Coffee splashed across the floor, pulling Eli from his peaceful nap. The newest hire was often a little... "much". "I might be your secretary, but I will *not* be bringing you coffee!" Rose dropped the paper cup on the floor and crossed her arms. "I didn't *ask* for coffee! Where did you even get that!?" Eli pulled his feet off his desk, "We don't even have a coffee machine here! Did you seriously go buy coffee just to spill it on my floor!?" "Maybe, but you can't prove anything." Rose shrugged, "Oh, there's a man here to see you." "Should I have a gun ready?" "He doesn't look like that kind of guy." Eli muttered for her to send him in and rubbed his eyes. Rose had only worked for him for a month. She'd stopped telling him she hated him after the first couple weeks, so that was at least better. She did take advantage of any small attempt to antagonize him, though. If he didn't hold himself responsible for her shop being overrun with unknowable and unnamable monsters, he would probably have just fired her. Which would have been fairly merciful since he had blown up the last person he had fired. Life was just a gas. The door swung open and the stranger walked in. Short beard, scraggly hair, slightly overweight, eyes turned red from crying, ring on his left hand. The man had been someone's husband for too long. Or had just experienced a few bad nights. The man dropped down into the chair in front of Eli's desk and cleared his throat. "Eli Thorne." Eli offered his hand, "What can I do for you?" "Walt Cain." The man shook Eli's hand, "I think my wife is cheating on me." "That is a possibility." Eli shrugged, "What do you want me to do about it?" "Well... you're a Private Eye... and I was thinking you could gather some pictures or something." "Oh, I'm not that kind of Private Eye." Eli shook his head and reached into his pocket, "You're looking for a sleazy cold fish. I've got a card for someone around here. Give him a call and-" "No, uh... Mr. Thorne... I just need you to hear me out." "Mr. Cain, what you're asking me to do is called 'stalking'. And I'm not the kind to do that. Drop a dime on this guy here," Eli slid the card across the table, "He's exactly the sort you're looking for. Chrome dome, smells awful, weighs as much as a bus, snores when he's awake. He's perfect for this. Tell him I sent you, and he'll owe me a drink." "Mr. Thorne, please listen." Walt pushed the card back to Eli. "No, *you* listen. This is not the kind of work I do. Now leave on your own or I will help you leave." Eli sat forward, "And I am *very* good at helping." "I know you're looking for info on a guy who owns a coffee shop. Turns out, I have information on Jerome Farmer." Jerome Farmer. That name had come up in a case Eli had worked before. A mysterious man who worked in the open. All attempts taken by Eli, his assistant, or their secretary had ended up completely worthless. Dead ends, all of them. And Eli *really* needed to know about Farmer. Farmer was the reason Eli had blown up his former partner. He needed to know *why*. Eli rolled his eyes, "Why do you think this would be a case for me of all people?" "You did some work for a friend a few months ago. He said it was something to do with a sailor who was smuggling... uh... 'evil books' into Haven City. I think this might be the same kind of thing. My wife has this novel she's been reading... and it's got all these weird drawings in it." "You're sure that's not a comic?" Eli sighed, "Look, Mr. Cain, 'evil books' are incredibly rare. The possibility of your wife having one is not very high." "She turned my dog into a monster." Eli coughed and sat up, "Alright, so maybe it's more possible than I thought. What does this have to do with her cheating on you?" "She's always working late, she always hides her phone, she is completely disinterested in me, and-" "Have you tried therapy? I hear it works." Eli sighed, "I... I can look into it. But the infidelity may be a different situation than the magic. I will be looking into *that* above all. And I would like compensation." "What's your rate?" "Normally, fifty an hour. Since this involves magic and I'm probably going to have to shoot people and cover all of that up, one hundred fifty an hour." Eli offered his hand, "Deal?" "Deal." Walt shook Eli's hand, "Tell me what you know. Anything that can help me track your wife down. Schedule, close friends, family who might help cover up anything you shouldn't know... Actually, do you have the book? Or the dog?" "I have the book here." Walt pulled out a tiny novel and dropped it on Eli's desk, "And the dog is in the trunk of my car." Eli picked up the book and started flipping through the pages, "Well, I think that's animal cruelty. Should have at least cracked a window." "You'll understand when you see the dog." "Well, this is absolutely an evil book." Eli muttered, "Romance novels. Hate 'em. This one's not even well-written. What's up with this infatuation with the word 'moist'? That's just gross." Eli rolled his eyes over and over as he quickly flipped through, but stopped as he picked up on a few strange phrases starting on page 117. He grabbed the lamp on his desk, flipped it on, and pulled it closer to the pages. He pulled a single page up and held the light behind it. The light filtered through, illuminating symbols and phrases that started to scratch at his mind. Equations and spells. "Yeah. Alright. This is magic." Eli squinted, "Now, my familiarity with this language is a little rough, but I think this part means something like 'be reborn in the shape of war'. Or that last word might be 'friendship'. Or 'screaming'. Or 'moist'. Yeah... this is a bad one. Mutating people and animals is never a good idea. Let's go take a look at the dog." \*\*\*\*\*\* Eli had his M1911 in his hand, loaded and cocked, per the instruction of Walt. Walt popped the trunk and jumped back. Large paws wrapped around the edge of the trunk, the body of the beast greasily sliding into the daylight. Its teeth grew from its lips. Its eyes were thin and dark. Its fur was matted and ugly. Its tails were long and curling. It growled at the sight of the two men. "Well, you should probably give your dog a bath or something. I know that I'd flip my wig if I smelled like that." Eli stepped forward, "Hey there, pooch. What's good?" The gurgling growl rumbled from its throat. Eli didn't take another step. "Yeah, this is a bad sign. Your dog looks healthy. Messed up and a little mutated, but healthy. Don't take him-" Eli paused and looked at the dog's underside, "Sorry. *Her*. Don't take *her* to a normal vet, but I know a nice lady who does checkups on dogs like these. Just don't ask her about the rabbits, and you'll be fine." Eli reached out and scratched behind the dog's horns, "You're actually almost cute." "How could you think *that thing* is cute!?" "I've seen some *weird* stuff, Mr. Cain." Eli pulled his notebook from his pocket, "Alright. Tell me where I might find your wife when she's 'working late', and I'll get this process started." \*\*\*\*\*\* Eli stopped in front of the yoga studio, swearing to himself the whole time. He made sure his snub was in the holster on his left hip, the M1911 was on his right hip, and the metal brace was secured safely on his right forearm. He'd dealt with evil yoga instructors before. Their flexibility was an irritation more than anything. "You ready for this, Mr. Thorne?" Eli looked at the passenger seat where his younger assistant sat. The kid was finally ready for a few cases, but Eli had wanted him to tag along. Better experience. The kid's golden hair was styled to match Eli's, and his muscular physique was hidden under his black coat. "I guess I have to be." Eli sighed, "This is just for the information on Jerome Farmer. Investigating cheaters is not going to be a common thing for us, okay?" "You got it, Mr. Thorne." The pair got out of his car and walked through the door as Eli pulled his long coat over himself. The studio was very bright. The interior walls were white and the exterior walls were glass. Plants were lined up against the walls and a fountain trickled by the door. It smelled like flowers and sweat. Calming music played over the speakers. It was actually a pretty nice place. The receptionist smiled warmly at Eli, but paused as he saw Eli's clothing, "Sir, what are you wearing?" "This is the height of fashion where I come from." "Where did you come from? Those clothes haven't been in style for like... eighty years." "Sixty, actually." Chase chimed in, "Mr. Thorne is an old-fashioned kind of Private Eye." "I happen to look very nice. And we don't tell people we're Private Investigators unless we have to." Eli stepped up to the desk, "Anyway, I need to speak with one..." Eli checked the page of his notebook, "Brad Wills. Do you know where I might find him?" "Oh, Brad doesn't do one-on-ones." "Good thing there's two of us, then." Eli motioned to Chase and himself, "Now, it's getting close to noon. Where does he get lunch?" "He brings in his own kale salad. It's to die for!" "I hate kale." Eli grumbled. Chase leaned over and whispered, "Is kale evil, Mr. Thorne?" "Not like... 'monster' evil, but certainly 'tastes bad' evil." Eli pointed at the hallway, "Is your break room down there?" "Our 'break room' is the roof garden." "I hate this damn place." Eli growled, "Is it open to the public?" "Members only." Eli tapped Chase's shoulder and motioned for him to follow. They walked a few steps away, making it just to the door. Eli kept his voice low as he leaned in to Chase, "I need you to distract him so I can get by. How many cameras did you see?" "Two cameras, same model, and one doesn't have the light on. That one is probably off. The other one is rotating back and forth slowly, so you should be able to slip past in about twenty seconds." Eli felt his heart jump, "I am so proud of you, kid. We'll make an investigator out of you yet. You distract him, and I'll-" "Actually, Mr. Thorne, I should go through. You stand out a bit in your clothes." "You think you can get him to squeal?" "For sure." Chase nodded, "I got this one." Eli nodded and walked over to the front desk, standing on the side with the working camera. He knocked on the desk, "Excuse me, sir! I have issues with your establishment! Have you seen what people wear here!? 'Suggestive' is putting it mildly! And what is this talk I hear about 'downward dog'!? What kind of *smut* are you peddling!?" "Sir, please lower your voice. You're-" "Sit up and speak clearly, young man! Where do you get off talking to your elders that way!?" "I think I'm older than-" "Why, back in my day, we didn't have things like these dens of sin and villainy! We had picture books and we were *grateful*! You make me sick with your disgusting business! For shame, sir! For *shame*!" "Sir, what kind of business do you think this is?" Chase slipped behind the receptionist, past the camera's watch, and down the hall, nodding to Eli as he hurried past. The group of people that had formed to watch Eli's outburst hadn't noticed Chase either. That was good. "I actually don't know what came over me." Eli pulled his wide-brimmed hat off and ran his hand through his hair, "Whew! That was strange. You all go about bettering your physical health, lowering your stress levels, and eating foul plants. I wish you well in your endeavors! I'm gonna go take a powder!" Eli bolted for the door as hard as he could. \*\*\*\*\*\* Eli jolted awake as Chase pulled the door open and jumped in. For a moment, Eli was pretty sure he heard screaming and crying coming from the roof, but it went silent as Chase slammed his door shut. Chase pulled out his phone and tapped on the icon that looked like a notebook. Why the kid couldn't just use normal pen and paper was beyond Eli. "Alright, so this is everything I got out of him." Chase held up the phone. Eli tilted his head back and pulled Chase's hand closer to his face, "Ah, so it looks like Walt's wife was *not* cheating on him. That's good. But... what does 'colt leafer' mean?" "Oh, my bad." Chase pulled his phone back, "I typed in the wrong thing there." "This is why you should use paper and pen. That