on a long black robe and a small wand that carved out of olive wood. I crept out of the cabin into the night. The road was empty as I walked to the old ironworks. I wanted someplace private I could cast my spell and move on with my life. Perhaps I would even free a spirit or two that was trapped there. In the middle of the factory was crumbling brick with a chimney reaching towards the stars. In the middle of the ruin stood Sadie, her eyes had turned black, Robbie stood behind her. His eyes were black too. His shadow was inky and angular. Too angular to be human. I could only catch a glimpse of it before it disappeared. Only to return on the opposite wall, a black shadow with jagged angles and tendrils. This was some demon, some monstrous entity that had corrupted Sadie and Robbie, what in the hell did I get myself into? “I want her to pay in blood,” said Sadie. The book was heavy in my hands. I had the knowledge to do something about this, and I was here fully armed against it. I could lose horribly and be creatures’ mercy. The olive wand trembled in my hands. I fumbled to find a page with an exorcism spell and found nothing. I would have to improvise. Do no harm, but take no shit. It was now or never. I grabbed a handful of salt and flung it into the shadow. Sadie and her boyfriend recoiled and made a hissing sound, smoke coiled black as the shadow itself. I brandished my wand: "I cast thee out by the name of the elements, Air, Fire, Earth, and Water!” The creature hissed again and backed away slowly. "I cast thee out of thine host and among roots of the earth!” I flung more salt. Sadie screamed and recoiled. Robbie grabbed me, his hand squeezing my throat, my vision darkened. “Down and out, amongst the stones and roots!” I screamed and chanted over and over. A loud inhuman shriek cracked through the darkness. A force yanked Robbie away from my neck and clear across the floor. He lay limply. I got up and coughed hard, catching my breath. My throat burned, and my neck felt bruised. I went over to Sadie and grabbed her arm. "Come on. We have to run!” She nodded and got up; she ran so fast that she pulled me behind her. Gravel slid beneath me as I hitched up my long black robe to run faster. The inky shadow was further and further behind us. We made it back to my cabin. "It’s safe in here, but I need you to be quiet,” I said. “What the fuck just happened?” asked Sadie, tears were streaming down her eyes, and her nose was running. “I.. I don’t know. An exorcism, I think, shh, just go in.” I carefully unlocked the door to my house. We walked upstairs quickly and silently. Once in my bedroom, I threw down a line of salt lining the entrance. “This is my abode; Hecate, protect it from darkness and spirits unknown.” I chanted as I held my wand against the door. I felt pressure, and then the room felt brighter and lighter. Sadie stared at me, her jaw agape. “We’re safe here,” I said, deflating to the floor. “What was that thing?” Sadie asked. “I don’t know whatever it was. It isn’t good.” “It has Robbie. You have to go and help him, please!” “We’re lucky we made it out alive, I don’t think I can fight that thing-“ “You have to try!” her face was bright red, and her nose was running. “Look, give me some time, I can build up a way to banish it for good.” She started to tremble, and I sat by her, she put an arm around me and began to sob. “Val, I’m sorry for how I treated you.” "It wasn’t you; it wasn’t even a person,” I sighed. “Don’t you worry, I’ll find some way out of this.” I let Sadie sleep on my bed as I studied my books for a solution. In my demonology book, I found a small section on exorcisms. The chapter warned against trying such a feat without years of training or alone. Demons and evil creatures hated strong will and faith. It didn’t specify a religion. Hell, an atheist only needed enough confidence in themselves to do one. (Then again, an atheist wouldn’t believe any of this was happening to begin with and try to find a rational explanation). Even with faith, it was perilous. I didn’t know any other occultist, at least not outside of small internet circles. I couldn’t go to our family pastor without outing myself as a witch. Once again, I was on my own with this. We walked into school the next day. The halls were silent. People stared at Sadie, and I, cupped hands whispered into ears. She parted from me, and I went to my morning classes. At lunch, I noticed Sadie sitting alone, tears running down her face. I sat next to her. “It’s still controlling him,” she sobbed barely above a whisper. I looked over