Hope. It is a beautiful thing, isn’t it? It is free of cost and gets us through the darkest of times. We can even call it our best companion. And, why shouldn’t we? It stays with us till the very end. It’s not its fault that we masochists can’t hold onto it. I hardly remembered the boy I used to be. But I did remember the man he wanted to become. It was funny how I was not even close to that. If anything, I was the farthest thing away from it, 73 million lightyears, to be precise. People still looked up to me, though. They praised me for who I was – a Class A Deep Space Astronaut. It was funny how far I had come in a career I resented. Earth was crumbling. All the resources were exhausted, economies were collapsing, people were dying, etc. In short, the world was beyond repair. This is why the UN declared an Emergency. All the capital and human resources around the globe were redirected to essential services. Deep Space Exploration Program was one of them. It was a ‘concerted effort to fix the irremediable.’ I started as a resource soldier at the age of nineteen. My primary job was to mine for resources (metals, clean fuels, etc.), amongst other things. Then, after a while, people were required in the deep space exploration program, so I was thrown into that. A skill manager there put me into pilot training. She thought I was good at it for some reason. Over the years, I successfully lead over 25 extra-terrestrial resource mining missions without as much as a single complication. After that, I was promoted to Class A and given my own unit. Only a handful of people were there in the Class A club, but I was the fastest and the youngest one to get in. But did I care about all of that? Absolutely not. I didn’t give two fucks about any of it. I did what I did not because I wanted to, but because I had to. To survive, or whatever. I didn’t hate the job in particular, though. I hated the world in general for what it had become. It ruined my life and then just left me for dead. My team and I were supposed to go to a planet 4.58 million lightyears away from Earth. Our main task was to explore and lay the groundwork for its mining. But, the wormhole we came through got unstable, and we ended up 73 million lightyears away from home, in the middle of fucking nowhere. Exposure to the unstable exotic matter had fried all of our ship’s systems. We had no way to contact Earth, or... Basically, we were just good for nothing. We were fortunate enough that primitive hardware-based technologies like oxygen filtration, heat, and refrigeration survived, or we would have died within a few hours. But that was bound to happen anyway. We had been stranded for a week, yet no one came to rescue us. Which meant that no one was coming for us in the first place. If they were, they would have come by then. The ship’s oxygen levels were falling dangerously, and the food and water were running out. The heat systems were running out of fuel as well. At best, we had just about two days left to live. That is when all hope was lost. According to our calculations, one hour at our location equalled four years on Earth. That meant that we had been missing there for centuries. Of course, that’s if humanity survived for that long, to begin with. The prospect of not having a home was taking a toll on me. Before, there was hope. Hope that someday everything will get better and I’ll find what I was looking for. But, now that that hope was stripped away from me, I broke down. I remember that day well. I was in the Geography Lab, lying on the couch...weeping and drinking. My nose was running, and my clothes were all weird. I was a mess. That is when my geographer and engineer walked in. “Chief, you okay?” Egor, the geographer, asked. “Yeah, I’m fine.” “Oh, you’re definitely not fine. I have worked with you longer than anyone else on this ship. But, in all these years, I haven’t seen one emotion on your face, not even a smile. And now you are crying. So, something is definitely bugging you. Besides the obvious, of course,” said Zoe. “Chief, we are all gonna die in a few days, anyways. So, you might as well open up your heart. Let it all out,” said Egor. “This isn’t what I wanted. Any of this.” “This what?” Egor asked. “This. All of this. This life, this world, this career, this stupid fucking Class A badge,” I said as I ripped the badge out and threw it away out of frustration. “Woah, Chief! That badge is a badge of honour. You’ve earned it. You have done so much for the world. You’ve...achieved so much. All that means nothing to you?” Zoe asked. “I didn’t want to do it. I just...did what I had to do. This is not the life I wanted.” “Then what did you want, Chief?” Egor asked. “I wanted to be a painter. I had it all planned out, you know. I’d go to art school, meet a nice guy, fall in love, become successful, get married, start a family. I had so many fantasies of doing all that cliché relationship stuff, of having an ordinary happy life. But that will never happen now. I survived all these years because I had hope. Hope that someday everything will go back to normal. But, that’s all gone now. Now, we are all gonna die within 48 hours, and I won’t get to experience any of that. I will never know what it feels like to have someone by your side. What it feels like to be in love. Or what it feels like to have a child depend on you. None of that. Just a lonely insignificant death. No one will even find our bodies.” “Everything will be alright, Chief. Don’t you worry,” said Egor and hugged me. And, just like that, I started sobbing into his chest. Years of pent-up feelings were coming out. The next thing I remember is waking up in my bed. A couple hours had passed by. I was feeling much better, considering everything. I guess it’s true what they say. You shouldn’t bottle up your feelings. I went into the lounge area, which is where everyone usually did nothing, but no one was there. I checked the labs and the rooms, but there was still no sign of anyone. The last place I expected them to be in was the cockpit. “What are you guys doing in this dump?” “Looking at that asteroid,” said Saad, pointing in a random direction. I squinched my eyes and tried to focus. Since I was a bit hungover, it took me a while to see it. “It’s gonna hit us,” said Zoe. “How can you be so sure?” “I just know,” she said. “Well, at least, this way, it will be instantaneous.” “That’s a valid point,” said Bethany. “How long until impact?” “I’d say ten hours,” said Zoe. “Okay... Everyone, listen here. Wrap up your business, whatever it is...if any. We’ll all gather here T-30 minutes from impact. Dress good, people. It will obviously be an open casket.” Those somewhat ten hours were the longest ten hours of my life. Accepting death is one thing, but waiting for it is far worse. I cleaned my room and packed everything. I don’t know why, but it felt necessary. After that, I dry-cleaned myself and wore my uniform. All of us gathered in the cockpit way before time. We all sat in our seats and talked about our lives for the rest of the time. There wasn’t much, though. Just work, missions, and...that’s it. Finally, it was time. The asteroid was here. Saad started the countdown, and I closed my eyes. Three... Two... One... And, boom. Everything went quiet. There was nothing but darkness around me. I was in what seemed like a void, pure emptiness. And, the silence... It was deafening. I felt no pain, no anger, no pulse, nothing. Just dread. It was like standing in the middle of the jungle at midnight. Terrifying. Was I in hell? Or heaven? I didn’t know. But, it was agonizing, the loneliness. And, apparently, you can’t fall asleep in death. It’s not an option. I don’t know how long I was there, but I could feel my mind breaking. Just the prospect of spending eternity like that is enough to break you. Suddenly, there was light. It was like a dot, twinkling, at a far-off distance. And, I could hear something too – the faint sounds of waves and seagulls. It was overwhelming to feel the presence of something else in existence. I started walking towards the light. I walked, and ran, and then again walked. I kept walking for what felt like years. But, giving up wasn’t an option. Eventually, I could feel it getting closer to me, the light. And, the sound of waves was getting louder as well. When I finally got close enough, I could make out that the source of light was some kind of an orb. It was also the source of the wave sounds. When I touched it, my hand went through. It was spine-chilling, but I somehow pulled myself together and walked in. I was blinded by the light, and then I woke up. There was a small window in front of me, and I could see the sky through it. It took me a second to realize that I was in bed. Then I felt it, a breath at the back of my neck and the hands wrapped around me. I gently untangled myself from the firm grip and got up. I saw the man who was holding me. He had tanned skin and short dark hair. He was also shirtless. I could have admired his form all day, but I had more pressing issues. I had no idea where I was besides in a wooden cabin. I walked out of the cabin and was met with the most beautiful beach I had ever seen. It was mesmerizing, the caramel sand and the blue water. The sky was a seamless gradient of purple and orange, so it was hard to tell if it was dusk or dawn. But, the landscape was breath-taking nonetheless. The cool sand against my soles, the gentle breeze against my skin, the sound of waves and rumbling trees falling in my ear, it was all magical. It had to be heaven, I thought. A few minutes later, I went back into the cabin. The man was still sleeping like an angel. When I looked up from him, I saw myself in the mirror. I didn’t recognize myself at all. I looked much younger, and I was skinnier than before. And, I had a beard. And medium-long hair! And, the scar on my forehead was gone. I took my shirt and shorts off only to discover that my abs were gone too, and so was the scar on my thigh. I also noticed something else. There was a ring on my finger! Shocked, I pulled the quilt off the sleeping beauty, only to find a ring on his finger as well. I was fucking married to this guy! I was processing everything when something dinged – a phone. I didn’t recognize the model. But, it unlocked the moment I picked it up. It knew me, I guess. The wallpaper was a picture of me giving the sleeping beauty a piggyback ride. I got dressed and sat on the stairs outside the cabin. It took me a while to figure my way around the phone. I didn’t recognize the OS or any of the apps. But, I was familiar with one thing – Gallery. The pictures in the gallery were exhilarating. In this life, I had already done everything I wanted to do. I was a successful painter. Dated for years and then got married. I even had kids, a boy, and a girl. As soon as I found about them, I had this uncontrollable urge to know their whereabouts. I went in to ask the sleeping beauty about them, but when I got in, he was already looking at me, all confused. “Where were you? Come back to bed. It’s still too early,” he said. “Where are the kids?” That was the first time I heard my own voice. It was different, less hoarse. “What do you mean where they are?” he asked. When I didn’t say anything, he got up from the bed and hugged me. “Hey, we dropped them at your parents’ house. Don’t you remember?” “My parents? They are still alive?” I accidentally blurted out. “Of course, they are! What are you talking about? You sick or something?” “I’m fine.” “Let’s go back to bed. Come on. You are probably sleep-deprived. We went a bit too crazy last night,” he said. We went back to bed, and this time, he cuddled up to me. I had never felt such peace before. It was truly blissful. I had the best sleep of my life that day. The other version of me was as alive as I was. With time, our consciousnesses merged, and we became one. While he got the inspiration for his art, I got everything I always wanted. Death is inevitable, yes, but it is not the evil everyone makes it out to be. In fact, it is the best thing that ever happened to me.


