Danny came to see me today, Sara. You would have been proud. He was all dressed up in his Navy blues, his white cap and metal pins bright as ever. He seemed happy. Not as angry. I think you were right, as always. I think he's going to be ok.  I've become nostalgic in my old age, spending my days and nights reminiscing about you and others, remembering how it was all those years ago. I remember some of those wild nights in our youth, and it makes me chuckle. We were the worst, weren't we, the trees that make us groan now? How we changed, you and me. Each storm we weathered made us older, wiser, and ever stronger.

The first time I met you, I'll never forget it. I felt you were the most elegant sapling I had ever seen. Your very presence brought peace and joy. I am so thankful for my time with you. Grateful for sweet Mary and her apple. I still think of Mary. Her bright red coat and curly golden hair flapping in the breeze, and her cheeks rosy as anything. She sat next to me for a while, her parents just down the hill. She took an apple out of her pocket and munched away, her little hands tracing my roots through the dirt. The autumn air was cool, and she shivered a bit; I did my best to shelter her from the wind. As she laid her head against me, I rocked a little, and as she nodded off, I hummed a little lullaby: Sleep, my child, sleep Your father tends the sheep, Your mother shakes the apple tree, As falls down a dream for thee Sleep, my child, sleep I remember when she woke, enjoying a sense of purpose fulfilled, as if the universe had sent me here for this one moment, to be a resting place for this sweet little girl. I watched her walk back down the hill to her parents and then drive away. It was the first time I remember wishing I could move, that my roots would pull themselves up and bring me along wherever little Mary went. Under the stars, I made a wish. Since the universe had not given me legs, I wished that it would send me someone to love who would stay with me forever. What I didn't realize was that my wish had already been answered. Only a few feet away, Mary had dropped her apple core, and you were on your way.

I remember the first spring you bloomed, my Sara. You were radiant, veiled in white. Your slender branches reached for the sky, and your sweet smell filled the air. You enraptured me immediately, and I recognized I would never love another. Your kindness and gentle spirit comforted me often, and it was my pride to shelter you from the harshest storms. As we grew together, our roots and branches intertwined, and we were forever inseparable.

It was autumn, though, which one I can't remember when sweet little Mary returned. She had grown into a young woman, her blond hair and hazel eyes beautiful as ever. It shocked me to see her after so many years and I was elated that she remembered me. She smiled and remarked at how strong I looked and then turned to admire you. She found your beauty as remarkable as I had and told us what a lovely couple we made. Before she left, she pulled out a paper and pencil and drew the two of us, standing tall, together and proud. When she finished, she smiled and left, a hint of mischief in her eyes. Had she told us her plans at that moment, we would have laughed in disbelief while hoping they would come true.

Mary visited a few times that summer and brought an easel and paints with her, sitting for hours, painting our curves, knots, beauty, and roughness. She captured our essence, our fears, and our hopes. It seemed as if she appreciated us better than anyone. As she painted, she would talk, telling us her own dreams for the future, confiding in us her deepest secrets. Mary had been nervous, leaving her home to attend college, and it had been her first week away when she had come back to us. She had been contemplating leaving the school and returning home when she found us again. She said we had been a comfort to her, made her feel less alone, and she had stayed on. Every day, she packed up her paints and thanked us.

It was not long before Mary had brought with her a friend. A boy, he seemed the same age as her and was as handsome as she was pretty. His dark hair and dark eyes gave him a look of sophistication. He'd lay back on the grass and recite poetry as Mary painted. They seemed happy as they kissed and caressed, losing themselves in each other's eyes and falling asleep in the afternoon heat. We were delighted to shade them and make beds with our leaves. We called songbirds to sing for them, and your delicious apples filled their bellies. It was a wonderful time.

The winter snows fell, and Mary returned, painting our bare branches in dark blacks and browns. We noticed something was wrong. Her smile disappeared, and I thought I could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes. This continued for weeks as Christmas passed and Mary returned home. It was May before she returned. Her face was a mess as tears fell to the ground. Her sobs broke our hearts as she cried in our arms. He'd left her, she said, for another prettier girl. We both were aghast and remarked at this boy's stupid act, for no one on earth was prettier than our Mary. It was the second time I wished I could walk. I wanted with all my might to charge down our hill and find the boy and show him the pain he'd caused our girl. But you, my darling, cooled my rage and reminded me of our duty. So as Mary laid her head down and wept, we rocked in the wind. Her eyes drooped closed, and as she fell asleep, we sang together our lullaby:

Sleep, my child, sleep Your father tends the sheep, Your mother shakes the apple tree, As falls down a dream for thee Sleep, my child, sleep

Another year had passed when Mary told us she was leaving. She would finish her schooling across the country, and though we were sad to see her go, we were so proud of her. If I could cry, I tell you, I would have caused a flood. Before she left, she knelt and buried something in the dirt around my roots, a little box with one of her paintings folded up inside. She stood and wrapped her hands around me and whispered thank you. We knew no matter where our Mary went, she would remember us, and we would never forget her.

Four winters came and passed as we grew older and observed the world go on. We enjoyed the peace of our little hill, tucked away from the growing world around us. But a part of me, and I suspect of you, felt empty. Something was missing, and while we both recognized it without saying it, we considered it impossible she'd ever return. But this separation didn't last, as Mary returned with a surprise. She carried with her a small child, a boy dressed in blue. His dirty blond hair and rosy cheeks made us smile, and he giggled as he ran circles between us. Mary smiled, and I knew she had something in mind. Her eyes twinkled with hope and joy.

Soon builders came, and for a while, our peace was gone. But we couldn't have been happier. The house was small but perfect for two. And the last thing she did was to hang a small swing between us. I lifted one rope as you raised the other, and together we made it a special spot. Most afternoons, Danny would swing for hours, and we felt whole once more to bring a child joy again. It was the missing piece. As Danny grew, our strength remained, his legs reaching higher and higher with each passing year. And some nights, the clear ones, when all the stars came out, Mary would visit us, holding her son in her arms, and we'd rock them and sing our little song. As Danny grew, his time with us dwindled. We knew he wouldn't stay forever, but a tree can still hope. From our hill, we saw him leave every morning for school. Even when he'd forgotten about us, we still learned what he was up to. His mother told us every day. She'd begun painting again, and under our shade, she told us all about him. She loved him, of course, but she was worried. His friends weren't the best, and he'd stopped listening to her long ago. He wasn't like her, she said; he's no interest in art. Even though she didn't say it, I noticed this hurt her the most. He wants to join the Navy, she told us, spend his days on the water, far away from here. We were sad for her and for Danny and for ourselves. We had tried our best and given as much joy as possible, but sometimes a child needs to find it on their own.

Soon Danny was gone, and the place was grayer. The laughter was missing, and I felt hollow. Of course, Mary remained and kept with her work, but her painting had lost some of its colors. Our limbs, now old, had drooped, and we saw our strength lessen with each stormy gale. We kept up our spirits, though, for the sake of Mary. I wish now that I'd recognized the toll it took on you.

The first thing we caught was how thin her hair was. I saw in her face something was wrong. Her visits grew less frequent, and we followed as doctor after doctor visited the house. I wish we had known. The last day she would come. What we would have said or done. We knew it was the end when Danny returned. The house grew silent, and the sky incredibly gray. The rain fell, and the wind howled. We watched the light in her bedroom window and waited.

Around 3 o'clock in the morning, my worst fears came true. I'd dozed off for a moment, as you told me you'd keep watch. I heard a great gust of wind, and a crack split the air. I watched in helpless horror as you fell to the ground, your graceful limbs snapping and cracking. I couldn't imagine how it had happened until I looked back at the house and realized the light had turned off. I knew it then that your heart had broken, and I wanted nothing more than to join you. You were gone, both of you.

Danny exploded from the house, ignoring the chilly rain stinging his face. I watched him climb the hill and stand looking at the mangled mess of wood and rope that had been his mother's swing. He screamed in anger and kicked at me. I screamed in rage and shook my limbs at the sky. We were in pain. Our loves had left us forever. After a while, he fell to his knees and put his back up against me. The rain continued. But neither of us cared much. I guess at that moment, we both wanted to die. He fell asleep there, and through my tears, I recognized my duty wasn't over, so I wept as I sang our lullaby once more: Sleep, my child, sleep Your father tends the sheep, Your mother shakes the apple tree, As falls down a dream for thee Sleep, my child, sleep

We were both meant to carry on, it seems. A week later, Danny had Mary buried just next to me. It was the most tremendous honor of my life to be chosen to mark her last resting place. They had taken you away, piece by piece. With each cut, I wanted to scream. When they brought Mary to me, they lay her in a casket, and I shook with tears. There lay Mary, our beautiful Mary, in a beautiful applewood coffin. I knew your lovely fragrance and cried and cried, knowing the three of us would be together forever. As they dug her a grave, a little box emerged from the dirt. Danny opened it, and inside was the folded painting Mary had left all those years ago. Mary and a child were sitting beneath a great hickory tree and a beautiful apple tree in the picture.

Danny came to see me today, Sara. You would have been proud. He was all dressed up in his Navy blues, his white cap and metal pins bright as ever. It's been twenty years since that night. I've grown old and weary and even droopier, but I'm still standing, watching over the two of you. Danny told us he'd settled down, got two kids of his own now. Said he was looking to move somewhere quiet. The house is tattered. No one else ever moved in. I think Danny could make it a beautiful home again. He seemed happy. Not as angry. I think you were right, as always. I think he's going to be ok. I think we both are.


My stomach turned as I grabbed a piece of paper from the tall stack on my desk. This is one of my last chances, I thought. Please, please, please don’t mess this up. And I understand if you’ll get mad at me if I can’t do this, I added, looking up at the sky. I glanced at the digital clock by my nightstand- it was 9:53. Just two hours and seven minutes to make things right. Or at least, make things a little right. I grabbed my pencil and drew two pupils. They look around the same distance from each other, I thought, relaxing a bit. That’s one of the parts where I mess up the most. I took out my box of colored pencils - the 100-pencil one - and selected a warm shade of brown to fill in the irises I had just sketched around the black dots I had started with. I drew the outline of the eye next. Good. I still haven’t screwed up. “Rory!” Mom called, knocking on my door. “Rory, it’s time for the East Coast new year! Come down to the TV!” I looked at my clock again- 9:58. She was right. Soon the ball drop in Times Square would happen, and we all had to celebrate it even though it wasn’t even on Mountain Time because April was too young to stay up until midnight. “Can I pass this year? I might be down in time for our own countdown- maybe even Central time.” I crossed my fingers, hoping Mom would let me keep drawing. And, of course, she replied with a quick “no.”