to the next table, and Robbie was there with the pack of popular girls. The dark-haired girl twined around his arm. Inky, angular shadows surrounded the group. “Looks like our little Satanist has found a lesbian lover,” she smirked. They all broke out into tittering laughter. “Leave us alone!” said Sadie. “Or what, you’ll leave me behind to make out with a Witch?” said Robbie. "Shh,” I said under my breath, “remember, it’s not them.” "You have to fight them,” Sadie whispered. "Not in public. I’ll go back to the ruins tonight to see if it comes back.” Sadie nodded, her shoulders shook. Her eyes were red and swollen by tears. I had had years to build up a thick skin to being bullied and being laughed at and alone. I focused on my school work all these years and built a wall of sarcasm to protect me. "Robbie, you’re just upset because your girlfriend thinks I’m better in bed,” I smirked. “Maybe try being less vanilla. I’m sorry you’re all bigoted homophobes. You’ll have to greet all types in your future Walmart careers.” The bell rang. I wish I could have brought Sadie to my AP classes with me. At least the students there were mature enough to keep opinions to themselves. I walked to the guidance counselor’s office and asked for programs on independent study or an early transfer to community college. After school, I went to the parking lot to find the tires of my car slashed. I went back to the principal’s office and made a report, the police were called, including Sheriff Collins, Robbie’s dad. My stomach dropped, and I knew that this would go nowhere. I would have to report it to my insurance and wait for the claim to settle. “I can give you a ride home.” I turned around and saw Sadie. Her curly caramel hair was disheveled, and her eyes looked red and tired. "Thank you, I’m sorry about today,” I said. "How do you live with it?” she asked. “How can you stand how people treat you?” “With a lot of sarcasm and condescension,” I said. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you get used to it after a while. You learn not to trust people either. Even I have bad days where I break down. I was planning to leave school, not drop out, but graduate early. I don’t have to deal with this bullshit anymore. I never want to see this town again.” She burst into another round of tears. “I’m so sorry for the way I treated you!” “It wasn’t you,” I said. “It was, that…… that thing may have been on me, but it didn’t have complete control. It would whisper to me. It would tell me such mean things. But it didn’t make me say anything. I could’ve ignored it.” "Ok, ok, I forgive you,” I said. “Right now, I just want to go home.” Sadie drove a white Chevy Malibu. We drove in silence to my house in the woods. "Look, I’m going to go to the ruins tonight and try to fight this thing,” I said She nodded. "I’m not strong enough to fight this creature on my own. I need you there as back up.” “I’m scared. I have no idea what I’m doing. Look, you’re the witch. I mean, you have magical powers or something.” “It’s afraid of faith,” I said. “Bring a Cross or a Star of David, or a Pentagram or crystal or a lucky sock, whatever you believe. I’ll do most of the work, but I need someone else there.” She took a deep breath and nodded again. “I’ll see what I can do.” I tried to keep my mind off of the night ahead by studying. I worked on a term paper for a few hours, going to the kitchen to grab some leftovers. My parents engrossed in reality shows. I told them about my car and that I reported it to insurance. My father said he would call a tow truck in the morning and continued to watch T.V. I gathered my materials, a bag of salt, my olive wand, and some spring water that I left in the moonlight. It wasn’t Holy Water in the traditional sense, but it was the best that I had. The evil creature was afraid of force, afraid of will, fearful of faith. Do no harm, but take no shit. After my parents went to bed, I left the house quietly. The full moon shone overhead, casting blue light on the gravel road towards the ruins. Wood creaked under my feet as I entered the crumbling structure. “Sadie?” I called out softly. I saw a body hanging limply from one of the brick pillars in the silver light. It was Sadie, her curls dangled over her face, and her eyes were still open. “Poor girl, it seems she wasn’t strong enough to handle ridicule,” a raspy voice whispered in the darkness. “She’s not strong, not like you.” “Down amongst the trees and out upon the roots!” I shouted. I saw Robbie as he flinched and moved back. Fumbling with the bottle, I splashed