“Maybe it’s a WITSEC family,” said Kevin, Jimmy’s friend from two doors down. Jimmy shook his head. “A wit what?” “You know. Witness protection? Run by the government? You haven’t seen the movies?” “Movies?” “The one with Steve Martin is fuh-nee! Maybe he’s in there.” Kevin pointed at the house in question. They watched from the curb across the street, leaning on the fire plug. Jimmy pulled his hood over his knit cap. “I don’t think Steve Martin... Why would he need…?” “He played a guy the mob was after, ‘cause he snitched.” “Oh, you mean…” “Yeah. Or like 'Jimmy the Weasel'. Your namesake, right?” “I don’t think so…” “Another wise guy. The Feds relocated him with a new identity after he sang like a bird in court.” Jimmy had never heard Kevin talk like this. “Ever hear of 'Jimmy the Weasel'?” “Never. I guess we travel in different circles…” “Movies, my friend. I’ve seen them all. Anyway, you saw toys. If kids live there, we could make friends and find out if their dad is a hitman.” “With friends like that…” Before today, Jimmy had thought a ‘hitman’ was the disk jockey on the radio. They stared at the house. Nothing moved. Smoke poured from the chimney and hung in the dusky air. It smelled like fall. “You haven’t seen anyone?" Jimmy shook his head. "They could have been out during school.” “No. And their car hasn’t moved. I stuck an acorn under the back tire and it’s still there. In one piece.” “Clever. I don’t get it.” Jimmy didn’t either. He’d watched the house since last week when the movers unloaded their truck, in the dead of night. Along with the boxes, tons of boxes, there were toys. Toys go with kids. Right? “No new kids at school.” “Maybe they’re too young?” “Even so, or if they were home-schooled, wouldn’t they venture outside? Not once?” “You’d think.” The house had been empty for months. His parents, Charlie and Sally, didn’t want squatters. Jimmy doubted these were squatters. Do squatters use moving trucks? Or get deliveries? While they sat there, an unmarked truck stopped in front of the mystery house. The driver got out, pulled a large package from the back and ran it up to the front porch. “That’s the third truck since we sat here.” “A steady stream. Unmarked.” “Redecorating is a…” “Oh! Did I tell you the lights in the basement are on all night? Way passed bedtime.” “Does Mommy let you stay up after dark?” “No, man. Cut it out. I’m talking about super late. After midnight.” “In the creepy, spidery basement?”  “I snuck out and tried to see through the curtains. Just moving shadows. And laughter.” “A party?” “Every night?” Kevin shrugged. Nothing added up. “What about the back yard? They have a dog?” “You’ve seen the fence. Too high to look over. There’s something moving back there. You can hear it. Or them?” “But no barking? Weird.” They planned to meet later, in the alley behind the mystery house. ~ Jimmy showed up and found Kevin huddled against the cold. “I thought you weren’t coming. Mommy wouldn’t let you out?” “You said ten. It’s ten now.” “Yeah, well…” “So what’s the plan?” “I heard something through the fence.” “Like I told you.” “Right. There’s a knot in the wood over here. You have a tool?” “A screw driver.” Kevin led the way. “Hold the flashlight.” “Let me.” “It’s my screw driver…” Kevin held the light while Jimmy placed the tool against the wood and hit it squarely with the heel of his hand. The knot popped out. “That was easy. Let me look.” Kevin put his eye to the hole for a moment. “Whoa! What’s that?” He jumped back. “What?” “It was just dark. Then I realized a big dark eye was watching me.” “You’re kidding. Let me.” Jimmy leaned up to the hole. “Wow! What’s that?” Kevin pushed Jimmy aside. “What?” He stepped back again and shook his head. “Did you see it?” “Yeah, the weird red light?” Jimmy nodded. “Floating. What’s in there?” They both tried looking again and pushed at each other. From behind them, a man spoke, “Don’t you kids have school tomorrow?” The boys looked at the man and screamed. Kevin bolted. The man collared Jimmy. He squirmed as the man held him against the fence. “Let me go!” “Calm down, kiddo. I have a question.” Jimmy settled. He looked for Kevin. “Your friend had a previous engagement.” “I didn’t do anything, mister!”  “I’m curious. Would you call yourself a thief? Or a burglar? Or better, what would the police call you?” The seriousness of his situation sank in. “Uhm, I’m curious too. I wouldn’t steal anything, sir. I just wanted…” “So, curious. What are you curious about?” “Who lives here? Do you live here?” “I’ll ask the questions. Where I come from, you’re called nosey. Did you check the name on the mailbox?” Jimmy thought. “No… But I didn’t mean to…” “You never heard of minding your own business?” “Wait! Are you gonna kill me?” “Oh, ho, ho! Of course not. Why would I do that?” “Aren’t you in witsec? A hit man or something?” “I move around. But I’m not in witsec.” “I saw a red light.” “Oh, don’t mind him. That’s just Rudolph.” “Rud… the… reindeer? But…” Jimmy flashed on who stood before him. All those deliveries made sense now. The man laughed. “I couldn’t very well leave him at the North Pole.” “But… you don’t look like…” He held up his hand. “Shhh! Let’s avoid names. I’m in my civvies. Can you imagine my cleaner’s bill, if I always dressed like I do in publicity pix?” “So you’re not in witsec?” “I’m not on the lam, if that’s what you mean. My relocations are caused more by wise guys... uhm, curious boys, like you.” “What are you gonna do to me?” “Do? You mean put you on a list? Check it twice?” Jimmy nodded hopefully. The man chuckled. “What if you do me a favor?” Jimmy didn’t expect that. He nodded. “I need your help ensuring no one knows who lives here. How can you help me?” They each touched their chins and thought. Jimmy lit up. “I’ve got it!” ~ Jimmy’s father, Charlie, came home from work the next evening. He embraced Sally, who greeted him with a warm kiss. She started laughing. He smiled. “What’s up?” “You won’t believe what Jimmy told me today.” “What’s that scamp up to now?” “He swore me to secrecy and said he’s been watching that house next door. And found out… are you ready?” Charlie nodded. “He says, Santa Claus lives there.” He cracked up. “You’re right. I don’t believe it. Our son still believes in Santa? That’s crazy. How old is he?” “I know. Who would ever expect that? Right?” “Kind of embarrassing…” They both laughed and held each other. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad someone is living there. But I’m positive his name isn’t Santa.” “He’s so cute.”


I got into my faded tan malibu and slammed the driver’s side door closed. I gently tossed my tawny canvas bag onto the passenger side seat before Ieaning back against the driver’s seat, closing my eyes. I took in an exhausted and exasperated sigh of a breath from completing another day I couldn’t get back.  I opened my eyes and looked at the over-worked, tired, sagging eyes in the rearview mirror. My blue eyes were once bright and ready for adventure. I never used to keep my brown hair short, and my skin was never this pale. The only thing keeping me from looking dead was my genetic tan. When I was younger, I wore colorful makeup that said “I, Caline Johnson, am here!”

 I wasn’t old in my early thirties, but social media and my jobs made me feel washed up.  I looked into my dull eyes and my lower lids were ready to cry. To escape them, I looked down at my lap. Black dress trousers and a button-up light blue blouse; the tag had read ‘office blue’.

My current job is as an office secretary; the actual job title was something else, but I knew what it really was. My previous job was at a silicone sealing factory. The job before that was as a bartender.

As a bartender, I could mostly wear whatever I wanted; hair color whatever, makeup whatever. As long as I could work, it was mostly allowed.

But on my feet all day at someone’s beck and call, literally getting ordered around. And the service industry doesn’t pay well-even before the lockdowns, I wasn’t usually making in rain.  And the nights that did meant giving up almost every weekend and they didn’t end until after 3am. Sure, the bar closes for patrons at 2am, but I had to do my accounts, paperwork, stock, and clean up.

And managers of service industry people often forget we’re servers to the public, not servants to them.  No benefits, no promotions, no future, and I was always cutting it close when it came to paying bills.

So, I got –what the older generations call- a ‘real job’. (Personally, if I have to clock in and out, and get a paycheck, it’s ‘real job’ but whatever). I started working at a factory that made waterproofing seals for windows, cars, and roofs. Ironically, parts of our building roof leaked, which really filled me with product-confidence.  It had paid more than bartending and had benefits but no promotions. But what it cost to work there was I had to wear jeans and steel-toed shoes -which no matter how hard you shop, are all ugly- and so were the light brown-grey shirts with the company logo that we were required to wear in certain areas of the building. I got second shift, and I didn’t get home until 10:45pm and couldn’t get to sleep until after 2am.  So, I often woke up after 10am and thus mostly could only get stuff done on the weekends. Cleaning, shopping, and laundry meant I really didn’t live it up. And not to mention, doing the exact same thing over and over and OVER again for 8-10 hours drove me bonkers. Just a robot with a heartbeat but no real life.

So, once again, I changed jobs to an office job. It paid about the same, but I could wear more variety (albeit with an office-dress code) and not steel-toed shoes on concrete floors. Benefits and options for promotions. But I had gotten passed up-yet again- for such a promotion. This was like a horrible combination of both previous jobs; getting ordered around to do the same thing every day with no increased pay and overly late nights that often left me drained and depressed.

I never went out or made connections; I didn’t know how and didn’t have time.  I still barely had time or money to do the basics. And I didn’t have the energy to engage with others.  I always felt on the outside because I changed jobs a lot too.  Everyone already had their cliques and groups and didn’t have the space or time or energy to include me beyond basic co-worker interactions. I often felt very lonely.

I was lost in my bleak thoughts and barely noticed the wet spots on my pants that had formed from the drops going down my face. I had these same pants forever and wore them sometimes three times a week.

I hated it. I hated it all; the long unappreciated hours of your life you can’t get back to trying to pay bills in a crappy area in a going-nowhere city and state where the only options for work were service, factory, or office-pooper-scooper.  I always thought I’d get adventure, travel, and excitement. Not jaded, repetitive meaninglessness.  I was going to waste away; I WAS wasting away.

And then I did my usual Friday post-work-ritual of laying my forehead on the steering wheel and sobbing.  After a few minutes, I looked back into the rear-view mirror and wiped my eyes.  I had no makeup on and so other than red-puffy areas of my face, I didn’t look too bad post-cry. Then I stopped mid-sniffle.

When was the last time I put on makeup? I couldn’t remember. I had given up on putting on makeup a while ago. I think that was why; because the last time I considered it, I realized a bunch of my makeup was expired. I threw a lot of it away and thought of what a waste it was and never replaced it.