I knew there was no point arguing with Mom, so I just stomped past her and down the stairs. The countdown had just started- 53 seconds left until we could see a bunch of strangers in New York start partying. Woo hoo, I thought, slamming my face against the back of our white couch. Please be done soon so I can get back to my drawing. I’d been working on this for 364 days, and I only had two hours left to finally get it. I didn’t want anything to interfere with my precious window of time- especially anything this lame. Celebrating my own time zone was one thing, but this? Also, if we were going to do something April could stay up for, why couldn’t we do, like, the Indian time zone when it was 10 in the morning? “Happy New Year!”

I quickly spun around and sure enough, the ball on TV had hit the ground. “Can I go now?” I immediately asked, and when Mom nodded I raced upstairs. I finished the nose, the lips and the outline of the oval-shaped head, and then I colored in the olive-toned skin. The black hair was next, and as soon as I finished the precise waves… Come on! I thought, putting the paper aside. I didn’t get the part in the right place. It was still 10:23- I probably had enough time. I snatched a new sheet to draw on, and I made sure to take it slow while still going reasonably fast. You can’t speed up when you’re drawing- or at least not when it’s something as important as this. Soon I had the eyes done, and then the nose, and- Ugh. The color of the cheeks was not realistic. I was tempted to erase them, but that wouldn’t be respectful. In the last conversation I had with her, Angelica told me to never do that. Everything mattered- nothing had to be erased from a simple flaw. Nothing had to be thrown away, or crinkled up. You should be able to see your mistakes, to remember them. That way they would be harder to repeat. Then everything went wrong that afternoon, and part of me wishes I could erase that, too, even though she wouldn’t be back. But, once again, I needed to see my mistakes. I had only been drawing for a few months back then, but Angelica said I was a natural. She said that if I tried, I could draw her so realistically she’d want to keep the drawing forever. I took that as a challenge and spent a few hours working on it, but it was too hard. Angelica’s expectations were too high. I thought I could draw someone so beautiful, but it turned out I couldn’t. It was 10:45 now- just an hour and 15 minutes to make it up to her. I needed to work fast. Grabbing a piece of paper, I sketched her face. Her hair. Her neck, and the jewelry wrapped around it. Her shoulders. Her arms. It was 11:30- I might have taken it too slow. And the next thing to do was her hands, the part I struggled with most. The farthest I’ve ever gotten into drawing her. I wanted to rush this, so that I would have more time for the torso and the legs. But I knew I would mess up. So I took it sloooooowly, and even though it took me a full minute just to do her left thumb, it came out all right. Same with her pointer finger. And her middle finger.

It took me seven minutes just to do a hand. This would be close. I switched to the other hand, and I did the pinky. The ring finger. The middle finger. The pointer finger. The… “Come ON!” I yelled. The thumb was all wrong, and the clock read 11:50. No way was I going to do this in time. I’m so sorry, I thought. Sorry I couldn’t do this for you. Tears welled up in my eyes as I headed for the door. Then another thing Angelica had told me surfaced in my mind.

Never give up. I grabbed a sheet of paper and drew her head shape. It was oval-like, but it wasn’t that exact. I put in two eyes with irises that were way too huge too close to the top of her forehead, and her nose was really far down. Her lips weren’t big enough. Her hair was too thick and too black. Her shoulders were too wide. Her jewelry was missing. Her arms were too short. Her legs were too long. Her hands only had four fingers each. But even with all of those changes, I could still tell it was Angelica. It didn't need to be perfect. I didn't have to include everything. I'm sure Angelica still would've kept it forever. Going across the highway to get ice cream was the worst idea of my life, and I would probably never make a worse one. We weren’t allowed to cross roads that busy back then, and Angelica didn’t think it was the best thing to do. And it was her who got hit by a car. I’ve been trying to make it up to her ever since. And this was the best I could do. I raced downstairs and bolted outside, releasing my drawing and letting the wind blow it away. I had met my goal. That’s when I heard it. Fireworks. The new year had just started. And it looked like this would be the best one yet.


Begin Log 1: Well um, I don't really know why I'm doing this though here I am. But this is what he told me to do for a while, I think he said it was to remember the plan or something? I don't know, my memory is terrible. I don't even remember the plan, to be honest...I think that's why he decided to do all this so I check up on everything. I guess he knows that my memory is terrible as well, but that's beside the point. It's been about...um...I think two or so weeks since the whole thing had happened. He never explained exactly everything to me, but he gave me the basics of what happened. Why would someone do any of that? I remember a part of the plan that he had told me, but um, I don't really think that it'll work... End log ~~~ Begin Log 2: Hello there, it's Ash. I know someone may be listening to these tapes now and wanting to understand what's going on. The person that you heard in the last Log was another one of my friends, Calla. I'm not exactly sure who would be listening to any of this though, maybe we actually got her and handed the tapes over to the Police? If so, Hah! I told you I wasn't lying about what she did. Uh...anyway, our plan is going to happen real soon, I've actually seen her at the school and other places since it happened. I bet she thinks that we don't know, maybe she'll come then. It's been a few weeks since it happened though...I don't understand why she had decided to get rid of Vivian. Maybe we could get her to confess once we get her. End Log ~~~ Begin Log 3: Uh, Hello there again. I don't really understand why he's making the both of us do this, why couldn't he just explain to me in person? I'm sure he could have written it down as well, but I guess that's not important right now. I never actually met...her, but I did end up meeting Vivian a little while before her death. She seemed alright but I guess I could see why some people didn't like her. She uh...was like a cliche popular girl. I had gone around the school and other places to see what people thought about her, someone else said that not me. I believe the exact words were "She's like a cliche popular girl or something, does everything need to have one?" Well um, I guess I could sort of agree with that person in a way. But anyway, he told me a little while ago that the plan was getting closer and that I needed to be ready. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do, what if something bad happens? End Log ~~~ Begin Log 4: I was finally able to actually come up with what exactly the plan would be, it took me a while but I finally managed to do it. We're inviting some of my friends along with some of Calla's friends to my place. I didn't want to invite just Ivy, because then I think she'd start to get a bit suspicious and then leave. Who knows what would happen if she escaped? Uh, probably something terrible to be honest. I don't want her killing anyone else. While the "Cookie Exchange" or whatever it's called would be happening downstairs, I plan to bring her upstairs with me while Calla calls the Cops. I'll make sure to lock the doors or something, that way we don't lose her before the cops get there. Who knows though, maybe I could even get a recording of her confessing so that there's a lot more proof for it. I don't understand why nobody was believing me at first... End Log ~~~ Begin Log 5: Can I be completely honest with you? I can't tell Ash about it and I hope he doesn't listen to this tape, so uh...yeah. Anyway, It's just kind of about this whole plan he has. While his plan seems really good and I do kind of think that she would show up, after all, she seems to think that we don't know what she did. She's even been hanging out with us at the school sometimes. I have a feeling though that uh...that she uh...what was I gonna say again? Damn it, right when I was getting to the important part of this stupid thing. End Log ~~~ Begin Log 6: Sorry about that to anyone who has this at the moment, though I guess the good news is that I actually remembered the stuff now. Anyway, as I was saying...Ivy might just find a way out to escape. She had somehow managed to escape Ash's place after killing her quite quickly, at least that's what he told me. He never got a glance of her leaving or anything like that, maybe it was because you were inside and doing a lot of things, Ash. Though either way, she's still probably a bit smart and could possibly find her way out before the cops would get here. What if she gets rid of me and Ash and then jumps out the window? What if she has to go to the bathroom and goes down the toilet somehow? There's a lot of things that could happen...oh gosh I don't wanna die. End Log ~~~ Begin Log 7: I'm keeping this one short and simple I guess, the Cookie Exchange is going to happen in a couple of hours. All of the guests have agreed to come and they're also going to be helping. The good news about this is that Ivy is going to come as well a bit earlier than the rest. She sent me a text this morning saying, "Sure! I think it would be fun, and we haven't done anything together in a while." There's probably going to be a final log from me or Calla after the whole thing is over, I'm not sure exactly what we'll do after we get her. Maybe just relax for a while, I think we deserve it. Or maybe a Log from her actually... End Log ~~~ Begin Log 8: Damn it, neither of you have to do any of this you know! You could just let me go free and not call the cops or anything like that, it could be our little secret. How does that sound? Oh really, You want me to say it? Damn it. Fine, you all want to hear it? I killed that idiotic popular girl a few weeks ago. She really deserved it. I don't regret anything of what I did that day you, idiot, like I said she deserved it and I don't care what happens. I was able to get my sweet- End Log


It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark.

*** Two ghostly men walked side by side, the powdery flakes passing through their luminous heads and shoulders before settling on the path. Their feet left no prints as they went.

“I like the cold and snow,” one man, whose name was Jack, said to the other, “makes a good setting, but I hate the word ‘terribly.’ We’ve got to change that.” “Fine, fine Mr. London,” the other man, Hans, said with a thick Danish accent, “then what would you suggest?”

*** Day had broken cold and gray, exceedingly cold and gray, when the man turned aside from the main Yukon trail and climbed the high earth- bank, where a dim and little-traveled trail led eastward through the fat spruce timberland. *** “My goodness,” Hans exclaimed, “all of that in one opening sentence? And how is the word ‘exceedingly’ any better than ‘terribly?’ I also notice you have decided for us already that we are in the forest and our character is a man. I did not agree to that.” “Alright,” Jack said, “Fair enough, I guess we should determine where this is going to happen and who we are going to do it too before we really get started.” “And what do you mean by ‘do it?’” “We both know that at the end of our cold and snowy story we are gonna have to kill somebody.” Hans paused in the snow and gave Jack a scandalized look, “I will not kill anyone.” “Don’t give me that. We both know you killed the little matchstick girl. Sure you might have made it look nice the way she went to be with grandma and God, but you’re the storyteller, so it’s still your fault she died.”

