It was making noise again.Luna yawned and stretched. She slowly sauntered over to the cage they kept it in. Her humans had one thing right, keep the noisy fur ball locked up tight. The fuzz ball shivered, visible tremors riding up its body in waves. When Luna sidled into its vision it shook even more, vibrating out its own little earthquake. Luna smirked. She rubbed herself against the bars then carried herself away with a swish of her tail. It yowled. The noise sent hackles raising down her back. Luna shuddered. The hideous pest had forced its way into her domain for less than a day and it was already disrupting her nightly routines. Luna rushed the metal box they shoved the little rat in and shoved her claws through the bar hissing. The pitiful fuzzball fell back with a yelp and cowered at the back of its cage, small like a yarn of wool. Luna smirked a devilish kitty grin and turned away, full of pride. All that hissing had made her thirsty. Luna lapped from her water bowl. Water never taste so good. Luna just settled into grooming herself when she heard it let out another cry. This time more painfully pitiful than before. Luna tensed, but she continued her cleaning. She did not stand up until she was fully bathed and even then she took her time, drifting towards the crying ball as accidentally as possible. It will not know it drew me. Luna studied the creature in the cage. It lay there shivering and whining. When it saw Luna it timidly stumbled to its paws and cautiously shuffled over to her on giant paws, too big for it to know what to do with just yet. The golden flea bag stayed belly to the ground, showing its subservience. It did however let out a tentative tail wag. Three gentle thumps. Luna sighed. If the beast were to be here it might as well be her beast. Just as everything else in the house was hers. She stood nimbly on her hind legs and pushed at the latch holding the pup in its place. The door swung open. Luna nimbly stepped out of its way. A living teddy bear watchfully discerned a new world. The little creature wouldn’t be out of place on her girls bed. Her girl collected lots of soft little animals and couldn’t choose between them so they all slept in her bed. Of course Luna was her favorite and made sure her girl knew it. She would bat those stuffed competitors away from her girl every chance she got. This little fuzzball was much like her girls collected bears. No competition. Yet the new bowls, the new toys, the new baskets, all placed where her things were supposed to go made Luna nervous. And more than that it made her angry . And yet all of the malicious, devious little plans she had plotted in her clever cat brain that very day melted away when the fuzzball fell over its own paws again. Luna shook her head and with a swish of her tail she trotted out into the kitchen, through the cat flap, into her world. The sun was yet to come out, it was still the hour of the cat. On a more normal eve, Luna would have been out all night and only musing on the idea of coming home round about now. She had wanted to make sure the infiltrator didn’t move any of her things or pee on stuff. It would not pee on her stuff. Luna sprang to the fence and looked out onto the streets as the dusk lightened to a concrete grey. Other cats were just starting to trot back towards there domains. She could see stripe tail leaping his fence and vanishing off into his lands. Blotches stopped to look to her before heading off on his way where were you last night? Luna twitched her whiskers and blinked to convey a sort of nonchalance that only a cat could carry. Luna was about to spring off into what was left of the night when she turned back. Her cat flap had swished again who dared to use her door? Ahh. The cuckoo in the birds nest. She could go for a baby bird right about now. The pitiful pup stumbled on the steps. It was as if the pup had bars of soap strapped to its paws. The pup blinked and looked all around it, nose twitching. It’s eyes seemed huge, drinking in the sites and scents of the garden with big greedy gulps. The puppy trotted forward, eager to explore, when its paw touched grass (Luna suspected for the first time). The pup yelped and shot backwards, startled by the new sensation. Luna rolled her eyes and stood stretching, unlocking her powerful legs. She sprang down from the fence and stood opposite to the pup, patting the grass with her paws. The puppy stared at her wide eyed before trotting across the grass towards her. The puppy sped up and nearly knocked her over, a cheap van sliding on black ice. Luna sprung aside at the last second, hissing. The little fuzzball looked confused, it just sat there blinking before its nose led it on an adventure into the bushes. Luna had had enough of this. She sat and licked herself, disinterested (a cat as fine as her could never be too groomed). Fuzzball came and parked next to her. Luna shuffled to the side a little and fuzzball shuffled with her. Luna continued to groom herself, refusing to give the annoying yap any attention. The sun rose over the garden, illuminating everything within it with brilliant light. The puppy glowed like a fuzzy lantern. Luna’s own dark hair shone with a silver sheen. Luna stopped licking herself and looked up. A most beautiful sunrise was emerging on the horizon. Do you have a name? The puppy