all the holy water into his face. Steam poured off of his shadow, and he wailed in pain. “Down amongst the trees and out into the roots! Leave, go back to whence you came! BEGONE!” Robbie hissed and shuddered a bit. The dark angular shadow began to lift from him. I pushed every bit of energy and will through my olive wand. “BEGONE!” Another shudder. Dizziness struck me, and my legs felt limp. I took a deep breath. “By Gaia, Hecate, Bridgette! By Fire, Earth, Air, and Water. By Moon, Sun, Earth, and Stars, I order you GET OUT!” The shadow made a ripping sound, and Robbie screamed. Then there was disturbing laughter. “That was a valiant attempt, little Witch,” said Robbie. “I haven’t fought anyone that came close to beating me. Because you amuse me, I’ll let you live.” My mouth fell open. “There have been others before you. All the chants with “The Power of Christ Compels You!” he laughed. “None of it even came close to you. I think our dear Reverend only cares about the collection plate.” He smiled wistfully. “But you, you get called a Satanist, face ridicule and cruelty every day and have more faith in yourself than he does. This is very amusing, and I respect you for that.” “BEGONE!” I yelled again. Robbie chuckled and put his finger over my lips. “You won’t speak about this to anybody. I’ll report Sadie as a suicide, nothing to do with you. The mean girls will get blamed for bullying her. You’ll go on to get excellent grades and graduate early. You’ll leave this town altogether and not look back.” I went to cast again, but my lips sealed shut, my tongue felt like a stone in my mouth. "The thing is, y’all have it wrong. You’re trying to cast some demon or evil spirit out of me, thinking it’ll save me.” He shook his head and smiled. “I don’t hold host to a demon, sweetie. I am the demon. It’s just like you being a witch. You are what you are. Someone can’t perform an exorcism and make you stop being a witch. Just as you can’t cast my soul out from my own body.” I wanted to scream at him, to take down this monster hidden in the flesh, but I couldn’t break whatever silence he threw on me. Scowling, I picked up my bag and stomped home defeated. The next day at school, the mean girls were all in tears. Sadie’s suicide was all over the local news, and there were grief counselors. There was an assembly about bullying and planned a memorial service. People that I never even knew said their apologies for the way they treated me. Some also asked me to tutor them. I wanted to scream out, to tell the police the truth about what happened. Every time I went to say something, my mouth sealed shut, and my tongue felt leaden. Robbie walked by, putting his finger over his lips and smiled. I wanted to punch his teeth out, but I had no other choice than to swallow my rage. The rest of the year went smoothly. I graduated early and enrolled at State University. I made friends that had similar interest and accepted me for who I was. There was some tension with my family but could finally be myself. I moved forward with my life and didn’t much think of the town or high school. Years later, I was getting ready for work and watching the news. Robert Collins was running for governor, and his numbers showed he was winning. I saw dark, angular shadows looming around him. Blank soulless eyes stared right at me through the camera. Monsters never go away; they get elected.


it was a damp, heavy day. A day who's air made your lungs doubt if they wanted another breath, the kind you get in summer evenings the day after a storm. Perhaps it was that very weather that compelled a tall, fair gentleman of about 30 to purchase a lottery ticket. Taking shelter from the light drizzle, hanging his coat on a rack, and browsing lightly through the aisles of liquor… no, it was that. The sheer unappealingness of the liquid that had nearly killed his father was what turned his gaze away to the lottery tickets. Perhaps it was luck that had made him win just two days later, but the common opinion was that it was, in fact, Luck. “and why in the hell is that proof?” said the man at his desk. “most of our targets are off the charts! this bastard only won a single lottery! It wasn’t even ours!” “yes, sir” replied the official, Jones. “but frankly, hes a white, fit man living in America, with a good job, no history of illness, and about a thousand other advantages. I’m not saying he’s a Lucky, I’m saying to investigate. Remember, Leave Nothing To Chance.” “I bloody well know how lucky he is, but I've got about 40 other cases cluttering up my desk and I'm not