way, you always know what you're writing down. And you don't have to deal with all this newfangled phone stuff." "It means 'cult leader'. She's involved in a cult, and the guy up there was one of her disciples. She's a disciple for someone else, and then on and on. It's like a pyramid scheme." "Ah, but with more magic." Eli started the car, "Do you have an address?" "There's an abandoned church on 1937 Gilman Avenue. I've typed it up in my phone." "No need for that." Eli pointed, "Grab the map from the glovebox for me, please." "Mr. Thorne, we can just use my phone." "Ah, but it's useful to know how to use a map." Chase groaned, but complied. Eli traced his finger across the map, searching out Gilman Avenue among the many branching streets of Haven City. He wasn't sure where 1937 would be, but he was smart enough to keep an eye out for an old church. "Hey, Mr. Thorne... I think Ms. Day might have something wrong with her." "Probably, yeah. She was a business owner, and now she's a secretary." Eli folded the map up and passed it to Chase, "But I'm gonna teach her to be an investigator and then she can do cases of her own. I think that might help her move on." "Well, I meant that she's always staring at me. And then she winks at me when I look over at her. She also keeps buying me coffee. And she always wants to know what I'm reading or what I did that day." "Uh... I think she thinks you're a bit of a dreamboat." "What's that mean?" "She thinks you're handsome." Eli fought very hard to ignore the large, bright, proud smile on Chase's face. \*\*\*\*\*\* Eli stopped the car and turned it off. He passed the keys to Chase and checked his M1911. Seven in the magazine, one in the chamber. He was ready to do something stupid. He unbuckled and holstered his gun. Chase unbuckled, but Eli grabbed his shoulder. "Stay here. I don't want you getting involved." "Just give me your other gun. I'm a lot tougher than I look. I'll have your back." "No. You don't need a gun. Stay here and get ready to drive like the dickens if things go poorly." "Mr. Thorne-" "No. I'm probably going to have to shoot people, and I don't want you in the middle of that. I want you to stay here and call Mr. Cain. Tell him the good news. His wife is *not* cheating on him. Just... try to leave out that she's probably a cult leader. And remind him to take that dog to the vet I sent him to." Eli took a breath, "And Chase?" "Yeah?" "If I'm not out in one hour, or if anyone other than me comes toward this car... floor it, okay?" Chase opened his mouth to protest, but months of knowing Eli had clearly taught him to go along with it. Chase leaned back in the passenger seat and pulled his leather-bound journal from his coat. The journal bore a winged insignia. Eli hadn't known that Chase kept a journal. Eli patted Chase's shoulder and got out of the car. He watched Chase scramble over to the driver's seat and crack open his book. Eli straightened his hat and walked up to the abandoned church. Flaking white paint turned slowly yellow in the harsh sunlight. A few cars sat in the parking lot in the back, some had been there long enough to sink into the asphalt. There was a half-destroyed mailbox hanging from its post in front of the church. The buildings all around were silent, dilapidated brick boxes. He couldn't see anyone looking out from the boarded-up windows... but that didn't mean no one was there... or that no one was watching. He ascended the steps, his hand ready to go for his gun at the first sign of trouble. Cults were a mixed bag. Some weren't terrible, just misguided. Others were antagonistic, but not supernatural. Others... Others were a problem through and through. Eli wished he was just going to deal with the first type... but he knew better. He knocked on the door with his left hand, his right hand looped around the inside of his coat. "What do you seek?" "Oh, shoot." Eli sighed, "There's a password or passphrase or something, isn't there?" "Yes. Did you forget it?" "No, no... it's on the tip of my tongue." Eli scratched his head, "Uh... Can you repeat yourself? Might jog the ol' memory." "Fine." the voice groaned, "What do you seek?" "Uh..." Eli ran through his thoughts. The romance novel had hidden notes about rebirth. Rebirth in the shape of... well... war, screaming, friendship, or something moist. Might be worth the risk. Eli cleared his throat, "I seek to be reborn in the shape of screaming." Silence. "Or friendship." The door swung open. A revolver was pressed right to Eli's forehead. "Maybe something moist." The cultist smiled, his eyes dark and his teeth curling into a smile, "Come on inside. The High Mother has waited for you." "I feel honored, I think." Eli stepped forward, "Well, let's do this." "Not so fast. I'll be taking your gun." the cultist pushed Eli's coat aside and grabbed the M1911 from his hip, "Now, any other weapons you'd like to declare?" "Any other weapons I'd like to declare? Nope." Eli shrugged, "Shall we go see the High Mother?" "Do you have any weapons you would *not* like to declare?" "Clever man." Eli nodded, "Yeah, I got a couple." "Show me." Eli's left arm swung to the side, knocking the revolver from his forehead. His right hand clenched into a fist. The revolver *boomed* right next to his head. The blade on his metal brace extended as it drove into the cultist's neck. "It's a knife that retracts into a metal vambrace. Or bracer. Or thing. It's metal. That's all that matters." Eli whipped the blade to the side, slashing out the cultist's throat, "Thought I'd let you know something as you choke on your own blood: you broke the first rule of guns. *Distance*. A minimum distance of five feet. Otherwise, I can control where it's aimed. And then... you're not listening to any of this, are you?" The cultist gurgled and laid still. "Yeah... didn't think so. Alrighty. I have to go meet the High Mother." Eli retrieved his gun from the fallen man and tilted his hat, "Good day, Mr. Cultist." Eli walked inside, keeping his gun in his right hand as he wiggled his finger in his left. He hoped that high-pitched whine would go away eventually. Having a gun fire right next to his head was great for his hearing. The foyer was a thin hallway. A small table with old, faded papers rested to his right. Stairs descended to the basement on his left. A little room with a sunken floor sat beyond an open door on his right. The sanctuary was just in front of him. "Mike!? You okay!?" Eli turned and raised his gun. A woman in a red dress hurried up from the basement, worry across her face. She froze at the sight of Eli. She started to take a step back, but Eli shook his head and motioned for her to take a seat in one of the rotting chairs. "Sir, we don't want any trouble. We're just here telling ghost stories in the basement, and-" "Your friend shoved a gun in my face. What kind of ghost stories are you telling that require an armed guard at the door? I'm looking for a woman with the last name 'Cain' who mutated a dog. Now, I get that people get upset sometimes, but doing arcane experiments on your dog is never okay. How many people are downstairs?" The woman sighed, "There are two downstairs and fifteen in the sanctuary. They're probably all getting ready to come see what that gunshot was about." "Alright. So what you're telling me is that I'll need about seventeen bullets." "He wasn't going to kill you. He was just trying to scare you off." "Let's do a thought experiment. I have a gun pointed at you. How does that make you feel?" "Scared." "Right. And what would you do if I let my guard down?" "Attack you or run." "Right again. Now, I don't want to hurt you. I'd like to not hurt anyone here. It would be great if I could have one case that doesn't end with me shooting someone. But, hey. We're here, so we gotta do what we gotta do. Why don't you leave and not look back?" The woman nodded and started for the door. "Drop your phone on the floor, please. I don't need you trying to call anyone." She groaned and dropped her phone. Eli stomped on it and motioned for her to leave. Eli watched the door close behind her and started for the sanctuary. He could deal with the two people who would come upstairs from behind him. He didn't want to deal with fifteen coming from behind him. He kicked the door to the sanctuary open and raised his gun, "Hands where I can see them!" Fifteen sets of eyes turned to face him. Their heads all lowered. They all bowed. "Well, this is the kind of greeting I can appreciate." Eli's eyes darted from person to person, "Now, who among you is playing with magic?" The room smelled like rot. But not rotting flesh. Just rotting wood. The pews were decayed and some had fallen apart. The sanctuary was tall, but not very wide. The windows were all boarded, only allowing thin threads of light to spill onto the congregation. "The Seeker has come." the woman in the center of them all raised her hand, "We have seen the signs. The Undying is consumed by fire and continues to walk. The Blackbird rises. The Immortal looks our way. The Destructive is born. The-" "I get it, okay? You're all creepy and you've got vague things to say that you just pulled out of your ass." Eli rolled his eyes, "Just... which one of you is Mrs. Cain?" The woman in the center drew back her hood, "I am she, Seeker. What has turned your path toward us here?" "Oh, you're gonna have to stop talking like that. You just sound like you're trying too hard. To answer your question, your husband is worried about you. He thinks you're cheating on him, and so I went with my assistant to interview Brad at your yoga studio." "My husband... What?" The woman shook her head, "Your *assistant* is the one who interrogated Brad!?" "Yeah, he's a real up and comer. According to my assistant, you're *not* stepping out on your husband. So, that's good. But it seems like you're leading a cult and doing dark magic... and you had an armed guard at the door, so I'm going to go out on a limb and say you're doing something evil. Am I right?" "We do not practice evil here! We merely act! No action is good or bad! What we do with them-" "I'm gonna stop you right there. I burned your evil romance novel." "You..." The woman's eyes got wide, "You did *what*!?" She motioned forward, "Bind the Seeker! Bring him to the altar!" "Whoa!" Eli clicked the safety off on his gun, "Hold up! I have about five pounds of C4 wired up under my coat! If you lay one hand on me, I will blow this whole damn place to shit!" "Then why did you bring a gun?" "As a bluff?" "Grab him!" Eli fired three times, dropping three people. He backpedaled for the door as hard as he could, firing two more shots into the cultists. Eli turned and threw his shoulder through the front door of the church, bursting out into the daylight. He sprinted as a gun fired. A bullet hit the ground by his feet. Seventeen cultists. Five dead. Twelve alive. Some were armed. One knew magic. "I've faced worse odds than this!" Eli shouted over his shoulder. Another gunshot echoed through the street. The bullet whizzed by his ear. Eli turned and fired the last three bullets from his gun. Three bodies dropped. Eli ejected the magazine and reloaded, cocking and firing again as he sprinted for his car. He shouted and waved his arms at Chase. Eli dove through the window and into the back seat. The car started and the tires screamed as the car lurched forward. Eli rolled up to the shattered window and emptied his gun at the cultists. Most of them ran for cover. One dropped. But Chase and Eli were speeding away before they recovered. \*\*\*\*\*\* Eli stormed into his office and threw his hat at the coat rack. He twisted around and dropped onto the couch. Seven cultists remained. Eight, if he counted the one he let go. They were unlikely to let him get away with that. Chase walked into the office and gave Rose a big smile as he dropped down into the chair in front of her desk. "Hey, Miss Day. We solved the case." "I thought you were just searching for a cheating wife." "We were, but then it turned out she wasn't cheating, but she's the leader of a small cult." "Yeah." Eli nodded, "Some sort of small cult obsessed with vague statements. The