blinked. The girl kept saying Buddy. That must be it. They sat in the sun together, basking in its warmth. Buddy leaned against Luna. After resisting at first (mainly for show) Luna let him. ****** Luna learned to tolerate Buddy, with time. Buddy did have some redeeming qualities. As much as Luna loved her girl she was not big on ribbons and dresses, or tea parties all that much. Her girl had Buddy for that now and Buddy was too little and pudgy to escape a little game (several dozen little games) of dress up. Luna smirked as Buddy let out a little pitiful whine, looking to her for help. She always left him. Buddy also provided a get out of jail card to Luna for ‘walksies’. Her girl, in addition to inflicting humiliating dresses and bonnets on her, also attempted, more times than she should, to take Luna out on a leash and call her ‘doggy’. The humiliation! The one time her girl succeed in her attempts to ritually abuse her person, Luna had seen all the other cats snickering at her from fences. She had never lived it down. Now Buddy went on ‘walksies’ and he actually enjoyed those much to Luna’s befuddlement. But it got her out from her girl’s grip for a time and Luna was grateful for that. Luna enjoyed having time to be more cat. She had many important things to do after all and although she had many talents she could not be everywhere at once. Now Buddy could entertain in her absence. Her appreciation of his innate ability to occupy her people did wane one night. It was her worst night as far as Luna was concerned. She had come in a little after supper to grace her humans with her presence a little more before heading out to run her nightly errands to find Buddy in her spot. The dirty sneak! The treacherous hairy beast had taken her spot draped across her girl’s lap at family time! Luna bristled with rage. But, she would not let the cat snack get the better of her, oh no! Luna slunk around her owners legs, on her best charm offense. Wide eyed and positively adorable, Luna rubbed against her people and ‘meowed’ in her best baby voice. Her man reached a hand down and scratched her ear absent mindedly. Her girl did not even look up, fussing over preciously putrid Buddy. She squealed when Buddy stretched in his sleep, delighted by even his most involuntarily pointless movements. Luna paced back and forth, her meows becoming more shrill. Her man said something and her woman stood up and threw Luna out of the room, sounding angry with her! Luna yowled at the indignity before stalking off, offended by her humans disrespect. Buddy would regret this. ****** Luna had enjoyed tormenting Buddy while he was young. She would pounce on him out of nowhere, sending him skittering into his little crate, pin his tail to the floor until he was squirming so much than when she let go he went flying like a little furry bullet. The best times were when he knocked into the wall. Her favorite way to torment the pup was to play ‘lets ignore Buddy’ where she would simply ignore him. That game was very effective. Buddy, if nothing else, was very attention hungry. Of course, when he got bigger, Buddy was a little harder to torment. By Summer, he had doubled in size and towered over her, like a winters sun. He made her squint in pain. His barks were like the roars of a lion, deafening. And he always had something to bark at – her humans, the postman, the television, birds, shadows. Every time Luna prowled in the garden, intent on her prey, be it bird, mouse or leaf, Buddy would slide in like the great clumsy oaf he was and bark up a storm, scaring her prey away. Luna had taken to hunting away from the house now. Buddy was consistent with him attempts to annoy her. The great yellow freak seemed to be under the impression they were friends too (an impression she certainly never perpetrated). For some reason the pup had insisted on calling her Moon Paw from an early age and it stuck. A lot like Buddy himself, her large, clumsy shadow. He followed her everywhere, always sniffing. The sniffing irritated her. All that snuffly noise and his nose was so wet! Whenever Buddy confronted her with his snout, she shied away. No dog nose would be leaving damp patches on her fur! But it wasn’t just the nose Luna had to worry about – Buddy liked to lick. Buddy licked plates and tables, stains and hands, bones and – Luna. Whenever Buddy managed to catch Luna of guard (which was a rare occasion that Luna was embarrassed by) he would give her a great big lick, messing up the fur she had worked so hard on getting to lay j ust right. Luna would reward Buddy for his crass actions with a swipe of her paw. When he was a little puffball she would crack him on his nose with a rewarding Fwhack but now he was older the shaggy fiend would spring back, paws lay wide, butt in the air lets play! Luna would stalk off. ****** It was a sunny afternoon and Buddy lay in the garden, head lay his paws. He was moping, Luna knew. For the first time the house was empty and Buddy wasn’t out too. It never bothered Luna, she had always been left in the house and loved every second of it. It was truly her domain in those moments where she could go anywhere . Luna slunk over to Buddy and sat near him, watching her yellow nemesis with large eyes, bright jewels like sapphires. Buddy turned his head away and huffed. He didn’t enjoy being in the house