“‘Killed’ seems like an indelicate way of saying it, but your point is taken.” Hans cleared his throat abruptly and continued walking. “As for character, I would, of course, prefer a young girl, but it seems you would prefer a man. Shall we compromise and make it a boy, not too young, but not too old either?” “Sure. But he’s got to have some proper cold weather gear. I don’t want anything to do with barefoot nonsense. No one is going anywhere in the snow barefooted.” “I seem to remember your yukon man had issues with freezing feet.” “Getting your feet soaked is entirely different then running around with nothing on them.” “Very well then.” Hans cleared his throat again. On the path in front of them a boy appeared. He looked to be about 12 years old. The snow settled in the curly brown locks on his head. An oversized coat hung heavily on his shoulders, and his feet were wrapped in rags bound with strips of leather. He stood shivering while both men inspected him, though it was clear the boy could not see or hear them. “I think he could be a very sympathetic creature,” Hans said, nodding in approval. Jack bent down and looked into the boy’s eyes. “There’s some foolishness in there too. And see how he tied those leather thongs?” Jack pointed, “Those knots will be hard to undo. We can make something out of that, can’t we?” “Yes, yes, if you like. Now, where should we put him?” “You know I’m partial to the wilderness; somewhere we can really get this kid alone and find out what he is made of before we do him in.” “But wouldn’t it be that much more compelling if he felt alone even though he was surrounded by a city full of people?” “Another compromise then,” Jack sighed, “How about we put him in a country village?” Hans nodded in agreement and a village sprung up around the boy. The path became a cobbled street lined by thatched roofs piled with thick snow. Long jagged icicles hung in front of warm glowing windows and wind gusted down the alleyways. The boy shrugged the coat up around his face to protect it from the stinging flakes. “Now we are getting somewhere,” Jack said, rubbing his hands together. *** The boy was a new-comer in the village, just as he had been a new-comer in the last village and in the village before that. The trouble with him was that he was without imagination. He was quick and alert in the things of life, but only in the things and not in the significances. The villages were only places for taking what food he could find and what shelter he was allowed before being run off. That there should be anything more to it than that was a thought that never entered his head—

*** “No, no, no,” Hans said as the boy skulked up to a shop window and peered in with pilfering intent, “a boy this unpleasant will deserve anything we do to him. No one will care. We need more sympathy.” Jack grunted and motioned that Hans should go to work. *** No one had spared anything for the boy to eat the whole day, nor had any one given him even a penny. Shivering with cold and hunger, he crept along; poor little child, he looked the picture of misery. In a corner, between two houses, one of which projected beyond the other, he sank down and huddled himself together. He was so cold, he thought for a moment about returning to his father’s house so many villages back. At least there the walls had blocked the wind. But no, even the winter's blast was better than the beatings. *** Jack rolled his eyes and trudged over to the corner where the boy sat with his arms wrapped around his knees. “I’m all for a little foolishness, but sitting here like this is just pathetic. What are we supposed to do with him now? Might as well just let his fairy godmother show up and carry him away.” Hans cleared his throat, “I think we should see what happens if we let him try and warm himself. There’s a bundle of matches in his pocket.” “Alright, but I’m not going to make it easy.” “Of course not.” Hans agreed. *** The boy knew he wouldn’t last long sitting down, not in cold like this. The old tramp a few towns back had told him that so long as he walked four miles an hour, his blood would pump, willy-nilly, to the surface; but now he felt it ebbing away and sinking down into the recesses of his body. His nose and cheeks were already freezing, while the skin of all his body chilled as it lost its blood— *** “Eh hem,” Hans cleared his throat, “I think we already understand he is cold.” “But we’ve got to make it clear just how cold. I haven’t even got to how many degrees of frost it is yet.” “We ought to get to the fire. The striking of matches has a nice sensory impact that I think will help our story here. Everyone enjoys imagining the satisfying ‘ schlick ’ of the dragging match head and the mesmerizing life-like quality of a dancing little flame, don’t you think?” “Ok. Have at it if you think you can do it better. But don’t make it easy. None of these ‘one-match-feels-like-a-whole-pot-bellied-stove’ gimmicks.” ***

He pulled his bare hands from the sleeves of his coat— *** “I thought we agreed he would have sensible winter gear.” “Well, he has his shoes doesn’t he? He lost his mittens when being chased by—” “Alright, alright, just get to the fire.” *** His little hands were almost frozen with the cold. Ah! Perhaps a burning match might be some good, if he could draw it from the bundle and strike it against the wall, just to warm his fingers. He drew one out--scratch!--how it sputtered as it burnt! It gave a warm, bright light, and he held it to the little stack of twigs he made—” *** “Pfffffft.” “Excuse me?” “A little stack of twigs? I thought we were going to make this difficult, and here you go just throwing in an easy stack of twigs. How did he get the twigs? How did he grab them with freezing hands? How did he prepare the bed for his fire in the snow? If this kid is gonna die, we’ve got to make a good strong case for it.”

“Well, how is he going to die?” “I think it should have something to do with the way he tied his foot gear. It will show his death was his own fault you know? Like, if he had done it the way the old tramp had told him, then he would have been alright.” Hans cleared his throat, “That’s interesting I suppose.” “You suppose?” “It's just that I don’t think his death should be his fault. It should be tragic, but also peaceful and a little bit magical.” “No, absolutely not. I draw the line there. We can’t be having magic in a story about someone dying from hypothermia, and it especially can’t be the magic’s fault he died. If anything (and that would be a big if) the only thing resembling magic would be his dog somehow figuring out how to get the fire going.” “There is no dog in this story.” “There isn’t? Shoot. We have to start all over.” Hans cleared his throat. “Very well. But if we do, can we try it with a little girl instead?” “Fine. But she’ll have to have mittens and boots and a dog that is actually smarter than her.” “You know, I don’t have a problem with talking animals at all.” “Knock it off. You don’t have to talk to be smart. Instinct. That's real intelligence.” The two ghostly men argued as they continued down the path. Around them the village began to disappear. In a dematerializing corner where two houses met, the outline of a little boy with frozen fingers slowly faded—first his heavy coat, then his ragged boots, then his brown curly hair—till there was nothing left but snow as white as empty paper.


I forgot to tell him. I forgot to tell him that the night sky is too dark when he’s not holding me. I forgot to tell him that I don’t know how to breathe without him. I forgot to tell him he is the sun. I forgot to tell him. Staring out the window, there was nothing but darkness, grief and the smell of sickness. The reflection of nurses hurrying past the reflection of parked cars in the lot down below. The waiting room. The fucking waiting room. It had been 9 hours; what could possibly be happening back there? WHAT IF HE'S DEAD. It doesn’t feel like 2am, but the light is always artificial anyway. The parking lot outside is much quieter than during the day, and there is too much silence in the hallways. Footsteps and whispering. The sound of clattering clipboards. I guess it’s good if it’s quiet - I mean, no emergencies, but… no. I can barely remember the time before this, when we weren’t at the hospital at least once each week. I know it must have happened because I know we both used to be alive. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Seven months ago, he collapsed. I was sautéing yellow onions and yellow bell peppers in a yellow room. A Latin song was playing on the Google mini. It was raining outside. He grabbed me by my waist from behind and spun me to face him. He started swaying us both back and forth. I remember thinking how my body always melded into his. The way I wished it had been with so many other men, but never believed in. But he was… Then his face turned white. His eyes glazed over. He slacked for half a moment, then tried to lean on me for half another, and then his eyes rolled back and he fell to the ground. He was wearing a purple v-neck t-shirt that day. And his favorite jeans. I’ve always loved his legs. The doctors at first thought it was a cardiac episode. But then they did a CT and an MRI. After, a nurse who looked alarmed took several samples of his blood. He looked okay... except the hospital gown and the bracelet and the IV and the monitors. He laughed at me and told me I looked too worried, running his free hand gently down my left cheek. He made a joke about how it was probably just my bad cooking that landed him in here. But it wasn’t. The morning after he collapsed, an oncologist came in. The moment the nurse said the word - ONCOLOGIST - I knew the white noise outside the windows wasn’t rain. It was the rattling hiss of death, mimicking lungs that can no longer take in air freely. It was coming for us. After, the only words I heard:

CARCINOMA METASTASIZED IMMEDIATE TREATMENT STAGE 3, and then I collapsed. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Barely listening to calls and announcements over the PA system, barely smelling the sour coffee sat on the nurses' desk, barely breathing on my own, I can’t stop thinking about the day we had to shave his head. He laughed and said he’d look better this way anyhow. Lex Luthor vibes, he said. But when we accidentally locked eyes in the mirror, me stood above and behind him, him sat in a dining chair we always brought to the bathroom when I’d cut his hair before all this, we almost fell apart. I watched his eyes turn shiny and wet. I felt myself tense up to swallow the wail that had been sat in my stomach since that Tuesday morning 6 weeks before when they’d told us he had kidney cancer. Turns out kidney cancer is really fuckin’ quiet. It has almost no symptoms in its early stages, while it’s invading the blood. And now we were too late. Bones. Stomache. Brain. Liver. And now we were too late. At night, when I can’t sleep, he puts his arms around me and whispers in my ear -