Maybe that was my problem. I didn’t take the time or put in the investments into MYSELF, and I allowed myself to fall into self-pity.  Putting on a little bit of makeup isn’t that much time of the morning; to look and feel better? I could spare that.

And....and I had control over that, right? I had the epiphany that by not taking the time in the here and now to do things, I never would.  And no one else is going to or be able to do those things for me.

Realistically, I wasn’t going to have a map of a hidden crystal, or something pushed onto me by my boss and then sent to the amazon jungle.  Did I really need some Indiana Jones-level adventure to be satisfied in life? I could have my own little adventures.

The quote of “Do what you can with what you have where you are” by Theodore Roosevelt came to mind and “If you cannot do great things, do small things in a great way” by Napoleon followed.

I looked out my windshield and gripped my steering wheel; I COULD make and have my own adventures!  I quickly buckled and backed out of my parking spot with vigor.  Instead of going down the main road and making the two rights to get to my apartment building, I was going to turn left at the first light and go the long way around.

As I was waiting to turn out of the parking lot, I decided that I wouldn’t just take the longer way home, I’d take longer getting home by going out to eat. I deserved a treat or two after this week. This month. This life. I couldn’t go in my work clothes though; I could, but I wouldn’t.  I looked at the time on my radio-screen-it was only 5:15pm. A little early for dinner for me anyway. I went down the main street and kept going towards the mall. I decided to buy a new outfit, a dress or a nice skirt and top. And some new shoes; I hadn’t bought myself new shoes in forever.  I could probably afford a couple pairs. My bills were all paid this month. I went to TJ Maxx.  The first thing I saw was the purse section and was lured by a light pink, square quilted purse with gold hardware and a gold and pink braided strap.  As I admired it- and its price- I happened to find a beautiful luggage case; it was white, black, pink, and gold marbled leather.  I didn’t even own a luggage case. If I had a beautiful luggage case, I’d take more actual vacations.  It was affordable and so were the couple outfits I picked out.  I bought some discount but non-expired makeup too. TJ Maxx was the place to have an affordable spending spree.  I looked over my finds with glee. I was so pleased at having new things for the first time in a long time that I stopped at the nearest gas station to use the bathroom and doll up.  I reached for my brush out of my canvas tote, and I looked at it in disgust. I quickly changed everything from the tote into the new pink quilted bag. In my new outfit, made up, fixed up, I didn’t even look like me. I wasn’t the same me who was sitting in a car crying about my pathetic, mundane life a little over an hour ago.  I smiled brightly.

I exited the bathroom, started to get back into my car and then I looked at the clothes and empty tote messily draped over my arm.  I shoved the clothes into the tote. Then I casually set it on the side of the pump and filled my gas tank.  I got into the driver’s seat again, abandoning the tote, and went through the station’s car wash.  Then I drove off and tried to decide where to eat dinner. Originally, I was thinking Applebee’s, but I caught my redefined, shiny blue eyes in the rearview mirror and decided I looked too good to go Applebee's.  Maybe I could get a reservation at The Ivy. The closest Ivy was 30 minutes away from this crummy little town I called home that I needed to get away from.

I pulled over and called The Ivy; but not the one a half-hour away.  I called the one almost two hours away. I also called The Hilton, just across the street from The Ivy, and made reservations for the weekend, including Sunday night.  I checked into my office email and used vacation for Monday.

 ........ Two weeks later, I started a new job as a youtuber's assistant in another state. I had just blown up 3,000 helium balloons for doorway arches and getting paid way more than I had been double-checking report numbers or making up boxes.  I put purple highlights over my hair and my ID badge for the set read 'Callie'.  My new apartment had bay windows that overlooked the city. I still couldn't believe how long it had taken me to get home.


For the first time in forever, it was just me and Jasper for the holidays. We had just moved out of our parent’s homes, and were ready to take the next step in our relationship. As much as we loved our parents, we wanted this Christmas to be special. Living in California, a white Christmas was completely out of the question. So rather than spend another Christmas in sixty degree weather with our parents, we rented a little cabin in Milad in the forest, hoping for a white Christmas. Our first Christmas with just the two of us.

But it didn’t snow, not even a little bit. I was disappointed, but still enjoyed snuggling by the warmth of the fireplace opening gifts and watching our favorite Hallmark films. It was during those films that there was a warning forced onto our TV screen.

Winter storm warning for all regions of Idaho. Roads and runways will be dangerous, so please consider changing travel plans for after the new year.

Most people would be groaning in frustration, but not me and Jasper. This was just what we had wanted. The perfect unexpected adventure. And so, we stayed in the little cabin an extra week, spending New Year’s Eve throwing a party with no guests, and New Years creating a journal of resolutions together.

Neither of us wanted to leave, but we both had to work, and we both agreed that the best thing would be to get back to California early so we weren’t returning to work exhausted. So on January third, the two of us packed up our things and began the drive back to Cali.

We had originally planned to leave earlier in the day, but it took so long to pack everything that it was already dark by the time we had left. As much as I loved the holidays, daylight savings had always been a pain in my ass. I knew that Jasper didn’t particularly like driving in the dark, but he knew I was already burnt out from all the packing, so he said he would drive. He just turned on his favorite radio station, and tried not to let the blinding headlights and nerve-wracking road signs make him anxious.

I don’t remember when, but at some point I had actually fallen asleep. I’m not sure how long I had dozed off for, but when I opened my eyes again, I was laying on my side. The car was overturned. I realized almost immediately that we had gotten into an accident. My voice felt locked in my throat as I tried to call out for Jasper. Other than a throbbing ankle, I felt fine. I was able to move enough to unbuckle my seat belt, open the door, and squeeze past the airbag that had been suffocating me. I looked around for Jasper, but there was no one. I was completely abandoned in the overturned car.

Tears spilled down my face as I looked for anyone or anything to help me. The snow had started coming down again, and was already starting to bury our car under it. I kept looking for some sign of life, but there was no police, no other cars, no Jasper, not even a road. Wherever we had crashed, we had rolled off the road. I didn't know what to do anymore. I zipped up my coat, and started to trudge through the snow.

“Jasper!” I called out. “Jasper please!” But of course, there was no answer. Did he abandon me? No, he would never do that. Maybe he went to get help? But how long ago could it have been? There’s no cars or police, wherever I was seemed to be completely abandoned. I fell to my knees and started to sob. My mind was fuzzy with confusion. But then, I heard it faintly. The sound of my name being called.

I jumped up and ran towards the sound that I knew had to be Jasper’s voice. I knew he wouldn’t abandon me. It took a while, but eventually I was able to follow the sound of his voice until it was clear as day. And then, there he was. Bundled up in his coat, hat, scarf and snow boots, I could see Jasper looking around frantically.

“Jasper!” He didn't even turn his head. “Jasper?” He continued to search as if wasn't standing a few feet away from him. His boots made large indents in the fresh snow. But when I looked down at my own boots, there was nothing. I turned around to look at the path of footsteps that would have indicated where I had come from, but there was nothing. That could only mean one thing; that I was gone.

I felt so helpless as I watched him search for me. When I reached out and touched him, I could feel it, but it was obvious that he didn't. When I took his hand, trying to pull him towards the car, he still never sensed my presence, but it must have sparked his inner intuition, because he eventually made his way back to the car. And that was when I saw it.

When I had managed to get out of the car, I didn’t notice that when I had left, it was only my spirit. My body was still there, mangled in the seat belt and airbag. “I’m sorry that i’m left.” Jasper cried as he stared at my corpse. “I tried to find help, but I...I failed...and now you’re gone…” The two of us cried together, and I wanted nothing more than for him to be able to feel me hugging him, but he never did. Not even a little bit. I thought that once I realized I was dead, I might see the light and move on. But no light ever came. I stayed with Jasper through the night as he huddled next to me, as if my lifeless body would keep him warm like it used to. He eventually had fallen asleep. I saw that his limbs were starting to change color, and I worried that he might die, too. But hours after he had fallen asleep, a search party found him.

I followed him as we got loaded in the ambulance, and taken to the hospital. Both of our parents were there waiting. When my mother and father saw my corpse, they had both burst into tears. My father had never been the emotional type, but I guess seeing me in such a feeble state had broken his shell. Jasper’s parents cried for me, too. They hugged my parents, apologizing profusely as if it had been their fault. The only people to blame were ourselves. We wanted a Christmas alone, and now I would never get another Christmas, alone with Jasper or with family.

For hours, I watched the doctors treat Jasper frantically, watched my parents make phone calls and talk to people about funeral arrangements. But there was still no light. No God, no heaven, no nothing. I was frozen there. I didn't want to move on and leave Jasper, but I also didn't want to stay and watch him grow older, find someone new and have the life that we were supposed to be having together.

And the worst of it? I couldn't sleep through any of it. When people get depressed, they try to sleep the pain away, but as the hours past, I sat by his bedside while our parents slept in visitor chairs. I was left wide awake, just watching his as his chest rose and fell, like mine never would. It killed me from the inside. I was already dead, yet I still could feel every emotion. Anguish was overpowering me as I watched what I would leave behind. We were dating four years, almost five. We had already planned to move out and get married before we had even graduated high school. We were meant for each other, and deeply in love. We had talked about how many kids we wanted, what careers we would have, everything was planned. Everything except the trip, and having to stay after New Years. The only thing unplanned was what ruined our life.

It was about five in the morning that Jasper awoke with a start. He looked around, and realized where he was. Our parents didn’t stir. I just watched him, until somehow we had made eye contact. He stopped breathing for a moment.

“Mia?” Hearing him say my nickname made the sobs locked in my throat escape. I had burst into tears for what felt to be the millionth time since the accident. He reached his hand out to caress my face, but couldn't. And he realized it, too, because he began to cry as hard as I was.

“I’m sorry...I couldn’t save you…” The two of us cried together. I could have tried to respond, but I have a feeling he would have never been able to hear me. I’m not sure how he could see me then. Maybe it was meant to happen that way. “You know I’ll never forget you, right? You’ll always be in my heart, no matter what.” I reached out and touched his chest, and he nodded, even laughing a little through the tears that stained his face. “Yes, that’s right. You’ll always be right there. I promise.” And it was after those words that I finally saw it. The light. It was so bright, so beautiful, so calming...All the anguish that I had was finally leaving my spirit. I took one last look at what I would leave behind. Jasper, who I knew would find someone else who can treat him just as well as I did. My mother, who would probably go through my room and publish every single piece of artwork I was too afraid to share with the world. And my father, who I never quite understood, who would be the man of the house and keep my mother pieced together, as he always had. And then, I let myself go. I knew it wouldn't be the end. I knew that i'd be back. But for the time being, I had to leave it all behind.