without their humans, Luna knew he was needy and hungered for attention. Luna licked her paw a few times then glanced back at Buddy. He looked brown in the shade, with just slight flecks of sand along his rump. Luna twitched her whiskers and then walked over to Buddy, curling into his side. Buddy raised his head and gave her a large lick on her face. Luna tolerated this. The sun shifted position in the sky above them, puling away the shadows. The two friends basked in the afternoon sun. ****** Luna slept a lot now. She slept a lot these days. In little nooks and crannies around the house. The top of the stairs. Beside the couch. A nice bush in the neighbors garden. Luna slept and dreamt of when she was young and lithe, a huntress. In her dreams she could catch anything in her jaws. In her waking moments Luna’s paws ached and her senses were dulled. Her nightly excursions became shorter and shorter until she just went out at sunset and returned when the sun came down. She liked to be in the house more now, preferably in her own quiet place. Buddy’s face appeared over the top of the couch, like the sun appearing over the horizon. He wore a big doggy grin and drooled on her head. Luna mewled pitifully. She didn’t have the strength to put Buddy in his place now. Buddy forced his way round, Head and paws pushed into her little space. Lets play! He barked. Luna mewed and turned away from him. Not now Buddy, I am tired. Buddy barked more, prodding her back with his paws – Play! Play! Luna sighed and shakily got up onto her paws, joints creaking. Fine. Buddy pinned her easily. Ha! I win! He grinned. Luna began to heave violently. She was never one for rough and tumble, but she would indulge Buddy from time to time throughout their lives together. But now she couldn’t anymore. Buddy nudged her with his nose. what’s wrong Moon paw? Tired. She replied between coughs. Buddy whined and lay next to her. They curled up on the rug in front of the fire. ****** Buddy bounced up and down by the front door, impatiently barking and whining. His humans were very mean to him today. Not only had they left but they had taken Moon Paw with them too! Buddy had been left alone for ages and ages. He’d worried at the rug with his teeth just to vent his anxiety. Buddy heard the car door slam! My humans! And Moon Paw too! Buddy couldn’t wait to pounce on Moon Paw, but he’d do it gently. Moon Paw had been tired lately and when Buddy had nudged her gently with his nose this morning her eyelids fluttered gently before closing again, she dozed fitfully. Sick? Buddy had asked, fully of worry. Moon Paw had mewed quietly in response. Then their humans had put Moon Paw in her own crate and taken her away. He hoped she hadn’t been taken to the funny smelling place with the mean four eyed human who took his unmentionables. Buddy whined at the thought. If that awful human had taken Moon Paw’s unmentionables too he would chase him and then look after Moon Paw. Curling up beside her and giving her a big lick to cheer her up. His humans came in and Buddy could smell the sad on them. It was a damp, cold smell and it meant his humans needed him. Buddy bounced around them barking happily cheer up! I’m here! The man patted Buddy on the head before walking by. His girl had sprung a leak, steamy droplets falling from her eyes. Buddy sprung up and kissed her It’s okay! I’m here! His girl giggled, then more water leaked from her and she flung her hairless paws around Buddy, and made his fur damp. Something must be very wrong. Buddy stood there for as long as his girl needed him. When she sat by the stairs he sat too. His girls face was red and blotchy. She sat, stroking his fur. It was only as the shadows crept in, as his girl started to fall asleep and the woman shook her awake, gently leading her upstairs that Buddy wondered Where’s Moon Paw? The TV was blaring and the man sat staring at it. Buddy went up to him and rested his head on his knee Why do you smell of sad? Where is Moon Paw? The man scratched his ear and kept watching the moving shapes. Buddy wandered the house looking for Moon Paw. He found her crate, empty. It smelled like Moon Paw, but it also smelled of… Sick Buddy sat and whined. A few nights had passed. The damp smell of sad was still on the skin of his humans and Moon Paw was nowhere to be seen. Buddy eventually understood that his humans smelt of damp because of Moon Paw. Because she wasn’t here anymore. And Buddy smelt of sad too. ****** Buddy pushed himself through Moon Paw’s door to the garden. It was smaller than it used to be and Buddy struggle through with a huff and a grunt. On the other side he shook himself and drank in the nights scents through his nose. Out here he could still smell Moon Paw. He had woken one morning and all of Moon Paw’s things were gone. Her cat bed, her toys, her food bowl. Even her scent was starting to fade. Buddy surveyed the garden. All this would always be moon Paw’s. Buddy walked over to their lake. The pool in their garden that they had played by so many times. Moon Paw pushed him in once when he was just a pup and Buddy had pushed her in when he was bigger. Even now he had bark laughed. The moon shimmered in their lake, a great white face floating on the water. Moon Paw’s face . Buddy howled. Don’t worry! I’ll look after them! For a moment the moon winked at him.