WE WOULD HAVE ALWAYS BEEN TOO LATE. My eyes are always wet now. But he only cried that one time. In the bathroom, his head half-shaved, looking at me looking at him and holding my hand against his face. Just that one time. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In June we had made it a full month past his initial prognosis. But things were starting to change. Sometimes he couldn’t remember things. Once it was how to tie his shoes. Then it was forgetting to turn off burners on the stove. Then, one day, there was half a moment in the kitchen at breakfast when he lost me. I saw it. I saw him forget who I was and then I saw him recognize me again. That was the day we made the pact. We promised each other that every day, no matter what, we would tell each other who we were to each other and how we were so in love. So he wouldn’t lose us completely, and so I wouldn’t lose myself as I watched him leave his body, ever so slowly. Later that week, he vomited blood for the first time. Later that month, he had a seizure. He was wearing a gown and a bracelet that day. He had fainted the night before, so we were already in the hospital. We’re always in a hospital. An alarm down the hall shakes me out of my memories and I turn my head to make sure it’s not from his room. It isn’t. I look back to the window, and now all I see is an exhausted, grieving woman with unkempt hair and no makeup. She looks bereaved. She looks lonely. But he isn’t even gone yet. But he might be. And I forgot to tell him. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Last month, we got the hospice bed. He’d lived two months past his initial prognosis. No one knew why. Watching uniforms I didn’t know place a death bed in my living room and lift him from his wheelchair and into the bed, I lost it. He looked at me, pleading with me not to spiral. But I couldn’t not spiral. I couldn’t look at the bed. I couldn’t look back at him. I cried in the bathroom, slumped against a blue wall. Remembering what he looked like in my favorite of his blue jeans, back when he could still walk. Dabbing my eyes at the edges with a blue towel. I sniffled, fixed my hair and walked back out. He was lain in the bed, watching Tik Tok on his phone, laughing. He looked up at me, set his phone down and said nothing, never breaking eye contact. I overflowed - burst the way a dam would. Sobbing, I ran to him and threw myself next to him on the hospice bed. He put his arms around me and tried to quell my heaving. And he told me. I was the love of his life. His best friend. He never knew he could be this happy. He would love me forever. FOREVER. I slept in the hospice bed with him every night, curled up next to his body, which became just a little bit colder, a little bit bonier, a little bit less, each night. I slept in the hospice bed with him, every night until this night. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- They didn't let me see him after the ER. He was barely present when they took him. He looked like a painting. He looked like a ghost. White sheet, white face, white room, white coats. There was no color left in his face. I knew when they took him that there was no color left in my life... I forgot to tell him. He won’t remember unless I tell him. He hasn’t remembered in weeks. He hasn’t eaten in weeks. He hasn’t walked in weeks. But he has never forgotten to tell me. Not once. Even the days where he’s not sure who either of us are at all. And I am snapped back out of my thoughts again by a coat and a clipboard asking for my name. The voice of the coat and the clipboard tells me it’s very sorry, but -

THERE WAS NOTHING WE COULD DO. And then the wail finally came. I heard a woman making an unholy, un-human sound. It pervaded the hallways, the rooms, the building itself. It surrounded me. And when I realized it was me, I stopped. Abruptly. There was nothing. I was nothing. I forgot to tell him. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CANCER EATS EVERYTHING.


April 4, 2020 I finally made it to Aunt Sasha’s house. I’m so glad I made it off the cruise ship- it felt like we weren’t ever going to get out of there.

It is so nice to see Evan again. He is doing well, cute as ever. He doesn’t like online schooling and I don’t blame him. He doesn’t seem as energetic as he was last time I visited. I think the isolation is really affecting him, which is crappy to say about a five year old. Aunt Sasha and Uncle Matias are doing okay, considering their situation. It’s really nice being back here. I love this family and I’m so grateful I can stay with them until I get settled and figure out a plan. I don’t know where I’d be if I wasn’t here right now. They are amazing. I’m staying in the basement/guest bedroom, of course. I’m writing from in bed right now. I still don’t like sleeping down here. No matter how much time passes, I still feel scared when I turn off the lights to go to bed. Jeez, I sound like Evan- scared of the dark like a five year old. Ha. Time to put on my big girl pants and go to bed. Good night! And cheers to the first night off the boat- phew! April 7, 2020 It’s been a crazy couple of days. Lots of adapting and adjusting. Uncle Matias is working double-time at the hospital; I rarely see him. Aunt Sasha is pretty stressed out, with working from home, taking care of Evan and trying to keep the house afloat. I’ve been doing my best to help out. I mostly watch Evan, which Aunt Sasha is grateful for. He loves me and we have a good time. He sticks by my side, except when I go down to the basement. He won’t go down there. His playroom is there, opposite of my room, but he refuses.  He won’t go downstairs without Aunt Sasha. I haven’t been sleeping well. To be fair though, I’ve never slept well in this room. It has always given me the creeps, especially at night. It feels like somebody is watching me. Two nights ago I could have sworn I felt something watching me from the closet after I turned the lights out. I wanted to run and hide under the covers of the bed but I made myself walk. It’s not real and I have no reason to be scared. I just have an overactive imagination- everybody says so. Though I swear I had closed the closet door before I went to bed. I’m sure it’ll be fine. And I’ll check the hinges on the closet door tomorrow. Til later. April 10, 2020 Things are going okay. Uncle Matias is home for good, the hospital is finally giving him a break. Aunt Sasha is less stressed out- she is so happy to have him back and healthy and safe. Evan is doing fine. But yesterday he told me something hella creepy. He asked if I had seen the tall man downstairs. I had gone downstairs to grab my laptop, and he asked me when I came back up. I was startled, and told him no, I hadn’t seen a tall man downstairs. He dropped it and snuggled up next to me as we watched Finding Nemo . The thing is, I think I have seen somebody downstairs, at night. It’s that feeling of being watched, constantly. Sometimes I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and the closet door will be open, even though I fixed the hinges and closed the door. I see him watching me from the closet. A tall man, with a broad rimmed hat and an evil smile, barely visible in the dark, hovering and watching. I force myself to shine my phone light in the closet, which of course, shows that nobody is there, just darkness. But when I lay back down, it feels like he’s still there, watching me, waiting.  It’s been hard for me to sleep. I slept with the light on last night. It’s hard to fall asleep with the light on but when it’s on I don’t imagine gaunt men with hats and evil smiles staring at me from the closet. Ugh. Overactive imagination. This is why I don’t watch horror films. Maybe I should cut the Stephen King books too. Good night- til later. April 13, 2020 Evan has gone a bit crazy. He seems to think I’m in danger and doesn’t like me sleeping downstairs. He tells me he doesn’t want me to go to sleep, and he wants me to sleep with him. I asked him why he is scared, what he thinks will happen. This kid. He said he was scared that Tall Man was going to take me away and he would never see me again. That Tall Man would steal me into the closet and hurt me. I stiffened immediately and he felt it. He looked at me and started crying. He knew I had seen Tall Man, and that he was right. Aunt Sasha rushed in. I gave him a hug and carried him to his mom. She came to find me after he settled down. She explained that the Tall Man comes from a night terror he had when he was younger. She had put him down for a nap in the guest room, where I am staying now. A few minutes later she heard him screaming and ran into the room. She found Evan crying inside the closet. He had bruises on his arms and a scratch on his face. Evan told her a tall, mean man tried to pull him into the closet. Aunt Sasha chalked it up to a night terror and Evan stopped playing in the basement.

That’s the news of the day. I won’t lie. I’m freaked out. Hearing things like that does something to your brain, you know? Logically I know that there is no man that comes from the closet. But emotionally, I am terrified. I am writing this now and I can feel him staring at me. He is waiting for the light to turn off. When I turn off the light, the closet door will open and I’ll see the brim of his hat and his skeletal fingers on the doorknob. I’ll close my eyes thinking I’m imagining it but when I open them, instead of him being gone, he is standing at the foot of my bed, watching me. I’m sleeping with the light on tonight. April 15, 2020 I think I’m going crazy. I haven’t been sleeping and I’ve been too scared to try to sleep with the light off. Evan screams bloody murder if I go down to the basement while he is awake. If he catches me coming up from the basement, he cries. I feel that way too, kid. I don’t know what to do. The seeing things in the dark, this paralyzing fear- it is easy to say it is all in my head when it is the middle of the day, but at night, turning off the lights and walking with my back to that closet, feeling like somebody is reaching for me the whole time- I don’t have the courage for that. It is fucking terrifying. It just… it can’t be real. That’s all. It can’t. Evan had a nightmare, and I must have heard about it last year. And now my anxiety is expressing itself through creating this imaginary monster based on Evan’s dream. It’s just a terrible coping mechanism for my stress. That’s all. I got this. Just a stressed, royally screwed up imagination. I need to figure out something though. I can’t sleep with the lights on and I’m scared to sleep with the lights off. I’ll figure out something, but not tonight. Tonight the lights are staying on. April 17, 2020 I tried sleeping with the lights off last night. I prayed first. I don’t pray. But I hadn’t tried it yet, so I figured it might help. It might make me feel safer. I fell asleep for a while- before waking up to goose bumps on my skin and seeing him next to my bed, reaching for my leg. I stifled a scream and forced my eyes open to stare directly where he was. The longer I stared, the less I saw him and the more I saw the closet. Which was wide open. I definitely shut the door before turning off the lights. My heart wouldn’t calm down. I could feel the blood pumping through my chest and in my neck. I couldn’t fall back asleep for the rest of the night- and I turned the lights back on. April 18, 2020 I’m crazy. I just woke up to somebody whispering my name. But it is three in the morning and everybody is asleep. Except for me- because I swear somebody said my name. He was leaning over my bed, his face was so close, that smile- he faded when I turned my flashlight on. And the fucking lights are out. I went to bed with my lights on. What the hell is going on???? Is this a dream? I must have imagined it.  It felt so real but it can’t be. Right? That half dream, half awake thing. I mean, I feel real crazy right now. What about the light? I bet the power went out. That happens a lot here. And the door is open again, all the way. Of course. Holy shit. What the hell. My heart is going to jump out of my chest. I can’t breathe. I can’t even write straight. I can’t- Okay. I need to get it together. Reality check. The power in the house went out. That is why my light isn’t on. The closet door is broken. It swings open because there is something wrong in the foundation or the structure or whatever. And I heard my name called in my dream. I’ve woken up from that before. It’s fine. And rational. I’m fine. See? Nothing by the closet. No man, no person leaning over me. I just see… dark space. It’s fine. Okay. I’m going to check out the closet.  I’ve had enough of this bullshit. I will be fine. I have my phone flashlight. It’s enough. I can handle this. IT ISN’T REAL. And then I’ll come back and finish my entry by writing about all the beautiful 800 count Egyptian cotton sheets or whatever the fuck my Aunt keeps in her downstairs closet. Then I’ll go upstairs and sleep on the sofa for the rest of the night. I know that in every murder film ever made investigating the noise gets you killed, but I have to do it. I have to prove to myself this isn’t real, and that all I need is double prescription for Xanax and a sleeping pill. Breathe. I can do this. It isn’t real. Be right back.


“I always knew you hid to protect those you love, but I never thought I’d see you like this,” Anna wept.

 His blood was underneath him, staining the boardwalk.

As much as Anna wanted to grieve properly, her college graduation was the next day. She threw herself into her bed as her navy blue short dress and her cap and gown stared her down. “I will honor you by finding who did this and why,”

The graduation was swift, a blur for Anna thankfully. She went straight to Danny’s wake.

Anna looked around and sat. How could they have pulled this off so fast? The police say it was a heart attack, with Danny’s history it’s possible, but that doesn’t explain the amount of blood.