Undying. The Immortal. The bird or something. The Destructive. They called me 'The Seeker'. Buncha weird shit going on in that church." "Did they really say 'bird'?" Chase smiled a little. "Yeah. I think it was supposed to be threatening or something. Someone's scared of birds. Ornithophobia must be a *bitch*." "They're probably headed here for revenge." "What!?" Rose jumped up, "What kind of revenge!?" "Probably the kind that ends with us all in a pine box." Eli grumbled, reloading his gun, "Difference boxes, of course. I refuse to die if it means being buried with you. Anyway, there's a cot in my office. Rose, you should sleep in there. Chase, take the cot in Howard's old office. I'll sleep on the couch here." "We're just going to *wait* for murdering cultists to show up!?" Rose shook her head, "Hell *no*." "We aren't going to just wait. I've got guns, and I think Howard kept a shotgun in his office. Somewhere. Hard to tell under all that mess. Chase, do you mind finding that?" Eli looked to Rose, "If you could call Officer Brown and tell him about this whole thing, I think he could do something to get these people off our backs." Rose grumbled and walked over to her desk, dialing the police. Eli rested his arm on the armrest of the couch, keeping his gun aimed at the door. He was going to have a long night. \*\*\*\*\*\* "Mr. Thorne? You awake?" Eli groaned and his eyes rolled open, "Must have nodded off... But I'm awake now... are they here?" "No... and... uh... that's kinda what I want to talk to you about." Eli motioned for Chase to have a seat in front of him, "We will not be hunting them down." "We don't... erm... we don't have to, Mr. Thorne." Chase scratched his neck, "Officer Brown called and said that the old church was mostly burned down and they found seventeen bodies in there. Apparently, it got struck by lightning a lot." "That's convenient." "I don't think it is, actually." Chase pulled his phone from his pocket, "Officer Brown wanted me to show you this and ask if you know anything about it. He said they pulled it from an old security camera across the street." Eli rubbed his eyes and leaned in to look at the picture on Chase's phone. Sharp, black wings spread from the body of what looked like a man. The body was wreathed in blue lightning. The glowing blue eyes glared at the camera. "What the hell is this?" Eli whispered. "I think someone didn't like that the cult was looking into them." Eli's eyes got wide, "Or some*thing*... Chase... This... This is that bird they were talking about. What... what was it called?" Eli shook his head, "What... Undying... We blew up Howard because he wasn't dying when we shot him... What if Howard was the Undying?" Chase shrugged, "Probably nothing to worry about. Maybe we shouldn't look into this." "Maybe you're right." Eli whispered, "Call Mr. Cain and have him meet us here. Looks like we have to tell him that his wife wasn't cheating... and that she was killed by... this thing." Eli stared at the black-winged creature on Chase's phone. \*\*\*\*\*\* Nothing quite as mentally-draining as telling a man his wife was faithful until she was killed. However... the man had been true to his word and provided information on Jerome Farmer. It was just an address. Chase had looked into it. It was a building at Servator University on the north side of town. It looked like a history department if the picture from the map thing on Chase's computer was to be believed. "Alright, Chase. We need to go check out that building." Eli pulled his coat on, "It's the only lead we've got on Jerome Farmer, and we can't let it get any colder than it already is." "You got it, Mr. Thorne." Chase closed his computer and grabbed his jacket. The leather-bound journal fell out onto the floor. Eli bent to pick it up, holding it for a second to admire the winged insignia on the front, "You know... I didn't know until yesterday that you kept a journal." "Oh, it's, uh... it's a new hobby. I found an empty one in Mr. Malone's office after he... blew up." "Yeah... he kept some evil books in the office, but I guess some weren't all that bad." Eli offered the journal to Chase, "Well, I like the insignia here." "Thanks." Chase's blue eyes looked over at Eli, "It's a Blackbird.


Hans lied in the filthy, waterlogged crater. His rifle lost deep in the mud. He felt that his heart was beating hard enough to announce its presence to the whole world, the pounding rain, the whistle of artillery, and the explosions that interrupted his thoughts him wrong and wrecked his ears and body. He covered his ears and clutched his helmet in vain, he still felt the shock through the earth hard enough for it to matter little. For a long time, he felt the pounding artillery and the small crater slowly filling with murky, mucky water was all there was to the world. Then. He heard a cry over the pounding of the colossal drums of war. A thud and the wet scrape of breastplate against the mud and rocks. He wasn't alone in the hole anymore. He turned to face another soldier cowering in the crater. Wide helmet. Long coat. Flat plate. A Federalist covered in mud. Hans unsheathed his knife, lunged at the Soldier, throwing the full weight of his body into the stab. The Soldier rolled aside to dodge his attack and Hans plunged straight into the grubby side of the crater. The Soldier struggled to unsheathe his own bayonet. Hans pushed himself out of the mud, stood up, and took a swing at the Soldier before he managed to draw the blade. He lost his footing on the grimy incline, tripping back first into the knee-deep filth filled water, losing his grip on the knife. the Soldier took the opportunity and jumped on top of him, pinning him under the water. Hans struggled and writhed to no avail, growing desperate, he rummaged through the filthy floor of the crater and cut his palm on something sharp. *The knife!* He took hold of the blade and stabbed at the Soldiers belly, only to hit the metal plate. he tried again, now the upper thigh, and the blade sunk deep into unprotected soft flesh with a sickening *Shink*, he felt it hit something hard and pulled the knife out, stabbed it in, out, back in, and out again in a frenzy. blood flowed free, turning the murky water a reddish-brown. The Soldier howled in pain and clutched his thigh, releasing his hold on Hans. The blood penetrated through the gaps in his grip. Hans surfaced with a gasp, and pushed the Soldier off of him, who fell onto the side of the crater the Soldier grew lightheaded, his blood draining fast. He tried to stand up, but his leg betrayed him, falling onto his hip, he let out a sickening howl that degenerated into a miserable sob. Hans went to finish his opponent off, but he fell onto his knees in the water in a coughing fit. He retched up the filthy water he had inhaled and vomited the meager rations he had wolfed down before the expedition. Once he had recovered from the fit. He looked up to see the soldier in front of him, sobbing in despair, clutching at his bleeding thigh, his whole pant leg was soaked with blood. he got a good look at him for the first time. Thin face, blond hair, green eyes, he couldn’t be any older than him, perhaps seventeen or eighteen, slumped on the side of the crater. “Hjaelp!” the Boy pleaded between a sob. Hans just stared, on his knees in the water dumbfounded. “Oh, God.” Hans vomited until there was nothing left to empty, and then continued to dry heave. “Hjaelp” The Boy repeated hopelessly, his voice growing weaker by the word. “Jag baer dig!” “Mor…H-Hjaelp!” The Boy broke into a weak sob once more. but there was nothing Hans could do. so he just sat there, and sobbed, in horror, soaked in the filthy, bloody water. for a long time, in the pounding rain and artillery. until the Boy could beg in words no more. Hans retreated to the other side of the crater. Still, the Boy stared at Hans, with large eyes full of despair and accusation. eventually, day turned to freezing night and the pounding artillery finally stopped. Hans decided to stay in the crater, for fear of snipers, he had no way of knowing who had won the battle. The cold bit deep, he wouldn't survive the night like this, his uniform thoroughly soaked. He looked at the Boy and morbidly realized the only way he would survive. He crawled his way to the Boy. He tried to move him, but then the Boy, still alive, let out a whimper and struggled against Hans futilely, he was far too weak now to put up any meaningful resistance. Hans began to turn the Boy over to undo his armor. As he lifted the Boy’s hip he let out a weak cry and sobbed once more. Hans broke down too, but did not stop. “I’m sorry.” Hans sobbed The Boy wailed in agony. “I’m so sorry.” he succeeded in pushing the Boy over, who wailed into the mud “Please forgive me.” He struggled to undo the straps of the armor with his numb hands. “Oh, God!” He turned the Boy over again. and was met again with his sobs “Oh, Saints forgive me!” He removed the breastplate and began to unbutton the coat under it. The Boy no longer even had the strength to resist. Hans kept pleading for forgiveness. he wriggled the coat off of the Boy. A pack of cigarettes and a silver locket fell out of the breast pocket. Hans picked up the locket and inspected it. The front read “*För Leo*” in cursive script. Hans decided against opening it. he placed the locket in Leo’s shivering hands now dressed in only an undershirt and soaked pants. Hans draped the coat over himself. Pulled out a lighter, a cigarette from the pack, placed it in Leos’s mouth, and lit it, before lighting one for himself.


Rooney wakes up before he does and he steps out of his tidy bed immediately as if he has a life to save while desperately trying to save his own from himself. He slept the whole night dressed in a suit in one position. He takes a deep breath, not out of excitement but by being struck by unknown, unfamiliar panic as he had to go to his final trial in the court that uneventful morning. He calls an Uber and as the car runs down the road with in-between traffic, he wants all the things that are traumatic to happen to him. He counts the money to pay the Uber driver before he is about to reach the court, he pays him fast as they reach and runs to the nearest place he can find a cigarette and a drink. He got there early for that sole purpose. He looks at the time to see how much time he has left before the trial starts, it was two hours. He is relieved, he takes a sip directly out of the bottle to subdue the guilt just for a little while as he was aware it will come back. He was guilty of running a car over an eleven-year-old kid and fleeing the scene of the accident. Few days weeks later, he met the parents and what he saw in his eyes was something he was unfamiliar with, the look in their eyes was as if they were looking at someone whose death can only let him live though in pain but just enough to be bearable. The trial starts and the opposing counsel calls him up on the stand and asks him after he takes an oath that if he is guilty. He gets nervous, he has a cloudy flashback of what happened that night, he feels guilty but at exactly that same moment, he wants to hide the most despicable reprehensible act he has committed, also the survival instinct of an animal plays a factor in making him choose to plead not guilty. After the opposing counsel hears what he said, he immediately throws the light on the evidence he hid until he has his words on record. He shows the tape of recording capture by the state’s camera and it clearly proved that he was guilty. The judge sentenced him to death. The reasons were his intoxication while driving on a street that had no prior records of an accident in a seriously long time and the heavier reason for killing an eleven-year-old. Don’t they say smaller coffins are heavier? Rooney closes his eyes and feels an unforeseen satisfaction, he says to himself he deserved it. He thinks a life with knowing what he did is worse than death. He thanks the court. It was a day when the truth was seen, justice somehow prevailed without much struggle, and the entire world titled just a tiny bit, a little to the side of the good.