It’s 90 degrees in the shade today, and even hotter in the middle of the city. This is the fourth bag of trash that Jay has taken outside. He doesn’t understand why anyone would eat this slop. His apron is stained, and his hair is greasy from the air inside the building. He hates this job. No one seems to out with a guy that always smells like food. He had dreams of becoming a great writer one day. Or even just a decent one. He was pushing 33 and wasn’t so sure that was going to work out for him now. Such is life. The job paid the bills and not having anyone around nagging all the time meant he was able to do whatever he wanted no questions asked. Three more hours and he was free for the day and the next two days that he had off.

He noticed something under the streetlight when he turned to go back inside. He looked both directions to see if anyone was around, and walked over to check it out. It was a small brown leather-bound book just laying there in the middle of the alley. He bent down to pick it up. It was pretty worn, and whoever owned it had had it for quite some time. He took it inside with him and set it on the shelf next to the exit door, so he would remember to grab it on his way out. Maybe there was a name or something inside and he could return it to who it belonged to.

Once the clock struck 11:00, Jay punched the clock and grabbed the little book before he walked out the door. He had about four blocks to walk until he reached his apartment. This part of the city was getting worse, he thought. This area was a lot safer and a lot more fun when he was a kid. He knew the area well, though, and he knew what areas to avoid. On his walk home there was always a guy named Carl who hung out by one of the worse for wear apartment buildings. Jay always brought him a little something to eat on the nights that he worked. Tonight, he didn’t see Carl in his usual spot, though. He just kind of shrugged it off and kept heading for home. The elevator was always breaking in his building so these days he didn’t even check it anymore. He just headed straight to the stairs. He lived on the fourth floor, room 402. He’s been there for going on five years now. It wasn’t a great place, but it was his place and he was pretty proud of that. He tossed the book on the table in the living room as soon as he got inside. First thing first, a beer and a shower to try to wash the grease off. He liked the idea that he hadn’t opened the book yet. It was a mystery and he loved mysteries. Once he was all cleaned up, he could relax and really be curious if he wanted. Twenty minutes later he piled on the couch with another cold beer and opened the cover of the book.