Debtor's Jail - A short story by Nick Carter 2021  The dim light flickered across the chrome table, the mildew smell in the cement brick room was slightly nauseating. He's not sure why he's here, but he's not looking forward to finding out. If only they'd bring him a sandwich, he hasn't eaten for hours... The door creaked shut behind the man, gaunt and official looking, pale stubbled skin turning gray from years of tension. He sat down across from the young man, briefly eyed him with distaste, noting his heavy metal t-shirt and cycling cap, both covered in indecipherable doodles. "They let you wear that in here?" the man asked, disintested, as he flipped through the file. "Nobody said otherwise." He sat with a demure posture, trying not to squirm, his right arm grasping his left. He resisted the urge to play with the lighter clip stamped flat on the edge of the hat's bill, something he often did when he was nervous. The air stood still and silent as the pages turned. Then the man looked up and locked eyes with him, casting a tangible smugness. "When's the last time you paid your bills, Roger?" He was put off: nobody called him Roger. "My name's Roy, sir... if you don't mind." The man leaned forward. "When is the last time, you paid your bills.... Roger Morris?" Roy started to sweat under his hat. "I pay on time every month! My rent, my phone, internet... I own my car... I barely make it, but I haven't missed a payment in 2 years!" He was right, he hadn't missed a payment on any of those things. But he wasn't being completely honest. "You're not being honest with me, Roger. What about the money you owe Key Bank?" Fuck, thought Roy. This is it. This is the end of the road. He started stammering, he took off the hat and brushed his hair, desperately trying to find the words to convey his situation. "Ok, look.... I USED to pay them. I did! I just couldn't do it anymore, it's.... it's not tenable, man!" "Tenable!" The man scoffed. "Looks like that college education really paid off for you, fancy word like that." In fact college had NOT paid off for him. After going for a dual major in Design and Communications, he found he was only suitable for work that was freelance, highly competitive, and quickly losing demand. He had managed to eke out his living washing dishes at the corner bar, which allowed him time to practice his art and persue his dream. That dream, it now seemed, was quickly going nowhere. "Sir..." He quivered at the notion of avoiding the man's questions, "is there any way I could get a snack? My blood sugar is getting low and..." SMACK! The file landed on the table hard, letting out a soft metallic ring. It was thick, and now he knew what was in there: his credit report. He'd seen it a few years ago when he made the decision - The decision to buck the system and stop paying for what amounted to a giant paperweight on his livelihood. "Do you think you're entitled to a snack?" Roy stared blankly at him. The man continued, "do you know what pays for those snacks, in that vending machine, in this public facility?" "Tax dollars," he replied quickly. The man's lip curled. "Yes. Exactly. Tax dollars." They pay your salary too, you fascist fuck, thought Roy - he immediately bit his mental lip and hoped his insolence wasn't visible on his face. "Tax dollars that come from corporations. Corporations like Key Bank. And where do they make the money to pay those taxes? From people like you, who take out loans, such as this one for $16k back in 2005. And another in 2006. And another in 2007." Roy noticed that the man didn't mention the fourth year of college - 2008 - which never came to fruition. "Sir, I pay my taxes." "But KeyCorp pays a hell of a lot more in taxes than you do." Roy doubted this: so many corporations had managed to zero out their federal taxes, and he knew for a fact that Key Bank had accrued almost $20 million in penalties since the turn of the century. "And just because you pay your taxes, doesn't change the fact that you are a Fiscal Radical if you don't keep current on your debts." Fiscal Radicals. This is what the police and politicians were labeling people who refused to pay their student loan debts. It gave the impression that these people were a united political force; when in reality they were everyday men and women who woke up to the realization that paying $200, $400, $800 a month towards a debt that continued to grow despite loyal payments, was not a sustainable way of life. It amounted to slavery, and to recognize it as such was to label yourself a criminal. "Sir." Roy's blood sugar was starting to crash, his temper growing as his stomach growled. "Do you realize that I only make $2,000 a month? I can hardly afford health insurance, let alone my rent and food. I'm lucky to have a good car and a bicycle to get to work. I work 12 hour days 5 days a week, usually more. I stopped drinking so I could keep up with my bills. I have less than $100 in savings - if anything bad happens to me it will be the end of my life!" "But you still smoke grass, don't you?" Roy rolled his eyes clear out of his head - despite the fact that marijuana had been legalized for recreation, cops still loved to throw it in your face: they still used it as probable cause to harass hundreds of people, and for some reason this was completely acceptable. "You try working as hard as I do and not medicating yourself." His anger subsided, turning to shame and depression. The man smiled, a crooked dark smile. He pulled a vape pen from his breast pocket. "Don't worry... we're here to help, Roger." Roy eyed the pen suspiciously as the man took a large puff, then offered it to him. He hesitated for just a moment, then snatched it from the man's hand and took a long draw. The nicotine relieved his craving for sustenance, making the emptiness more tolerable. "How's that?" he said tersely. "Simple. You pay what you owe, right now, and we let you go." The man folded his hands, his expression warming. Roy squinted: "didn't I just tell you I only have $100 in savings? Doesn't it say that in that file of yours?" The man shrugged, lips curled, hands turned up. "In that case, we can sign you up for a PLP Card. The debt will go on your PLP, and once that is paid off, you'll be free to go." PLP Card? Roy was not familiar with this. From the folder, the man produced a small plastic card, complete with copper chip, in bold official fonts it read:  PRESIDENTIAL LOAN PROGRAM BROUGHT TO YOU BY AMAZON ROGER L MORRIS INTERNED 2026  "...You'll be here, working off your debt, and once it is done, you'll be free to go." Roy saw it clearly now: the debt would be transferred to the Amazon Financial Group, and he would be subject to prison labor, at a much lower rate of pay than even his minimum wage existance. He would lose his job, his apartment, his car and bike, everything he had worked for. He would be stuck here 'working off his debt' until he died... a virtual ward of the state, in perpetual "unpaid student" status, doing menial labor in excrutiating conditions and never seeing a single dime.  "....Fucking Jeff." "Oh, don't thank Mr. Bezos, remember: It's President AmazonCorp." And this was true: thanks to the Supreme Court's new extended interpretation of Citizen's United, the Amazon Corporation was eligible to run for president in 2024 - which it did, and it won handily. This is it, Roy thought: this is where the institutional slavery becomes actual slavery, from the frying pan into the fire as they say... and it happens the exact same way he got into this mess in the first place. "Sign here.


Whatever you do, be aware of your surroundings. Be aware of everything. Capture every motion, whether you use your brain or you phone. Capture. Every. Single. Detail. You are in a new world, you are disoriented, you don’t know where to go. Just use this guide, and you’ll be fine. I am here for some time, let’s say about three months. I have already experienced that there are no humans, as far as I know. We are in a dystopia, and your main goal is to survive. That’s why I requested you to capture everything, this can be proof later on that this world exists. Also, there are just a few animals. Only some birds and not many other species. There are so called ‘*Crytids’.* These are the monsters of this planet, and to kill them you need to use your machete and stab in its eye. They are two feet high and their eyes are on top of their heads. It’s easy visible because the head is just at the top of its body. But watch out, they are really fast, approximately they run at a speed of 18 miles per hour. The reason they can achieve such high speeds is because they run at all fours, excluding one weird limb at the back of them. It looks like a leg but is probably useless. They look just a slightly bit like a dog, so don’t mistake a Crytid with a dog. Because we have Crytids, but no dogs. The way to recognize those bastards is because your arms are going to tingle, which is an inevitable and undeniable feeling. Your surroundings will all suddenly go quiet. This is the most obvious sound a Crytid is near. So be aware of those things. Have your machete ready and prepare for a fight. In this world there are a ton of Crytids, unfortunate for us. The first encounter with such a thing is often incredibly scary. But whenever you have fought with a couple of them, they will be easier to conquer and also easier to recognize when one of them is nearby. Sorry, almost forgot to mention that they aim for your weak parts. In this case they aim for your legs. They do this so you can’t walk and thus will be an easier target for them because you won’t be bigger. When a Crytid is going to attack you, make sure to be fast with your feet. And of course your machete. The goal why you are put into this world is a mystery for me either. I don’t have a specific answer to a question so diverse. The most likely answer would be that you have been a naughty boy, a very naughty boy. Nah, jokes aside. This might’ve been a punishment because you were a bad guy in your previous world. Probably planet Earth, which was in my case. However, I have no clue why I have been banned to this planet. Perhaps God thought it might be fun for me to give me a more challenging life, in which he sure accomplished. Although I am missing my friends and family at this point. I might know how to escape this world, but I am not sure. Every. Single. Thing. Might not even be real. You simply don’t know what is and what is not. But to escape this world, I need a partner. So if you have received this letter, you know what is waiting for you. My name is Blade. When we meet you can recognize me by my red baseball hat, and black protection gear. If you can’t immediately see me, everywhere I go I put on the roof a tiny orange flag. I do this to know to which places I’ve been and which places are prohibited by me. There are, nonetheless this is a really weird world, a couple of important buildings; \- Head Building of Destruction. This used to be an office for guns. Whether it be the manufacture or testing of guns; you can name it all. It’s a big building which is approx. 30 feet high and 25 feet wide. This building is easily recognizable by its American flag at the front side. (I have no idea why the American flag but whatever). The office also has a gun painted on the roof, so from the top view you can also see it. The building overall is like a giant box, with black painted walls from the outside. It has 6 feet high windows at the front side which gives you a clear view of what is inside. I recommend if you see the Head Building of Destruction that you go inside if the coast is clear and get yourself a better battle weapon. Like a semi-automatic weapon is good but a couple of knives are great, too. It’s up to you. But keep this building in mind because there sure will be some weapons inside which can be optimal in a fight against Crytids. \- Personal Supermarket. This is just a small 40 by 40 feet supermarket which offers the essential products to survive in this world. Like water, bread, rice et cetera. This is also good to check-out when you see it. The Personal Supermarket has its name in red letters in front of a green square. It has two lampposts at the side of it, in which the electricity has already ran out. \- Crytid’s Cave. Like the name already says, this is the cave of all the Crytids. Stay at all cost, away from it. If, however, just one Crytid notices you, they all come for you. The Crytid’s cave is a really big cave on a huge hill. This hill lays in a desert and is easy noticeable from a pretty far distance. I had to run for my life one time, so I recommend you shouldn’t go there. \- Centre of Everything. This is the centre of this place, and is a hotspot for Crytids, so if you are going to this place, make sure you have your machete ready. Otherwise, don’t go to this place if you are not ready to battle. I have been to here one time, and it’s pretty impressive, so you’d be better off to stay away. \- The Point. This is the place where you woke up. It’s a meeting point for all the people that escaped this place and is easy visible because it has a sign which says; “This is where the end has started”. I know this, because people have led me to it, but I couldn’t go yet. This is an important place to meet someone, so keep that in mind. Hopefully this guide helped you a bit, if you find this letter, meet me tomorrow at The Point. Right when the sun rises. You can recognize me by my red baseball hat and black protection gear. I’ll wait for you. Regards, Blade.  ‘Wow’ I said, ‘That was an intense guide and invitation to this world!’. I sighed, ‘But I am really curious who this Blade guy is, he seems cool.’ I said to myself. Right as I wanted to explore my surroundings a bit, my arm began tingling. I remember what Blade said; *The way to recognize those bastards is because your arms are going to tingle, which is an inevitable and undeniable feeling.* So I knew there was a Crytid lurking at me. I quickly searched for my machete, which was in my backpack next to me. I got it and silently waited for it. Within a split second it sprinted to me. I was scared but aimed for the eye, it aimed for my leg. I stabbed as hard as I could and I was unbelievably scared. But after one stab in its eye, it fell down on the ground, obviously dead. ‘Pfew, that was close and scary’, I said, ‘but oh man, it felt so good.’ With my machete in my pocket and the disoriented feeling fading away, I started to explore my surroundings a bit, waiting for the sun to go under and rise again, so I could meet Blade.