“Once upon a time, there was a girl named Miranda,” my mother told my younger brother. “She was a beautiful girl—” “Was she prettier than Snow White?” My little brother asked. I had always stood in the doorway while my mother told my little brother, Hero, stories. I had been waiting for her to tell Hero this story. “Yes, she was prettier than Snow White. Miranda, while beautiful, was very curious, and curiosity always kills the cat.”

I wanted to cut in and say that “Curiosity killed the cat,” wasn’t the full phrase. The full phrase was “Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back.” “She lived in this very village, that’s right, the one we live in now. Her mother had raised her right, at least that’s what the mother thought. She had taught Miranda three things, do all your chores, be polite, and never go in the woods. Miranda didn’t listen to her mother. Although I don’t want to scare you, Hero, I must tell you what happened to the poor girl, and what will happen to you if you don’t listen to me.” “What will happen?” Hero questioned “At night, Miranda snuck out of her cottage and went into the woods. In the woods, she met many fearsome beast. She fought the beasts all night and in the morning she wasn’t back in her bed as she had planned, instead, her mother didn’t find her and told the police. The police found her dead in the woods, it was a bloody mess. She had many claw marks across her chest. And guess what, Hero? Miranda, she haunts those woods. The woods in our village,” Mom had never told me this part. “Hero, this is Miranda’s house,” I saw Hero halfway under the covers, and I ran, I ran outside I didn’t shut the door behind me and I didn’t look back. Mom never told me that last part. Was it true? I heard my mom calling me. “Tethys! Where are you?” she called “I-I-I, uh, I’m getting some fresh air, I’ll be inside in a minute,” I lied through my teeth. I had to go see Basker. Basker was my best friend, he always stayed up late with his nose in a book and his parents owned the local museum and wrote books on the past of our village. He lived three blocks away, and I ran that three blocks to his house. And knocked on the door violently.

Basker answered the door. “Tethys? What are you doing here? It’s almost nine!” “It’s urgent, let me in,” I said, then let myself in, “What’s up?” he asked as I sat down at his kitchen table.

“So you know the story about Miranda that every parent tells their child?” He nodded. “When I was younger, my mom told me that Miranda got lost in the woods,”

“Because according to the story, that’s what happened. What are you getting at here?” “My mom told Hero that she snuck out in the middle of the night, went into the woods and when her mother came to check on her, she wasn’t there, so as any sensible parent would do, she alerted the authorities. The authorities found her the next day brutally murdered. Basker, Hero is eight ,” Basker looked wide-eyed at me. His brown mop of hair fell in front of his face, he didn’t bother to fix it. “Then he said that my house was Miranda’s house and that she haunts the woods and sometimes our house.” I continued. “I think my parents are still up, one second,” Basker said and started running down the hall. He came back a minute later with his parents. I retold the story.

“That happened, what your mother told Hero, about where you live, but ghosts aren’t real, the woods are perfectly safe.” Basker’s mom told me. All was quiet for a few minutes. “I’m going into the woods, Basker, meet me at my house in fifteen minutes.” I ran out that door.

I ran the three blocks to my house and into my room so pack a backpack with a flashlight, food, and two water bottles. I packed some clothes and a book just in case. As promised, Basker showed up in jeans, a t-shirt, and a small backpack.

“Time to go,” I said and started running out the door. Basker ran after me.

“Tethys! You’re running head-first into danger! Stop, you’re going to get hurt!” He yelled after me “Come on! You’re so slow,” I smiled and continued running into the woods.

For a while, we kept running, running until you couldn’t see because the forest was so dense, even if it was day. I started hearing growls, and it sounded like the trees were talking.

Stop it. Everything is fine, the trees aren’t talking-- they’re trees! “Tethys, I think we should go ba--” I Basker screamed “Tethys! Tethys! Help!”

I ran towards Basker, there was a girl there, about the same height as me,

she was biting and clawing at Basker. I threw my backpack off and ran at the woman. I hurdled at her and knocked her off of Basker, I found a sharp stick and stabbed it into her chest. She looked down and showed no sign of pain. She ran to me, baring her teeth, she had jet black hair and looked like she was in a nightgown. Miranda? I hesitated and that was almost my downfall. I came to my senses and she cut three gashes in my chest with the stick I had stabbed her with. I fell backward and my vision faded in and out and the last thing I saw was Basker getting up and running at the girl.

“Don’t hurt her!” He yelled Then, I blacked out; I became lost to the dense wilderness that had trapped Miranda in. I would forever be in the endless void that the small population of my former village called the "Haunted Woods”.

Soon, I would bring them all down. Miranda and I would rule them all.


Late on a Friday afternoon in the silent chilly staff development lab of the hospital basement, Wesley lounged with his feet propped up on a chair. Wesley passed the time by munching on taco chips, dropping crumbs over the snaps of his shirt, reading a Clive Cussler paperback. A rumpled blanket covered the linoleum floor where a naked body lay. Wiping orange powdered fingers on his pant leg, he sipped fresh coffee from a Styrofoam cup. Next to him on the long table was a stack of booklets labeled, CARDIOPULMONARY RESUSCITATION. Wesley absentmindedly scratched his wiry beard then glanced up at the clock. A full day wasted without even one signature on his attendance sheet. Sixty minutes to go. The Knicks were playing that night and he had arrangements to meet up with some friends at the Juicy Nickel sports bar. His left arm cramped and he stretched both arms over his head letting out a groan. Footsteps came from the hallway and through the door lumbered a graying sallow-faced man. Breathing heavily, he said, “Hey. CPR Recert?” Wesley untangled his legs, turned down the page of his paperback and dropped the book in his gym bag. “This is the place. Come right on in. I’ve been waiting for you.” He stood, wiping remnants of Doritos from his front. The man inhaled the coffee aroma mixed with a spicy smell he couldn’t place. He said, “I work in the outpatient department? I’m in a hurry, they want me back upstairs pronto.” He spoke with a slight speech impediment that embarrassed him.

“Sure, you’ll be out of here in a few minutes. What’s your name big guy?” Wesley said and grabbed the clipboard. “Max,” the man said, glancing at the half empty bag of chips. “Put your John Henry on the sheet, Max. Take a booklet. This year’s update from the American Heart Association. No more mouth to mouth.”

Max scribbled his information, threw down the pen and began rolling up his sleeves and with it went the label, bigdudeclothing.com. The bi-annual testing requirement came around way too soon for Max. Since his last recertification, a lot had happened in his life. Dear Cherrie, his wife of twenty-five years had died from Covid. Stunned and grief stricken he sought comfort in ice cream and junk food and when not eating, he slept. Work was the one thing that kept him going, forced him to dress and leave the house, to show up, and help ferry patients to labs and xray. Wesley watched the man thumbing through the booklet. This guy’ll collapse someday; looks like a heart attack waiting to happen. Wesley said, “Last minute on a Friday, eh? Why’d you wait so long?”

Before Max could answer, a muffled roar came from the ceiling vent sending warm air over the area. He waved a hand at Wesley. “Let’s get it over with. This isn’t one of my favorite things to do on a Friday afternoon.” “You and everyone else, pal. That’s why my attendance sheet's blank. But it has to be done. Gotta keep the main office happy. ‘Sides, you never know, it might come in handy someday.”

“Fat chance I’ll ever need to use it. Tell you what. You sign me off and I’ll buy you a beer. Deal?” Wesley didn’t answer. Max tried again. “There’s always nurses around here. I’m never going to have to save anyone," arms thrown out at his sides like a little boy begging for mercy. "The most I’ll have to do is call the code.” He sniffed, “Plus, I got the arthritis in my hands.”

Wesley was already setting up the mannequin for the demo. “Sorry, my friend. Just doing my job. So. Look through the booklet. Tell me when you’re ready for the test. First the written part. Then you do the demo. Or whichever way you want. It doesn’t matter.”

Max held onto the table’s edge lowering himself to his knees, with the hot air blowing directly onto his back, he moved next to the dummy called Annie. The elevator door groaned, then quick footsteps followed. A small woman wearing green scrubs rushed in and grabbed the sign in sheet, scribbled her name and said, “Hey guys, I’m really squeezed for time. My cranie’s due back to my unit. Any chance I can do my test real quick? I won’t take more than two minutes. Promise.”

Max smiled, "Sure! Be my guest." Wesley said, “No, this guy is ahead of you. Max, go on, start your demo.” Max stood on his knees looking at the nurse whose ID said Olivia, RN. “Did you say cranie? What’s that mean?” “Craniotomy. Brain surgery,” Olivia said growing more annoyed. She darted from table to hallway and back with quick jerky movements like a hummingbird. Wesley said, “Olivia, why don’t you look through the updates and take the written test. By then Max’ll be done.” She threw up her hands. Flit, flit. Wesley said, “Go ahead, Max. You found this woman down on the floor. What’s your first step?”

Max had struggled to bend over the mannequin without holding himself up.

“I don’t have time for this,” Olivia snapped. “I did the written part online. All I need to do is the demo.” Wesley informed Olivia the online test doesn’t count for recertification. It’s meant as a practice. Olivia felt a migraine beginning and pressed two fingers to her forehead.

Wesley stood across from Max waiting for him to begin and turned to Olivia, “We’ll be here on Monday too. Why don’t you come back then? If you’re out of time, just ask the super to give you an extension.” Two more nurses drifted in and signed the sheet, sat next to the table and knowing their turn would take time, began chatting, laughing at something no one else could hear. Olivia said, “I’ve already had two extensions and that’s the limit. Either I do this today or I’m suspended.” Wesley considered letting Olivia jump the “line” but doubted Max would be able to stand up and kneel down again. “Come on Max, get started. The first thing you do is what?” “Uh, do the pushes?” “Think Max, think. Why would you start compressions on the victim’s chest before you’re even sure this lady is in cardiac arrest?” Olivia said, “Shout at her! Ask her if she can hear you. Then check for a pulse.” Max put both hands on the floor in a tabletop position. “Okay Wes. I did that. What’s next?” Wesley took a deep breath. “Max, the idea is, you do this, I mean actually do it, not just say ‘I did it’. This is a demo. You have to go through the steps as if this were a victim without a pulse or breath.” “Can you turn the heat down? I’m about ta' die in here,” Max said wiping perspiration from his face with his sleeve.