Property of Henry R. Filler He flipped through the pages, and the book was practically full. There were dates above a lot of what was written, and he thought it may be a diary or journal of some kind. He closed the book and was starting to think twice about reading someone else’s musings. He laid his head back on the couch and scrunched his eyes, and he gave in. What’s the worse that could happen? Other than the owner’s name, there was no other way to see who it was or where to return it unless he maybe looked through it. He opened the book back, took a drink of his beer, and started at the first entry. October 11, 1993 She didn’t even see me coming! It was the best day ever. I was very nervous at first, but I knew it was what I needed to do to cure that craving I have had for so many years. I had been planning for a while what I wanted to do with her. I have kept an eye on her for almost 6 months now. Made sure I knew when she worked and when she came home. She didn’t have any children or pets, which was very important. She was about 5’3 and didn’t weigh but maybe 100 pounds. Dark hair and eyes. She had a red scarf around her neck tonight. A beautiful red scarf. She had just gotten out of a movie that she went and watched alone, which she wasn’t alone. I was in the back row with her the entire time. I followed her to the exit and she never knew. She walked about 3 blocks until the streetlights ran out. I grabbed that pretty red scarf and pulled her into the dark. She never saw a thing. I think I am going to be very good at this. We’ll call her A. Jay looked at the entry again and quick read over it again. “Is this for real?” He thought. The entry disturbed him a little, but he didn’t read too much into it. It did make him curious enough to read a couple more entries. December 6, 1996 This guy really had it coming. I had been dealing with him for too long to take it anymore! I enjoyed this very much. I had my fill of the constant complaining of the smell coming from my place. He had even called the landlord about it, and I just can’t have that. Everything will have to be moved to a safer place now. He caused me a lot of unnecessary work! I will also be moving and he will no longer be an issue. After he was subdued, I put him in the trunk of my car. No one will think to look for him where he is now. He will not be coming with me like the rest. Wretched waste! Jay skipped ahead several pages with a stunned look on his face. The entries were short and there were a lot of them. May 22, 2021 This girl was not as easy to deal with. I had been watching her only a couple weeks and she spotted me a time or two. I tried to play it off as coincidence, but she was smarter than I gave her credit for. Feisty one, she was. I caught up with her at the park when she went into the wooded patch. No one saw or heard anything. I snuck up ever so slowly, and with her headphones in she never heard it coming. The crack on her head was louder than I had imagined. I never did it this way before. I placed the bag over her head and carried her to my car parked on the other side of the wooded patch and took her to where she needed to go. She will not be found. January 5, 2022 Today was a close one. My age is going to get the best of me, if I am not careful. I let one get away out of my own need for survival. I played it off as she complained to the cop. I used the old I’m an old man bit. I’m confused. He bought it. He walked me home and told me to take care of myself, which I had to laugh at once I closed the door. She was a horrible woman. It all worked out for the best.

June 14, 2023 This homeless guy has been a nuisance to me for weeks. Always begging for something. I had it tonight. Can’t even walk in this city without these people bothering you. As soon as he started, I pulled the syringe out of my front pocket and put it straight in his neck. No one would be the wiser. I drug him into the alley by the building and covered him with some bags of trash. Homeless drug addict that took a little too much. That’s all. Jay sat there on the couch dumbfounded. Surely, this is just someone’s attempt to make notes for a story or something. As an amateur writer himself, he had done similar things to try and keep story ideas fresh in his mind. He never dated anything like this though. These entries went back 30 years. He decided to close the book and head to bed. These were things he didn’t want to read anymore. Jay returned to work two days later, and brought the book with him. He sat it on the shelf next to the exit door. On his first trip taking the trash out, he saw a man standing in the alley. He was about sixty or so with black slacks and a brown jacket. He had on running shoes and his hair was long and disheveled. He was in very good shape for his age. “Can I help you with something guy? Are you lost or something?” Jay started to approach the man. “No young man, I am not lost. I believe I may have misplaced something around here a couple days ago though. Did you happen to come across a little brown leather book?” Jay looked at him and the man just smiled. “I may have. What is your name sir?” The man approached Jay and put his hand on his shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes. “My name is Henry R. Filler and I would like my book back now.” A chill ran through Jay and he just slowly started to nod his head up and down. “I have been collecting short story ideas for over 30 years and it is very important that I have it back, you see?” The old man lowered his hand and stepped back a couple steps from Jay. Jay felt relieved. Thank goodness that’s all it was. This guy looked completely harmless. “Cool. I am a bit of a writer myself. Let me grab it for you, Mr. Filler.” The man stood there with his hands in his pockets while Jay retrieved the book. Jay walked out and handed it to him. “Some of that stuff is pretty dark man, and it seemed like real stuff that happened. It’ll be a hell of a book one day if you ever decide to do anything with it.” The old man looked at him and smiled. “Thank you, son, it’s been a long time but I could still do something with it, I guess. Thank you for letting me have it back. Take care now.” He acted as if he was tipping a hat that wasn’t there and turned and walked away. Jay just kind of shook his head and went back in to work. Quitting time rolled around and Jay headed out the door for his walk home with Carl’s food in a bag. Carl still wasn’t in his usual spot. Jay started to get concerned. What day was it, when he last saw him? It was June 14, he remembered. He hoped Carl was okay, he was a really nice guy.