It was a dark morning still when I woke up in bed, too early. I was in my hometown, at my parents’ house, in my childhood room. Reluctantly I went downstairs and sat for a simple breakfast my mom had prepared. My dad moved around, getting ready for work. He would take me to his office; I would check it out. I had said I’d rather not work that job, but my parents insisted, gently. “What do you got to lose, hon?” My mom said. I put on some business casual clothes: workman’s leather shoes, khaki pants, a non-iron shirt whose crisp collar I could feel on my chin. We got into my dad’s pickup and drove off towards the highway. It was autumn, I had a leather jacket on, but it was hard to get lively. Before the highway we pulled up to a coffee shop. Dad had already had a coffee at home, and he thought buying coffees outside was a waste of money. I found that home coffee doesn’t quite do it for me - it’s too weak, and I don’t really mind paying two bucks for someone to prepare me a big, fresh cup. We sat by the window of the shop, looking onto a grey parking lot. The sky was grey too, but more beautiful than the view below; it had splashes of purple and orange. I got busy smelling and sipping on the coffee. Dad, having nothing to do, looked at me, smiled awkwardly, and tried to say something cool, something I would like. I imagine that would require a lot of creativity on his part. “A little tired, huh? Too much party last night?” He said. “It’s okay. Drink up your coffee. I don’t mind stopping by a coffee shop, really, if it makes you feel better.” “It does make me feel better,” I said. “It’s dark in here. Back south it was warmer.” I had moved back from the south to my hometown after I broke up with my girlfriend there. At least I thought we broke up. We didn’t really discuss it; I had left suddenly, making a vague suggestion that I might return. Since I got back to my hometown though I didn’t call her at all, and it’s been several weeks. She didn’t call me either. So, guess we broke up. Now I was unemployed, starting from scratch. I had missed my family, but not my friends. When I said I was starting over, I meant not going back to my old profligate ways. “Wait till you get married,” said dad. “Wait till you get married, have children. Then you will know the meaning of true exhaustion.” “Kids, family?” I thought, “Sounds terrifying. This whole grey place is populated by kids and families. It does not look inviting.” A friend of my dad’s then walked into the coffee shop and came to greet us. He was very fat and he was smiling; he had grey mustache and wore glasses. He shook hands and sat drown next to me with his coffee after my dad invited him to chat a little. The man ended up talking about a mutual friend and recounting a party at that man’s house: “It was a big, big barbecue. He got a roast pig from somewhere and treated us all. There must have been thirty people that came and went. We must’ve finished ten cases of beer. Luke got real drunk, started singing.” My dad laughed at that, and so did his friend. I could imagine the party – a group of miserable, overworked men in their fifties stuffing themselves to an early heart attack, their wives hanging out in a separate room exchanging unhealthy recipes and gossiping. “His son was there too, with the younger boys,” continued the friend in the coffee shop. “They were swimming in the pool. It was already cold, but they jumped in anyhow. One of ‘em even tossed his wife in.” “Marky simply does not give a hoot about anything,” my dad said, admiringly. I remember Marky. Obese, tattooed moron with zero sense of restraint. A total asshole to his mother and sister, and probably also to his child’s mother. I get a headache thinking of that man’s eating, drinking, and smoking habits. The friend wraps up his story and leaves the coffee shop, shaking hands and smiling for goodbye. My dad and I walk out too and proceed on our drive to his office. We get stuck in traffic, a vast serpent twisting left to right and up and down through uptown. My dad curses and complains about the traffic, but his words come out prepackaged, automatic. He does it every day, but he never quite loses it. “Don’t worry about the job,” he slapped my knee. “You will handle it easily. They will give you time to figure out the software. The boss is a good guy, don’t be afraid of the boss.” “I’m not afraid of the boss,” I said. I had met the boss before, when I interned at the place as a student. Some goofball wearing silk shirts and lording it over a crew of refugees. Nice guy, takes pride in being a job provider, but a bit of a goof. My dad continued: “It’s a safe, cushy job. You can save up some money here. If you are patient, they will promote you. They will like you. And if the economy goes south and you lose your job, remember you need only nine months of work experience, and then you can go on unemployment benefits.” “Unemployment benefits! Now that’s something to aspire to!” I didn’t say this, I only said it to myself. I resented the low expectations. I am too young, too ambitious for that. I don’t want a safe job; I want an interesting job. In the south I worked as a teacher. It was unpredictable and didn’t have the safety factor, but over a couple of years I ended up making more money than I ever made here. And it was interesting. It energized me. I didn’t even know why I agreed to check out this stupid office job. We arrived to the industrial area and parked in front of the office building. We walked out of the truck and my dad walked a bit ahead of me. He got to the front door and opened it and walked through. I walked towards the door, but strangely, it was taking me a long time to get there. I walked harder, but the more I pushed, the slower I moved. My breathing became heavy. I looked towards the glass door, and pushed with my feet, but couldn’t quite get there. Maybe I didn’t want to get there; maybe my unadmitted but profound dislike for the place had created a spacetime warp between the parking lot on which I stood and on which I walked and that glass door. It got dark suddenly; it was night. My dad didn’t walk back out, the place was deserted. I remembered only my dad’s big office shirt floating in through the door, and I felt my office shirt rubbing against my own chin. I woke up. Where was I? It was a bright summer morning. I remember now. I was in my own apartment. I was down south. It was the first day of my summer holiday after I finished teaching a semester at a local school. It must have been six o’clock. My three-month son had woken my wife and me at four-thirty of course. Then my wife took him to the other room to breastfeed him, and I went back to sleep gain. It wasn’t a deep sleep, but I did have a rough dream. It’s okay; I can’t wait to play with my son. I know that will fix everything. The summer will be glorious.