“Do you need a shoulder?” she heard. “Who are you?” she asked.

“Danny’s Mom, I am so sorry we had to meet like this,” the person said.

“Please sit, and I’m sorry too,” Anna scooted over in the pews.

“It's a shame that he never heard my speech because if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have graduated,”

“I choose to he sees anything now,” his Mom handed Anna a box.

“What is this?” Anna asked.

“Your graduation present,” his Mom smiled.

“It feels wrong to open it now,” Anna sighed.

“I understand,” her Mom squeezed her shoulder.

This mood contradicted the beautiful weather. She sat on the edge and pondered on the what-ifs or possibly why this happened.

“Annie?” she heard.

She stood up and froze. “I don’t understand, how are you?-,”

“I want you to honor me by doing everything we wanted… not bitterness,” he walked closer to her.

“How can I do it without you?” she wept.

“Please, it's the only way my soul can rest,” he urged. When he disappeared, she fell into a slumber.

Joseph, an old friend, heard of the news. After no responses to his texts, he went to the wake, and that was when the search began.

Joseph and Danny’s Mom looked everywhere. It was the summit of the day when they found her.

“Anna, can you hear me?” Joseph asked. “Fuck, how long was she out here?”

“I need you to not move her; do you know how to do CPR?” her mother asked.

 “I got my certification this morning,” he answered.

“I’m going to call 911,” she dialed.

 He started as he tried to calm down. “Come on, we can’t lose you too,”

Danny gasped. “Not on my watch,”

 The ambulance came quickly.

Anna woke up with her head bandaged.

“I don’t know if I should scold you for worrying me so bad or hug you because you’re alive,” she heard. “Danny?” she asked.

“He’s still dead,” Joseph said.

“Jo, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“We found you at the boardwalk unconscious,” he asked.

“I was sulking about Danny and I swear I saw him,” she sighed.

“Oh honey, scoot over you need a hug,” he sighed.

“I do,” she said.

He squeezed her. “I am so sorry, but I’m going to kill you if you ever do this to me again,”

“Noted,” she sighed.

“What did he say?” he asked.

“He wants me to do everything we planned, she smiled. “Is that what you want to do?” he asked.

“Nah, I want to find out what happened and torture their ass,” she admitted.

“I hear ya loud and clear, but I have a proposal,” he said.

“I’m listening,” she said.

“We can do both,” he said.

“I don’t get it?” she responded.

“We find out what happened and we will do everything you wanted to do,” he explained.

“You’d do that for me?” she asked.

“I would, I think you’re very cool,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “So what’s it going to be?” he asked.

“I’m in,” she smiled.

“Wanna have breakfast together?” he asked.

“It can’t be morning yet,” she looked at the clock.

“I meant when you’re out of the hospital and more settled,” he chuckled.

“Oh, but I’m not much of a breakfast person,” she answered.

“Fair enough, how about you think of something and we meet up then?” he asked.

“K,” she snuggled against him and fell asleep.

It was time for damage control when Anna had more energy.

“You’re coming home now!” her grandmother pointed out.

“Granny, please, I have no place there,” she begged.

“You can live with me,” her grandmother plead her case.

“You know that isn’t what I meant,” Anna sighed. “I went out of state to explore,” she added.

“Your boyfriend is dead and with your degree; why are you still there?” her grandmother asked.

“That is not how you convince someone to come home, you know?” she hung up.

There was a knock. “Can I come in?” Joseph asked.

“Sure,” she sighed.

“I could hear you barking from down the hall. Who were you arguing with?” he asked.

“My grandmother wants me to come home, and I don’t want to,” she explained.

“So, it’s going home to be miserable or be homeless?” he asked.

“Afraid so,” she said.

“Well, I have another proposal,” he sat.

“Tell me,” she said.

“Go home until Monday, it’ll do you some good while I set up my new apartment with you as my roommate,” he said.

 “A weekend in my hometown is too long; besides, isn’t it a little weird if I move in with a guy after my boyfriend died?” she asked.

“After what's happened, it won’t be too bad to at least try,” “If you don’t enjoy living with me, I can find you a place of your own,” he said.

“I’m in,” she sighed. Anna was still unsure about how this would play out. Is this want Danny wants? What if Danny's mistaken? Is this what I want? What was Danny hiding from me and why? Can I trust the answers I'll receive? Will I ever be able to move on? There was a knock on the wall that grounded Anna. She turned her attention to a bright-eyed, Joseph. "Morning," she yawned. "Hi," he smiled. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Like my soul could leave my body," she answered. "Didn't sleep at all huh?" he asked. "Impossible," she yawned again. "You can sleep in the car," he guided her out of the dorm room and she turned off the light.


I leaned against my car in the parking lot of my apartment and took the first drag of my cigarette, Tony’s voice behind me nearly made me jump out of my skin. “I thought you quit.”

“Son of a biscuit eater, Tony!” I yelled at my husband as I tried to calm my racing heart. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”

Tony was always sneaking up on me. I had considered putting a bell around his neck like a cat. The thought made me laugh now, despite my annoyance. I passed the cigarette to my husband, who had quit smoking long ago, and watched him blow smoke rings. I sighed.

“Yeah well, just another thing that vile woman has done to me. She has me so stressed every day. Six months smoke free, down the tubes. Thanks, Mitzy.”  I spat her name from my mouth like sour milk. Tony passed the rest of the cigarette back to me.

I used to like my job; or, I should say it used to be tolerable. Five months ago, my manager Mr. Murray had retired. He had been with the company for twenty-five years and I had been with him for twelve of those years. Mr. Murray was a kind man, he treated his staff like people, not just numbers on a spreadsheet. When he left, our company, rather than promoting from within, hired Mitzy Davis. Mitzy was in her mid-thirties; she had a major chip on her shoulder, big blonde hair that looked straight out of the eighties and clearly, something to prove.

Within her fist three months, Mitzy Davis had turned our once friendly and collaborative office into a battleground. She picked her chosen few pet employees and made life a living hell for the rest. I was not, one of her pets because I, am not a brown-noser. Mitzy took extreme pleasure in pitting staff members against each other; she manipulated us like puppets.

So far, my personal tortures had included being given incorrect instructions for three major projects and then being thrown under the bus for my “mistakes”, not being included in several trainings I needed and berated for my appearance. The worst part of it all was that she was smart. The crafty witch was very careful to leave me with no proof. Yesterday I had asked her to give me the instructions for the current project via email rather than just verbally; if I had her instructions in writing, she wouldn't be able to claim it wasn’t what she told me to do. Mitzy had snorted with laughter. “If you can’t remember my instructions without me writing them down for you, maybe it’s time for you to retire, Hannah.”

Retire? I wish! But I’m only forty-three.

Then there was today’s whopper. Today Mitzy had summoned me to her office, my timecard was laying on her desk.

“Didn’t you leave early on Monday Hannah? Your timecard says you clocked out at five. Did you have someone else punch it for you?” Mitzy glared at me, but I could see a glint of enjoyment in her eyes.

“Nope, I was here ‘til five o’clock just like every day.”

“I don’t think so.” Mitzy tapped the timecard with her perfectly manicured, blood red fingernail. “I believe you left at one o’clock. I’m going to make this adjustment to your timecard and you’re going to initial it.”

Now she was trying to mess with my paycheck? This is where I draw the line. I stood and placed my hands on the edge of her desk in the process.

“Didn’t I tell you to get a manicure during our last meeting? Why are your cuticles still a mess?”

“Mitzy, having perfect cuticles is not in my job description, nor is it in yours to critique them. I was here until five o’clock on Monday and every other day. I will NOT sign anything that says I wasn’t. I’m going to HR now.”

As I left her office, Mitzy called out. “Good luck with that. I’ve already spoken to Carl about you. He knows you are a troublemaker.” Her cackle of a laugh followed me down the hall to the elevator.

I saw red all the way down to the first floor and down the hall to Carl Benson’s office in the Human Resources department. I knocked on the door. “Come in.” Carl yelled from across the room.  I entered and closed the door behind me. “What can I do for you Hannah?”

“I need to file a complaint; multiple complaints actually.”

Carl raised an eyebrow. “Oh? About what?”

“Mitzy Davis.” I said flatly. Carl leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily.

“Hannah, Mitzy has confided in me that you and some of the other ladies are having a difficult time adjusting to accepting her authority. I know you all liked George Murray but, things change. You must give Mitzy a chance. Just because she’s younger and attractive, doesn’t mean she can’t be a good manager.”

“Younger and attractive?” I couldn’t believe it. Carl had a crush on the enemy. “Her age and looks are irrelevant Carl. The woman is evil.”

“Evil? That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

“Nope. Can I fill out the complaint form, now?” I looked at him expectantly. Twelve years here and I’d never had an issue with any other employee, management or otherwise. I didn’t know how this worked but I had foolishly expected Carl to be professional and unbiased. If he WAS biased, shouldn’t it be towards me? But I am not “younger and attractive” so perhaps not.

“Hannah, go home. Take tonight to cool off. If you still want to file a complaint in the morning, come back and we’ll do it.”

“Fine Carl. I’ll see you in the morning.” On the way home, I had stopped at the jiffy mart and bought a pack of cigarettes. I was smoking the first one when Tony had scared several years of my life out of me in the parking lot.

“You could always quit.” Tony looked at my sympathetically. “No job is worth this. I’m sure you could find another job quick.”

“Maybe but, not one that pays this well. It’s like --- it’s like being stuck in golden handcuffs. I’ve invested so much time with this company; I hate the thought of letting Mitzy Davis run me off.”

“What I hate, is the thought of you being miserable every day. Just quit Hannah. We’ll figure out the bills. Your mental health is more important.” Tony gave me a hug. “Now, give me the pack of cigarettes. Hand ‘em over." Reluctantly, I handed him the pack and watched him crush it in his fist before throwing it in a nearby garbage can. “I want you to be happy and healthy; that’s all that matters.” He kissed me on the forehead.

God, I love this man.

I had just finished typing up my resignation letter when my phone rang. It was Laurie, my best office buddy. She was crying so hard I could barely understand her at first. Eventually she was able to convey that Mitzy had called her into her office at the end of the day and informed her she was being written up for doctoring my timecard. According to Mitzy, I had thrown Laurie under the bus when confronted about the discrepancy in my clock out time. Hearing this filled me with homicidal rage. It was probably a good thing I didn’t know where Mitzy lived.