He turned the corner that came up to his building, when he suddenly bumped into someone. It was a man standing there “Sorry man. I didn’t see you there,” he apologized. The man just smiled. “Oh, it’s no trouble. I knew you were coming.” Jay looked at him thinking that was a strange thing for him to say. “Hey, you’re the guy from earlier, right? With the book of story ideas?” The man nodded, “Yes that was me. I knew you would remember. That’s why I wanted to run into you, again. Walk with me. You see, I can’t have someone walking around knowing my story ideas. What if you decided to steal them? I couldn’t have that.” Jay started to feel uneasy and tried to walk away. The man grabbed his arm and Jay felt a sharp pain in his ribcage. He collapsed and blacked out. When he woke, he knew he was inside of something. He heard a car start up, and realized he was in the trunk. He knew almost immediately that he would soon become the next entry in the leather-bound book of short story ideas.


One fateful night in New Castle, Pennsylvania, an elderly married couple was traveling home from the grocery store when their vehicle was hit by a truck that had run a red light at an intersection near their home. It was determined that the driver of the truck had suffered a heart-attack and had lost consciousness just prior to the intersection causing the violent and fatal crash. The driver of the truck was pronounced dead at the scene and so was the husband. The wife however was transported to the local hospital and placed on life support – her outlook was grim. The hospital did their best to locate next of kin, which according to the records was the son. The son had been granted power of attorney many years earlier but never dreamed he’d ever be faced with a decision that would change his life – and the life of others. The son had not been home to see his parents in a handful of years but did keep in contact occasionally by phone. He was saddened to hear of his father’s passing and his mother’s condition – and the circumstances of the accident. Given where he lived and the fact that he didn’t care to fly, it would take him three days to get home. As such, he decided to check in with the hospital several times a day knowing he might not get there in time. On the second day, he realized that his sister may not have been contacted. She lived on the other side of the country, and he hadn’t spoken to – or otherwise thought about – her in some twenty years. He wasn’t sure how to get hold of her, so he called the hospital and asked if his mother had any information about his sister. Perhaps a phone number or location. Thankfully, the hospital was able to assist by providing a phone number. He had made it to Philadelphia and was awaiting the next bus to Pittsburgh, so he reluctantly decided to call his sister. He began punching in the number. Seven two four… “Hello?” a voice answered. “Liz?” “Yes.” “It’s Donnie.” “Hi, it’s been a long time…I already know why you’re calling,” Liz began to cry. “I feel terrible. How did you find out?” “Unlike you, I still have friends in New Castle. They called me the night of the accident. Me and Jason have been in New Castle since yesterday morning. How did you find out? Of course, I had no way to reach you.” “The hospital called me. I guess because I have power of attorney…I really don’t know how they got my number.” “Mom’s not in good shape. In fact, they don’t expect her to make it through the night.” “Bummer, I’m in Philadelphia. I won’t get there until around midnight.” “I don’t know what to tell you, Donnie.” “I’ll let you know when I’m close.” “Okay, goodbye.” With that, Donnie heard the boarding call and made his way to the bus. It was about a five-hour journey, and he still wasn’t sure what he was going to do to get from Pittsburgh to New Castle, which was an hour north. He arrived in Pittsburgh about ten o’clock and had made Uber arrangements while on the bus. He located his driver, and they headed north. During the ride, he called Liz to let her know he was close, and she informed him their mother was still alive. Donnie felt like he couldn’t get there soon enough. He made it the hospital just shy of midnight. The Uber driver dropped him near the main hospital entrance, but he wasn’t quite sure where to go so he walked up to the main desk. “Donnie?” He turned and noticed his sister approaching. He did recognize her, but she had aged. “Mom’s gone.” “Bummer, I tried to get here but…” “I’m sure you did. She’s already been moved to the morgue.” “So, I can’t see her?” “You wanna go to the morgue?” “Um, no.” “Jason and I are staying at a hotel around the corner. Where you staying?” “Well, I haven’t thought that far ahead.” “Of course. Jason’s getting the car. Let’s go out this way.” Liz and Donnie walked to the side parking lot looking for Jason without speaking a word. Jason saw them first and pulled up to the curb. Liz and Donnie got in and they drove around the corner to the hotel. During the short drive, Donnie and Jason exchanged pleasantries, but Liz and Donnie didn’t