“Sorry, we don’t have a thermostat in here. The sooner you begin, the sooner you’ll be out of here.” He glanced at the clock, seething inside, picturing the Juicy Nickel scene. “To be honest, I forget the steps,” Max said. The truth was, Max had managed to escape recertification for over ten years. Other staff ed people were more apt to give him a pass. But Max kept that to himself. He hoped if he stalled long enough, Wesley would finally sign off his card and be done with it.

Wesley suggested, “Olivia, how’s about you do your demo and Max you watch, then after she’s done, you can do yours?” Olivia’s pager went off. “Whelp, that’s it for me. Thanks a heap guys. Because of you, I won’t be at work tomorrow.” Hooboy, Wesley thought. “Listen, I’ll stay over so you can get it done. Come back when you’re free.” Olivia was already through the door as she called out, “See you in an hour. Thanks.” Wesley said, “I wasn't planning to work over tonight. But, you guys work hard, and who am I to make it worse?” He took a deep breath, becoming aggravated by Max’s stalling. Actually, he felt guilty each time staffers came rushing in, out of breath having to fit this in to their pressure-filled duties. His was a cake job, waiting for someone to show up, playing on his phone until it died. “I’ll go through the steps for you, Max. Pay attention. Then you do it. You have to do it start to finish without me coaching you before you can pass.” A gray-haired woman with bags under her eyes strolled through the door, her shoes broken along the back seam, careful not to stare at the large man kneeling beside Annie. She’d gone through decades of recerts and knew the drill. She signed in, took a booklet and waited her turn. A half hour passed and Max hadn’t successfully performed the sequence, nor pushed the mannequin’s chest hard enough to trigger the red indicator light. Wesley decided to give Max a break and process the half dozen employees that waited. Max said, "Thanks. I'm going over to the café for a Coke." He expected Wesley would pass him by the time he got back. With both hands on the floor, he lifted his bottom and held onto a nearby chair seat straining to push himself upright. Olivia rushed in and declared, “I’m next! Sorry everyone, but I was here before and had to wait. I’ll be only a minute, promise.” She went through the sequence expertly, first shouting to the victim, checking for a pulse, shouting, Call 911, using landmarks of the rib to breastbone, one hand over the other, fingers up, she pushed hard, the light came on, she shouted, get the AED, pretended to apply pads and press the red button labeled Shock required. She jumped up easily and said, “All good? Anything else?” Wesley gave a tight smile and said, “You’re all set. See you in two years.” He processed the few people who waited, pleased at how easily they met the standard and wished them a good weekend. He glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes till tip off. The Juicy Nickel isn't too far. If he beat feet, he could make it. The coffee’s acid worked in his stomach - he wished he hadn’t eaten so many chips. He lifted the mannequin to the table puzzled by how much heavier it seemed than usual. He gathered the paperwork and booklets, tossed his cold coffee and the now empty bag of chips. Nausea burned and he felt lightheaded. His hands went to his chest as crushing pain took his breath and made his legs buckle. Max hoped the staff ed lights would be out and he could leave for the day. The elevator door opened into the dim hallway. But the room was still lit. He hesitated wondering if he should back up but then a crash, a thud and chair banged. Max tromped through the hallway toward the sound. Wesley lay with arms and legs akimbo, the chair tipped over him like a tent. A hitch grabbed Max in the chest. He spun around looking--hoping someone would appear. But the hallway was dark and silent. Max pulled the chair away and put his hands under Wesley’s arms, dragging him to the open area. Two fingers to the bearded man’s thick neck, he could hardly believe what he faced. Max shouted, “Buddy, buddy, what’s wrong? Get up, wake up, buddy! Wake up.” Max wailed, shaking, he struggled to stand, regretting the time spent sitting in front of the TV, for the hours wasted wallowing in self-pity. The grief he’d tried to eat away now poured out in moans and tears, angry at who he’d become, unable to save a person who deserved to live. He vowed to do better, if only Wesley would live. “No,” he shouted, “No. You live dammit. Don’t you die on me!” He managed to crawl to the phone that sat on the shelf, its cord hanging so that he could free it, catch it rather than bust it, and when he had it in his hands, he pressed the code button and wheezed into the phone, “Code. Basement, room B12, hurry, hurry.” He crawled on all fours back to Wesley, horrified at the grayish face. Max put fingers to Wesley’s neck and couldn’t believe there was no thumping so he reached for the wrist silently begging for a pulse. His nose ran and he used his shirt tail to wipe it and his face. Max tore open the shirt snaps, and using his fingertips, he found the breastbone, put one hand over the other and pushed to the rhythm of Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gees, boom, boom, hard and fast, just like Wesley told him.

Thundering came from the hallway and the team raced in, like choreographed dancers, each person performed their tasks. They were focused on the rescue, nothing else existed at that moment. Max had never witnessed resuscitation and hadn't seen a dead body. He was outright crying now, angry at himself for failing. An ICU doctor opened the defibrillator box and looking up he saw Max’s face. “Hey, you did great. You saved this man’s life. If not for you, he’d have laid here a good hour before anyone found him. He would be dead. Mister, you are a hero.”


There are a lot of things I can’t remember. Things that anyone should be able to mutter out in a split second from a simple trigger in their brain would take me hours of recollection and piece together. Parts of my childhood that others remember clearly are still vague to me even after so many years. Bits and pieces of memory come to me when I think real hard, but that’s all they are -- memories. When I first arrived in this world, I was with a family that loved me from day one. I was happy. Happy with the parents I had, even happier with my siblings. I remember being the youngest of five; I was always loved, unconditionally. My older siblings were over protective of me but the parents could care less. After having four children before me, they had grown accustomed to having a toddler in the house. Things that were important for the first four weren’t so much by the time I’d arrived. I remember the protective covers on the electric sockets were no longer needed, knowing that the previous kids had survived and none were brave enough to stick their fingers in. I remember the cabinet where the cleaning supplies were kept, was no longer in need of a padlock for the safety of a kid who could care less about the cabinet drawers. Most of all, I remember by the time I turned ten, I was the happiest kid in the world. I remember one summer evening after a baseball game we came across an abandoned bicycle left in the corner of the field. The chain had come off the roller sprocket and dangled from its place. I remember a few of us tried putting them back together so that we could take it out for a joy ride. “You hold the chain against the rolling plate” said Matthew looking at me, “I will rotate the plate by moving the paddle forward until the chain is locked in.” I remember getting my tiny fingers caught in-between the chain and the sprockets, and remember the scream. I remember playing with my friends at a nearby construction site the same year when school was out. We must have been ten or twelve then. The neighborhood was a part of a “rebuild” initiative that the locals have voted for. The abandoned buildings were ordered to be knocked down to build duplexes for the low income families. The site was packed with building materials from sheet rocks to plywood, from bricks to metal rods. I remember playing hide and seek with Matt and the neighborhood kids where I was the seeker. After counting down the numbers when I began to look for my friends, I remember feeling hopeless and abandoned. When I made an attempt to run and find a kid who I spotted hiding behind a stack of woods, I remember bumping into the corner of a stack and splitting my head wide open. I have very few memories of me when I was a teenager. I remember getting together with my friends for a Halloween bash on a Friday evening that everyone talked about for years to come. I remember at that party Michael dared me to jump into the swimming pool that was covered off with plastics for the winter. I remember ignoring all of my instinct and common sense that I had and diving right into the pool. I remember the plastics wrapping my body around in the bottom of the pool and keeping me down for the longest time until Matt jumped in to rescue me. I remember my first kiss that was revolting and repugnant all at the same time. It was with my biology teacher Mrs. Johnson that lasted only a few seconds. She was an old hack and a widow of several years who longed for affection and human contact after many years of loneliness. I didn’t resist or report; I didn't see a reason to do either. I remember her talking about her dead husband as if he was still with her after passing away so many years ago. The way she would speak about him only revealed how badly she was hurting inside and how deep her love was for him. I don’t remember much about my college life, but I remember the dorm room and the roommates at the Hedrick Hall of UCLA. I could still taste the red bull and ramen noodles after so many years of not touching a single junk food since I’d left college to be an adult. I remember so little of so many things that made me wonder if I was real. I remember getting married to a sweetest angel from Pasadena and leaving the busy state behind to be somewhere quiet. I remember her wanting to move away from the crowd and be with me to spend the rest of her life in peace. I remember her like it was yesterday. Her death came in as suddenly as she came into my life. We met at a very late chapter in our lives but we were happy. It was not long after my 50th birthday when I started noticing the changes in her behavior. I remember that she was not laughing at my jokes as much as she used to. It took an extra step of explaining the joke before she would get the punch line. I remember that she would not take a second look at anything she had done before she was satisfied with her work. Baking was very natural to her up until recently. She wouldn't need to guess if she had the right ingredients for the pecan pie she was making, or wouldn’t think twice before pouring the oil straight from the container into the flour bowl without a measuring cup. But at the end, I remember her being agitated more and more, doing things once and being done with it instead of taking an extra step to review what she had done. Behavior such as this was very uncommon, even for her. I remember the last days, her memories pierced deep into my heart like the sweet sound of a symphony that could only play when I was awake. I remember moving to New England in early fall a few years back and being mesmerized seeing the true nature for the first time. Watching the leaves turning to multi-color in days or the green grass beneath the feet turning brown right before your eyes was not something I had experienced in the past. I remember the fruits on Crab-apple trees covering the branches like Christmas ornaments. I remember the loud colors of a maple tree that could only brighten up a dark soul if not too careful. I remember being someone in need of a soul.