“Laurie, I hope you know I would never say that.”

“Oh, I know that.” She sniffled. “You would never fib on your timecard either. I HATE that woman! I don’t know if I can keep working there.”

“Speaking of that, I am quitting tomorrow morning. I have my resignation letter ready to go.” My revelation was followed by stunned silence. “Laurie? Did you hear me?”

“What are the rest of us going to do without you? You can’t just leave us there with Mitzy!”

“I’m sorry, I really am. Tony and I have talked about it and it’s just not worth losing my sanity.”

The following morning, I arrived at the office early. I quickly packed up the personal belongings from my desk and took them out to my car. I wanted to be able to walk right out the door after turning in my resignation. I was waiting for Carl outside his office when he arrived. He sighed when he saw me.

“Haven’t changed your mind about filing a complaint?”

“Nope.”

Carl let me into his office and handed me the complaint form. I spent twenty minutes furiously writing out each and every offense Mitzy Davis had committed that I knew of, even ones that didn’t involve me directly. If any of the other gals ever got brave enough to complain, my account would back them up. There was nothing else I could do for them. I pushed the form across the desk to Carl who quickly skimmed through it.

“Hannah, you should probably just take some of this as constructive criticism.” I raised an eyebrow in question. “Like this part.” He pointed at a paragraph about Mitzy critiquing my clothing and nails during a meeting.

“It’s inappropriate Carl and you know it. If that were all she had done, I wouldn’t even bring it up but as it stands, it’s part of a pattern. She’s a bully, an adult bully.”

“Alright Hannah.” He took the form and scanned it in. With a few keystrokes, my complaint was officially filed. “Anything else I can help with?”

“Just this.” I pulled my resignation letter from my purse and handed it to him. “I know it’s proper procedure to give this to my manager but, given the circumstances, I think you’ll agree it’s best I give it directly to you.”

Carl took the letter, his jaw dropped as he read it. He recovered himself quickly. “Well, we hate to lose you Hannah. Can you at least work out a two weeks' notice?”

“No. I’m sorry but, I really can’t. “ There was no way I was going to subject myself to two more weeks of retaliatory harassment from Mitzy.

I opened the door of Carl’s office prepared for my triumphant march out of the building. Lined up in the hallway were Laurie and four other gals from our department. “Here to send me off?” I asked.

“Not exactly.” Laurie grinned as all five of them held up their resignation letters. “We’re here to ambush Carl. We are quitting too.”

“Umm, just to be clear, this isn’t a Jerry McGuire moment. I am not asking anyone to come with me and I don’t have jobs for you all to go to. I don’t even have one for myself.” I didn’t want the unemployment of five other women on my conscience. They all laughed at my reference.

“We know that silly. We’re just done with Mitzy’s tortures. Wanna watch?”

“Do I ever!” This was about to be delicious. All five ladies crammed into Carl’s office unannounced. I stood in the doorway, a silent grinning observer.

“What’s going on here?” Carl demanded. The ladies each tossed their resignation letter onto his desk.

“We quit.” Laurie said cheerfully. “Let’s go ladies.”

The six of us sashayed our way out of the office together. It was liberating, even if we were all headed for potential financial ruin.

Three more victims of Mitzy’s resigned within three weeks of our mass exodus. That left Mitzy and the few employees that had been her pets. According to the grapevine, with no one else to bully, Mitzy had now unleashed her wrath on even those chosen few.

As it turns out, Tony was right, I was able to find a new job quickly, one that was willing to match the salary I had been making at the last job. Laurie took a job there too and I was glad we would still be work besties.

I haven’t smoked a single cigarette since.


The man looked out the window at the nightly parade of celestial bodies. Living outside the city saved him from much of the light pollution. And the sky was especially clear tonight. He felt like he could reach out and touch the distant pins of light. He always loved the stars; he could lose himself while considering their timeless beauty. He was an amateur stargazer, but even he could recognize a change as drastic as this. There seemed to be an extra star in the belt of Orion! Orion is a prominent constellation and visible throughout the world. It is one of the most conspicuous and recognizable constellations in the night sky with three bright stars forming the belt of the mythical hunter. But tonight, there were four! The man blinked and rubbed his eyes to be sure he was seeing what he thought he saw. Then his phone beeped making him aware of a news alert. As he read, it confirmed what his eyes had just seen. "Scientists and astronomers worldwide are baffled by the appearance of a new star in the night sky." It was just a matter of time before it would be all over the news. The man wanted to be sure this was real. You can't believe everything you hear. He scrambled to his desk to get his binoculars. But by the time he returned, the star was gone! He searched frantically from right to left and still nothing. Orion again only had three stars in his belt again. His phone beeped with another news alert…the star was gone ***** Traveling through hyperspace always relaxed her. She reclined in her captain’s chair and felt the slight vibration that was caused by the ship’s artificial gravity. Her job was fulfilling and prestigious. Planet Assessment and First-contact Analysis, PAFA, the acronym didn’t sound so glamourous. She was shaken out of her revelry by a frantic navigator. “Captain, our cloaking system malfunctioned for just a moment,” he began. “We’re back online now. But we were probably visible for a brief time.” He finished looking ashamed. The captain bore down on him recognizing the seriousness of their situation. She asked him straightforwardly, “How long is a brief time?” The navigator answered like a timid Mula-cat, frightened and slinking away, “Maybe two seconds. From this distance, we probably just looked like a bright star flash and then blinked out.” He tried to sound casual. She knew this was not something to take lightly. “This third planet from the sun is an advanced race. Their instruments no doubt detected us. At this distance, any stargazer who knew what he was looking at could probably see us!” She was frustrated, this was a rookie mistake. They had planned to land and explore this rock anyway. But now it was going to be damage control. PAFA routinely visited plants and determined when and if contact was feasible. A civilization needed to be at a certain level in order avoid interfering with their natural development. Now she and her team would have to cover their tracks due to this faulty cloaking device. ****** The man read the news, more than that, he wrote the news. His job as senior journalist for the online newspaper always kept him busy. There was always something interesting and his tenure allowed him to pick his stories. But now, everyone was writing about the same thing. He loved the way people ate up the news like candy. To him, news was just that- consumable goods to keep his paycheck coming in. He never took anything personally because it was always changing. The man had no close relatives and his friends were mainly information contacts and guys he would join to watch sports. His job was his life and he liked it that way. Around the office, they called him the Lone Wolf “Don’t get too close to the story or you lose your objectivity.” That was what he taught his investigative team. And this story certainly called for objectivity. There were conspiracy theories, that the government was hiding something. But this was too big to categorize as a fluke. Everyone had seen “the star” appear and disappear, so there was no denying it. The man was extremely busy with “the Disappearing Star” story. If anyone was going to break the latest news, he wanted it to be him. He scoured all his usual sources but got nothing, he was getting frustrated. He was getting frustrated until he met her… ***** From high orbit, she had monitored all the newsfeeds. This was worse than she had imagined. Everyone was talking about the sky phenomenon. This primitive civilization was more advanced than the record showed. Once they returned from cleaning up this mess, she would have to update the registry. Cleaning up the mess, what an interesting phrase. It usually involved simple memory wipes. Other times it called for coordinating with a natural event. It's surprising how easily a dramatic solar flare or a fantastic aurora borealis display can destroy electronic records. Sometimes, she would have to get creative. This was one of those times. Since her cloaking device was working again, they were able to land undetected. The technology was alarmingly complex, but its purpose was clear. It shielded them not only from radar but rendered them invisible. Her ship was hidden in a nearby lake. Her home planet was covered with a large ocean so having it submerged was a natural choice. She modified her pressure suit so that resembled a human female. Passing as an earthling was not part of the original mission. But as captain, she had the authority to take the necessary steps to ensure success. Her crew envied her because interacting with native species was always a treat. **** It had been 15 days since he'd met the beautiful stranger. The man had to admit that he was intrigued by the fact that the first girl he was ever truly “head over heels” in love with was not a girl at all! When she told him that she was an alien and had to leave, he thought she was talking about immigration troubles. When she told him the real truth, he hadn't believed her. They had been working together for a few days when he had to admit he was smitten with her. He'd worked with beautiful women before, but there was something different about her. She could look at him and see right through him. He felt no need put to keep up his natural defenses. The old idea of not getting too close to the story didn't seem to apply. Her enthusiasm was contagious. Now he knew why. She joined his team as a foreign correspondent investigating the sky phenomenon. He had no idea how foreign she really was! Her insight was compelling. She seemed to understand that this was incredible news. Some of the initial excitement about the "Disappearing Star" was starting to wear off. His boss had actually resigned him to another story. Then the pictures from the Hubble Telescope hit the news. This was no "star," it was a spaceship! All in high-resolution video that was there one minute then disappeared. The next day, this beautiful stranger showed up. **** She had to tell him. The mission had been simple: find a human who was part of the primitive communication networks. Explain who she was, and how she wanted to broadcast this to the world, but instead use her advanced technology to erase any evidence of their presence. Then simply wipe his memory clean. In PAFA, they call this a "Bait and Wipe." The idea is to entice the local with this special knowledge, like dangling nourishment in front of a Beta-fish, and then to erase it. No muss, no fuss, get in and out with no troubles. Now there was trouble. How could this happen to her? This sort of thing does happen, in fact, there’s an entire section on it in the academy. This sort of thing happens to first-year cadets, not decorated officers on the fast track to the admiralty! Working so closely with this earthman had affected her more than she expected. Before the mission, she had laughed when her crew teased her about her freedom and lack of accountability except to the ship. Who’s laughing now? On her planet, individuals were selected at birth for reproduction or designated as explorers. It was considered a kindness not to bond those who would spend their lives among the stars away from their mates. Captains were usually unmated so that command decisions could be made without emotion. **** " So, you're not frightened of me?" The woman asked him after he was silent for too long. "How can I be?" He responded looking deep into her eyes. "You chose me to tell the world of the existence of life beyond our solar system! I've always known we weren't alone in the universe. I just never expected them to be like you!" He hadn't intended to share his feelings for her at this time. But after her revelation, his didn't seem too extraordinary. And it didn't help when she told him she already knew. "That mind-reading thing you see in your movies," she began, "it's all true." She finished with a smile. That smile is what had captured his heart the very first day they met. She'd only told him half her secret. Not only did she know that he loved her. She also knew that she loved him. What had happened to her? Perhaps it was the long space voyages, the endless hyperspace jumps, the lonely cryo-sleeps, or all the paperwork! Or maybe it was the returning home to no one there waiting for her that finally made the difference… And it was this love for him that made erasing his memory impossible. She didn't want him to forget her. His warm and tender feelings for her felt good and it was a feeling she wanted to nurture and help grow...grow into what? She made up her mind that she would tell him the whole truth. They would perform the "Bait and Wipe" together, on everyone but him. How they did it and what happens next is a tale for another time...