speak, at least directly. Donnie got himself a room and the three spent the next five days handling all the arrangements. Their parents were cremated, and Liz took ownership of their urns. There was a small funeral on the sixth day, which Donnie thought ended everything. They had already addressed the will and Donnie was quite ready to disappear and go home, but there was one remaining item – the contents of the storage unit. Not one of the three wanted to go to the storage unit but they knew it couldn’t really be avoided. They had no idea what would be discovered, but they assumed it would be a lot of work. Donnie had already checked out of the hotel and wasn’t pleased with having to go to a storage unit. Nonetheless, they all made the journey just outside of town to the storage unit facility. Jason inserted the gate card and they drove in. “Which unit is it?” Donnie asked. “It’s 420,” Jason said while smiling in the rear-view mirror at Donnie in the back seat. “That’s funny.” “Is it?” Liz chimed in. “Let’s all just get through this,” Jason encouraged. “415, 416, 417, 418, 419, there it is,” shouted Donnie. Liz turned her head and rolled her eyes, “Really?” They pulled alongside the garage door and noticed a large dent in the door, as if someone had accidentally run into the door with their car. Jason exited the car and unlocked the garage door. He tried to lift it, but it wouldn’t budge. Donnie tried to help, but it still wouldn’t budge. The door was damaged enough that the door wouldn’t open. Not what they needed. Jason got the crowbar from his trunk and shoved it under the door and tried to pry the door. It just wouldn’t budge. The three worked at it for ten minutes and finally got the door raised about ten inches. Liz begged, “We’re wasting our time. Let’s get someone to help us…like the owner.” “Nonsense,” Jason replied. “We can crawl under there.” “What? No way,” exclaimed Liz. As they bickered, Donnie dropped to the ground and slid himself under the door – and disappeared to the other side. “There’s no lights in here,” Donnie yelled. “You gotta flashlight?” “Use your phone,” Liz replied. “Oh yeah.” Jason slid a flashlight under the door and then slid himself under the door. Liz followed and Jason helped her to her feet. He then turned and kicked the door causing the door to drop to the floor. “There, I fixed it,” Jason bragged, but as he went to pull it up it wouldn’t move. “Great, now we’re stuck in here,” Liz said with contempt. “It would seem. At least we have light.” “Yeah, great.” “We’re all going to die, man,” Donnie cried out. “Let’s all relax,” offered Jason. “Look at all the shit in here,” Liz blurted out. “This is very overwhelming.” “Let’s all relax,” Jason repeated. “You still smoke?” Looking at Donnie holding his light pointed at the ceiling. “Um, yes?” Jason reached into his shirt pocket and handed Donnie a hand-rolled cigarette, except it wasn’t a cigarette. “Nice,” Liz said sarcastically. “We all need to relax, and we’ll get through this,” Jason smiled. Donnie had already lit his cigarette with his butane lighter that he carried everywhere. He took a long drag and handed it off to Jason. Who then handed it off to Liz. Donnie couldn’t help himself and posed the question, “So, I never understood why you guys moved to Oregon. I mean, what’s in Oregon?” Liz responded, “And I never understood why you moved to Maine. I mean, what’s in Maine?” “Touché,” Donnie stated with irreverence. Jason replied in an effort to ease the tension, “Because Oregon is less likely to be successfully attacked by alien reptiles who can speak and have large beaks. Just sayin.” “Aaand, you’re done. Were you already into your pocket before we got here?” Liz spouted as if Jason had enough. Jason shined his light on his shirt pocket and pointed, “There’s more where that came from.” “So, you’re hoarding?” Donnie acknowledged. Donnie offered his butane lighter to Jason and they began to sift through the contents of the unit. Through the process, they rediscovered their childhood. There was an original G.I. Joe doll with accessories, a Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots game, boxes of Hot Wheels cars, an original Coleco pong video game, Barbie dolls, and numerous boxes of baseball cards dating back to the 1950’s, which predated both Donnie and Liz. It was a treasure trove of their childhood. They even discovered an old wooden rocking horse, which they knew was their grandmother’s and was hand built by her grandfather. It even had a mane maid of rope that he – as the story goes – made from the rope used from his bed that supported his mattress. “Did you know about this?” Donnie begged Liz. “No idea. I just assumed it was all gone.” “Yeah, me too.” “This is insane. Do you suppose they kept everything?” “Well, perhaps. It’s going to take months to go through everything.” Liz contemplated, “Do you suppose they chose unit 420 intentionally? It’s funny either way. If they intentionally chose it, it’s funny. If they didn’t, it’s funny too.” “We’ll never know, which is even funnier,” Donnie