“Don’t put that on yet!” Gjord shot at his squire as the lad froze. “Where’s the leather lining? Ye rattle the walls with that tin bowl.” He watched as his squire buckled the helmet back onto his side. “Stolen.” Alderic “Stolen?” Gjord “Eaten more liketh,” Alderic proclaimed. “Say you nothing of the sort, Les I see Incitatus,” Gjord said solemnly whilst drawing his large flail and placing it on his armour backplate. They both started to whisper as they walked along the base of a fortified wall. They were masked by the night, reduced to ear-shot vision. “Thy horse was not eaten sire,” Alderic said in a failed attempt to console. “Silence!” Gjord said with a reserved volume but agitated tempo. “How many torch lights was that?” Whispered a fellow soldier trailing behind Alderic. “Shhhh,” abruptly silenced the curious axeman’s question from all sides. The man walked deadpan after the rebukes. He too rotated his Dane-axe to his back. Gjord stopped and starred at Alderic until he halted. They could make out silhouettes looking back the way they came. Multiple moonlit soldiers clanked by in their heavy plating. The first of which, the rebuked axeman. Gjord nodded to the young knight and he could see an instant jolt of courage in the boy. “Fourteen torches Alderic,” Gjord said while his vision was diverted to a heavy sword squad. The squad was pointing to a dark line on the lighter yet still greyish-black sand-blasted wall. Slight cracks in the wall almost glowed under the hazy moon-assisted lighting. As Gjord and Alderic started to walk again, the dark line grew and bulged at some moments. “Well, there it is, let us go,” Gjord said as he motioned Alderic to drop his pack. Alderic dropped a large sack with a “PING,” as he did so, a grappling hook poking from the bag hit a metallic rock. Unperturbed by this, he then proceeded to kick the sack with the ropes, and the hooks into nearby shrubbery. Gjord shaking his head turned to watch his fellow horseless knights ascend a simple ladder on a wall they marvelled for months. He then caught eyes with a nearby long-swordman who had a rabid aura about him. As the soldier passed Gjord saw a nightmarish lust in the man’s eyes. The man kept toward the breach and the mist seemed to retreat from him. Alderic, being clumsy but keenly observant felt the anxiety as well, more than just the usual battle tension. These men had a hunger about them. Just then Alderic and another encumbered tank of a knight brushed shoulders and they both nearly toppled, on the way down they grabbed each other in desperation. The knight almost ripping Alderics shoulder strap, and Alderic nearly pulling off his glove. Once the both of them regained composure, Alderic followed the careless knight without a say or acknowledgement, for these things happened when your helm allowed you little sight; let alone awareness. “I see sire, the helms a liability in these shadows,” Alderic whispered. “Ye want to toss it on when those Syrian archers find us,” Gjord. “By then I hope I’m fighting in the Bazaar, with pomegranate, and dates,” Alderic divulged. “I hope I’m in a bathhouse by then,” a knight said as he almost collided with Alderics loafing pace. “Or a Haram.” Gjord pulled Alderic aside and said, “many men are here for God, but many are for themselves.” “Aye, and he, we can predict well,” Alderic said while giving the ladder a shake. The men already climbing barely noticed a wiggle and Gjord began to climb. “Give me strength lord,” Gjord said under his breath as he climbed the ladder, a simple ladder that negated such a robust fortification. It creaked and groaned and he wasn’t certain it would hold the heavy infantry it was channelling up the barricade. As he progressed he could hear the wind howling first through the chasm then through his armour. Sweat was pooling in the tips of his gauntlets as he crested the checker-top wall. The light on the other side was almost blinding. It was no wonder the perimeter guards didn’t see their band approach. Torches only light that which is lit. The procession of knights Gjord led shunned torches and in turn, embraced darkness. Gjord lifted his leg over the wall, taking great care not to lean too far in one direction, for his armour would carry him off cliff or wall, it cared not for his life and obeyed *God’s forces*, he thought. Already counting his men before his feet touched to the floor he asked: “Where is Juniper’s troop?” “Already at it sire,” Another horseless knight admitted. “We told him to wait, but he didn’t bother.” Gjord stormed toward the guard shack with Alderic in tow. As Gjord entered the turret he withdrew a dagger and looked to his right. Alderic quickly did the same in the opposite direction. Together they entered back to back. The room was fiery orange, they both beheld a down struck torch, its flames already climbing the walls and a straw bed’s legs. There was blood smeared all over the bricks in that spot, flickering orange and red as the fire showcased its violence. Gjord swung around to see the Juniper troop hacking something on the other side. Beside that, a foreigner, paralyzed in fear looking opposite to Juniper’s crew. One of the violent knights turned whilst shaking his dipped and drenched blade. “Gjord, my lord,” Juniper exalted. “What should we do with this traitor?” “He is a friend of ours, whatever his reasons,” Gjord “I disagree,” Juniper said as Alderic gave him an insubordinate look. Juniper took a step to the foreign wretch and the man cowered slightly, shook, then stood tall giving Juniper a defiant stare. “Do you have his coins?” Juniper questioned as if the thought fowled his soul. “Here, I need not know thy reasons,” Gjord said in an apologetic but curious tone as he passed a bag of gold to the foreigner. “God wants none of this,” The foreigner said as he grabbed the bag. “I Merely want to end the siege, you’re stubborn armies hold people in sufferance everyplace they clash.” “Our God demands thy sufferance!” Juniper expelled. “That is no god,” the man said as he looked for the best way out of the turret and tensions. Upon seeing this Juniper motioned his men to block the exit. Gjord waved his hand and said, “Wait, I cannot allow you’re departure nor will I satisfy my men with slaughter. You must wait here under guard until we have secured the eastern gate.” “Will you satisfy thy lord and saviour?” Juniper queried in a rebellious stance with his gory blade pointed between Gjord and the foreigner. “I ate horse, leather, sifted dung for grain and drank blood all so I could carry out my lord’s wrath!” “You will carry out thy orders Juniper, you’re men are loyal to me and I will see them through this, body and soul,” Gjord said as Alderic stepped in front of him brandishing a longsword dwarfing the men in the room. “They are loyal to God!” Juniper yelled as he grabbed Alderics sword guard disabling Alderic and him in the melee while his retinue exploded onto the foreigner. Gjord desperately covered Alderics exposed back while the poor foreigner was prodded and kicked by the sharp and heavy instruments. The men, filled with sedition but grounded to a perspective they thought was endorsed by God were reluctant to turn on fellow knights. “Stop this I BEG OF YOU!” Gjord said in a diplomatic but stern tone. Juniper knowing full well his men had accomplished his wishes let go of Alderics sword guard and wrist plating. “That man helped our God, we would have starved in that cursed valley if it wasn’t for that man you’ve snuffed.” Alderic protested. “How dare you speak of God!” “I speak and act for Jesus Christ almiterrrrwhalpssss,” Juniper’s speech was severed by his own blood as his chest was punched out from the inside. The men in the room stood frozen. Watching as Juniper clawed at a hole in his chest while something dark quickly rescinded into the wound. Juniper’s mouth fell wide as his eyes lost focus and he slumped still. “Archers!” One of Juniper’s men cried as he searched the ceiling frantically. Many of the other men turned their attention to Gjord, who was already fixated on a dark spot under a table in the large circular room. “What is arrwwg,” One of Juniper’s men tried to say as a flash relieved him of his head. Gjord could see a phantom in the midst of the soldiers, withdrawing his flail, he began to swing it beside Alderic, covering their left flank. Another soldier fell from a massive wound to the belly. Groaning he reached up with his bloody sword and screamed, “DEMONS!” While swinging at the ethereal notions of a man that danced over his disfigured body. Alderic, still frozen and holding his longsword, could not comprehend the events; yet would no longer remain idle. He exploded toward the last of Juniper’s guard whilst the frightened soldier shielded and withdrew into a viewport depression in the turrets sporadically lit walls. Alderic stopped, he wanted to help the lad not frighten him more, and he was trained better than to chase the desperate, let alone a cornered man in the shadows. At this point, they could no longer see any phantoms near the soldier so they both looked back at the table. The beast there could be seen in more details now yet still transient, smiling, or snarling; they could not tell. Light reflected off its sheen in alien ways. It began to descend, right through brick and mortar. It was still smiling when it disappeared amongst the impervious floor. Alderic was the first to speak, “What in the nine levels?” Gjord finally stopped flailing his weapon and thought *Devils…* as he visually scoured the room for more carnations. “Antioch has cursed us,” Alderic said as the last soldier slowly stepped out of his cavity and into the light. The soldier ran past Alderic and turned his back to the most well-lit part of the room. Sword drawn and sporadically searching, the man would not die without a swing. Unlike his freshly bled kin, strewn across the floor in ways their mortal bodies could never endure. “Alderic to me!” Gjord said as Alderic instinctively walked backwards toward his mentor. Alderic was now within reach of Gjord. “What is thy name knight,” Gjord asked, piercing the man’s psychosis. “Götrich,” Götrich said. “Götrich, Goooötrich of York,” He studdered, swallowing his words. “You see that knob behind you?” Gjord asked watching Götrich fail to look past a point that forced him to turn his head. “Right…. Alderic, watch my sides. Götrich, fall in behind us if you must, and God give us strength!” Gjord said and promptly kicked the door with dagger poised in hand again whilst his flail was wrapped on his right leg. The door opened back to the quiet night air. Multiple crusaders filed in numerous directions as quietly as their cumbersome armour allowed. “Woooooooe,” A large decorated knight said to Gjord as he came out of the room dagger drawn and splattered by gore. The Regent looked Gjord up and down. “Thou were supposed to keep it civil and quiet, thy exit implies thou were neither.” “We lost men, three of them, there was,” Gjord was cut off when another company began to open the city gates and finally the city came alive with trumpets, despair, and confusion. Fires seemed to spontaneously erupt in places where the screams were loudest. The gates exploded inward before they could fully open and moon glistened soldiers began to fill the courtyard. As fire and death spread amongst the city Gjord tried again, to address the now mesmerized king. “Sire as I was saying there was,” this time cut off by the king’s hand, held up high in a