I had always thought that the Muscatellos had a perfect marriage. Lindy Muscatello would often leave the windows open whenever they made love. During one of their sessions, Oscar Muscatello would sing opera at the top of his lungs. I’d be lying in bed next to Robert and he would beg me to shut the window. The whole thing made him uncomfortable. When we made love, there was no sound at all. Just a quiet gasp when Robert decided to land the plane, so to speak. My plane never landed. It just circled endlessly until it ran out of fuel and plummeted back to earth.

There were never any survivors. The Muscatellos were a symphony. Not just in the bedroom, but in every room of their house. When they were in the kitchen, there was singing. The B52’s, Blondie, and even some Dean Martin. It didn’t matter to them. Their taste was as eclectic as their wardrobe. They seemed to throw on whatever they could reach for in the morning. Their income was derived from the sale of honey. They made it using the colonies in their backyard. Lindy would wave to me as I walked to my car in the morning on my way into the office where I would update my Google calendar to include a meeting with a Japanese buyer that was little more than chit chat and a request to speed up production. Lindy would be wearing her beekeeping uniform, and inside the house, I would hear Oscar begging his wife to come join him in the shower. I hate them. The both of them. It didn’t matter that it didn’t make sense for me to hate them. What sense is there in hatred? One night I asked Robert to join me in the shower, and he asked if there was a spider in there that needed to be killed. I told him that I was perfectly capable of killing my own spiders, and that I wanted him to make love to me under the pitiful water pressure we keep meaning to have a plumber take a look at. “Why would we make love in the shower,” he asked, “That’s why we have a bed.” I would have divorced him, but all the good lawyers are downtown, and you can never find parking. Better to just die unhappy. What right did I have to happiness anyway? My ancestors were in gulags. Before them, there were cavewomen. Women living in caves. Did they have happiness? Of course not. I had a house, and a microwave, and I could fall asleep every night to Forensic Files. What more did I want? I wanted what the Muscatellos had. Or so I thought. The letter was addressed to Oscar Muscatello, but it had somehow found its way into our mailbox. That was probably because the mailman was losing his sight, but didn’t want to admit it. He’d already hit three parked cars on our street, but when I called the post office to ask why they weren’t forcing him into retirement, they said it was because nobody wanted to be a mailman anymore. There was no job security in it. Who sends mail? My only mail came in the form of packages that I ordered late at night while watching Forensic Files. Articles of clothing I would never wear or skin cream I would never put on. I once ordered a candle with edible wax and asked Robert if he wanted to use it on me. “And get it all over the bed,” he asked, horrified, “Why would we do that? It’s such a nice bed.” I began to wonder if my husband was having an affair with our linens. A good person would have taken the letter to Oscar Muscatello right over to him. They would have knocked on the door, waited until the Muscatellos finished making love on the piano in their living room, and then handed over the letter without giving it a second thought. I am not a good person. I also know the look of a woman’s handwriting. Oscar’s name was written with a feminine touch. I tore open the envelope. Right away, I smelled it. Cherry perfume. Something fruity, but sensual. I felt my lips moisten. I had done something bad, but something worse was in this envelope. A single piece of paper. Five little words written on it. And a question mark. Does she know you’re leaving? Oscar Muscatello was having an affair. Oscar Muscatello was not a good husband. The Muscatellos did not have a good marriage. The sound of Tosca came careening into my living room window, and, based on the selection, I concluded that both of them were about to land their planes at the same time. But Lindy Muscatello had a bomb on her plane. And she didn’t even know it. I pictured Oscar leaving her for a bee. The Queen Bee. Someone nurtured by Lindy, cared for by her. I pictured him shrinking down to the size of a worker bee. A drone. Moving his lithe body through the hive until he met his new wife. They would procreate singing bees. Bees that knew Don Giovanni. Bees that knew Carmen. When she was done with him, the Queen would eat him. Or maybe that was what a praying mantis did. I wasn’t much for science, unless it had to do with fingerprints or blood splatter. Those were things I learned from Forensic Files. I had to wait for Robert to fall asleep before I put it on, because it made him anxious. I never get anxious. I’m too certain of the worst. You can’t anticipate something you know won’t happen. I will never kill or be killed. I will die some boring death. Not like Oscar Muscatello. He and Lindy will die interesting deaths, but, holding the letter, I knew they would not be dying together. They would die their interesting deaths alone. This revelation should have thrilled me. Instead, I felt my own sense of betrayal. Betrayed by whom, I couldn’t say. Not at Oscar. What devotion did he owe me? I wanted to know when he would be leaving. I wanted to know who was better than Lindy. Who was this Queen Bee with such beautiful penmanship? What did her ink taste like? Was it sweet? The Muscatellos moved shortly thereafter, and when they moved, they moved together. If Oscar left, he left after the hives had all been shipped out. He left after the piano had been moved through the large living room window that looked out onto the street. He left after the mailman crashed into a parked pickup truck, had a heart attack, and was finally forced to hang up his uniform. If he left, he left after all that, but I don’t know. I don’t know if he ever did leave. The night I received the letter, I took off all my clothes and walked into the bedroom where Robert was reading a biography of Mamie Eisenhower. I took the book from his hands, and set it on the nightstand. He started to say something about Mamie’s childhood, but I placed a finger on his lips. They twitched. I asked him never to leave. When we were finished, I put on my robe and went to the open window. Across the way, the Muscatellos were in bed. The lights were out. Maybe they had already discussed their move. Maybe Oscar had confessed to his affair. Maybe none of that happened. Maybe it all did. Up in the sky, I thought I heard a plane. I thought I did, but who knows? These days anything can sound like a plane.


“Rawr! I'm a tiger!” the little girl squealed, chasing her playmates around the large suburban backyard. The face paint, or rather warpaint, on her nose and cheeks shone those familiar orange, white and black stripes with whiskers. “Roaarrr!” the six-year-old giggled as she gently smacked one of her friends on the back. “Not so hard, Kaley,” her mother scolded the birthday girl. “She’s fine,” her dad said, bringing out the cups and plasticware from the kitchen. “They’re just playing around, babe.” A soft kiss on warm cheek. One of the mother’s hairs stuck to his lips. “I just don’t want her to get it in her head that it’s okay to hit people.” “I hear ya. But I don’t think that qualifies as hitting. They’re basically playing tag.” He put the cups and spoons down, then began spreading them out over the large picnic table. “You did a great job on the face paint,” the mom said, setting out the paper plates for the cake. “What can I say? I'm a true artist at heart.” “Uh-huh. Sure thing, Mr. Artist.” A giggle.

Kaley roared her triumphant roar, much to the delight of her friends. Their faces held similar markings of rabbits, mice, cats, and even a turtle—nothing capable of withstanding a tiger, however. So, they ran. Kaley’s favorite stuffed animal, a little monkey in tan shorts and white t-shirt, dangled with its arms wrapped around her waist using a hook and loop grip. “Raawwrrr!” “I got juice for you guys if you get thirsty!” Dad called out, half-filling cups with orange, apple and grape juice. “My mommy says you should smoothie juice, not squeeze it,” the mouse yelled, running circles around the playset. “And your ‘mommy’ also believes rocks cure IBS…” Dad muttered under his breath. “Shush. And its crystals, duh.” Mom poked him in the ribs with a playful grin. “Ow, who’s being violent now?” he snickered, planting another kiss on her cheek. That was when Mom paused for a brief moment. “Oh, I put down ten plates. We only need nine. Silly me.” Dad looked at her with soft eyes. “Yeah, just nine, babe. But might want to leave out extras in case they want more cake and destroy their plates.” “Like they always do, heheh.” “Little monsters.” “Mommy, Daddy!” Kaley yelled out from behind the slide. “When do we get cake? I want cake!” “In a bit, baby. Your Mom and I still have to set up the table. Quick, one of the rabbits is getting away!” Dad pointed to the little boy who was attempting to hide behind the outdoor toy bin. “Rarrr!!” Kaley exposed her teeth and held up her claws, stalking over to the unsuspecting rabbit. More happy squeals. Tiger and rabbit came running from around the bin, joyous laughter abound. “Should we wait for the ice cream when I come out with the cake, or you want me to bring it out now?” Dad asked his wife, scratching his head as he looked over the large table they bought for this specific purpose. “We got plenty of room for all the boogers, at least.” “Guess we can wait. Pretty warm out here, don’t want it melting. Not sure if I should’ve bought it in the first place. Think that cake is enough sugar to last a lifetime.” “Every once in a while won't hurt. Besides, we get the benefit of the sugar crash, leaving sweet silence for all to enjoy,” Dad grinned maliciously. “Oh god. Leave it to you to drug all the kids.” “Just doing my job ma’am; just doing my job. Okay, I'm gonna go put the candles on the cake. Would you gather up all the barn animals, please?” “Not sure tigers are barn animals.” “Fair enough.” He squeezed her hips before heading back into the kitchen. “Okay everybody!” Mom yelled to the bundles of perpetual energy. “Come and sit down for cake. Yay!” A bout of merry shouts erupted amongst the young animals as they herded to the table.