“Ahoy!” a voice shouted. Startled, the Oldman looked around frantically not minding the hot tea he spilled on his arm as he jumped. “Up here!” The voice sounded clearer and more direct. The Oldman looked to his right and up. There was a boy standing on a thick tree branch. From a quick inspection surely, the boy was no older than his mid-teens, with skin like bronze that made his big smile all the whiter. “I bet you didn’t hear me coming did ya?” The boy asked proudly. The Oldman was sitting in a half lotus position with his back up against one of the larger oak trees that were around him, and to his sides were a couple Glumberry bushes. “You are as stealthy as a street cat in a City.” The Oldman replied. The boy smiled again then lowered himself from branch to branch without hesitation; gripping the arms with ease as he finally jumped off the lowest branch and onto the ground in front of the seated gentlemen. “And just as quick.” the boy said brushing his hands to get rid of the tree resin and bark. “Although I never been to a City before.” As quick as the boy said it the Oldman wound up and blurted “Good, and I don’t recommend going to one.” The boys face changed, and the old man noticed. “Cities… have not been kind to me I’m afraid young lad.” “Cities have not been nice to my family either, Sir.” The boy said looking downwards and his smile gone. “I’ve spent most of my life at Sea.” Said the boy. *No wonder* thought the Oldman, they say the Sea-riders have the best balance out of anyone in the world. The constant swaying of ships creates an equilibrium in their core to which the Sea-riders have an unchallenged balance compared to those who have not stepped a foot on a ship. And not to mention their ability to maneuver their weight in even the direst of waves. “The Sea-riders have an impressive reputation.” The Oldman said stroking his white beard that’s clung together at the bottom with a crimson tie with a Gold emblem on it. “A reputation that they move like *water* itself.” The Oldman rose from his seat and stands in front of the boy, then bows. “I’m Irahk, it is a pleasure to meet you young Sea-rider.” The boy returns the gesture and bows back to Irahk. “My name is Kiva, it is a pleasure to meet you too, sir.” Irahk offers Kiva to a seat and to join him to share some tea to which the boy accepts. The tea leaves were picked from the Glumberry Bush that seem to be everywhere within this forest. The bright yellow berries that are flecked with black burst with flavoursome juices that it’s hard to stop eating, but the downside is if you eat too much, the poison starts to play; turning parts of your limbs a horrible yellow colour while your stomach pierces with an sharp and sickly pain, as though a dagger is stabbing you from the inside. The leaves themselves however still hold that taste of the berries and can be used to make such a delicious brew and is one of the most famous and wide-spread teas of this region. “I have not shared tea with a stranger in some time.” Irahk says joyfully. “What brings you this far deep into the woods?” The Sea is about an hour’s trek from here, East. Yet it is very unusual for a boy of the sea to be so far inward from shore, and in a forest no less. “How did you make your fire?” Kiva asked curiously, ignoring the question that was given to him. “And don’t tell me you *rubbed some sticks together.* I’ll bet a hundred gold seahorses you don’t have a firecatcher in your bag either.” Irahk knew the Sea-riders like to bet and were very abrupt, and their ways of doing things have caught onto this boy like none other. *How could I have been so absentminded*, Irahk thought. *What should I tell him?* “You learn a few things when you get to my age, young lad. There are many ways to light a fire, ways that you have never dreamt of.” Irahk smiled whilst starring at the boy, hoping the boy is naïve enough to continue. “I didn’t expect that.” Said Kiva as he follows up on a sip of tea. “I’ve been following you, y’know. And I most definitely saw your light this fire with bare hands. You’re a wizard.” The silent that followed as they exchanged glances with one another made them both realise how quiet and alone they are in the forest. “You’ve caught me young Sea-rider.” Irahk laughed, hands in the air and chin tucked down. “Now tell me, what is it you plan to do now?” Irahk sips his tea. The boy could very well be alone here, and if that is the case the Oldman will be in no danger. But he was a Sea-rider, and no Sea-rider travels alone on land so surely there would be others akin nearby. Perhaps they were already watching him from afar, preparing for an attack when the moment was right. But something seemed wrong, why would a human come face to face with a wizard, alone? Kiva took a deep breath in and exhaled, it seemed even the boy was tensed up at the matter. “Irahk, I am a friend. I’m sure you’ve heard about the raid a couple weeks ago. The one that attacked a town that housed wizards, were you one of them?” The boys face seemed sullen, like he could understand the pain behind what he just said. “Yes, I am one of them.” Irahk said bitterly. It had been a few weeks since then. The wizards were housed in a small remote town where they thought they were safe from the outside wars. The war between Humans and Wizards has been endless. The Wizards are only but a fraction of what they once were, being driven to eradication by the bountiful and cruel Kingdoms surround. Ever since the attack of the town, Irahk had been travelling long and far in hopes to exile himself and finally be free of the constant war shed. The Wizards have no other choice. And if it came to it, Irahk would take no pleasure in killing this boy if things escalated. Kiva finishes the last of his tea and rises. “I’m sorry for what has happened, Sir.” He places a clenched hand on his heart. “It pains me deeply knowing what has happened to your people. I want you to know that I am going to do everything possible to end this madness and hatred that has plagued our world for long enough.” Irahk saw the anger, the sadness billowing in Kivas’ eyes. “I am moved by your words, Kiva.” Irahk becomes solemn. “But what can a *boy* do against the kingdoms that have destroyed my homeland and the people in it?” Irahk took a deep breath in and released. “There is no hope left, none. Sorry boy, my people are gone.” A single tear starts to sprout from his eye then slides down his face. “Irahk.” Kiva said notably. “I’m Captain of a large fleet of Sea-riders, one of the largest in the world; left by my father. We have been tracking down Wizards from all over to join us in our cause, that is why I am here in this forest. And may I now ask of you something, Irahk.” Irahk raises his head with tear filled eyes and looks onto the young boy’s bronze face with a smile that’s glistening with determination. “Will you join us and help stop further bloodshed of your people?” Kiva extends an open hand towards Irahk. “Will you join my crew?” Irahk saw a destiny flash through his mind as he looked upon the fire in Kiva’s eyes, he saw visions of prosperity and hope. Now it was obvious, there were no other answer than this. Irahk joins the boy’s hand and is lifted to his feet, bones cracking n all. “My bones are old and my mind is weary. I will join you young Sea-rider. My Captain.” “Nonsense. Wizards are the most brilliant people in this world, it’s a pleasure to have you.


“Jesus Christ, man. It’s like they forgot how to throw the fucking ball!” “Hmm? Oh yea, this fucking country, man.” I was staring at the same TV the bartender was looking at, but to be honest, I couldn’t see shit. Before I got a glance at the game a commercial had started-- “Biff and Smiffer Forget-me-pills” with some Beatles song in the background. “The corporations can’t even let the Beatles die in peace… been years since any of them have been alive but those sons of bitches still using them to make a profit. Like either of those billionaires really need any more advertising. Already got the whole world doped up…” The bartender said. “Uh-huh.” I dug my fist into the biffer in front of me and licked the powder off the side of my knuckle. I think I’m about four, maybe five deep? Shit, isn’t it the bartender’s job to keep track of all the people in the bar? “I’m telling you James, the whole world has gone to shit. The fact that those pills haven’t put every bar in this city out of business by now is a goddamn miracle.” The bartender said. “Uh-huh,” I said back. I reached in my pocket to pull out my next biffer but came up empty. “Say, friend, do you happen to have any…” I said while making a rubbing motion between my thumb and index finger. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, sure,” He said. Without looking away from the screen he reached under the bar and pulled out a glass. He poured two shots of bourbon into the glass and pushed it across the bar to me. “Oh no, I meant… ah, never mind.” I said while grabbing the drink and shoving it down my throat. Tasted as plain as water to me. “And you should see fuckign upperside at this point! Me and the wife went to dinner the other week, and you can just tell the entire city has been robbed of its soul. You can see it in their goddamn eyes, they’re empty.” “Uh-huh.” “You know what I like about you, James? You know how to hold a conversation. The rest of these sad saps in this bar are so far biffed that they might as well be dead. You at the very least give me the respect of an honest talk,” The bartender went on. “Uh-huh,” I said. I looked around the bar to see if there was anyone halfway conscious who could spare me an extra pill. Four or five deep I think. It should be fine to take at least two or three more. Hell, even four should be fine. I stood up from my chair and held myself upright on the bar as I peered out over the booths behind me. “Hey, friend. Got any spare…” I called out to the guy in a suit sitting at the booth behind me while making that same rubbing motion. He looked back at me with a stern look. “Do I look like some sort of junkie to you, asshole? Turn the fuck around.” I snickered at him. “Alright, buddy, you have a nice night.” I turned back around and shook my head to myself. I heard the guy stand up and stumble over to me. “Listen, asshole, I’m no junkie. So you shut the fuck up and keep that shit to yourself,” he said while digging his finger into my back. I sighed while turning my spinning barstool around. “How about you keep your hands to yourself, alright? You’re not fooling anyone.” He blinked repeatedly. “What the fuck did you just say? I’ll touch whoever the fuck I want to touch, I work in the fucking upperside!” I sighed to myself again before putting my arms on the table to push myself up. Halfway through the bartender called out to the suited nutcase. “Listen here. I don’t care where you work, if you don’t want me calling federal on your ass you’ll get the fuck out of my bar.” The suited man straightened his back while blinking quickly. “Al-alright. My bad, friend. You have a blessed night.” He said. The man turned towards the back door, maintaining his posture as he walked out the door and down the cold, rainy street. “Sorry about that, James. Those upperside fellas are great for business but you’re shit out of luck if you’re looking for human decency. Can I get you another drink?” The bartender said. I stood up from the bar with my empty glass in my