dismissive gesture. “Take my retinue and attack the heathens mosque. They will likely retreat there and we mustn’t allow a siege within a siege,” the giddy king proclaimed. “We still don’t know what killed..” Gjord was shut up again by someone thrown from a nearby turret. The scream could be heard over everything, yet, most barely noticed the macabre plummet. Including the King who ignored Gjord and began speaking with another visibly noble knight. Gjord, now facing Alderic and thirty or so well-armed long swordsmen whose eager faces reeked of a king’s retinue gave in to the royal demands and lead the men toward the giant mosque. As they descended the ancient steps, arrows and javelin were thrown amongst them. Shielding himself, one knight blocked a large javelin from a watchtower only to take two arrows in the back of his neck. The chainmail burst apart as the arrows split the links and found their way deep into his chest. He slipped off the steps in a manner devoid of all stubborn life. Alderic, being shieldless like his master Gjord tried to close with a soldier to his left who brandished a pincushion of a shield. The man hurried down faster than Alderics leg joints could handle and upon trying to gain him, Alderic tripped and fell ten feet to the courtyard below. Fully suited in a metal body, Alderic struggled face first in what could have only been a shop stall he crushed in his fall. He shoved the broken wood and pottery in an attempt to roll himself onto his back. However something stopped him, beams and shelving caved in such a way that pinned Adleric face-first in a hay-filled pile of debris he could barely breathe in. His helmet didn’t help, it was hard to breathe without the oxygen-depleted bazaar stand rubble that laboured his efforts. He gasped, breathing in dust and filth, but no air. As he struggled other hands began to remove many of the weights holding Alderic to the dirt. Gjord grabbed Alderics dusty arm and dragged him from the rubble. Alderic being in no energized state rolled complacently down the pile of debris finally gaining some air. Alderics air crisis was barely quenched when he picked up his head and saw knights storm the three-story dwellings to their front. These dwellings, moments before, held deadly archers raining death upon their descent. They now housed murderous crusaders hacking and killing anything they could find. “To ME!” Gjord said as Alderic painfully picked himself off the floor. The retinue filed in around Gjord, and Alderic fell in with the men and steel. The streets were now filled with more than just rivalling armies, but people, women and children, young and old were all displaced by murderous assault. Crowds ran on both sides of Gjord’s platoon, and as the crusaders progressed through the arid streets, the odd civilian threw something or tried to stab a displaced soldier. Checking his retinue Gjord saw a soldier struck in the head with a brick and the poor man slumped instantly to the cobblestone road. Another took an arrow in the leg and when Gjord finally saw the man struggling to get back to them he was swarmed by people kicking and screaming in foreign tongues. “Forward!” Gjord shouted. Finally, the men approached the massive steps of the mosque. Tired and weary Alderic was acting solely on instinct. His nerves were shot, his muscles ached, and his armour barely responded to his will but he drudged on. Shuffling his heavy legs toward the staircase. He watched as three women ran by and up the stairs. At that moment a pot was thrown from the mosque’s elevated position. It smashed on a soldier with strange steam and the man began to writhe in agony. As soon as Gjord realized it was hot oil another of his guard tossed a dagger at one of the women desperately ascending the mosque steps. Before Gjord could reprimand the soldier the man collapsed from no obvious cause. Gjord watched as fellow soldiers looked for injury on the lad and could not get him to rise or show a sign of life. “To ME!” Gjord said again as an enemy with a curved slashing sword ran at him. Gjord blocked high with his dagger and swung his flail upwards toward the foe. The dagger strained under a heavy sword blow but managed to deflect and displace the energy as Gjords flail uppercut the man’s head, scattering it into the night. Alderic was now shuffling to help as best as his injured body allowed. Everywhere he looked there was butchery. Women, children, homes, and livelihoods were all under assault and inflames. He saw crusaders hacking at people in flight. Even the lamenting were targetted, no one was spared. Then, just as he saw another group poised to attack a cornered family, they all vibrated in an eerie dance that ended in their blood being thrown amongst the cornered citizens. Alderic saw the phantoms again within the confusion, they withdrew amidst the fresh corpses. Gjord, now frantically looking from left to right as he climbed the mosque stairs, could see tangible dark figures now battling and slaughtering both garrison and crusading knights. These thin and agile creatures looked like stretched corpses and they moved like chimpanzees, preferring quadrupedal movement to that of the mortals they slew. As Gjord, Alderic, and the surviving retinue crested the steps they saw a pile of gore where the oil pot was cast minutes ago. Within the mess was a ghastly ghoul gnawing on rib bones. “A phantom!” Gjord cried as he started swinging his flail. Now, more man than ethereal, more flesh than air, and not in the slightest bit timid, the beast looked at them and snarled as it slowly descended into the blood at its heels. Its long sharp claws were the last of it to be seen as it disappeared with human remains in tow, again into seemingly impervious masonry. “The city has cursed itself?” Alderic said as he peered through his helmet’s tiny eye slit at the bloody man-made precipice. “This war has cursed us all...


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, a theme word, a sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Theme: Coming of Age** This week’s challenge is to use the theme of ‘Coming of Age’ in your story. It should appear in some way within the story. You may include the theme words if you wish, but it is not necessary. You may interpret the theme any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you follow all sub and post rules.   ***   #Last Week ###Crowd Favorites We had a tie this week! Well done, both of you! - - Submitted by u/katpoker666 - - Submitted by u/Lynx_Elia ###Bay’s Spotlights - - Submitted by u/merbaum - - Submitted by u/jimiflan   ***   #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. One story per author. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words will be disqualified from being spotlit. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **I accept nominations for your favorites each week via a message on reddit or our discord.** You have until 1pm EST Monday to send them in. Each Monday, I will spotlight two deserving stories from the previous week that I think really stood out. I will take all nominations you make into consideration. But please remember, this is not a contest. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some feedback.** While it’s not a requirement, I encourage everyone to read the other stories on the thread and leave feedback. I will take all of this into consideration when making my selections each week. **Do not downvote other stories on the thread.** Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   ***   ###Subreddit News - We’ve recently updated our subreddit rules. Please take a moment to or take a look at our sidebar. - Try your hand at serial writing with - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Same dive bar, different reasons for that bourbon. My drink was neat unlike my mismatched socks & my noticeable limp as I surveyed the room. Usual suspects were playing darts, cracking jokes, & whipping buffalo sauce off their chin, but I was looking for someone. The group of drag queens shooting pool caught my eye. The queens weren’t quite regulars, but around enough where a head nod when eye contact is made is warranted. The sunburn on my cheeks, nose, & right below my eyes made my expression stiff, but it was good to see everyone, as it had been a while since my last drink in this dump. I had just gotten back into town, for the first time since I got my second face tattoo. The small thunderbolt high on my cheek bone, I regret that. I’m now known as the masked thunderbolt by the local paper, the armed bank robbing thief that was still at large from our last job. I was observed by many being pursued by the police on my bike, wearing my Tampa Bay Lighting t-shirt, go bolts. The name kind of stuck. I don’t regret that. That's how I make a living. I'm a career criminal by trade, I learned from my father & my father’s father. They taught me well. I made my way north west - by train, by taxi, by foot, by my thumb hung up in the air. I had to get out of town, as the heat on my whereabouts grew. I spent the last year drinking wild turkey straight out of the bottle, shooting dice with my lucky cigarette tucked behind my ear, & hanging out with nameless women of the night, all on my way to nowhere. I went by many names throughout my career - Ramon Grande, Johnny Mack, Parker Wallace, & my least favorite, Christian Williams, my actual name, which I stopped using years ago. Pages on the calendar had been torn away and the treasure trove grew thin. It was time to head back home, it was time to go back to work again, I was Florida bound. My town was small & humid, run down & close knit, it was us against the world. I was back in town for one reason, to find my partner and hit the next lick. My partner was a friend of a friend of a former girlfriend of mine. I met him at a bbq down by the park, right off the main drag, back in the spring of ‘93. I noticed him from across the gathering. He had that look in his eyes, the same look I had. An up-and-comer, a rising star. I saw him pick-pocket the guy manning the grill, like a pro. We understood each other without ever exchanging names, not even once. This was to protect ourselves in case push ever came to shove. He always went by Isaiah Monroe or Donald Gibbs or Cash Jackson. No names, no phone numbers, no addresses. That was the code, be where you say you’ll be. One of our meetup spots was Ricky’s Tavern. Ricky’s was the local watering hole with a wide variety of regulars. Classic bar food, most famously, their fried gator bites, and known for local beer on taps that have never been cleaned. Old wood framing with a matching L-shaped bar that hasn't been touched up since the late 70’s. Last year’s Nascar reruns on the TV, ash trays as the centerpiece of each booth, and you get your picture on the wall if you can eat 5 fried tenderloin in 2 hours, Cousin Tommy’s up there twice, God rest his soul. I sat for a while and waited. Lucky cigarette tucked behind my ear, rolling 2 dice around in my left hand, wild turkey in my right, neat. I watched the off-centered door open & close for a few hours, hoping to see a familiar face. ‘Last call’ Jimmie bellowed as he poured himself a shot of something brown. ‘Well, i’ll check out bowling alley tomorrow night, maybe better luck there’ I wondered to myself I slapped my cash on the wooden bar, winked back at Jimmie, & headed out to the parking lot, wondering when thunderbolt would be back on his bike, I can’t wait to smile in my sleep, again.