gonna let-” he stopped, rummaging through his papers to find something “This guy go! You really think he isn’t a Lucky? Wins powerball, commits a goddamn crime spree, and gets away with it without a single RAT DIME in fines because of a court technicality? “yes, but its not as if hes going to come into any power. He’s hated by the public, both for winning the lottery they think they deserved, and for committing murders and thefts, even if he got away. Besides, he’s low enough socially that he can’t be higher than a 7, but this guy has the potential to be a 9! a 9! the last time we let a 9 go loose we had to cover up the loss of a whole county!” The man at the desk, who was commonly called agent Hanson, did not agree in the slightest. But that was the problem with secretaries and officials. None of them felt it. None of them knew what it was like. There was more difference between knowing and Knowing as between him and a goddamn bunny! But it was no use. Get enough papers in your hands and you could contest any amount of knowledge and experience. “I'll get my coat”. The standard equipment of your average powerball agent is a 15mm pistol, some dog-ended cigarettes, a badge, and a cellphone. Like most things, these were not very useful. Most Luckies worth shooting were Lucky enough that your gun would jam, you never had time to call dispatch, and all the badge did was assure a couple of police officers you had a warrant. As for the cigarettes, well, Hanson never brought a lighter. While he was hoping that the rain would pick up and maybe strike his cigarette with lightning, or at least strike him and end his misery, he spotted a truck. Now, a truck coming down the road is not a problem for an ordinary man in ordinary times. Hanson was, unfortunately, neither. Hanson was a man closing in on the location of a persons who, knowingly or not, controlled chance, and he was on a fairly slippery road. “goddammit” he said, and threw away his cigarette. There was no crossing the road, and frankly no chance that it wouldn’t hit him. He wasn’t scared, but he felt a low dread of knowing he was in danger. It was getting too likely for him to die for Luck not to cinch the knot. Perhaps…yes perhaps all it took was to let the driver know he was there? No, too rainy, coat too dark. He wouldn’t notice anything that wasn’t drastic. Suddenly, an idea occurred. He crouched low, angled himself farther down from the truck and jumped into the road, waving his arms. Doesn’t matter how unlucky you are, no bugger will miss this. Unfortunately, broken break pedals don’t care what their drivers notice. You learn the sound of broken breaks in the academy. An agent who didn't know it would be road paste. And agent who did know probably would be too, but at least they might be able to get their dog-tag straitened before impact. Fortunately, the academy also taught aim. Probably this wasn't the best skill to teach either, but it was useful in the moment. Two shots rang out, two tires deflated, and one now very scared agent pulled up his hood and ran further down the road. “end wot the ‘ell waz oll that then!” shouted the driver. “yoo blooty well neah kilt me! Ye com back ‘ere efore I kick yore ass six ways from Sunday! And ye gon be there a long time, cos I only know bout fore kindsa hell”. He would stand there for about ten more minutes just puttering around in the rain, thinking very rude things about the man in the coat. *Dammit dammit dammit*, thought Hanson, *so he’s not just a Lucky, as I suspected. He’s a Chancer. That wasn’t just lucky for him. Had It stopped, I wouldn’t have slowed down any less than when I shot the tires, but I was in a lot more danger. Things aren’t just lucky for him, they’re unlucky for me. Just my luck.* And about a mile away, a stockily built man of thirty was feeling worried. He did not know why he was worried, as he had just won the lottery, and was not of the intellectual persuasion to view that as a subject of worry. It was an odd feeling of dread he often got near danger, and often danger came right behind it. He thought it wise to purchase a revolver, given his recent lottery winnings, and to leave it on the counter. It was the only unlucky thing in the last 5 years of his life: that he didn’t leave it loaded. Hanson, still rattled, gun left loaded, was closing in on the target, in the odd, shaking gait of one moving as steadily as he can despite fear. The rain pattered on his coat, slowly soaking coldness into his skin. The gun clacked and rocked in his holster, a technique he had learned to scare away any