hand. I tipped it towards him before putting it back on the bar. “No thanks, friend. I think I’m headed home for the night.” I noticed out of the corner of my eye a handful of biffers on the floor near where the suited man was sitting. I stumbled over and looked under his table. Three, four, five. I think four is fine, I’ll save the other one for tomorrow. I raised my fist holding the biffers up to the bartender and gave him a smile and a nod before sticking my hands in my coat pockets and heading out the front door. The streets were dead with rain. I turned and started walking to the right of the bar. I didn’t bother looking to my left --hurts my eyes this late at night to see all that bright light coming from the main road. I could feel the peaking of a migraine just from the silent hum of the big glowing billboards plastered on the sides of the main road. I cracked my neck back and forth and gave a shiver while I slowly walked down the hollow sidewalk away from the bar. I took my hands out of my pocket to look at my biffers. I popped four of them in my mouth while I was walking. Probably should have taken a beer to go to wash it down but I’ll be fine. I’ll forget all about it soon enough. The streets were pretty soaked. Honest to god, I’ve been going to this bar for twenty years now but I don’t know how much longer I’ll be going if it keeps raining like this. I could feel my migraine swelling as a loud siren echoed “Biffers forget-me-pills, keeping America strong for twenty years!” echoing from the main road. The bright lights and sounds don’t make the walk any more fun, and I’m getting old at this point, a mile long city walk isn’t what it was when I was twenty. It’s not like I can’t just take my biffers at home… I kept walking down the soaked city street running horizontally to the bar until I came up to a left turn around an apartment building. Stained to the side of the building was a giant television screen with a flashing advertisement for Doughcarrots. I tried them once, weren’t really my thing. Never really got the point of taking it in any form other than the raw pills. It’s the quickest way to get the biffers into your bloodstream-- don’t really see much use for the candy-covered versions. Guess it’s to appeal to the next generation. I heard a buzz in my pocket-- a text from my son Connor. *Dad, come home,* it read. I went to type a response but decided against it. Better to just leave it. I’ll forget it all soon enough. I walked past the building and headed straight down the path. Should just be a straight walk now. I felt a buzz in my pocket so I stopped and took out my phone. I had a big grin plastered on my face as I scrolled through my text messages without a clue as to who was trying to contact me. My eyes dripped a little bit from the bright screen but it felt good. Jesus Christ that suited guy takes some serious shit, he must have a whole lot he’s trying to forget. Maybe this guy has contact with some black market distributor. I’ve been a loyal customer to the big CVS on my block for as long as I can remember, which isn’t very long mind you, but maybe I oughta change it up if they’ve been giving me low-class shit. I know I’m not no “upperside” man but I’m not one to skip out when it comes to biffers. As I was standing there looking at my phone it began to ring. C-O-N-N-O-R. Connor? Do I know a Connor? My son… I think he’s my son. Is he my son? Ah, I can’t remember. I put my phone back in my pocket and kept walking. There was something I was supposed to do. I put my hand in my pocket again and pulled out… another biffers! Where did I get this? I guess I lucked out! I popped that thing in my mouth and kept walking. Four… Four? Five? I kept walking down that street when I heard a series of screams and punchescoming from the alleyway in between two apartment buildings on my right. I stopped walking and listened. “Sick fucks… get the fuck off of me!” I heard the man get pushed up against the far wall and punched again. He was grabbed again and thrown on the ground. “You sick little shits--taking it out on me that you live in this shit hole. Hit me all you like-- won’t change…” The man was kicked in the mouth. Another voice started talking. “If you really were so much better than us you wouldn’t be walking down some shit-road in downerside. Now, are you gonna give me your good shit or not?” Behind the man, another voice started to speak. “Buddy, you got about two more kicks in before we start cutting, and when we start cutting, you’re about out of chances for forgiveness from us. So how’s about it?” I turned around from the corner I was behind and looked over at the men. The one on the ground looked familiar, but I couldn’t… suit. He was wearing a suit. Do I work with him? Must be something like that. The other two… maybe I knew them? Their faces were just lips and noses and eyes to me. The man with pieces of glass in front of his eyes looked at me and started talking.“James, what are you doing here? Head home man, you don’t want to see this shit.” I think he was talking to me… Hell, no one else was here. I don’t think that’s my name though… the only name I can remember is… “J-Jude,” I said in a shaky tone. The two men standing up looked at me awkwardly. The one with the glass looked at the other and put a hand on his shoulder before walking around the man in the suit towards me. “Yea, I know James, Jude. Have you had any tonight? I thought for a second. Four? Five? Is this why I had to remember that number? No… I don’t think so. “James, let me call someone to bring you home. You shouldn’t be by yourself.” I scratched my face while the man kept talking. A lot of what he said phased in and out. He was looking at me like he wanted me to say something. “James? Did you hear me? Can I call Connor to come to get you?” I blinked at the man. Connor? Was that Connor on the floor with the blood in his mouth? I took a step back and pointed to the man. “Is… is that Connor? The man in the back let out a chuckle. “Hah, I’ve seen you bad James, but not like this…” The man in front turned around and looked at the other man. “Genzo, shut the fuck up. If I hear another word out of your fucking mouth me and this upperside sack of shit will beat you up instead.” The man with the glass eyes walked up to me and put his arm around me while leading me around the corner of the alley. “Listen, James, we’re in the middle of something here… you got to leave us be. We’ll get you home, don’t worry, we always take care of our own. But you gotta let us finish up this business.” He seemed nice. Maybe we were friends. I looked at him and smiled. He gave me a pat on the shoulder. “Good. Why don’t you sit right here and we’ll come to get you when we’re done.” That sounded like a good idea. I sat down right where we were standing and looked at the ground. It was so wet. Wet, wet… wet. The man with the glass turned away from me back towards his friend and the man in the suit. He cracked his knuckles. “Now… are you ready to tell us where the fuck your biffers are?” The man in the suit looked up at the man with the glass and spits at his feet. “You fucking trash… you’re all fucking trash! I don’t have any biffers, I would have told you before you beat the shit out of me if I--!” The man with the glass punched the man in the suit in the jaw. “I think it’s time for cutting, I’m sick of this. Genzo, get my knife.” Genzo pulled the bag off his back and pulled out a short blade. The handle was thick and black like the grip of a gun but the blade was thin-- so thin that the drops of rain leaking from the sky were too thick to land on it. “Genzo, do me a favor and call up Connor Young. Tell him we’ve got James with us and he has to come to get him. I’ll deal with this.” “Alright, I’ll leave you to it. After I hear the shot fired I’ll know you’re done.” Genzo throws the knife at the man with the glass who catches it. He turned around from the suited man and walked down the other side of the alley before making a right turn. The man on the ground spits another wad of blood at the man with the glass. “You think I’m scared of you, you little shit? You could kill me a thousand times over and you would still be immeasurably beneath me, and there is nothing you can do about that.” The man with the glass let out a chuckle. “Even moments away from death, people like you won’t give it up. I wonder if a couple of cuts is what it’ll take to finally crack you...” Jude. Is that what they are called? No… no, Jude means something to me. I can’t remember what but that word is strong, I know it. My ears felt like they were ringing as I watched the glass man tear into the suited man. Maybe I’m Jude. I looked down on the wet floor at my feet. The pavement was soaked and looked back up at me. I heald my finger up to the small puddle in front of my lap and looked at the glassy black reflection of my finger in the puddle. No...no, I don’t think I’m Jude. But I think it is a name. I can’t remember but I can feel it. Something warm that makes me smile, that’s Jude. Jude’s funny too… maybe a funny movie… no, no I don’t think it’s a movie. But I remember watching a movie. And Jude. Jude and the movie. I looked up again at the two men. There were gashes all over the suited man’s face. I looked at his eyes… he was crying. Marble fell down his eyes and added to the pools of liquid on the damp concrete he laid on. He was crying so much… it was so sad. Jude... Jude cried a lot too. I remember Jude crying. She lay there, looking up at me while holding my hand. She mouthed words to me but I can’t remember them. But they made me happy, Jude made me happy. Was that man Jude? Yes, it must be. Jude was here, with me, and she was still crying. The smile was gone and the goodness was gone and all that was left was the tears and the wetness. Why, why would they do this to Jude? The man with the glass threw the knife behind him and picked the man with the suit up by the neck; pushing him against the wall. No. They can’t do this to Jude. She doesn’t deserve this. Jude... I stood up and watched the man with the glass choke out Jude. I walked over, picked up the knife with my right hand, and shoved it into the glass man’s side. He looked at me with shock as he fell to the ground screaming. I took the knife and stabbed him again, and again, and again. “Jude... it’s okay. I’ll never let you down.” The man with the glass looked at me with shock. He reached his arms out to me while choking on the taste of his own blood, but he had no words left. I looked at him and smiled. “Jude... Jude, you take a--” A shot rang through my back. The sound was loud, all I could hear was it dripping down my backside. I coughed and turned over to my side. I looked up at Jude, covered in blood and coughing. I reached out my hand and I was met in return with blood. Jude spit at me and kicked me. I cried, why would she do this to me? Why would Jude hurt me like this? Jude stopped kicking and looked at me. “Downerside trash. Should have stayed in the fucking bar.” Jude left me. I could see it in the sky-- she was gone. I could see something-- the spirit of the devil coming for me. I wish Jude could protect me, I wish something would protect me. I choked while searching in my jacket pockets for some comfort, but I found nothing but empty space. A minute later another shot rang out, but all I could hear was the one spilling down my back. Oh, Hey, Jude. Such a lovely song.