I entered the maze on friday. I was apprehensive when I was selected the previous month, but with the encouragement of my family, I was convinced I would be fine. I didn’t really have a choice, anyhow, so I figured I might as well try to enjoy the experience. Despite that, I was still rather nervous when I arrived at the maze center. I hesitated at the front door, trying to work up the courage to go in. Just as I was considering fleeing back home, a woman opened the door. “What are you waiting for?” She asked, wasting no time. “You’re five minutes late. You really must get going.” She rushed me in. From there, my photo and fingerprints were taken, my hair put up in a neat bun, and I was given a series of shots. I was handed some clothes and put in a small stall to change. I groaned. I took my time picking out my outfit that morning, as I wanted to make a good impression. On who? I didn’t exactly know, but I was told by everyone I talked to that I should make an effort. The outfit I was given was something I would expect someone heading into battle would be wearing, which surprised me. It consisted of a top that felt heavily armored and protective, and military pants that were surprisingly lightweight and easy to walk in. I was also given a tough hat resembling a helmet. Needless to say, these clothes weren’t very attractive. Why would I need to gear up like this? This was just a maze, wasn’t it? Along with the clothes, I was also given a half-working flashlight, large boots and a bit of water. After the tests and preparations, I was shoved into the room that led to the entrance of the maze by the woman that helped me get ready. “Good luck,” She said. “Make sure to always stay on the move. Never stand still. ” Those were the last words of advice I was given before the door locked shut behind me. I entered the maze. It was dark. So dark. The flashlight wasn’t much help; Its light was very weak, and I estimated it would be about ten minutes before it would run out of batteries. The maze was more… Ominous, I suppose, than I imagined. None of the people I had talked to described it like this, not even close. There were cracks in every wall, and there was mold and moss growing everywhere. The floor was covered in stains and splatters of blood and other substances, and I think I even spotted some mushrooms growing here and there. I shuddered and started to walk. Which way? Well, that’s the question, I suppose, it is a maze after all. I took a right turn to begin with. Dead-end. Left turn? Another dead-end. I turned back and kept going straight. I made fairly good progress from there on, even when my flashlight went out; my eyes got used to the dark, and I managed to feel my way around. My hands were covered in something, I don’t even want to imagine what that was. Nevertheless, I was feeling good about myself; maybe I could get out of here before the day is out. And then I saw her. She was about eight feet tall, if I had to guess, her head nearly hitting the ceiling. She emanated a faint light that illuminated her awful form. She had three arms, and she was covered from head to toe in scars and wounds. I screamed, nearly falling off my feet. I had heard stories about her, more often than not told by the families of fallen victims of the maze, but no one else believed these tales, for that’s what we thought they were; just tales, stories told to spread fear. But she was real, and she was staring deep into my eyes. I ran. In what direction? I didn’t know. Completing the maze didn’t matter to me anymore, I just wanted to flee; I didn’t care which way. I heard an awful, deafening roar behind me, getting closer and closer. I covered my ears. The walls began to rumble. Turning left, turning right, she was always behind me. Each twist and each turn, she was there. It felt like the more I ran, the faster she got. I had no chance, and I knew it. As I was turning a corner, I slowed down to catch my breath. It felt like my chest was on fire from panic and fear. She screamed behind me and grabbed my arm. Her sharp claws cut deep into my skin, and blood ran down my hand. I managed to shake myself free of her, and she grunted in frustration as I ran away. I shrieked. She was catching up fast, and I was running out of ideas. I was never any good at mazes or puzzles, what the hell was I doing there? Why was I selected, of all people? There was nothing special about me, I was just a normal person. The water I was given had already run out long ago, and my stomach was rumbling. I had no idea how long I was there already; time seemed to have lost all meaning. Just as I was about to reach the end of my rope, I spotted a hole in the ceiling. It was small, but big enough for the average person to pass through, with a bit of effort. I paused for a second, then began to climb, using the pieces of stone sticking out of the walls as stairs. She shrieked again, getting closer and closer. Out of breath, I tried to squeeze into the hole. She tried to grab onto my leg, but I quickly sucked in my stomach and disappeared up into the ceiling. I collapsed to the floor, panting for breath. It took me a minute to realize what I was looking at. I was above the maze. I did it; I escaped. There was another hole at the other side of the room. I realized that these holes were likely made by one of the previous victims of the maze; how, I didn’t know, but I was grateful nonetheless. I crawled through the hole, down into a small room closed off by a door. This wasn’t the room I had started in, so I figured it must have been the end of the maze. This room was drastically different from the rest of the maze. It was clean, apart from a few splatters of blood here and there, which was a sight I had gotten used to during my journey through the maze. Then I realized something. The room had no door leading out of it, only the door leading back into the maze. How was I supposed to get out of here except for… Back in through the maze? My vision had gotten blurry from fear and adrenaline, so I hadn’t even noticed the rifle that sat on a stone pedestal in the corner of the room. There was a note laid against it. I picked up the note, my hands shaking. With my vision returning to normal, I read the note. “Great job, you escaped her. Now go back and defeat her.


I was thirteen years old when I got sick, and after a year I still wasn't getting any better. I was allowed to go home for a day, then it would get worse again and I would be ushered back to the hospital. After a while, instead of getting slightly better every week I just got worse. I think we all knew I wasn't going to get better, but nobody would admit it. I, however, accepted my fate and decided to just die with no regrets. My parents sat beside me day and night, talking with the doctors about my condition, and frantically trying to eliminate the sickness. But it was useless. Day after day I got worse and worse until the day I died. It was in February, and I died alongside the cold. My parents sat beside me, trying not to weep at the doctor's words. My mother was pleading for them to cast their nets wider, but they had done everything they could, it got to the point where they gently broke the news to my parents. "She isn't going to make it, I'm very sorry. The most we can do for her now is keep her comfortable." I wasn't supposed to hear that, but it didn't bother me, I had known it for some time now. They called my family, and stayed strong for me. Everybody came as quickly as they could, and I died with my mother and father holding my hands, my mother's gentle touch stroking my hair and singing the lullaby she always used to sing. I told them, "Thank you for everything, I have no regrets, I will come back to you." I closed my eyes, and with that, Gray Merilind was gone. The moment I was gone my family broke down into sobs and tears. It's been five months since my daughter died, my beloved Gray. I raised her, and it was too soon for my baby to leave me. None of us can bring ourselves to enter her room, it brings back too many memories of the good days. We try to stay as upbeat as we can, but her siblings are taking it the hardest. We try to comfort them but it doesn't seem to do much. It's been a year now, and I'm going to go into her room. She wouldn't want me to linger on her death for as long as I have. I opened the door and forced a step, then another, until I was sitting on the bed. Her figurines and books lined the walls, her floor covered in laundry and her bed messy. Everything was covered in dust. Just more proof of how long it's been I suppose. We live in a big house out in the country, and have the entire road to ourselves. Our nearest neighbor is a kind old couple who had sent us a care package when Gray died. Oh Gray, she loved the stone bricks and the wood that made up the cottage, the layered shingles on the roof. She loved the soft grass in the yard and the river and the big birch tree. I decided at that moment that we should clean up her bedroom. Everything would stay, never to be moved until the day someone else lives here long after us. I brought the suggestion to my son and other daughter, Gray's siblings, and they received the idea better than I thought they would. George and Lucy came upstairs, and with the same difficulty I had, forced themselves to come inside. It makes me proud how strong my children are. My husband joined us soon after. Her father and I dusted the room and cleaned Gray's dirty clothes, tucking them folded into her dresser. We washed the blankets and neatly made her bed, vacuumed the carpet and swept the floor while George and Lucy caringly dusted her shelves and cleaned the figures of her favourite characters. Then, while we were throwing away the wrappers and removing the half filled cups of now stagnant water on her nightstand, we found a carefully enveloped letter sitting on her desk. What it said brought a fresh wave of pain and made us all begin to cry. It read, To mother, father, George and Lucy, Leon my dear dog, everybody who loved me, thank you. I know I don't have much time left here, but this is my final message to you. My life is over, but please don't wallow, be strong for me. Some people have entrusted me with their deepest secrets, and as promised, I have taken them to the grave. I have always had a wish, an impossible one, but one I have always longed for. I wished to fly, not on a plane, but with my own two wings, those of a bird. I won't leave you alone like this forever. I can't just let George and Lucy grow up without me now can I? But whether it is tomorrow, or on your own death bed to lead you to your place among the stars, I promise, no, I vow, on the name you gave me, Gray Merilind, I will come back to you. 18/2/2004 That voice, it was Gray to a T. It was my dear daughter's final message to us, one I will hold close to my heart until the day I die. I decided I would wait until the earth collapsed for her to return, and when she did, I would remember her no matter what. George and Lucy cried themselves to sleep that night, their father and I tried to comfort them, but they said that they wouldn't sleep, they wouldn't miss it when their beloved sister returned. I was only able to convince them to rest by telling them I was sure Gray would wake them if they were asleep when she came back. I’m not ashamed to say we all cried ourselves to sleep. It's been four months since I found Gray's letter, and I've decided to take everybody camping to her favorite place. A secluded area beside a lake. When we got there we immediately went to the site. We had booked the one beside the woods, closest to the lake and what we now called Gray's Rock. It's a large boulder overlooking the lake far into the woods beyond the campgrounds, and as far as I know, we’re the only people who know about it. You can see into the forest for miles from its peak. On one night, after a day at the beach, I went alone to Grays Rock. It was dark, but warm. I felt as though I was being watched the entire walk, but it was a forest, you feel that everywhere. I was cautious though and made it to Grays Rock safely. I sat at the peak and watched the lake, it sparkled in the moonlight. After a while I began remembering the days when I would be looking for Gray, only to find her without fail sitting peacefully on the rock, her short, straight, brown hair and green and brown clothes rustling in the wind while she hummed to herself and looked over the lake. She would sit up, turn her head and say " There you are! I've been waiting for forever! Come sit with me, the lake is beautiful today." We would sit and talk, and watch the lake. I was pulled from my thoughts by a soft humming coming from behind me, but when I turned to see who it was I saw nothing. At first. I looked closer and saw a figure blending in with the trees. It was a young woman. Her skin was made of silvery birch bark and her feet were big hoof-like stumps. Her neat, long, brown hair tumbled over her back and down her legs in waves while her shimmering green eyes watched me calmly with a soft smile on her white lips. Her voice reminded me of something I couldn’t quite place. She continued to hum to herself, but then she started swinging a long silver stick with a teardrop shaped lantern on the end and dancing playfully to the tune. She spun and stepped and swung while I watched in awe. The pace quickened until she spun and held out a hand to me. I carefully stood up and took her hand while I still stared, wide eyed. A knowing glint flashed across her features and together, we danced. We twirled slowly in circles and danced to her singing, a haunting, beautiful tune. All the while she never let go of my hand, she must have known I would be stumbling without her guidance. Then when the tune dwindled to a close she did something I didn’t expect. Her arms were suddenly around me pulling me into a tender, loving embrace. She was much taller than me, I realized. It lasted for at least a minute before she pulled away. It felt like part of my body went with her. She gave me a sad smile, and wiped away a tear I hadn’t even noticed was there. Not a word was said as she swung the lantern in front of her. It was the first good look I had gotten into the lantern, but instead of fire, there was a cluster of small blue flowers inside, a warm yellow light coming from them. She carefully plucked one from its place and tucked it behind my ear, her hand lingering on my cheek for a moment before she pressed her forehead to mine, and not a word was said as she walked away into the woods. I sat stunned for a while after she’d left, the dancing had filled me with energy and warmth and I had no clue what I had just seen. Then it dawned on me. Who the humming had reminded me of, who had tucked flowers she picked behind my ears, who had pressed her forehead against mine as a way of saying goodbye. Gray. I jumped up and ran into the woods, calling her name, each time I called for her I became more and more sure of who she was. “Gray! Gray!” No response. No silver figure who seemed to melt out of the trees appeared and offered to dance. No flower lantern caught my eye with its warm yellow glow. I saw no sign of her, but I was soon back at the campsite, collapsing into my husband's arms and falling asleep there, still crying. The flower Gray had given me didn’t wilt. It stayed perky as it was inside the flower lantern even after we had returned home. It didn’t glow like it had inside the lantern, but it still shone with an inexplicable light. It didn’t look right in a vase, so I took it outside and on a whim, planted it at the base of the bug birch tree. The next morning Lucy came running into my bedroom, shaking me until I was awake. “Mama, mama!” she yelled, shaking me as hard as her little hands could. “You have to see this! The yard is full of flowers!” I bolted upright, following Lucy downstairs and out the front door. What I saw took my breath away. The blue flowers blossomed in every patch of grass, on the riverbank and creeping up to the edges of the porch. The flowers come back every spring, all love them, and all of us have at least one story to tell about seeing a tree woman with a lantern and warm eyes. Sometimes we see her dancing in the yard, or smelling flowers out of the corner of our eyes, or sitting on the bank of the stream, dangling her feet into the water.