oh-so-lucky would-be muggers. He had a feeling of danger, quite accurate, and he was not aware he was sharing the feeling with a stocky blond man he was closing in on. Yet as he walked up the driveway to the large and lavish house, straightening his false badge and now concealing his gun, he became aware of a slight simpatico, knowing that the man inside felt as he felt. *Luckies are dangerous. They feel, they think, they don’t deserve this. But they are dangerous. Maybe we can contain him instead. But a Chancer...no, not a Chancer. It’s so bloody unfair. I mean, its almost unlucky! But we can’t let them go on like this. With a feeling of setting forth an axiom he thought, for the thousandth time: power is dangerous, no matter who has it, no matter if it is used.* Had the stocky man considered the danger of an armed agent walking up his driveway after he won the lottery sooner, he may have summarily killed him. But it was the little hesitation, the brief, mad stupidity of hoping that an obvious danger is fictitious that made him fail to load the gun. He did know to point it at the door, at least. And as the armed man approached his door- “Hello! I am your real estate agent, my name is Halbert, I look forward to our chat! I don’t mean to disturb you, you are quite a busy man I take it, but it seems you have a bit of a property issue with a certain neighbor of yours!”. Hanson hated the high, preppy voice, but he was eerily good at it, and it always lowered someone’s guard. Maybe, maybe it would bring him to the door, and then a quick movement and- he shuddered, and cut the line of thought. A gruff voice came from inside “and who the hell do you think you are?” “there is no need for obscene language, sir, I am just inquiring as to a property dis-” “yeah you can cut that shit right there” and there it was, stronger now. A feeling of intense danger. He clicked the gun. Agent Hanson thought fast. Hearing that click told him all he needed to know. He knew that he wouldn’t miss, too lucky, and he can’t shoot first. No talking him out of it, he saw through the illusion too quickly for that. He had no shield, and knowing the other man’s Luck it would go through anyway. Only one way, he thought, put his hands behind his head, curled in, and rolled down the steps, just as a shot rang through the door. He got up, pain shooting through his spine, and let out a shot. Bullets don’t work on Luckies, the gun will jam, or the bullet will ricochet, or hit some non-essential part of them. No, it was the lock he shot for. He heard a second click, and dove under the man’s car just as a rocket of dirt shot up, hit by a bullet the size of a large bee. *It’s not that you can’t leave it to chance. It was chance it didn’t hit the car, but that would be too unlucky now wouldn’t it. I may have some Unluck, but its less than his Luck. This might not be so hard* Hanson knew how little time he had before the next shot rang out, but he also knew staying under the car would just buy that man some time. He ran out, and in a leap of faith, grabbed the railing of the stairs, and pulled himself up, rolling through the doorway. He breathed a sigh of relief, now hidden in a side chamber of the house. But he could hear the man approaching. Bullets wouldn’t work, but it might hurt his luck. Worth a shot. He sprang out from behind the small wall and shot three times, and three jammed clicks came from the gun. “worth a shot”, he said, and the blond man charged. Seeing a man built like an ox charge at you with his bare hands is something Hanson did not wish to experience, but it certainly made him reflect very, very quickly. *can’t open a cupboard for a weapon, it’ll turn out to be his towel drawer. No go with a knife, it’ll be blunt with his Luck. Maybe his revolver...no, 3 shots isn’t enough of a probability stretch. Maybe I have a-* The man hit him. It wasn’t like a fist, it was like a small car hitting him square in the chest. Hanson coughed blood into the man’s face, and landed hard, cracking his head. Slowly, hand twitching, Hanson grasped his badge, feeling the sharp point with his thumb, and said into the rage-filled face: “I'm sorry, you don’t deserve this” in a smooth motion, his hand flung out, holding the small gold thing tight. The blond man’s grip slowly relaxed, and he slumped over, a long, red cut like the rind of a melon slowly widening on his neck. Hanson sat there, breathing heavily for several minutes, and checked the man’s pulse. Stone dead. He never even caught his name. He pulled out his cellphone and said “dispatch? I got him.