The two poets watched as the morning sunrise struggled into dawn. One was young, the other near the end of his life. The soft rose-pink light colored both their faces, the one like a smooth, blank palette, the other interrupted with aged canyons of shadow. "What, is it sunset already?" the older one wondered out loud. "No, Master," replied his young friend. "It is dawn." They sat gently rocking in a simple boat on the lake. If you listened carefully, you could hear the miniature waves lap against the cobbled shore. Shore birds, having anticipated the light, wheeled overhead in the cold air that cut through their cotton robes. The wooden slats of the boat groaned their complaints. "I'm cold," stated the ancient poet. "Let's go inside and have something to warm our blood." The young man studied his superior, wondering at the man's seemingly infinite capacity for drink. The old man was a famous poet, but you would never know it by looking at him. He sat there like a barren hill, his bald crown flowing down into broad shoulders and a chest that had fallen into his lap. The youngster felt that there was deep philosophy in the man's stoic patience. On the one hand, he knew that if he rowed back to shore, the old man would embarrass him. On the other, he didn't want to be responsible for the great man's death from cold. His sigh was lost among the tolling of the birds as he turned the craft and headed back towards the rickety pier. The ladder up the side of the pier appeared to be in even worse shape than when they had set out late last night. There was cause for concern that the dilapidated structure might not hold his friend's weight. The young man could only hope that the water here was shallow, as he could not swim. Once on dry land the elderly poet seemed to be reborn. He took off with unanticipated speed towards the inn's front gate. The young scribe had to scuttle to catch up with him. At the gate, the young poet rapped delicately on the rough wood. "That's no way to wake the dead!" roared his companion. He pounded on the double gate with a huge fist that looked the size and coloring of a young piglet. Almost immediately wooden shutters directly above them slammed open. With an agility that belied his size and age, the older poet leaped back just as the contents of a chamber pot splashed against the hard earth. His young companion reflected that this was obviously a happenstance the great poet had come across before. While the old man's robes of brown over an inner layer of yellowed-white silk remained relatively unsoiled, the youngster's four layers of red embroidered in gold thread, green, cream and black silk did not fare as well. "What do you want?" called down the enraged inn keeper. "Can't you see that it is the middle of the night?" "Can't you see," retorted the famous poet, "the dawn's early light?" "I am not opening my business this early!" shouted the inn keeper. "Send a servant out with a jug of your finest wine," suggested Li Po, "and we will not bother you until lunch." Yes, this was the famous Li Po, whose poems were well-known throughout the land. However, even the best of writers must moisten their lips. Once in possession of the large ceramic jug, he expertly turned it over the crook of his elbow and took a hearty swallow. Lips now lubricated, he released the jug to the care of his young friend. They had been wandering the southern lands of the empire for weeks now, and the lesser poet knew that he could not match the great man swallow-for-swallow. He drank enough to take the edge off the morning's frost, no more. Then he suggested the two of them wander around the neighborhood until time for their mid-day meal. He hoped, that way, to keep his friend out of further trouble and himself out of further embarrassment. They were in an agricultural part of the empire and so it was not surprising that they soon came across a farm. The farmer, still a young man, was hoeing weeds. Sweat poured from his face like rain. "My friend, my comrade, my fellow farmer!" Li Po called out in his effervescent, dramatic fashion. He had once tried his hand at farming, when his son and daughter were young. He had made an absolute disaster of it, just as he had when he'd tried being a politician. But he still thought of himself as a farmer, and a member of the emperor's court. In fact, he also considered himself a soldier, although it was one occupation that he'd meant to try but never gotten around to. The farmer was a naturally friendly fellow and smiled his toothless smile at them. "Come join us in a drink!" Li Po invited him. His young friend marveled at this display. You'd have thought he had been next-door neighbors with the farmer for years, so familiar was his manner towards him. Leaning on his crude hoe, the agriculturalist thought this over. "It is not good to drink on an empty stomach," he finally pronounced. "Come up to the house with me, and my wife will provide us breakfast." As they trudged up the slight slope to the man's abode, Li Po turned to his fellow poet and exclaimed, "See? Didn't I tell you that farmer up ahead looked like he had a fine head on his shoulders?" He had said no such thing. "Although he has spent his entire life on this farm and never ventured farther than the nearest market town, he is wise in the ways of men!" The farmer's wife, looking out at the rise of strange voices and seeing her husband followed by two distinguished-looking gentlemen, rushed out to greet them. Li Po thereupon lavished praise upon her until her already-ruddy cheeks blushed red. The younger poet was just pleased to find that their place didn't smell too bad. Breakfast was the usual of the poor peasant: cold, thin rice gruel. The bowls were small and Li Po had downed two before realizing what he was doing. This young man and wife would now have to do without gruel tomorrow morning. The jug had been passed around to all and was now empty. The temporary sobriety gave the hero a sudden clarity. "Bring me paper!" he demanded of the farmer. The couple had to pause, not quite sure if they owned such an item. "There is that letter that your uncle, the southern border official sent you," the wife reminded her husband. "Is it blank on the other side?" Li Po asked. They thought that it probably was. "Then bring it!" their guest commanded. The younger poet, and there is much disagreement as to his name, knew exactly what his master had in mind. He got out his ink stone and one of his lesser quality brushes. There was no need to waste the hairs of a finer brush on these two. The finer points of calligraphy would be totally lost on these yokels. Although the old man was well past his prime, and losing his eyesight, his touch with a calligraphy brush was still as amazing as ever. The tip of the sable hairs seemed to just barely touch the rough paper. His wrist was as supple as a child's, his fingers sensitive to the multiple meanings of each written character. When he was done, he sat back and gave a simple grunt of satisfaction. The younger poet looked over his shoulder and marveled at the sight. "One of your very best, Master!" he exhorted. There was no hint of flattery in his voice. The poem started out with mere whips of lines, almost as thin and airy as a spider's thread. Then, as it progressed, the lines became thicker, more energetic. Subtle flourishes were hidden everywhere. By the last character, Li Po had applied the brush almost flat, emphasizing the poem's noble meaning. "Should I read it to you?" the young poet politely asked. "Please do," replied the farmer. He bowed low. Already he knew that he had been highly honored. "My young friend," explained Li Po, "has excellent diction and enunciation. He comes from a very rich family and they afforded him the very best of tutors. There is no one better to speak my poem." Both husband and wife bowed low. They held that position as their gift was read to them. Stared into my wine cup unaware of the growing dark until falling blossoms filled the folds of my robe's bark Drunk, I stumbled to the moon floating in the clear stream where the birds had long flown away A few men shared my dream. The wife let out a surprised gasp before the recitation was even finished. "I remember my mother singing this song to me!" she exclaimed. "Until now, I did not fully appreciate the honor of your presence in our humble home!" Li Po looked very pleased with himself. There was nothing he loved better in life than to be told how far and wide his fame had spread. It was the most intoxicating of wines. "You can sell this poem anytime for good coin," said Li, "but if you can afford to hold on to it until I die, it will fetch a small fortune!" Soon after, the old poet asked the farmer to show him his sturdiest tree. He settled in its shade and quickly fell asleep. His companion explain to the couple that they had not slept at all the night before. "From sundown to sunrise, we drank, made up poems and watched the Empress Moon promenade across the sky." The farming couple went away impressed with how hard it must be to be a poet. So much work, to take all night! By late afternoon the poets were back at the inn. Li Po had awoken with a terrible thirst. At first the innkeeper didn't want to serve them. "No, I do not want any more of your poems as payment!" he growled in anger. "I already have enough of the worthless scribble to paper all my walls!" "But you saw the letter I wrote to my father asking for more money," the protege protested. "You yourself posted it to the mail!" The innkeeper could not argue with this and in the end he relented. Besides, the jovial old man brought in much business. Amateur poets and lovers of verse came from miles around to see and hear the famous fossil. That day, in fact, the crowd was greater than usual. So busy with the business of merriment were the two that it was well past sunset before they noticed the sun had left the sky. Li Po's most fervent fans insisted on joining them out on the lake and a small armada of dinghies had to be found to accommodate them all. Finally, though, it was just the two of them out on the water, just as they had been the night before. The loons had long settled in to sleep and the only remaining sounds were of crickets, frogs and the soft lapping of water. Overhead, the gods had ground so much ink that the entire sky was black. If one looked in the opposite direction of the inn, it was not possible to tell the heavens from the horizon. Occasionally, the calm was broken by the sound of a jug being raised to lips. Both poets contemplated the inky blackness of the still lake. "It is like the world has been blotted out by one large, bold character," the younger muttered, half to himself. His elder had no time or interest in such a simile. The moon's reflection in the water was so clear, so faithful a reproduction, that he had a hard time telling which was which. If anything, the mirrored version seemed superior, as it appeared larger than its original. "I hear the gods beckoning me, Du!" Li Po cried out. It was not his old friend Du Fu beside him, but the younger poet did not correct him. It was a distinct honor to be so confused with the other great poet of their age. Li's long sleeve could just be made out as he waved out towards the moon's reflection. "See how Goddess Moon calls me! Is she not the most beautiful woman you have ever seen? How wide and round her face, how pale her countenance!" "Yes, yes," grumbled the ersatz Du Fu. He was nursing a grudge. This would be the second night in a row that he would spend out in the freezing night air. How much warmer and more comfortable would a bed in the inn be! Besides, Li Po had spoken of this fantasy for years. When well in his cups, he liked to boast that the gods had sent him down from heaven. Sooner or later, he promised everyone within earshot, the gods would call him back home. Now he, too, looked out from their little swaying boat at the crisp, sharp image of the moon upon the lake. "You are too beautiful for me to resist!" he heard the old man cry out in passion. The bright orb, silvery white, hypnotized the young man. Only after the fact was he able to remember that the boat had suddenly begun rocking back and forth more than before. Only the sound of splashing water and the icy spray upon his skin brought him back to reality. "Li Po?" he called out to the empty seat next to him. "Li Po?" Being a bright young man, he immediately hit upon what had happened. He sighed. Whether it was a sigh of sorrow, regret or resignation, he could not say. "I am sorry that I cannot swim, Master," he called out into the ink. Then it came to him that it might be for the best. Li Po had gone home to his ancestors. He looked up in the sky, at the still, bright, eternal moon. the end