A dream-lit cityscape in the stars  The silhouette of two individuals could be seen sitting on the edge of what could very well be the void, but the sound of cool night waves lapping against weather-worn wood was a clear giveaway.  "It's a lovely night to watch a meteor shower", the younger sounding of the two murmured with a feminine voice. There was a warm softness to her voice, almost as warm as the arms that draped and the chest that supported her back. Her companion held her just a little tighter in response, as thought to voice his agreement.  The flash of the first meteor flew overhead, like an avian of pure brilliance announcing the arrival of a majestic flock of light. The woman chirped a happy noise at the appearance of the signal that their planned show was about to start. They have come to this very same spot every year on the same day since they first met, both drawn by the promise of the technicolor lightshow that graced these same skies year after year.  They still remember that first chance meeting, two awkward teens prone to sneaking out had snuck out of their respective homes in search of the perfect place to view the annual meteor shower. The moon had been full and its pearlescent rabbit was clearly visible against its snow white canvas, watching over the sleeping town they both grew up in.  The man, barely into puberty at the time of their meeting, had fumbled out a greeting to the young woman. "Um, hi. The, uh, moon is really big tonight, right?", he had muttered, picking at one of the separation points in the wooden planks with his foot while his hands threatened to burrow straight through his pockets. She chuckled lightly, a flash of metallic imbued teeth showing her own greeting. "Indeed, I came to see the meteor shower, they're hard to see at my house. Want to join me?", she inquired of the nervous young man. He muttered a nearly non-committal approval of the idea and stood beside her. They stood and watched the rain of light parade across the stars.  "I think it's starting!", the present day woman burbled as a few more meteors screamed across the spacial viewing screen they had both become well acquainted with. She still had fond memories of him pointing out Ursa Major and Orion's Belt for the first time, stricken at the amount of passion for astronomy he expressed when the mood changed from his own anxious mood to that of a confident young man. She felt his face that was muffled by the hair on the back of her hair smile warmly. Nothing but the stars and the bond they shared existed for a time as far as they were concerned.  They sat there and watched the kaleidoscope of galloping light flood the night sky till the sun showed the first signs of breaking. Another successful and happy year, enjoying the night sky they had nearly memorized by this point. They got up, brushing off the light amount of sand they had managed to accumulate from a night of sitting so near the coast. The couple then proceeded to journey back to their shared home, the coolness of their twin rings giving way to the warmth of their entwined hands.


Careful not to scare the floating bullfrog away, Leonia carefully aimed her spear gig behind its ears. In one quick motion she drove the spear down as hard as she could into its body. When she pulled it out of the water the frog was still twitching on the end of the prongs. In the Bayou, early spring was the best time of year to hunt for frogs. The days were starting to heat up and they would come out to sit on the swampy shores or float their heads above the water. They made for easy prey. Now, the last of the daylight was fading and the lightning beetles were crawling out of their rotting logs, lighting up the marsh with their lazy, pulsating glows. “Hurry! Grab the basket Ambrose! I got another one,” she yelled, but when Leonia turned around to place the frog in the basket Ambrose was still laying at the opposite end of the tiny pirogue. His eyes half closed and a goofy smile spread across his face. Minuit, her habitually loafing capybara, was draped across his lap fast asleep. She glared at her companions ‘*how typical,*’ she thought. She let out a loud huff and kicked the bottom of Ambrose’s boots. He bolted up and Minuit let out a startled chirrup. “Hey! What was that for?” he shouted indignantly. “Stop daydreaming you lazy toad and open the basket!” Ambrose threw up his hands, “Jeez, that’s all you had to say.” He grabbed the basket and lifted open the lid, “you should have enough to fry up for supper now.” Leonia’s eyes widened as she realized how late it was and threw the frog in the basket. “Oh shoot, supper! I told Nanette I would come home early and help. I got to get home before she takes a switch to the back of my legs.” She dropped her spear and picked up an oar, not even hesitating before plunging it into the water and launching the pirogue back in the direction of home. Ambrose’s annoyed expression turned into a lop-sided grin. “Slow down Lee. You can’t get out of it now. You’re already late.” Leonia picked up the second oar and heaved it at Ambrose’s chest. It fell to the floor of the boat as Minuit scrambled to get out of the way. “Well, I’d like to be a little *less* late if I can help it. Now start paddling.” ‘*Hopefully I can get out of it,’* she thought. Maybe a feast of fresh frog legs would help convince her aunt to be a little more forgiving this time. Ambrose grabbed the oar and helped her row towards the village. They knew they were almost back home when they spotted the dozens of colorful lanterns that hung low in the trees. They were lit up and flickering all around them. Hundreds of moths and other insects gathered near their flames, singeing their wings if they flew too close. “Hey Lee, you think I can borrow your pirogue tomorrow night? I’m gonna ask Katie to come look at the stars with me.” Leonia scoffed at the idea. ”There’s no way you’re borrowing my dad’s boat just so you can get frisky with some girl. You’ll end up sinking it. It’s all I have left of him and mom.” Ambrose feigned a sad expression and started begging, “Please? I won’t sink it. I Promise. Just this one time?” She pretended to think on it for a few more seconds. “Nah,” She said shaking her head, “can’t do it. You’d have to take me too.” Ambrose crossed his arms and looked away. “Just forget it then. I’m not taking you out with me and Katie.” Leonia shrugged her shoulders and continued paddling. She knew Ambrose couldn’t stay angry for long. After a few more minutes, they reached the edge of the village. It was small, situated in an isolated inlet of the bayou and built on the backs of the giant, floating comb jellies that made their homes in the brackish water. Minuit let out a chorus of excited chirping noises when she caught sight of it. There were about fifty of them in all, but only half of them were occupied by the village . The jellyfish’s transparent bodies glowed blue and purple under the moonlight, their tentacles trailed beneath the waters welcoming them back home. A few people were still milling about outside. Letty was exactly where she was sitting a few hours earlier, fishing for bream, and old man Ducote was whittling his animal figurines by the light of an open door. They pulled their boat up onto the jellyfish’s springy shore. As they stepped out, Ambrose grabbed the basket of frogs and flung it into Leonia’s arms. Their feet made shallow impressions on the firm gelatinous ground as they walked back home. After saying goodbye, they separated for the night and Leonia marched quickly back to the hut she shared with Aunt Nannette and her sister June. Minuit broke out in a trot as she struggled to keep up. As soon as Leonia rounded the corner of their hut, a small figure stepped out of the dark*.* *‘Wow, it’s crazy how* *much June looks like Momma,’* she thought. June’s golden hair ran past her shoulders in subtle waves and her dark blue eyes glistened in the dim light that streamed through the windows. Leonia on the other hand looked more like her dad. Plain brown hair and eyes, and tanned skin from all the time spent outdoors. “Nanette’s been waitin’ on you,” June shouted, grinning. She looked back at the open door of the hut, half expecting Nannette to be standing there. “Hush,” Leonia hissed between gritted teeth, “Don’t talk so loud or—" Nanette walked through the doorway, glaring at Leonia, “Too late ya troublesome child. I been waitin’ on ya all evenin’. Get your butt into this house ‘fore I skin the hide off yer bones, both of ya.” They walked inside and Leonia shot her sister an angry look as June stuck out her tongue. She set her basket of frogs on the tiny kitchen table and slouched into a nearby wooden chair. “Where ya been girl?” Nannette asked, looking down her nose. Nanette wasn’t just their aunt, she was their great aunt, and at eighty-nine years old she was still in good health and her mind was still as sharp as a tack. “I was gigging for frogs with Ambrose,” Leonia explained, “look! We speared over a dozen of ‘em.” She opened the basket to show her, but Nanette looked less than impressed. “I don’t believe for one hot-second that boy lifted a finger in helpin’ you get them frogs. And I don’t like ya running off with him for so long. You know how boys are. Always friskin’ and foolin’.” Leonia’s face flushed bright pink. “It ain't like that Aunty,” she said, avoiding her aunt's gaze and staring at the floor. Nanette waved her hands dismissively, “Mm hmm. Ok,” but she knew better than that. Leonia and Ambrose had been stuck to each other since they were about six years old, ever since they both lost their fathers in that devastating hurricane the same year, and Ambrose was just as sweet on Leonia as she was on him though he would never admit it. June giggled from the corner of the kitchen as she watched the exchange. Nanette turned and pointed her finger. “What you laughin’ at girl? Yer still in trouble for all them skinks you been hiding under yer bed, keepin’ as pets.” It was Junes turn to flush bright pink. Nanette clapped her hands together and nodded at the girls. “Alright then, you two get to skinning and quartering these frogs so we can fry ‘em up.”  \*\*\*\*\*\*  Later that night Leonia woke up in the room she shared with her sister. Minuit had jumped up in the bed beside her shaking and shivering. “What’s wrong?” She cooed, stroking her fur. The haze of sleep still fogged her brain as she looked around the room. June had woken up too and was sitting up in bed. “You hear that?” June whispered as she jumped out of bed. Just then another noise came from outside. “There! I heard it again.” This time Leonia heard it too. It sounded like angry shouting. They raced out of the bedroom and into the small sitting area at the front of the hut. Nannette was awake now too and came out of her bedroom holding a broom. A moth-eaten shawl was draped around her shoulders. She pointed the broom in their direction, “You girls stay in the house. I’ll go see what all the fuss is about.” The girls followed Nanette outside anyway and the smell of smoke hit their noses immediately. Their eyes began to water. Over on the adjacent jellyfish they saw huge flames rising up in the dark sky. A hut was engulfed in fire. Leonia squinted her eyes in an effort to see beyond the flames and what she saw startled her. Standing there were three massive, silvery-white alligators. Leonia had heard peoples’ stories of their encounters with white alligators but had never actually seen one herself. She knew they were much more ferocious than the typical gators they ran into. The ones she was looking at now were saddled and bridled. A rider sat on top of each one. The rider on the largest alligator was wearing pale face paint and shouting at their village headman. She couldn’t quite make out what he was saying from this distance but it sounded like he was making demands. Leonia glanced around the village. Just like her, other villagers stood outside their huts watching the spectacle. She spotted Ambrose in the crowd next to Katie and his mother taking in the scene as well. She ran over to talk with them as June and Minuit followed close behind. “What’s happening Ambrose? Who are those people?” His expression was grim. “I don’t know Lee.” Katie frowned and gave the two a disapproving glance. “Daddy says they’re from the other side of the bayou. They don’t want us here no more.” Even though Leonia had never seen them before, she knew Katie meant the Guerrier tribe. They were hostile and dangerous and no one was allowed to go near their territory. But still, Leonia couldn’t understand why these people would want to kick them out of the lands they had lived on for centuries. ‘*Why do they want us gone? What have we ever done to them?’* They continued to watch the Guerrier tribe shout their demands at the headman. No one was sure how much time had passed when the riders finally decided to leave. They pulled on the reigns that controlled the gators and they slung their massive heads around. Their tails whipping behind them as they stomped to the edge of the jellyfish shore and slid back into the water. The tribesmen sat cross legged on their backs guiding them away. Leonia turned her head away to see Nanette and the other elders walk over to the headman. She assumed they had a few things to discuss and hoped that everything could be resolved. All she and the others could do now was watch the departing Guerrier tribe glide away and look on as a part of their peaceful village burned.


This is my first post here and my first horror story. I hope everyone gets chills like my friends and family did when they read it. Enjoy! When I was younger my family moved to a farmhouse in the country. Well I called it a farmhouse, it just happened to be a house next to a farm. They grew corn in those fields. I was always careful not to go into the fields, my dad would say; “that’s not our property son.” I took that to heart. It was a nice life, simple, until I turned 11. I don’t know what changed, I don’t know why things changed, but they did. Our driveway was long, it was a good five minutes from being dropped off by the bus before I got to the house, that’s when I started noticing things. The first time it was a perfectly straight path through the cornfield. It was as wide as a truck, but there were no tire marks leading from it. Next it was the pyramids of corn. They’d be perfectly dehusked and sitting in little pyramids all over the yard. My parents shrugged it off as animals piling their scraps, but these weren’t ordinary piles, they were perfect and always oriented with a corner facing the house. For the first month, this seemed normal to me, I’d never lived in the country before, how was I supposed to know any different. I didn’t even notice when the piles crept closer and closer to the house every day until one day I came home from school and there was a pile of corn in front of my window. I woke up in the middle of the night that night. I’m not sure what woke me, there was no odd sounds in the house, but I had the strangest feeling. I remember walking over to the window and being ice cold despite it being a hot early September evening. When I pulled back my curtain and peered out into the night I didn’t see anything at first, but then slowly a pair of eyes appeared in the corn field right where it met my property. Despite it being pitch black the eyes stared directly at me as if whatever creature it was knew I was there. I quickly closed my curtains and climbed back into my bed and under my blanket. The feeling went away after what felt like hours, but I knew it must have only been minutes and I fell back into a deep sleep. The next morning I woke up and told my dad about it. He brushed it off as being some sort of animal, he had seen a few deer grazing the cut field last fall, that’s probably what it was and to not worry about it. The corn pyramids stopped after that night and it was another month before I woke up in the middle of the night. This time the feeling was more intense and I didn’t so much as choose to go to the window as I was forced to be some unseen force. When I looked out the pair of eyes I had seen a month ago reappeared in the same spot. I noticed more about them this time. They were bright, despite being a new moon, and they were an odd shade of green. That night was the night I really began to worry, because not only did the original set of eyes appear, but shortly after two more pairs of eyes opened beside it. All of them looking at me as if they were peering into my soul. I wanted my parents to take me seriously so I immediately ran to their room and woke them up. “They’re out there!” I screamed as I ran into the room. My dad shot up immediately and grabbed the shotgun he kept above the bed and sprinted off out the front door while my mother held me tight trying to calm me down. A few moments later my dad returned and told us there was nothing there. He told me it was just a nightmare, trying to assuage my fears. It didn’t work. They sent me back to bed, but despite the feeling going away, I didn’t return to sleep that night. Nor did I sleep the next night, I couldn’t, I thought if I was awake the feeling wouldn’t come. I was wrong. That night I was again pulled to the window, but this time I was staring out for hours into the nothingness of the night. I couldn’t explain why and I couldn’t stop myself, the eyes weren’t there, or at least I couldn’t see them. But just as I began to let myself fall to sleep the green eyes opened one at a time until what must have been 50 pairs of eyes were staring at me. I didn’t move, I didn’t do anything. They all blinked once in unison and then a moment later they closed and disappeared. I fell asleep then. A deep sleep, my parents couldn’t even wake me for school the next day. They called in a doctor to take a look at me. He told them I was fine and was just sleeping. I slept for a full day, no sensations waking me up that night, nothing. When I awoke my parents told me how long I had slept for, but I wasn’t shocked. I felt checked out, my parents wouldn’t believe me so I thought why bother. The eyes didn’t return for some time, but the damage to my psyche had been done. I started slipping in school, lashing out at everyone around me to the point where I almost kicked my dog. Thankfully I did clue in to what I was doing before I made the kick, but I was distraught. My parents had no idea what to do, they talked to my teachers, to our doctor, they all had one answer, get me therapy. To my parents' credit they initially didn’t believe something was wrong with me, because there wasn’t anything wrong, but they kept getting pushed into it by others around them. The straw that broke the camel's back was the last night we were in that house. It was in late January and there was a fresh coating of snow on the ground. The eyes hadn’t pulled me to the window in months and I was honestly starting to feel better, but all good things must come to an end. I have no idea why it was that night, maybe they sensed my mental state returning to normal, I don’t know, but I was pulled to the window again. Even with the corn cut down I still couldn’t make out any shapes in the night, but the eyes opened as they always do, one at a time until what seemed like the whole field was lit up with green Christmas lights. Everywhere except the one spot where the original set of eyes typically was. For a split second I wondered where it had gone, but the answer came a second later and it terrified me. The original set of eyes opened, but it didn’t open on the line between our property and the field, the emerald green eyes appeared 30 feet away from my room at my swing set. Just as the original eyes appeared the others blinked. After the blink the swing set started to move ever so slightly at first and then quickly as if someone or something was swinging on it. I must have been distracted by the movement on the swings because I didn’t notice the green eyes that had been so steady leave the playset. I looked back at the field and all of the eyes had disappeared. Everything had disappeared, it was all black. Then suddenly the green eyes reappeared on a black shadowy body five feet from my window. I lost it that night. I began screaming and crying uncontrollably. My parents couldn’t calm me down when they rushed in. Nothing they were doing was working. They decided pretty quickly to load me up into the car and took me to my grandparent’s place back in the city. I never went back to that house. My parents sold it and we moved back to the city. They put me in all sorts of therapy, but I got better on my own. I never felt the pull towards my windows. Being a man now and what I would considermentally mentally ‘all there’, that experience has still made me live my life in a certain way. I haven’t been out of the city in 15 years, I don’t eat corn, my apartments have always been on the highest floors I can possibly get them on. It’s been nice I think to myself. A light tap on the glass door of my balcony that leads out from my bedroom breaks my trained sense of calm. I brush it off as nothing, but then the feeling returns, the feeling I hadn’t felt since I was 11. The dread, the anxiety, the hopelessness all returns. I begin sweating profusely and a tear rolls down my cheek. A louder tap, more of a knock now draws me out of bed. 10 stories up, it’s not possible, it’s just the wind. I tell myself lies to try and delay what’s coming. I pull back the curtain.There filling my 10th floor balcony, in the dead of night are seven foot tall shadowy figures with glowing green eyes, one of them standing directly in front of me. “We’ve found you.