# Happy (early) Saturday, serialists! Welcome to Serial Saturday! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ This week it’s all about Aside from the very meta fact that this is the very first post for Serial Saturdays, let’s talk about how we start serials. Here at /r/ShortStories we’re embarking on a journey to a brave new world of work-shopping serialized story arcs. Each week we’ll be focusing on a story element, theme, or constraint to address in **500 - 750** words within our individual stories. Having trouble landing the plane or sussing out what your characters really want? We’re here to help you whip all your great ideas into shape. Serial Saturday is open to first time writers as well as the grizzled veterans from /r/WritingPrompts! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ # First time you’re thinking about starting a long-form story? You’re in the right place, **Beginnings are hard, y’all.** So much of our story, characters, and goals can change in the evolution of a serial. Not to mention, often TT serials start with the inciting action, but rarely do we get to see what came before. TT Serial writers, consider this your second first impression. Do you wish you had a chance to make some adjustments, or write an addendum to the beginning of your serial? You can take this opportunity to write a flashback, dream sequence, or prologue. Do you want to start all over with a new concept and universe? That's ok too! *To be fully clear, this is absolutely where you can continue your ongoing serial from previous TTs!* The end goal of this specific installment is for you to think about your serial’s origin story. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ **The Rules:** * In the comments below submit a story that is between **500 - 750** words in your own original universe. * Submissions are limited to ***one*** serial submission from each author per week. * E**ach author should comment on at least 2 other stories** during the course of the week. * That comment must include ***at least one*** **detail** about what the author has done well. * Authors who successfully finish a serial lasting longer than 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the sub. * Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule. *Yes, we will check*. * While content rules are more lax here at /r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of "vaguely family friendly" being the rule of thumb for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, feel free to modmail! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ # Get out your notebook! Questions to think about when starting a serial: * How many narrative arcs do you intend to include? Do you know how you’ll weave them together? * This bit can be hard if you have a grand plan in mind. Make sure that your story arc is one you can tackle without feeling like you’ve bitten off more than you can chew or that you’re always writing yourself into a corner. * How much time does your plot span? Are we talking days, weeks, months…. Years? * Some stories move fast! No matter how much in-universe time has passed, pacing is important to think about. * Do you have an idea of where you’re going? What are the end goals of your characters? Are the answers to those two questions the same thing? How do you plan to land the plane? * Part of writing longform stories is still being able to keep your eyes on the prize, both for yourself as an author and for your characters. When you’re writing down your goals for your story, it’s good to know what your characters ultimately want, what starts them on that path, and how they’re going to achieve their goals (or fail miserably, but with style). * Is this a story you can be flexible with? * Let’s face it, a serial with a tight wordcount and constraints sometimes isn’t the right format. While sometimes unavoidable, constraints in any given week can make even the most adept serial writers sweat. Consider whether your plot can allow for the wiggle room needed to meet the challenge every week. * Do you like the story/characters enough to stick with it? * Unless you’re a glutton for punishment, you want to enjoy the story and characters you’re writing, and you want your audience to as well. **\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*** **You have until \*next\* Saturday, 8/15, to submit and comment on everyone else's stories here. This week being the very first week, you're getting a little bit of a head start to plan.** \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* # New to /r/ShortStories and Serial Saturday, but want to join in the fun? We appreciate all contributions made to this thread, and all submissions are of course welcomed. We hope you enjoy your time in the community! * Leave a story from your original self-established universe, between **500 - 750** words here in the comments. * Leave at least 2 comments on other people’s stories mentioning at least one detail on each that you liked. * Authors that complete a serial with 8 or more installments get a fancy banner and modpost to highlight their stories. **Join us for Serial Saturday’s Campfire!** * Saturdays we will be hosting a Serials Campfire on the main voice lounge. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start on Saturdays at 9AM CST. **Don’t worry about being late, just join!** * There’s a *Super Serial* role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Saturday related news! Reminders: * Authors that complete a serial with 8 or more installments get a fancy banner and modpost to highlight their stories. * Make sure your post on this thread also includes links to your previous installments if you have a currently in-progress serial. Those links must be direct links to the previous installment on the preceding Serial Saturday post. Join to chat with prompters, authors, and readers! Have you seen the ? No? Oh boy! Here's the current cycle's challenge schedule.