I was really looking forward to visiting the Kurseong hill station in India. My friends Arjun, Sunita, Vijay and I had been planning this trip for quite some time. We had heard all about the haunted Dow Hill forest and wanted to see it for ourselves. Being the city dwellers we were, we made fun of the local superstitions and beliefs associated with that place and assumed that it was probably harmless. Just a spooky looking forest that had earned a bad reputation due to the overactive imagination of human beings. The myth that intrigued me the most was about the apparition of a headless child in Dow Hill forest. The local legend was that when walking along the path in the woods, you would sense a presence right behind you. But you mustn’t turn around. Because if you do, you would see the aforementioned headless child. And once you had seen him, your fate would be sealed. If you didn’t die of fright right there, the headless child would follow you for the rest of your life. It would either drive you insane or would compel you to kill yourself. The story goes that the boy was taken from his home and murdered. His head was chopped off. Since then he wanders the forest and attaches himself to anyone who sees him. This is what a fellow patron told us at the hotel where we were staying. He was probably over seventy and had been born and raised in Kurseong. He was visiting his home town and when he heard our conversation about wanting to go to Dow Hill forest, he politely asked if he could tell us a few things about it. I suppose he was trying to dissuade us from going, but his friendly warning only fed our curiosity and made us even more determined to go to Dow Hill forest and walk down that path. At night, of course. We thanked the kind old man for all the info and decided to head into town. We visited a few local tourist attractions but the thought of going into the forest is what made us salivate. I think we saw it a challenge. To be able to go to the Dow Hill forest, walk the “forbidden” path and prove that the local legends were balderdash. That night, after we had had dinner, we decided to head into the forest. We were walking along the path that cut through the middle of the forest and led to a road on the other side. Just a few hundred feet from there was a bus station. We would be there in time to catch the bus back to town. The night wasn’t especially dark. The full moon illuminated our path and we could see our surroundings quite clearly. We did carry flashlights, but they were unnecessary. The four of us walked together, telling stories , laughing at each other’s jokes. As we ventured deeper and deeper into the forest, we began to hear strange noises. Granted they seemed to be coming form a distance and we had to strain our ears to hear them, but they were there. I mean , we all heard them. Surely four people could not have the same hallucination. It sounded like someone wailing in despair and agony. This was followed by the sound of laughter. The natural flow of our conversation was gone. And it seemed we just talked out of necessity to prevent silence from engulfing us. I’m sure that each of us had begun to feel that the legends about the forests may not be so baseless after all. Arjun tried to lighten the mood. He began to share with us an anecdote involving him and a one night stand. He was facing us and walking backwards. Sunita was just telling him to be careful when he tripped over a rock and fell. He had sprained his ankle badly. We all cursed under our breaths. But Sunita was prepared as always. She pulled out a pain relief spray and a length of bandage from her back pack. Essentials that the rest of us geniuses had forgotten to pack. She sprayed Arjun’s ankle and wrapped it up. Vijay was bent down watching Sunita attend to our friend and made a few light hearted joke at Arjun’s expense. As they were occupied, I felt like something, or someone was right behind me. I turned around and there he was! The headless child. He was there for a fraction of a second before disappearing. He didn’t evaporate or anything, the way ghosts do in bad horror movies. He was there one instant and was gone the next. I let out a gasp. Vijay asked me what was wrong. I remained silent and kept on staring at the place where I had seen the apparition. He asked again. This time Sunita and Arjun too were on their feet. Arjun with a little help from Sunita. I decided not to say anything. Because I honestly didn’t know if I had actually seen the headless child or if my mind was playing tricks on me. I had been thinking about what the old man had told us all day. Maybe this was something my subconscious mind had just conjured up. Especially since I was already a bit nervous, what with all the distorted sounds we kept hearing. I told my friends it was nothing. We slowly made our way to the narrow stretch of road on the other side of the forest. We reached the bus station, caught a bus and by midnight, we were back at the hotel. Now that were back in familiar surroundings, the trepidation we had felt in the forest seemed silly. We joked about it and patted ourselves on the back for having “conquered” Dow Hill forest. I decided to put any thoughts of the headless child out of my mind as we went to bed. I was in my hotel room, in the middle of my nightly skin care routine when I felt like I heard the pitter patter of little feet. The sound seemed to be coming from the bathroom. My heart racing, I rushed to the bathroom and turned on the light. There was nothing there. It must have been some kid in the adjacent room, is what I told myself. I went to bed and tried to force myself to sleep, telling myself again and again that there was nothing in Dow Hill and that what I had seen was a figment of my own imagination. We stayed in Kurseong for another two days and the whole time, I kept hearing things. If it wasn’t the sound of little feet running around in my room, it was the sound of a child’s laughter right next to my ear in the lobby. The looming sense of dread I felt became all too real when we were about to check out and I offhandedly asked the front desk manager if there was a child in the room next to mine and he told me that room had been vacant for several days. I told myself once again that I was just letting the rumors about the forest get to me. After we landed in New Delhi, I went to my parents’ house to pick up my dog, Nova and then went back home with her. I had missed my good girl. Once I was in my own home, I was sure I would stop imagining weird things. But that was not to be. What had followed me to New Delhi wasted little time in making it’s presence known. That night as I cooked dinner, Nova sat in the hallway playing with her chew toy and watching me work. As I listened to music and chopped veggies, I felt what I thought was Nova pawing at my calve. But then I looked up and saw her still sitting just outside the kitchen. I jumped back in shock and fear. I would have dismissed this too as a product of my imagination, had I not heard the same pitter patter of tiny feet in the hallway and Nova barking her head off in the sound’s direction. The strange occurrences soon became a part of my life. One evening, I was in my study trying to get some work done, when my pen inexplicably fell off the desk. When I reached down to pick it up, I heard the sound of tiny, bare feet running out of the study, accompanied by a child’s giggle. As if a toddler had just played a prank. Nova, once again began to bark like crazy. I petted her, more for my own comfort than for hers. She looked into my eyes as if to tell me that something was very, very wrong. As the days went by, the activity only escalated. I was terrified of being alone in my own house. I made sure Nova was by my side at all times. In the shower, I could see through the steam, the silhouette of a small child right outside. And of course, Nova’s growling would confirm that something really was there. When I went to sleep at night, I could sense someone standing right next to my bed. I have a few friends who have kids. They’ve often told me how they’ve been scared shitless when they woke up in the middle of the night to find their kid silently standing next to them. Now I could relate. Except, unlike them, the kid next to my bed was missing his head. When I cooked, did my laundry, got some office work done etc I could see something just at the edge of my field of vision. Objects that I *knew* I hadn’t touched Nova couldn’t reach would be moved. Sometimes, when I got ready for work in the morning, I could see little hand prints on the mirror. At first I tried to ignore it and didn’t show any kind of reaction when it appeared or moved something. I thought if it didn’t get some kind of reaction out of me, it would lose interest and might go away. I was wrong. The spirit was in no mood to be ignored. One evening I was in my study and the thing was running around as it usually did. I heard a thug as if someone had bumped into my reading chair. I didn’t even look up. The child didn’t like that. In the next second, I saw the antique clock I kept on the fireplace mantle levitate, then come flying at me as if someone had thrown it. I ducked out of the way just in time and the clock crashed into the wall behind me. Not only did the spirit refuse to be ignored, it had shown me that it could cause harm if it didn’t get it’s way. It was like a child throwing a tantrum at being denied a toy. Only this was even more terrifying. I could hardly get any sleep, as on most nights, I would be lying awake in bed. I was constantly paranoid and looking over my shoulders. As a result of this stress, my performance at work began to suffer. My social life too had taken a beating, as I wasn’t exactly the most fun person to be around. I considered moving, but I knew that the headless child would only follow me. I didn’t want to tell anyone for fear of being thought of as insane. One evening, my best friend, Sunita came over. She said she had noticed that ever since we got back from our trip to Kurseong, I wasn’t acting like myself. That I seemed constantly stressed. She asked me to tell her what was wrong. I felt a huge weight being lifted from my chest as I told her everything. Sunita listened patiently and told me that she believed me. She said that that night in the Dow Hill forest, she too had felt a presence behind us, but she didn’t look. Sunita has an aunt, Rekha, who calls herself a medium. She claims to have had encounters with spirits and has helped them move on. When I had first heard about this, I laughed it off. I called these stories ridiculous and suggested that Sunita’s aunt see a psychologist. But now, when Sunita suggested that we ask her for help, I agreed. Rekha and I spoke on the phone and she agreed to come to my place and see what she could do. The following Saturday, Rekha walked around the house, examining every nook and corner. She seemed deep in contemplation. Finally, after about 30 minutes, she told me there definitely was a presence in the house, that of a little boy, but she sensed no malice from it. Only sadness. I let out a harsh chuckle and told her about the incident with the clock. I asked her why someone who had no malice in them would do such a thing. Rekha replied that prolonged grief can often give way to anger. The spirit was probably in great pain. She repeated that she sensed no malice. She also said that she couldn’t just make spirits move on without finding out what they want. I thanked her and she left. I didn’t know about the spirit, but now I felt anger rising in me. This “child” had made my life hell and he’s the one who was in pain? I was a prisoner in my own home while he had free reign! What more could he possibly want? It was now after dark and I decided to do some reading. I sat in my reading chair and tried to focus on the book. And that’s when I saw it. A tiny headless form in the corner of my eye. I think my annoyance overcame my fear and I instantly turned my head and looked at it. Standing just a few feet from me was a toddler, in a pair of brown pants and a white shirt and with no head. I just stared in awe and terror. Then I noticed something. His fingers. They were so tiny and looked so delicate. His size and the way he stumbled when he walked suggested that he was no more than three years old. How did a child so young lose his head? Who would have the heart to do such a thing? As these thoughts crept into my mind, I began to feel sympathy. I held out a hand towards the little boy, even as my body shook with nervous energy. The child walked towards me and touched my hand with his. And as he did, I was engulfed in a bright white light. I opened my eyes to find myself back in Kurseong. I was sitting on the grass next to a huge house. I looked down at my hands. Only they were not *my* hands. They were the hands of a toddler. I saw my hand, or should I say the toddlers hand, reach out for a stuffed bunny and play with it. From the house, a woman emerged. She had a bright, warm smile. Her clothes were very old fashioned. She picked me up and kissed my cheeks. She called me her little bear and asked if I was having fun. I heard a small child say “yes, mamma”. Then I heard another voice, a man’s voice from the house. He was asking the woman to come look at something. “Mamma” put me down and went back in. I saw myself continue to play, look at the squirrels, hear the birds. I felt safe and happy. Then suddenly, a pair of strong hands grabbed me by my arms. I was being carried off in a hurry with a hand place over my mouth to keep me from making a sound. I felt the stuffed bunny slip out of my hands. I was placed inside a sack and I couldn’t see what was going on. I felt myself being pushed around harshly and heard angry voices talk in a language that I did not understand. I felt tears pour out of my eyes. Finally I was taken out of the sack and saw myself surrounded by trees and a bunch of scary looking people. I realized this was the Dow Hill forest. I was right next to the path that my friends and I had walked. The men talked amongst themselves, but when one of them heard me whimper, he slapped me so hard I fell down. They continued to speak in the same angry awful tone. They would often look at me or point towards me and I knew that I was the subject of discussion. I then saw one of them pick up a large knife, like a machete. He lifted it high above his head and then brought it down on me. I was once again engulfed in a white light and his time when I opened my eyes, I was back in my study. The child was gone. I felt sobs shake my body. This is what had happened to that poor child. Some dastardly sub humans took him from his home and killed him. But why? Was he kidnapped for ransom and killed when the parents couldn’t pay? Or were the men extracting some kind of sick retribution? Whatever the case may have been, this child was brutally killed and was now unable to move on. Nova had heard me sobbing and came close to me. I hugged her as I cried. I remembered the woman who called him “little bear”. She must have been his mother. I could *feel* the innocent, tender emotions this child felt for her, even as he showed me what had happened to him. I realized that I wasn’t dealing with a demon, but with a lonely little boy. One who had been snatched away from loving care and then deprived of life. I decided I would not try to rid this house of him. If he wanted to stay, he could. I tried to do some research onto his murder, but I haven’t found much. It appears that his killers were never brought to justice. I wasn’t able to get used to the child’s presence in my home immediately. That took a while. But slowly, I accepted him as a part of my life. I even brought some toys home. Soft plushies - bears, dogs and bunnies, just like the one he had. I kept his toys in a small spare bedroom I had. Soon after, the child’s activities became very mellow. I can still hear his little feet running around but it no longer feels menacing. Just the sound of a toddler playing. And his activities usually remain confined to and around the room where I’ve kept his toys. Even Nova seems to be getting along with our little guest. Sometimes, I can see her wagging her tail at empty space, or lying on her back with a doggy smile on her face and pawing at something and I know that he’s there. I guess he likes playing with my dog too. I’m optimistic that having a home, a place where he no longer has to wander, where he isn’t feared or reviled will help him heal. And then maybe someday he’ll be able to move on. But until then, I share my home with a little boy with no head.