No Drama Mama “I can’t go on,” Nicole told her mother. “I am shaking from head to toe.” “That’s life force coursing through you, Nicole. You are like a racehorse at the gate before the whistle blows to begin the race. It means you are ready, dear daughter.” “Yeah. Ready for my knees to give way as soon as I hit the stage if I even make it that far.” “Nicole, how can you not go on? Everyone is relying on you to do your part just like you did in rehearsal yesterday.” “But I don’t know the people in the audience and they don’t know me.” “What’s to know?” Dahlia asked, in her most New York Jewish accent. “You have immense talent and you know your lines backward and forwards. This is what you have been looking forward to your entire life. Everyone gets stage fright. It’s normal. What is the worst that could happen?” “I think I can’t handle criticism, mom. Every time you ever criticized me, we got into a fight. Everyone sitting in that theater tonight is a critic.” “I only wanted the best for you, Nikki. It’s a mother’s job.” “What? To make her daughter feel that she must belong at all costs? That being different is wrong?” “Let’s not get into this now, hon. It hurts not to fit in. I got bullied as a child because I wasn’t popular. I didn’t want that to happen to you.” “I still don’t fit in. That is why I want to act. To learn to feel what other people feel without having to take things personally. To try on another suit of armor.” “Armor? You call cashmere armor?” “You know what I mean. I always feel like I have to protect myself if I want to survive.” “You will need to chat with Mother Nature about that. If she‘s unavailable, seek out Darwin. All of us have to protect ourselves to survive.” “So, maybe, I should tell the Director I am ill and he still has a half-hour to ready the understudy.” Is that really what you want, darling? To give up on your dream, to disappoint your cast members, the audience, but most of all yourself?” “I just want to be safe. I can’t fail. I keep messing up the dream sequence lines.” “What if you falter? Improvise. The cast will have your back. Don’t you think everyone is nervous about their first time on stage?” “I keep having to pee,” Nicole said as she pressed her hands to her belly. “That’s where your nerves go to party,” Mom laughed. “Like I said. Butterflies on caffeine and steroids.” Dahlia gets down on her knees with a breathy, “Oy. Honey, the feeling of nervousness in your belly is the same feeling as excitement. The only difference is what you call it. Give up needing approval. You get up there and you own that character. Just go for the satisfaction you are after. That is all any of us can do in life. No one can disappoint us more than we disappoint ourselves. Never give your power away.” “And how will you feel if I fail?” “No one fails by trying. We fail by not doing. Who is it you are trying to impress? Me? We are not here to impress anyone but ourselves. Have I not taught you to live life from the inside out, not from the outside in?” Nicole took Dahlia’s hands in hers. “Fifteen minutes.” Dahlia asks, “What are you going to do?” Nicole answered, “Walk out of here and sign up for dental school.” Dahlia replied, “What’s better? Putting a smile on someone’s face or putting one in someone’s mouth? No one has ever applauded a dentist for filling in a cavity. Would you rather be in the object in the spotlight or a gal in a white jacket adjusting the dental light for a better view of gingivitis? Nicole laughed, “OK, I get it. You can stop now.” “And you? What are you going to do?” “Well, you made your way too visual point about dentistry vs acting.” “Sweetie, let’s do a quick guided meditation and get you centered. Relax in the chair and close your eyes.” “I have so much makeup on. My eyelids may never open again.” “That may be, and right now your third eye needs mascara! What do you know in your heart, honey?” A rap on the door and the shout, “Ten minutes, Nicole” gave her a shudder. “Okay, let’s do this,” Nicole sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you really afraid of?” Dahlia asked “Everyone’s eyes will be on me and I am wondering if they can see me sweating or my heart palpitating and my legs wobbling. I may open my mouth and nothing comes out. I envision people yawning, walking out, laughing at lines that are not funny.” “That’s a lot of baggage to carry on the stage with you.” “Tell me about it,” Nicole nods. “Can anyone think two thoughts at the same time?” “Of course not, but there is a hell of a queue behind that current thought.” “Right, so you will think of your lines and own the part while responding to everyone on stage. You won’t have time to be nervous.” “Says you,” Nicole teased. “How would you feel tonight if everything went superbly, and when you take your bow, the clapping reaches a crescendo? Is that what you would like to happen tonight?” “I want to make everyone who worked so hard on this part with me proud. I want you to “kvell” with joy. I want to know that I am bigger than my little thoughts. I want to experience transformation—to believe for the first time that courage is feeling the fear and doing it anyway. I want to walk through the rest of my life unafraid. I want to kick my ego to the side of the road because you are right. A focus on survival is a detour to what we want to achieve, at least when you are not on a sinking ship or there is a lion at the door to the cave. I want to thrive and not survive.” “And?’ “Change your focus, change your life, I guess.” “That’s my Nicole. Self-talk is the destroyer or creator of our lives. What do I always tell you?” Nicole rolled her eyes. “What we think determines what we do. And what we think has little to do with the truth. Beware the Happiness Assassins: Fear. Doubt. Worry. Tell them to ‘Exit stage left.’” “We need you on the set, Nicole in five, four, three, two, one…” the stage manager called. Nicole took in a huge breath. “I love you, mom. I’m off to sow my destiny. Thank you for your wisdom. I am still scared as shit!” “Enter, stage right, my love. Be the potential you seek in the world.”


I was seven. I remember the blue sky and the soft snowflakes that sifted slowly, seemingly, from the heavens. “Look both ways, Anna” I heard my mother say. “Anna, look both ways“ I barely heard her voice, slowly rising. I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue to greet a lonely snowflake. “Anna!” I jumped, startled by the sudden exclamation and bit my tongue. The taste of blood flooding my senses. ”Sorry, mom” I looked to my left then to my right. “All clear“ I said smoothly while smiling at my mother who couldn’t possible frown any deeper. She sighed as we swiftly walked down the street. “Your father would be disappointed if he saw how distracted you have been lately, Anna” the words rolled off and over my head as my eyes drifted back to the sky. “I wish I were a snowflake“ I regretted muttering when I saw the stern look on my mother’s face. “ What did you say, Anna? You know I hate when you mutter and so does your father“ Snowflakes are free . I chose not to answer my mothers question while we arrived at our destination. My father‘s smart smile lit up the lobby as we walked in. I winced. I hate that smile. His eyes stared into my soul. A dare perhaps?

My lips stayed sealed, the way they always had. ...... ”Hi, Anna, you can call me Jenna” the strange woman said to me. “ I am a representative for the Humane Society’s Children‘s Protections Service. I understand that you are eight years old, now. Is that correct?“. Her eyes didn’t twinkle when she smiled and the bright red lipstick had stained her teeth. “ Your teeth are red” was all I said in reply. She scowled and looked in a handheld compact mirror she had pulled from her purse. “ I turned eight, 2 weeks ago” she nodded at my statement, apparently satisfied. “We also understand that you didn’t have the best relationship with your father. Could you explain why that is, Anna?“ our eyes met as I glanced over at her across the small bright pink table. “I hate the color pink“ I said, not bothering to answer her question. “Why is that?“ she apparently had given up asking the routine questions. Questions, questions, and more questions. I sighed. “My mother only ever bought me things that were pink“ I said as I stood and walked over to the child sized bed that lay in the corner. I crawled into the bed and drew the covers over myself. A minute passed before Jenna stood, sighing, and walked over to the door. After slowing leaving the room and shutting the door, I heard whispers. “ She seems mature for her age” Jenna .

“ That’s normal for kids that have lived through trauma, you know that“ A mans voice . “ I never get used to it, oh and will you have someone bring in a new table and bed set? She hates pink”. “Sure thing” .... ”Hey, kid” The man from the whispered conversation in the hallway.

”Hi” I managed, weakly. Tears blurring my vision. “My name is Tristan“. His smile seemed more sincere. Unless it was forced. Fake?

”Nod your head if the answer is yes and shake it if it is no, okay?“ I nodded. “Great! Your father is the ceo of Lance Corp. Right?” Another slow nod. ”A week ago, an employee of Lance Corp. reported something he had overheard from a conversation between your father and another employee. Do you know what it was they were discussing?” Hesitantly, I shook my head. Tristan stared into my eyes as if he was trying to decipher my soul. Apparently, he couldn’t . “ There was an accusation made that seems to have some truth to it. A rather, um, unfortunate claim. Did your father ever do anything that seemed abnormal, or wrong? You can be honest, honey”. Honey. Honey. That one word took me back to a year ago.

... ”It’s alright, honey“ A tear sliding down my cheek. The smell of sweat and blood. Blurred vision. “You’ll be alright. Right, honey?” A nod.

... ”I just don’t understand why we have to ask all these questions. Can’t we just ask her directly instead of avoiding it? Maybe then we’ll get some answers”. Do they know I can hear them?

”Tristan, my team and I were put on her case to defend and help her! She’s eight years old! We have a system that we use to protect her innocence”.

“ I know Jenna, I know”.

... “ Anna, did you know a man by the name Will Thompson? He worked for your father“. My eyes widened with fear and my mind went back to last year.

... ”Hey, kid. Do you like the snow? I saw you out there looking up at the sky and smiling” the man smiled, his eyes soft. I smiled back. He was younger than the rest of my dad‘s employees but he was definitely the nicest and my favorite.

“I haven’t seen you here before“ I simply stated.

“Oh, I’m new around here. Today’s my first day, actually. You are Lance’s daughter right? What’s your name?” He had a bright look in his eyes and an aura of youthful intelligence.

“My name is Anna”. I said shyly, awestruck. The man’s smile grew and he stuck his hand out for me to shake. ”My name is Will, Will Thompson“

... “Where are we going, dad?” I asked looking into my father’s kind brown eyes. “It’s April fools day, Anna, and me and the guys have a funny prank to play on the new guy, Will. It’ll be harmless. I promise ” I laughed with him, regardless of the fact I hadn’t been included in the planning of this “prank“.  We were driving in unfamiliar territory, yet I wasn’t worried. I remember how naive I had been. We pulled over on the side of the road and calmly got out of the car. “Follow me, honey“ dad said. So I did. there were train tracks up ahead and a few men I recognized as dad’s friends. I noticed Will talking to someone off in the distance. “Are you sure you all did this?” Will said. “Of course we did! And we never complained about it.” My father yelled to him. “We are gonna be on this side over here, Anna” I followed my dad across the train tracks, looking both ways. “What are we doing, dad” I said confused. Okay, honey. Will is going to jump across the tracks when we say “go“. We all did it so now it’s his turn“. “Okay“ I answered, convinced. Minutes passed slowly and the tracks begun to rumble. “Step back, Anna” I crept back slowly but paused when I heard “Go!” I looked up while Will jumped over the tracks, never in harms way. We laughed. Suddenly, I heard myself scream. I watched, in fear, while my father ran over to us and swiftly shoved Will backwards, into the trains path. Then, all I saw was darkness. ... ”She explained everything?” Jenna asked unconvinced. “There is just one thing that didn’t match the other statements“ Tristan explained slowly. “Well?” “Anna thinks her dad pushed Will into the train... who should tell her she pushed and killed Will Thompson?”. ... When I was 5, I had a friend named Ally, short for Allison. One day we were swimming in my pool when my mother called to us. “Anna, Alice, lunchtime!” “Coming, mom“ I yelled in reply. Ally beat me to the ladder and I couldn’t help but feel angry. My vision blurred and suddenly my hand was wrapped around her blond braid. She screamed in pain as she was torn from the ladder and fell back into the water. Part of me hoped she wouldn’t resurface but she did, coughing and crying. I climbed up the ladder as my mother ran over to us. “What’s the matter, Allison?” She asked my friend, kindly. I quickly replied and gave Ally a stern, almost evil, look. “ we were just playing mom, I promise“ I threatened Ally with my eyes as my mother looked to her for reassurance. Uncertain my mother said,“ okay, just remember girls, it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt“.