Everything sucks, thought Brian as he got out of bed, groggy and numb from the night before. The empty beer can fell to the floor when he went to grab his phone off the charger. His head was pounding but he needed something to wake him up, something to energize him. Twelve notifications chimed when the phone finally turned on as he sat on the toilet. Most of them were Likes on his posts that he quickly swiped away. The Instanews app opened automatically, based on the phone’s learned behavior. His feed popped up and he began scrolling. The first news stories were about the Washington Brownies making it to the playoffs, which he skipped quickly. He glossed over the cartoon memes, recipes, and editorials about how video games were becoming cash-grab remakes. Spacing out through the feed he realized he had been scrolling for pages. The stories filled him with emptiness and blank glances. A painting of a woman with large cleavage gave him pause but he swiped up on this as well. An image of a burning field caught his attention, the red and orange flame leapt off the screen. The story read, “12 dead in Australian wildfire.” The blaze had consumed several houses. His mouth was agape and his finger rested above the screen. He kept scrolling and came across an article about a poisoned water supply plant in Dillonstown, only four hours away. He clicked and read the story. Conspiracy surrounded the incident with suspects ranging from the leader of a socialist group to the right-leaning mayor. The comments consisted of several arguments about the injustices being committed against both sides. He read every comment as his eyes dilated. Pressing back, he returned to the feed and found another post several posts down, below the ad for a digital home security system and pictures of metal bands, about an agricultural article about worsening storms. The storms were said to be the product of environmental damage caused by a lack of emissions reduction. Users suggested that this was the fault of the government. Brian flushed the toilet and remained glued to his phone, staring closer, becoming more alert. Another ad flashed by of a skull in a dark backdrop. The word, “Doom” appeared but he was already on the next story. This time it was local news. A couple had been found dead in their home. Police suspect foul play when their bodies were found in the living room. A mysterious third party may have been involved. He tagged the story for updates while downing chilled coffee from the fridge and considering buying a security system. A spree of break-ins was the subject of another post. The author speculated that it was tied to some new delivery service. He scrolled faster, looking for something to pique his interest. He was feeling down when he couldn’t find anything and he put his phone down in defeat. That was until his virtual assistant chimed in, “From Science Alert: Baboons in eastern California have shown signs of a new virus that can be transmitted to humans.” He was compelled to scroll again, shooting down the page with a flick of his finger. The skull appeared again. He scrolled back, curious as to what kind of scam the ad was offering, but more intrigued by the punk-style red font. It read: “Doom Culture Inc offers no nonsense thrills based on your darkest fantasies. Give your inner self a reason to be afraid.” His finger touched the skull almost instinctually, as if there wasn’t a reason not to. It opened into a web browser and showcased a photo gallery of knife-wielding maniacs, blood, fire, and insects. The whole website read like a promotion for some horror movie with words like “Stabbed, kidnapped, poisoned, and shocking” appearing as taglines. It didn’t offer any explanation as to what the service was or why it existed. He quickly closed the window, more disturbed than intrigued. When he put the phone in his pocket and walked to his computer, he realized he didn’t like living alone. It was too quiet to drown out the thoughts of a world falling apart. There were earthquakes in India, a new virus in China, and people at home were going mad with protests and riots. He had never known the planet to have a single peaceful day. His friend invited him to a video chat as soon as he logged into his pc but he really didn’t care who it was. Colton appeared and Brian made a half-assed attempt at a smile. “Sup, bro. What do you have for me?” “Nothing yet.” Responded Brian. “I didn’t watch any streams last night. I’ll check out the game stats later.” Colton sipped coffee while browsing the web, forgetful of the conversation he was having. “So what are you going to get me for my birthday.” Brian hated sounding like a narcissist but Colton wouldn’t have noticed anyways. “Huh? Oh uh, yeah of course I got you something.” His friend appeared almost startled and quickly started typing and clicking. “Should be…on its way. Hang on.” Colton had always been absentminded and hapless but somehow managed to be resourceful. Brian spent the next several seconds looking down at his phone, picking it up and putting it back down, without even using it. The silence had to be filled with something. “Yup, should be on its way.” Said Colton. “Found it