Something I have always been. As in, my memory begins at the beginning of all, or at least my own memory of it. I have been since the earth was hot and turbid. I have been since the great beasts roamed and stomped their way across the new land. I have always been. I have been since your species wore fur. I discovered you while you were still small, tiny creatures scrabbling about in the mud. Perhaps I was growing tired of eating the little scrabbling creatures and you looked like a novel snack. I snatched you up and I haven’t looked back. I take no pleasure in eating you, you do taste good and meet my needs, but I take no pleasure in the kill. I don’t fiddle around with you. I kill to eat. You used to have sounds to describe my presence, small squeaks that evolved into grunts. Eventually you gave me a name, I don’t recall what it was. I did delight in the concept of a name though, nothing had ever had a name, you invented them. You used to tell your young stories and warn them about my presence. I was the dark. There were many other creatures that made you their meals as well. Large cats and bears, sometimes you killed and ate each other. That always left you with a strange flavour I didn’t care for. I often moved on to another group when you began to turn on each other. I was very amused when you began to make up stories of invisible friends to explain your misfortune and misdeeds. You couldn’t accept the true nature and cruelty of existence, you gave pain and suffering a personality, disease became a punishment. I could never understand why you continued to hurt each other, and blamed invisible forces, saying you were called by your “gods” to hurt one another. I often became sickened by your treatment of your young. They were often the ones sent into the darkness to placate your gods. Certainly not me. The young hold no nutrition, small and lean. My intentions were not to torture or harm you, but one must eat to survive. My meals became easier when your numbers grew. You fought and killed each other over territory and shiny rocks you seem to think hold value. You piled into towns and crammed yourselves together for fear of me. The hairs still rose on the backs of your necks when I crouched nearby. Your cities became cesspools and disease ran rampant. Those were lean years for me. Although your dead lay in the streets the fetid stench of rotting flesh drove me away into the wild. I fed on the old foods, the creatures you forgot about, you called them fairy tales. I wandered around this earth for many years leaving when your wars became unbearable. My hunting ground grew smaller as you razed the forests in the name of progress. The earth was dying and your progress and technology ate the air and water, the earth began to fester. Ever so often a plague would knock back your enormous numbers. The creatures and I could no longer hunt you safely. My contribution barely scratched the surface of your rampant breeding. You breed so often that you could not feed or care for your young. The young ones died in the name of your animal urges. It still disgusts me. Your species has such knowledge, but no self control. You’ve forgotten my name now. Your stories no longer include mine. You may think, are you the devil? No, you made him up to explain away your hate and misdeeds. Nor am I the vampire, wearwolf, wendigo, or ghost. Those are just more stories to rationalize your diseases and disorders, from before a time you knew about the tiny ones. Yes, I have long known about your “bacteria” and viruses, we old ones have knowledge from millions of years of wandering. I still hunt. I take from the edges of your cities, only what I need. You don’t notice. Someone simply vanishes, never found. I never waste a morsel. I grow weary. The air tastes of poison and the water burns my mouth. I still walk in the darkness. A small part of your ancient brain recognizes my presence. It raises the hairs on your neck and a feeling of dread passes over you, you call it a “gut feeling”. It’s a memory from a time where you knew my name. You still do, some of you hear a whisper in the wind, and hear my name. They call you “mentally ill”. I watch you, you could be dangerous. If the others start to listen to your call, it could result in my capture. I whisper in the ears of your children, they wake from their sleep with screams. I warn them about the dark, not me, but others of your species that lurk there, predators. You seem to allow the torture and pain of your own kind, the animals and I watch in horror. We are hungry. I am the only one of my kind, I am an anomaly. I have no name I call myself. I have always been, and shall always be,in the darkness. I continue to feed on your putrid flesh. I wait for the day you change into something else, something aware, maybe closer to my own awareness. I am here, in your darkness. You’ve forgotten my name.


You’ve heard it, I’ve heard it, I think it’s safe to say that most of us have been told this at one point or another in our lives. It seems to be the solution to fights, arguments, bullying, and pretty much everything that frequently ruins the lives of teenagers. “Walk away”. I’d like to focus on just that last one for now: bullying. I fancy my chances when I say that you’ve probably fallen victim to, been close to someone who has fallen victim to, or have witnessed bullying (after all, roughly 20% of people were bullied as teenagers). As only the closest people to me will be able to tell you, I was bullied (this would be a pretty boring thing to read if I were to just throw facts at you for a few pages of Walbaum Display in size 11). Therefore, I have a lot of stories I could tell you about the effects it has had on me, my family, and my perception of the world around me. But I’d like to tell you one story today. Just one. It was the one that changed my life. Before we begin, I should clear some things up. The bullying in question was both physical and emotional, and occurred late into my years in primary school (emotional bullying continued slightly into year 7 but faded away eventually). It happened for several reasons: I was physically weak (some sick people saw me, therefore, as easy prey), I was fat, and I spoke like I though I was smarter than everyone (this wasn’t what I was thinking and I was actually doing terribly in school, but I’ll elaborate on that later). My primary school was also one of those schools that has some years past six (usually for those who couldn’t find a better school that would accept them). Now that we have the background out of the way, we can begin. I wasn’t the only person getting bullied at that school, there were three or four others who all fit the criteria (weak, nerdy, etc.), and we had all come up with several plans over the years to avoid being picked on. My personal favourite (in retrospect, of course) was, and this is hilarious,… “stand up to them”. We can laugh about it now, but that little trick sent all four of us home with a thick lip and visible limp, so… maybe it wasn’t the best plan. Of course, there were other plans, for example, “ignore them”, but it’s quite hard to ignore someone pulling your chair out from underneath you in the middle of a test. We soon realised that no strategies were going to work. There was no “dealing with bullies 101” class, no “12 neat tricks to overcome a bully”. Nothing. So, we had no option other than “knuckle under and stop whining” (which was actually a piece of advice I received more often than was necessary). Then, as usual in a story, there was a plot twist. It’s normally an wise old man or a travelling monk, but mine came in a pretty mundane form: another child. Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to any adults to find someone my age who has dealt with bullying to speak to me. You’d think it would be simple. Blatantly obvious, perhaps? You adults do it for careers, choosing A-levels, choosing GCSEs. In fact, I’m positive that almost every other aspect of school uses the “bring someone who has gone through this in” method, yet, somehow, the people who are supposed to guide us through childhood (adults) hadn’t thought of just asking someone with experience. Nevertheless, I found someone roughly my age who could help me. Her name was Jenny and she was actually a friend of my older brother, Sam. We only met because I came home in tears and her mum was giving Sam a ride home and popped in for a cup of tea. Sam asked Jenny to come round and speak to me, and she did. The next time her mum came round, Jenny saw me doing my homework in the study and came in. She sat cross-legged on the floor (looking up at me, as I was on a dining chair that had been moved because my step-dad needed the desk chair) and greeted me. “Hey, Charlie”. She seemed upbeat, not too upbeat, but enough to make me start feeling a little better already. “Hello”, I mumbled (I wasn’t in a good mood, because I’d just had an argument about the chair). “So, I hear you’re having some trouble with the older kids at school?”. I nodded. She asked “when did it start?”, and I instantaneously burst into tears. My speech was incoherent, my mind refused to control my body, and my chest began to ache. I wanted to calm down (I didn’t want Sam to be embarrassed of me, after all), but the more I tried to breathe, the more my throat closed up. It was a horrible feeling that is unique to extreme weeping. Jenny didn’t expect me to talk, instead, she stood me up and hugged me. We must have sat there for hours, me bawling, her rubbing the back of my head. It took me a while, but I eventually ran out of tears, and my throat stopped trying to strangle me. Jenny had forced me to lower my defences and I ultimately trusted her more than anyone who had ever tried to help me. After all that crying and the countless stones I must have lost in tears, I had no choice but to give Jenny’s idea a shot. She hit me with that all-too-familiar phrase: Walk away. Call it vulnerability, call it a female’s comforting presence, call it whatever you want, but this time it hit differently. “Walk away” went from being some impossible thing said by adults who just don’t get it to the easiest step in a one-step guide to fixing your life. She wiped the tears from my eyes and off my cheeks with her sleeve, and squeezed me tightly one more time. “You’ve got this, Charlie!”, she whispered as she left. I sat for a bit and planned out what I was going to do (it didn’t take long as the game-plan was about three words long), before getting back to my homework. Then, something weird happened. The work was just easier. It’s like people had been telling me to walk with a boulder on each shoulder for my entire life and then Jenny just put them on the ground and now I could run. Cringey as it seems now, I genuinely felt as if a burden had been lifted. Whether it was the endorphins from crying or the after-taste of being hugged, I got the best sleep of my life that night. The next day came and my mum was worried. Not because I was frightened or because I didn’t have the energy to get out of bed (like normal), but because I was calm. Finally. I had longed for that feeling of “I’m going to have a day today that won’t be cut short by a fist to the back of the spine and a 5-minute struggle to pick my books up off the muck-coated floor” for far too long (it’s a feeling you don’t realise you have until it’s gone). I grabbed my bag (I had packed it the night before, in my temporary, tear-triggered enlightenment), brushed my teeth, got changed, and hopped on the bus (all in record-time). My day was going brilliantly. I got an A for a test I thought I’d failed, I managed to eat my snack at break in peace, and I had a positive expectation for lunchtime. I walked out of the classroom happily with my head held high and began to make my way to the playground. Instinctively, like a gazelle steering clear of lions, I scanned my hunted-grounds and gave the all-clear to my pack (given that this pack consisted of… me, it was a very brief conversation) and made my way outside. I began to walk, holding my cereal bar nonchalantly, when I was thrust into a wall. I felt like I was getting beaten up by an out-of-control freight train. My head collided with the wooden handrail and ricocheted onto the concrete floor. My brain began pumping adrenaline throughout my body, filling my limbs with an instinct to react to the pain. It began to overwhelm me. I could feel myself being stripped of all control. But then, I remembered Jenny. “Walk away” I looked the bully dead in the eye and breathed. Having caught my breath, I turned and walked. I didn’t run, nor did I flee. I walked away. He screamed obscenities and insults at me. “You ******* coward! Get back here!”. I just walked. No destination, no adult behind whom I was going to hide, I just walked. I felt serene. After that day, things started to look up. My fellow victims of bullying began trying the technique, I started being able to concentrate and sleep, and I started to regain confidence. Of course, the journey still wasn’t easy, but I can tell you that my life would be a lot worse today if I hadn’t met Jenny. “Walk away”—every adult.