By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. The soft licks of heat lapping my face, melting the frost that clung to the world. I watched my neighbours, my friends and family, run from what threatened to devour them; I watched their attempts all be for nought, for the fire swallowed them up. My world burned before my very eyes, leaving in the fire’s wake a barren wasteland. By the time I stepped outside, my world had already been forsaken. * A sharp chill clung to the air as I breathed in the scent of autumn, my heavy black boots crunching over an array of colourful leaves; red, orange, brown and yellow, all fluttering down from towering trees above. The pavement below my feet was sugar dusted with fine frost that glittered in the October sunshine and I pulled the sleeves of my red knitted jumper down to cover my chilled hands. I turned the corner that led to my parents’ house and saw it looming in the distance; standing apart from all the others, with its rickety gate, wonky, Victorian structure, which had always reminded me, and unfortunately all the other children in my village, of a witch’s house. The graveyard probably never helped, I remarked drily to myself, the garden gate screeching shut behind me. I made my way up to the front door and its old-fashioned iron knocker, with a backpack full of groceries for my parents, and let myself into the dark house. The colour I had last painted the walls still remained; a deep, burning burgundy, with blackout curtains to help ease my mother’s migraines, which she had suffered from since having a stroke a year previous, and then frequently after. I often joked that it was like walking into a furnace. “Jenna,” my father’s gentle voice sounded first, then the familiar, rhythmic clunking of his walking stick as he hobbled towards me. He spread one arm and drew me into a tight hug, smelling like smoke from the fire they kept raging all day every day. “How are you?” He asked as he drew back, leading me through to the living room. “I’m fine, dad,” I said, half swinging the backpack off, so it hung from one shoulder. “How are you? How’s mam?” At that, his smile faltered. “Ah, well she’s – it doesn’t look promising, Jenna.” I set the bag down on the kitchen table and began unpacking groceries, determined not to cry. “Has she seen Doctor Thom this week?” My father nodded somewhat gravely, setting the kettle over the stove; I had been at them for years to buy a modern kettle, one that didn’t require a lit stove to boil the water, but they had remained partial to the old one and that seemed to be unchanging. “Doctor Thom says it’s a matter of waiting now, the medication helps to control it, but it’s not a cure.” Pain, so intense, shot through my chest and spread across my body. I found myself unable to speak, so instead I nodded and accepted the cup of tea my father handed me, grateful for the mug scalding my hands distracting me from thoughts of my mother. I took a seat on the sofa opposite my dad, looking at the lines on his labour-weathered face, the grey of what remained of his hair. I swallowed the lump that lodged itself in my throat; soon, I would be without them both. Perhaps sensing my torment, my father smiled at me, asked me how my fiancé Brandon was. I gulped a mouthful of tea, “he’s okay,” I said. “He’s starting a job at the newspaper next week and I think he’s really excited.” “That’s excellent, love,” my dad’s voice was coated in warm honey. “And how are you doing – have you been okay?” I offered him a lopsided twitch of my lips, “yeah, not much changed in my life since the last time I saw you, just work and more work.” “No rest for the wicked.” A silence fell for a beat, broken only by the sound of tea drinking. I stared into the depths of my mug, the tea made from tea leaves instead of teabags reminding me that my mother used to read our tea leaves once upon a time, a better time. She always claimed to have the gift of sight, though I never believed her. “Can I go up and see mam?” I asked eventually. My dad nodded, “aye, she might be asleep, but if she’s not she’d be really pleased to see you.” I got to my feet, setting my mug down on the table and headed for the spiral staircase that led me up towards my mother. She looked smaller than I remembered, tucked up in the queen-sized bed that she shared with my father, more grey too. She was awake, just barely, when I entered the room and she mumbled my name with a small, exhausted smile. I crossed to the bed as quietly as I could and lowered myself onto the edge gently, taking her papery hands in mine, suddenly choked by tears. “Jenna,” my mother whispered. Just ‘Jenna’, over and over again, weary eyes tracing my face, and I realised then that she was trying to memorise me so that she would never forget what I looked like. Overwhelmed, I raised my hand to touch her cheek softly and she smiled and closed her eyes; I was unable to look fully at her, the memory of her once being such a strong, vivacious woman plagued me as I looked at her now, so quiet and frail, so I focused instead on her bedside table. That’s when I saw the old scrap of paper, a name written in blood red ink: Clauneck. I frowned, curiosity getting the better of me, I pocketed the scrap of paper surreptitiously. When I looked back at my mother, I saw she had already dozed back off, so I planted a feather-light kiss on her forehead, before turning to leave the room, my heart aching in my chest. * The café smelled like spices, cinnamon, ginger and coffee. Unable to face going home for a little, I stopped in to get a cinnamon latte as a little treat that I indulged in every autumn when all the coffee shops brought out their seasonal drinks, so I sat at a small, round table with one chair by the window and stared out unseeingly as I sipped the sugary coffee. I was halfway through the mug when I heard the most curious thing, not being a great believer of coincidences myself, my interests were more than piqued: “Cappuccino for Clauneck!” Called out the barista, handing over the mug to a tall, well dressed man, who turned around and caught me staring in disbelief. The dark haired man smiled knowingly, “strange name, I know.” He drifted over to me, “mind if I sit?” Stunned, I shook my head. Clauneck pulled up a chair, setting his mug down on the table, “my parents were a little…different. But, what about you? What’s your name?” “Jenna Walsh.” “Jenna…no relation of Diedre Walsh?” I blinked in surprise, “how do you know my mother?” My right hand snaked its way into my pocket to clutch the slip of paper there. Clauneck smiled again, “I’ve been counselling your mother, terribly sad what’s happening to her.” The coffee burned my mouth as I took a sip, for lack of anything to say, trying to remember if my parents had ever mentioned counselling or any kind of emotional support for my mother. But, I supposed, she would not have Clauneck’s name written down if she did not know him. “Has it- has it been helping?” I asked, setting my mug back down. “I certainly hope so. Listen,” Clauneck lowered his voice and leaned forward, “I can help you to help your mother, if that’s what you want; I’m involved in some experimental treatments for people like your mother.” Perhaps sensing my hesitation, he got to his feet. “Why don’t you meet me tonight at eight, by the Railway Inn, and we can discuss it more then? Goodbye for now, Jenna.” And, with that, he left; I had not noticed how much colder the café had been when he was in it. Meet me tonight at eight. The words reverberated inside my skull, dizzying, as I tried to force forkfuls of spaghetti Bolognese down my throat that night, Brandon watching me in concern. It could be anything, a trap, a scam; I could end up murdered or the victim of fraud, or assault, but the chances of me learning of two different people called Clauneck (when I’d never even heard the name before) seemed to slim to dismiss it as coincidence. “Jenna, are you okay?” Brandon asked, his eyes fixed steadily on me. I tried to reanimate myself somewhat, “yeah, sorry, just thinking.” “About what?” “I met my mam’s counsellor today and he offered me different treatment options, less conventional ones. He said we should meet to discuss them a bit more.” Brandon chewed his lower lip, a frown knitting two eyebrows into one. “I didn’t even know your mam had a counsellor – did he give you a name?” “Clauneck,” I replied, still attempting to find anything appetising.