under your recommendations. Looks like something you’re into. You’ve been doomscrolling?” “Huh?” “Doomscrolling, like when you go searching for bad news.” Colton explained. “You Liked a lot of news articles.” “You can see that?” Brian was never cognizant of his online activities. He never needed to. Not like anyone cared. He changed subjects and moved his phone away, further from his reach. The two friends talked for a while about gamer streams and the release of a new competitive shooter. The conversation ended around noon and he spent the rest of the day thinking about what his mom would get him for his birthday tomorrow. There was a storm coming so the stores would have been packed. He just stayed home and had week-old mac and cheese for dinner and chased it with rum until the anxious voices, most of them his own, were drowned away. Before he went to bed, he read one more story related to Doom Culture Inc. Their hiring practices were brought into question when several of their employees were said to have gone postal or something. His eyes grew heavy. Authorities urged people to be careful when using these types of “fear fantasy” services. After reading the comments he fell asleep with his phone in his hand. Colton had sent several texts to Brian over the next several days, the contents of which were scatterbrained and strange. The more the messages seemed frantic the more Colton texted back. Webcam chats were less frequent with Brian looking over his shoulder constantly or abruptly ending the call when he heard something in the background. Having been friends since high school they still had never seen each other afraid. Brian was afraid, Colton could tell. The initial texts, “someone’s messing with me,” made him consider if his friend was even telling him the truth, about a knock on the door with no one there or the voices he heard coming from outside his window. The next night Colton held his phone close, his chest tightening, expecting an answer to his message, “What do you mean burning?” Three hours later when he was about to fall asleep the phone buzzed with the response, “Found burning twigs in my bathtub. Idk whats happening.” Colton didn’t sleep that night and stared at the ceiling as if the answers would be there. Had he been messing with him? Playing a joke? What the hell was he even talking about? He wondered if it was the gift he got him. It was just a horror movie fan site, wasn’t it? At 5AM he sent one final text to video chat after Brian had ghosted him. A few minutes later his phone was ringing. It was Brian on his computer web cam. His eyes were sunken and he was shivering. The room was dark. “Yo, you okay?” Colton moved in closer to the phone. “Hard to see you, buddy. What’s happening?” Brian was breathing heavily as if he had been jogging and didn’t speak for several seconds. His eyes were dilated and darted back and forth. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.” He spoke rapidly, like he had an energy drink. “I’m seeing things –things that aren’t there.” “Did you take something?” Colton was sleep deprived himself and didn’t know what to do. “I feel…funny… There are people…in the windows, in the mirrors, in the corners of the room. I don’t know if anything is real anymore.” Tears were streaming down his face. Colton sat up from his bed and spoke loudly, choking back his own nerves, “What is going on man?” “I just want it to stop.” Brian had his head in his hand. “It started with a knocking at the door…but no one was there. It wouldn’t stop. They kept pounding…no one there. Then I found things around the apartment, like dolls…with their eyes burned out. I drank some rum to fall asleep but I felt weird. I felt nauseous so I ate something and it got worse. There are figures in the dark, horrible things, like skinny people with big eyes. I just want it to stop. They won’t go away. They watch me when I sleep. Please just make it stop. I don’t want to see anymore.” Colton’s eyes became glassy, “Just relax man. Take a breath.” But before he could say any more Brian started squeezing his face. “Make it stop. I don’t want to see…” Brian pressed his face harder, hands gripping and slapping, and sobbed uncontrollably. Darkness surrounded him in a bleak, obscuring grip. “The eyes…in the shadows…they make me see things.” “Hang in there, man,” Colton put his shoes on but before he could get to the front door Brian started screaming in the video chat. “I can’t unsee them.” He was saying, pressing his fingers to his eyes. Suddenly his fingers disappeared into his eyes as blood dripped down his cheeks. He screamed louder and fell to the floor, out of view of the pc camera. “Brian!” His friend shouted, shaking by the door. His heart was thumping and he gagged, spitting up saliva. Colton zoomed in on the video. That was when he saw a figure standing in the doorway of Brian’s room, staring back from the shadows. Suffocated by panic, the phone image burned into his mind, Colton became paralyzed. There was nothing he could do, he could only gaze at the haunting figure and watch as it stepped forward. Moans could be heard off screen, right before the video call ended, cutting off one final scream.