I got this idea from a now deleted shower thought subreddit post. I’ve included the text for reference: >Santa Claus is actually real and we could all just be on the naughty list and he’s so done with humanity that he doesn’t even give out coal. Anyway, I hope you like it and feedback is always welcome! You don’t make this job easy, you know. Well, that’s not entirely true. You do make this job easier but for all the wrong reasons. You see, I’m a pretty meticulous guy. I keep lists and keep them accurate. I even check them twice. I like hard work, and I like doing it well. Lately, though, my heart just hasn’t been in it. Listen, I’m no arbiter of justice, just observant. I do my best to commend the deserving, and reward those who are good and decent. Likewise, I try to encourage the wayward by letting them know “I see you.” Used to, all it took was a little lump of coal. Even if you weren’t the best, no one deserves to go to sleep cold. Such a small thing, but it was enough. What used to be a manageable list of these mischievous folks has turned into an ever-growing scroll that takes up an entire room. I’d tell you what the room is called, but the last time I did that the list practically caught on fire with how quickly it was scribbling names and growing. Frosty’s corn cob pipe, not again! People, *please*. Anyway, the other list is a mere shadow of what it was and I’m continually hopeful it will make a comeback, but that may not be in the cards. Too many people try to get on this list for the recognition. They want people to throw them a party, name a building after them, or be otherwise congratulated. Honestly, just be good for goodness’ sake! The quiet, anonymous good with no expectation of anything in return is what this list is all about. I think a lot of people have forgotten that, but it’s never too late to start! The icing on the cake of all of this is I can’t even spend my time off how I want to! All my favorite beaches are closed, hotels won’t take presents as payment, and parking is nearly impossible to find. Have you ever tried to parallel park a reindeer-drawn cutter? It’s no cake walk. Rudolf isn’t any help either, we keep getting asked not to come back to places because he can’t stop flashing people. Hrmph, reindeer. Anyway, the sleigh will be light this year. I guess I can refinish the paint and lacquer, maybe replace the runners, and renovate the reindeer stables. I would say I could knock out the missus’ honey-do list, but I finished that back in July. Heck, most of the elves have an Etsy shop making one thing or another. They’re very punny. Most of their shop names are quite clever and a lot of them make me laugh, but I digress. Please, for your own sake, and my sanity, be better to each other. Be kind, be gracious, be good. And watch out for each other, because if the quarantines hold, I won’t be coming to town this year. Yours in Christmas joy, Nick P.S. Despite what you may hear in songs, it’s okay to cry. It’s been a rough year. Still though, no pouting.


“Okay, be quick about it. The sun’s going to set soon.” Henry says, glancing over his shoulder at the horizon. “There isn’t much time.” “Okay, okay,” I, an interviewer with the local news, says. “So, you’re a vampire?” “Yes.” Henry nods. “But you can’t go out at night?” “Yes.” He nods, again. “I also can’t go into darkness or shadows. Anything but light burns my skin.” He raises his tan hand, a dark scorch mark runs across the back of his hand and wrist. “Want to know how I got this?” “I—uh, sure, yeah.” Henry crosses the space between us and our eyes lock, and he places his fingers against my temples and oh my God. It’s like I’m floating above us, another me standing dazed with Henry’s fingers to my head. The vision blurs, swirls, twists, and I’m hovering above Henry standing on the sidewalk in the middle of the day, looking down at the ground. I can’t see what he’s staring at, then I am next to him. There’s a grass yard, shadowed by a gabled house. Henry is holding an empty waffle ice cream cone, and in the yard is a ball of what seems to be strawberry ice cream. His teary eyes are strained, focused, and his fingers are tittering against his lag. He’s debating, hesitant. He stands on the shadow’s edge, lets out an exaggerated exhale and lunges for the ice cream— I’m thrown back into my body and Henry steps back. “You see?” he says. “Terrible, isn’t it? Strawberry is my favorite flavor.” He continues walking down the sidewalk. It takes me a moment to shake the haze from my mind, then I catch up to him. “Yeah— uh, yeah, sorry; that must suck.” He nods. “It does.” “Anyway, my next question: uninvited places. In stories, vampires can’t enter places unless they’re invited in. Is this true?” “It is,” he says, but shakes his head. “But, not for me.” “How so?” “I can only enter places I’m not allowed in.” “What?” “Like,” he starts to say, stops walking, and glances around the houses lining the street. “Ah!” He spins me around and points with a skeletal finger. “You see that house, there?” “Which one?” “The brown one with white trim, there; right there!” I nod. “Oh, yeah, that one with the ‘No Trespassing’ sign in the yard?” “Yes, yes, that one. Places like that I can enter.” “But not places you’re allowed in, like coffee shops or malls or any of these houses with no signs?” “Correct.” I face him, rub my forehead. Can’t anyone do that? I think, but ask: “So you’re saying if I were to invite you into my home you couldn’t come in, yet if I told you that you weren’t allowed in, you could?” He smiles, revealing two pearly sharpened fangs. “Yes, yes! Now you underst—” His eyes widen, and horror streaks his face. “Oh, oh God!” “What?” I say. “What’s happening?” “The sun, it’s setting!” he points towards the horizon. I look to where he’s pointing, and he’s right, it’s setting. The sky is awash in burning orange and yellow. the sun a sinking red-orange orb. “I must go!” he shouts, and sprints away, turning at the end of the street and disappears behind a house. If you enjoyed the story and want to read more of my work, visit my and consider subscribing.


\ A pink-haired girl covered head-to-toe in unusual jewelry pitter-pattered into an apothecary in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and certainly turned some heads. Onlookers stared disconcertedly as she mumbled to herself nervously, pacing back and forth. An employee walked up to her and asked, “Can I help you, miss?” Suddenly, the pink-haired girl looked up at the employee tearfully and replied anxiously, “Excuse me! Where can I find some horseradish root, thistle, and elderflowers? My friend is very sick and I need to make some medicine quickly!” “Uhh.. You know we have actual medicine for that, right?” “No! No! This has to be made with these specific herbs!” The pink-haired girl shook her head and clasped her hands together fearfully. “Okay, okay. I’ll go see if I can find some out back,” the employee gave a sigh and put his hands up, gesturing for the girl to wait where she was. He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and began digging for the herbs the girl asked for. Then, his female coworker came up from behind him and as she helped him she whispered, “What a psycho. She’s probably another one of those occult-obsessed freaks...” “Maybe, maybe not. But psycho or not, she is a customer. This’ll probably make for an interesting bar story,” the male employee chuckled. When the male employee returned to give the herbs to the pink-haired girl, she immediately cheered up. “Thank you so much! You have no idea how much this will help!” she chirped as she walked over to the cash register with her bag of strange herbs. “You’re welcome, Miss. Have a nice day, and…. hope your friend feels better.” \ “I’m back!” The pink-haired girl rushed into the apartment living room with her bag of herbs, where an older woman with long black hair sat, tending to an injured man, bleeding from his stomach. “I've got the herbs you asked for!” she panted heavily. The older black-haired woman chuckled, “That’s a good little apprentice. Now hand them to me and go get the black cauldron.” “Right away, Ma'am!” the pink-haired girl saluted happily. “Go!” the black-haired woman scolded, sending her apprentice sprinting to the kitchen in fright. The injured man began to mumble in his feeble state, but the words were incoherent. “Ssshh… Take it easy. It would be best if you didn’t move for a while. Or talk... By sunrise, you’ll be good as new.” The black-haired woman began to trace a magic circle onto the man’s stomach with the man’s own blood, and then it began to glow red. The glowing red began to disperse all over the man’s body. The pink-haired apprentice stared mouth agape, at the spectacle from behind the kitchen wall. She brought over the black cauldron and the now cut-up herbs inside. “Perfect. Now we just need to let it brew.” When the healing potion was ready, the woman loosened the man’s lips so he could drink it. He started to mumble and groan. The potion was working its magic. The blood from his wound started sewing into itself until it disappeared completely. Soon enough, the injured man slipped into a much more peaceful sleep. “Wow… he’s really out like a light,” said the pink-haired girl. “See, *that’s* healing magic. Some day, I’ll teach you more. My apprentice.