“Clauneck? I think I’ve-“ Brandon paused abruptly, the way he so often did when overcome with thought. “That sounds familiar to me…” I shrugged, “it’s not a common name, so maybe my parents did mention it and I just forgot until now.” “Maybe…do you want me to come with you tonight?” I smiled, leaning across the table to give him a long, lingering kiss, “I’ll be okay.” “Okay,” he said when we broke apart, though his face still showed uncertainty. Cold, October air engulfed me as I stepped out of my warm house and into the dark night. My feet slipped slightly on the frosty ground, I grabbed the fence for support and felt the cold melt instantly from the warmth of my hand. The Railway Inn was mere minutes from my house, which was one of the benefits of living in a small village, though at this time of year it would have the fire roaring and be packed with bored locals, already sick of the dark autumn nights, making the place unbearably humid. Clauneck stood outside with his coat collar turned up; he looked like Dracula. I almost laughed out loud. He raised a large hand in greeting, “it’s busy in there,” he said, “why don’t we go for a walk?” Though my instinct said no, my desire to help my mother got the better of me and I agreed. We walked on through the night, away from the pub and away from eavesdropping locals. I wasted no time on pleasantries, though he himself seemed disinclined to make idle chit chat, “how can you help my mam?” I asked, “I don’t want to waste any time on false treatments that just cost money.” Clauneck laughed and shook his head, “I wont waste your money, I always follow through on my word. Jenna, what would you give to help your mother? And I don’t just mean ease her symptoms, I mean cure her.” “The doctor said-“ “I know what the doctor said,” interrupted Clauneck, “I’m asking you what you’d give for it to be possible.” For a moment, I felt tears constricting my throat, then eventually I breathed out, “anything, I’d do anything to save her.” “I thought you might say that.” “Is there something your treatment can do that the doctors can’t?” Clauneck opened his mouth to answer, when our conversation found itself disturbed by the shrill ringing of my phone. Grimacing, I mouthed an apology before answering it, and Brandon’s voice exploded in my ear: “Jenna,” he said, “this is going to sound really weird, but I know where I heard the-“ I cut him off urgently, “Brandon, can you give me a minute? I’ll be home soon; I just need to finish up here. I promise I’ll be back shortly and then we can talk about whatever this is.” “Jenna, wait-“ “Love you, I’ll see you soon.” I switched off my phone and stowed it back in my pocket, “sorry, you were just about to say?” Clauneck smiled a cat-like smile, “if you put your name down, I can see what I’ll be able to do for you,” he produced what looked like a sign-up sheet from his coat pocket. “Just names for the system,” he assured me, handing me the sheet and a pen. I took them, signed my name, wondering what could possibly go wrong from a simple signature. “Wonderful,” he said smoothly, “I’ll be in touch, Jenna, I’ll speak to you very soon.” He was an odd man, I thought to myself, as I turned to leave, but he might just be my mother’s saviour. “I know where I know your mother’s counsellor from,” said Brandon, the moment I shut the front door behind me, clearly not bothering with pleasantries was a common theme for the night. He took my hand and led me over to where his laptop sat on the table. “Clauneck is a faith healer, a miracle worker. In short, he’s a fraud. I’m sorry, Jenna.” Tears pricked my eyes, but I fought them back. “That’s okay,” I whispered, “it was too good to be true.” Brandon took me in his arms, “I’m sorry, I know you wanted to help your mam, but no harm done to her, right? Or you.” I nodded, the tears finally falling, and allowed him to tuck me into bed like one would a small child. Overcome by exhaustion, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, and awoke in the early morning to a call from my mother. “Jenna, what have you done?” She said in horror when I picked up the phone. “What did you do?” My heart froze in my chest, “what do you mean? I met Clauneck, he- he said he’d been helping you.” My mother groaned, an anguished, animal sound. “No, no, no, no. Jenna, you have no idea what you’ve done. He wasn’t helping me.” “He said he could heal you?” “And he did, for a price. Everything has a price.” I felt as though all the air had gone from my lungs as Clauneck’s words, what would you give, came back to me with a new, sickening clarity, and I realised Brandon’s warm body was not in the bed next to me. “What’s the price?” I asked, terror ripping through me as I bolted out of the bedroom, already on my way downstairs. “What did you say you’d give?” “Anything,” I admitted, horror like ice in my veins. My mother’s sobs echoed down the line, “then he took everything. Your dad, he’s – he’s gone too. You made a deal with a demon, my soul for anything and everything else.” “A demon? No, there’s no such thing – this can’t be happening.” I felt as though I had woken from nothing into a living nightmare. “It is, though.” As I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I dropped the phone, a scream tearing at my throat, so awful that at first I did not think it was mine. I ran towards him, fell to my knees, coming face to face with Brandon; from a distance it had looked like blood, but then I realised, his skin had been burned off, melted, bubbling, but he was long dead. I cradled his lifeless body in my trembling arms, tears streaming down my face. The kitchen stank of rancid, burning flesh, and even in my petrified state I wondered how I had not heard him, for he must have screamed in agony. I thought, unwillingly, of him burning alive, the flesh melting from his bones, and I felt nausea rise within me. Up until I had laid eyes on my now-late fiancé, I had not fully believed my mother’s words. We were due to be married in two months’ time, we were supposed to be together, and my rashness, my selfish need to fix everything had ruined that; perhaps if I’d taken his call the night before seriously I would have thought twice about signing my name. Everything has a price, Jenna. Clauneck’s voice came to my mind, overpowering my attempts to drive his contact out. I asked you what you’d trade, so surely you must have known, you just didn’t care if it meant saving your mother. I knew you’d be in that café; I knew you’d say yes. “That’s not true!” I sobbed, my head splitting with pain. “I didn’t know!” You didn’t try to find out, all you cared about was the fact that you couldn’t bear to lose your mother; you didn’t even ask her if she wanted to live, and now look what you’ve done. You might have heard him screaming, you know, if I hadn’t torn out his vocal chords first. And then Clauneck’s voice was gone, leaving me sick and cold and horrified. “Brandon,” I screamed, over and over again. “No, wake up! Please, Brandon, wake up!” it was like a morbid stuck record, and I screamed until my throat was as raw as his flesh. That’s when I saw it, out the kitchen window. Almost in a trance, I rose to my feet and headed outside; I had offered him everything, so he had taken it. By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. The soft licks of heat lapping my face, melting the frost that clung to the world. I watched my neighbours, my friends and family, run from what threatened to devour them; I watched their attempts all be for nought, for the fire swallowed them up. My world burned before my very eyes, leaving in the fire’s wake a barren wasteland. By the time I stepped outside, my world had already been forsaken.


Deep in the dark forest was a crumbling old cottage. The wind howled in through the cracks in the frames like a pack of hungry Wolves. A tiny fire was the only warmth in the house and this barely gave out enough heat for the small living room, never mind the rest of the house. The rotten window frames and damaged tiles did nothing to help the bleak atmosphere.  The life and love had long since left the house; the crumbling exterior looked like a silhouette of a previous existence. “I’m fffreezing” Howard stammered, he was only eight years old and he was shaking so much his teeth were chattering. “Put on another jumper then. It`s not cold in here” his bossy stepmother Divina lied. She was wearing a long fur coat made from various dead animals and a frightening foxes head rested on her shoulders. It gave poor Howard nightmares.

“Come on Howard I'll help you find another jumper” his big sister Angela, who was thirteen put her arm around him and took him to the bedroom. “Can't you do something with these kids David?” Divina moaned, ”If we didn't have to feed and clothe them we could afford some repairs to this house”. Divina had plenty of money hidden away but she only wanted to spend it on herself. David was a weak and pathetic man. “I know my love, but we can't just throw them out into the forest. A few years and they'll be old enough to leave home.” The children returned with more layers on, poor Howard was looking like a sumo wrestler and moving stiffly because his clothing restrained him so much. “You two need to go and get some more wood for the fire”. Divina shouted irritated by their very presence, “Come with me and I'll show you where to look.” Her face twisted into a wicked grin.

Divina took the children along the dark path ,deep into the forest.  As they walked further in following the twisted, snaking path, the atmosphere appeared to change, becoming strangely eerie and foreboding. The air heavy and thick. Their feet crunched and cracked the lifeless branches which punctuated the silence then crumbled beneath him. The sky vanished completely underneath the rich overhanging canopy of the interwoven branches. The occasional scrabble of insects burrowing beneath the leafy carpet of tangled vegetation contrasted with the stillness of the forest. She stopped when she got to the large black and yellow sign on the barbed wire fence. It read

danger keep out. She pointed her long, bony finger. “You need to look for wood in there”. “But it says danger keep out”. Howard replied looking scared. “Don't be silly, that sign has been up for years, there's no danger anymore.” She looked around hoping that no one else heard her blatant lie. She lifted up the corner of the wire fence and there was a space small enough for a child to crawl through. “Off you go and don't come back until you've got enough firewood for a week.” “But, but … “Howard started. “But nothing! You need to earn your keep.” She pushed Howard with an almighty shove and he ended up under the fence. Angela followed him dutifully.

Divina barely got out of earshot before letting out a loud, evil cackle. The children struggled through the brambles and the overgrown bushes, both of them tore their clothing on the sharp thorns. “I want to go home.” Howard whined “Let's turn around.” “Divina and dad will be cross with us if we don't bring the firewood back and the house will be warmer if we get it, come on, keep going.” Angela urged.  After an hour of slow progress, they were both tired hungry. Angela stopped “I grabbed us some biscuits on the way out, let's sit down and eat them, get our energy back.”

They sat in silence and ate the biscuits quickly and hungrily. “Look over there!” Angela shouted excitedly,” I think I can see a light on, it must be a house”. “Where?” Howard stood on his tip toes.” I see it, I see it.” They both set off in the direction of the light, every step they took brought them closer to the light until finally they were at the gate. The warm glow of the kitchen was like a lighthouse calling them home from the rough seas.

Angela knocked boldly on the door using the weird brass knocker shaped like some sort of demon. She gave an involuntary shiver, while Howard stood shyly behind her. There was no answer. Angela knocked again. “I think it's open” she whispered .She turned the handle and the door opened. “Hello, is anyone home?” Angela shouted. No answer “Let's go in.” Angela suggested and timidly stepped over the threshold, down the neat hall and into the kitchen. The table was set for lunch with three steaming bowls of soup on the place-mats cooling. “I'm so hungry” moaned Howard. He sat down and tasted the hearty soup, within the minutes he had finished the lot. “This house is so warm and cozy and I'm so tired. Could we just rest here for a while?” Howard pleaded.  Angela looked at his tired little face and nodded. He went upstairs and opened the first bedroom door and went into it and sunk onto the bed. “This bed is too hard” he said and he got up quickly. He walked into the second bedroom sinking into the bed. “Aw this bed is perfect” he announced and promptly fell asleep. Angela sat quietly on the bed beside him, keeping watch and listening for the house occupier’s return.

The door slamming made Angela jump. She must have fallen asleep. “Quick Howard, wake up.” she whispered. They crept to the stairs and heard voices; one said “Someone's been eating our soup.” The second voice shouted “Come out wherever you are or we will banish you to kingdom come”. The third voice shouted “This is your last chance”. Angela stepped warily into the kitchen and nearly fainted in horror when she came face to face with three witches. The women were all very different in height, weight and shape, an odder looking bunch you would be hard pressed to find. “We're so sorry it was us, my brother was so hungry and tired he ate your soup.” She bowed her head in shame. “That soup was special soup with magical powers; it gives the person who eats it three wishes. You need to use them very carefully”. The three witches warned. “Now you'd better go home before its dark”.  Angela and Howard chatted excitedly as they left about what wishes they should ask for. Howard looked at all the brambles and the long way ahead and said loudly, ”I wish we were already home with lots of firewood”. There was a rumbling sound and a loud whoosh and the children were outside their door with one hundred logs of firewood at their feet. Divina heard them at the door. “What are you two doing back?” she hissed and spat at them, then noticed David behind her “Err so soon.”  She added “We've got the firewood”. David said pleased with himself “and two wishes”. “Two wishes” Divina repeated, “I don't believe you”. Which was ironic because she was the liar. “It’s true” Angela said.  Divina said “You're always saying you're cold, fix this house, make it warm and cozy” Howard closed his eyes and said his wish, “I wish this house could be warm and cozy and all repaired.” Suddenly the house changed, everything looked brand new, the fire burned brightly in the hearth and the room was cozy and warm. Divina`s eyes lit up. “So you have one more wish left, wish for ten bags of gold, no wait, a hundred bags of gold, no make me the most beautiful woman in the world . Wait, I need to think about this.”  Divina scratched her chin in thought. “But it's my wish” Howard whined Divina clipped his ear “Don't be so ungrateful I've always looked after you and you're not even my child”. Howard shouted “I wish you were gone” before putting his hand over his mouth. She disappeared in a puff of smoke. The house was cozy and warm, Divina had disappeared and they all lived happily ever after, except for Divina of course, but she didn't deserve to did she?