But suddenly Kaley stopped running and stood in place, a look of confusion on her whiskered face. “Mommy?” “Yes sweety?” Mom replied, now placing napkins at each plate. “Where’s my pony?” “Your what?” “My pony.” Her eyes stared at the ground. One of the mice was holding her hand, trying to coax her along. “What pony, honey?” “My pink pony.” Mom froze again, holding napkin in hand over the table. “Sweety—you don’t like ponies.” Kaley stayed focused on the ground, unblinking, before blurting out a hearty, “Oh!” Then she giggled and ran to her spot at the head of the table. Mom sniffed, and finished placing the napkins down at each seat. Then came that familiar orange hue from inside the shadows of their home. It illuminated the bearded face of Dad, who was now wearing a sparkly blue party hat. “Happy birthday to you…” and the rest joined in, each with their own party hat and horn. Kaley’s smile was wide and bubbly. Her eyes growing bright at the six candles melting before them. Then, when the song’s climax dissipated, she closed them, making her wish before blowing out the candles in a triumphant gust of breath. Dad pursed his lips a bit upon seeing the spittle accompanying said breath. “All right, good job kiddo!” he clapped with the others. The party horns danced and filled the warm evening air with their wailing. Then the cutting of the cake commenced. Naturally, the birthday girl received the first slice. But upon seeing the dark cake, she became confused. “Why is it chocolate? I don’t like chocolate! Yuck!” Kaley screamed, pushing her plate away. “Huh? Honey, chocolate is your favorite. It’s always been your favorite.” Dad continued cutting pieces for the other kids.

“No! I want white cake!” “Sweety,” Mom joined in, “you’ve always liked chocolate. Last year we had chocolate too.” “No, last year we had white cake! I want white cake!” “Well,” Dad spoke to Mom now, “we did have white cake last year too.” “I know,” Mom replied. “But she didn’t eat the white, only the chocolate like she always does. The white was for…” “I know, babe. I know.” Dad scooped some ice cream onto a plate. “You just want ice cream then, hun?” When he turned back to Kaley, she was already scarfing down the chocolate cake with big smiles and damp eyes. “I want ice cream!” “Uh, okay. Here you go, kiddo.” Dad plopped the ice cream down on her plate. The cake crumbs latched onto it like ants to honey. Dad leaned over to Mom. “Crisis averted.” The rest of the kids got their share, and soon the table was filled with a bunch of messy faces and hands covered in smears of chocolate frosting and various flavors of ice cream. “Funny thing happened earlier too. When you were inside,” Mom said, resting her chin on her knuckles. “She asked for her pink pony.” “Really? She hates pink.” “And she never cared for ponies either.” “Oh man. Could it be…” “I think so. This is the first birthday party since then.” Mom’s eyes began welling up a bit. She had to turn from the children, not wanting to frighten them. “It’s okay babe. You can go inside for a bit. I’ll take over here.” “No, I'm fine. It’s just…all those memories come rushing back at times, ya know?” “Yeah, I get that too sometimes.” The couple stood there quietly for a moment, reminiscing of days past. But then a splatter of ice cream landed at Dad’s feet. He looked up to see Kaley using her spoon as a catapult, sending chunks of ice cream across the table. “Rawr!” “Oh god,” he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Kaley, don’t—” “Come on now, babe. Let her have some fun. It’s her birthday. Here…” Dad picked up his own scoop of ice cream and catapulted it at his daughter. It landed directly on her shirt, bringing involuntary laughter from the birthday girl. “Have at thee!” “Oh geeze. Look at the mess!” Mom couldn’t help but laugh, despite squeezing her forehead with her hand. “It’s fine, babe. I’ll just hose them off later, heh.” Another spoonful flew across the table, hitting turtle boy in the cheek. “Oh! Hahaha!” the green-faced tike laughed as well, picking up a small handful of cake and throwing it at rabbit girl.  Chaos ensued. Cake and ice cream became instruments of war. The battlefield a deluge of sugared flour, iced dairy and fruit nectar; a massacre of just desserts. The carnage of treats left those involved in a stupor, succumbing to the inevitable energy crash. “Okay guys, why don’t we get you all cleaned up.” Dad began piling the paper plates and napkins in the middle of the table. The exhausted kids, veterans of the Battle of Sweets, slowly began wiping themselves clean to the best of their abilities. The giggling never stopped. “Whoa. Good thing I told your parents to dress you in something they wouldn’t mind getting dirty. Look at you guys!” Some of the kids headed to the playset, attempting to have more fun with what little energy they had. Some stayed to help with the cleaning, much to Mom and Dad’s praise. Kaley was one such helper, despite the party being for her. “Honey, you can go play if you want,” Mom patted her on the head as she emptied some of the remaining drink cups. “I’ll help you, Mommy.” Kaley picked the napkins off the backyard lawn. Ice cream and cake littered the area, but nothing they couldn’t handle. “Worth it,” Dad said, nudging Kaley with an elbow. “Uh-huh,” she giggled, tossing a bunch of soiled napkins on the table pile. “I bet Kaley liked the chocolate cake. I don’t like it.” This time, it was Dad who froze. “But baby, you’re Kaley.” “Huh?” “You’re Kaley.” “Yes. My name is Kaley. Kaley! Kaley!” she hopped up and down, licking her fingers after dipping them in the leftover massacred chocolate cake. “I…okay, baby. That’s right. You’re Kaley.” “Kaley! Kaley!” she ran off and joined her playmates, leaving the remainder of the cleaning to Mom and Dad. Dad simply shook his head before grabbing all the corners of the disposable tablecloth and tying them in the middle. The colorful sack of paper plates, half-melted ice cream and crushed cake swung over his shoulder as he headed to the trash bin on the side of the house. At that point, Mom was sitting on one of the patio chairs, observing the little miscreants running rampant. “How you guys get all that energy, I’ll never know.” The doorbell could be heard from inside the house. “I got it, babe!” Dad called out from the side. In less than a minute, he walked into the backyard with one of the kids’ mothers in tow. “Mommy!” it was one of the mouse girls. She ran up, hugging her mother who hoisted her up to her chest. “Hi hun. It’s getting late, so we have to go home now, okay?” her mother said, patting her on the back. “Aw, okay.” The mouse girl waved to her friends. “Bye Kaley! Happy Birthday!” “Bye bye!” Kaley yelled back from atop the playset. “They got pretty hammered on cake and ice cream. They crashed a little but then bounced back,” Dad chuckled, rustling mouse girl’s hair. “Nature’s little wonders,” the girl’s mother quipped. “Okay guys, thanks for having her. I’ll see you at the park tomorrow?” “For sure. Take care, drive safe.” “Have a good night,” Mom waved goodbye to child and parent, just before another ring of the doorbell echoed from inside the house. Over the next hour, all of the visiting children were gone, leaving Kaley alone with her parents. The three of them were still in the backyard, Mom and Dad cleaning, with Kaley exerting the rest of her energy on the playset. Mom was picking up the leftover confetti strewn across the lawn, when she noticed Kaley sitting at the top the slide, staring down it with a blank look on her face. “Honey? You okay?” Mom asked. No reply. Only unblinking eyes focused on the bottom of the slide. “Sweety?” Dad took notice as well, dumping the used party hats and horns in a plastic bag. “Baby, your mom’s calling you. Kaley?” No answer. Both parents walked up to her, Dad placing his arm around Mom’s waist. She was trembling slightly. “Kaley, are you alright?” she asked once more. Without looking away from the slide, Kaley mumbled, “Where’s Kaley?” Mom and Dad’s hearts careened into a pool of sorrow. “Sweety. You’re Kaley. Remember?” That familiar salty liquid welled up in Mom’s eyes. Dad held her close, sniffing back his own tears. “No, I'm Anna,” Kaley still didn’t look up. “Kaley was supposed to be here. That’s why we had the chocolate cake. But I don’t remember having any white cake…” “Oh god,” Dad held his hand to his mouth, no longer able to hold back as salty streams burned down his cheeks. “Okay baby. Come on down. Let’s go inside.” Kaley nodded and pushed off, hurtling down the slide. She walked to them; her eyes still focused on the ground. Dad held out his hand. She took it, and the three of them walked back to the house, leaving the rest of the cleanup for later. Once inside, Mom washed the paint off Kaley’s face in the bathtub. The birthday girl didn’t say much, only occasionally asking where Kaley was. By the time Dad laid her in bed, the sun was down and she was fast asleep. Mom and Dad continued their evening ritual in silence. Late snack, shower, teeth brushing and a kiss goodnight. But this time, as they laid in bed, Dad turned on the TV and inserted that flash drive they kept so dear, yet rarely touched. Up popped the image of a birthday party. And there on screen was Kaley, grasping her little stuffed monkey in a death grip. This time, her cake read, ‘Kaley 5.’ She was all smiles and wonder. And next to her sat another girl, holding a pink pony with a cake in front of her that read, ‘Anna 5.’  They were identical, the two girls. With the exception of the one holding the pony having much paler skin, and she was thinner with various bruises up and down her arms. They were laughing and screeching at the day’s festivities. The t-shirt and pajama top Mom and Dad wore became soaked with tears. They held each other close, ever so tightly as if letting go would send them both plummeting into a dark cavern of despair. The laughter from their little girls filled the dimly lit room, bouncing off the walls like trills of joyous ghosts. They squeezed each other tighter, trying to constrict the sobs. But no amount of strength could choke out the pain. Then they head a voice at their bedroom door. Little did they know that Kaley had opened it and now stood there, rubbing her eyes, stuffed monkey in hand. “Mommy? Daddy? I heard Anna.” “Oh,” Dad cleared his throat, immediately fumbling with the remote to the TV. “Wait,” Mom put a hand on his. “Let her watch. Come here sweety.” Mom opened her arms and Kaley rushed over, climbing onto the big bed and nestling between them. “You sure?” Dad asked, his reddened eyes darting back and forth between the woman and child he loved. “Yeah. I think it’ll be fine. She should see her. We all should see her—together.” Dad nodded, a teary smile creeping up his face. The click of the remote sent a shiver through his body. But that subsided when he heard the laughter of his two little girls. Kaley’s eyes glued to the scene. Shining bright in the light of the TV. She held onto her monkey, gently biting the top of its head. But no tears came forth. No sobs or even sniffles. Unblinking, she simply stared at the footage, squeezing her stuffed animal harder and harder. “Are you okay sweety?” Mom asked, not sure if she had made the right decision. But after a few seconds, Kaley answered. “Yeah. I just miss Anna.” Nothing else was said. She simply laid her head on Dad’s arm and slowly drifted back to sleep to the sounds of her and her sister’s laughter. “We do too, sweet thing. We do too.” Dad brushed her hair with his hand and leaned his head against Mom’s. The three of them sat there in each other’s warm embrace. Never forgetting, but never relenting. Three pillars standing strong in a sea of torment. No matter how many waves came crashing onto their stony faces, they need only lean against each other. What better way to weather the storm?