suggested as he held his breath. Three hours and three cigarettes later, it had become increasingly cloudy in the unit. There was no air flow and the smoke just lingered. The flashlight barely cut through it. It had also become uncomfortably warm, and they had all begun to sweat. Jason eventually stated the obvious, “I’m dying of thirst, and we have no water and no munchies. I’m calling 911.” They had already considered calling 911, but they were paranoid of doing so. Jason wanted to make the call but had a weak signal so he walked toward the garage door to see if he could get a better signal when he noticed a man-door near the front corner of the unit. He squeezed his way through the maze of memorabilia and ended up by a steel door. He yelled out, “Hey, I found another door.” Liz was not a bit surprised, “Of course. Donnie, didn’t you see the door when you first came in?” Donnie stammered, “What, what happened?” “Aaand, you’re done,” Liz replied. “Yes, I think I am,” exclaimed Donnie. Jason opened the door and walked out – calling the others. Liz and Donnie followed, dragging with them a wall of smoke that seemed to want to escape the unit as well. The smoke swirled out slowly and encircled the three of them and then slowly creeped down the lane of storage units. As Jason opened the driver’s door of the car, he shouted out, “You two, okay?” Donnie looked at Liz, “Yes, as far as I’m concerned, yes.” Liz looked back at Donnie, “Yes, everything is fine…we’re fine.” They hugged briefly and fell into the car. As they drove away, significantly under the speed of sound, Donnie suggested they keep the unit so they could revisit it and go through the contents again. Liz smiled and said with the driest mouth imaginable, “We should revisit every April 20 th .”


Rome A.D. 222 Well, let me just begin by saying that I never imagined that this day would go as anyone would’ve thought it would. Why in the world do we make expectations and then become angry because they didn’t result as expected? I’m no Athenian philosopher, but I think it’s one of the reasons that today I did something I know I will live to regret…that is, if I live. For anyone who ends up reading this in one hundred years from now—which I will not be surprised if no one ever does—my name is Cyprian Justus Aurelius, an aspiring officer in the Roman army. Not that anyone would care. ‘An aspiring officer in the Roman army’—what a title that can be used for so many people! Take Cato Cassius for example, the most ridiculous man, you can be sure. Once, when I asked him how he would handle a mutiny if he ever was promoted to commander, he turned and told me straight-on that he would rather be killed. Be killed! ‘Hah, man, you will be killed!’ I retorted with a laugh without thinking. ‘Do you think mutinies end in treaties, Cato?’ I asked him. Well, at least now I know that mocking your superiors can result in flogging. As if I hadn’t ever witnessed it before! For whatever reason, I was invited to the palace just last week, and my heart stood immediately still within me when I received the letter, if truth be told. My mind instantly went over the previous week’s events…no, I had not done anything that merited punishment. That is, other than my regular barrage of jokes and questions put to the men in the army. I clear my throat here; my ‘jokes’ are enough to turn my predecessors over in their graves. After much consideration and contemplation, I decided to accept the invitation. After all, it isn’t every day that the Roman emperor requests your presence at his palace, and I thought that at least maybe I’d get a decent meal out of it. Maybe there would even be a few presents, I surmised. If only there weren’t too many guests invited, it might actually be a pleasant occasion. This morning, I dressed with much consideration, hoping maybe to impress the emperor with my military uniform. After all, if his first impression of me was a military one, he would most likely assume I was a loyal Roman citizen, and there would be absolutely no reason for him to punish me. I hate to find myself ever in a people-pleasing way of mind, but when it comes to your emperor—maybe one’s life is worth more than one’s pride. When I had arrived at the palace, I was escorted into the dining chamber where I found myself in the company of many—no! While I had been expecting to see maybe ten other guests gathered, and stood there staring around the room for any others, all I could see was this thin boy standing over among the pillars staring up at the ceiling. What a simpleton! I told myself. Moreover, he was wearing pure silk and a golden wreath about his head as if he were the emperor himself. The fool, I thought as I rolled my eyes and rubbed my neck in discomfort. What an awkward way to be found when the emperor finally did arrive for supper. Suddenly, I found myself being grasped by the hand by the young simpleton, a broad smile transforming his face as he pulled me over toward the semicircular table. ‘Hello, hello!’ said he, continuing to clasp my hand in both of his. ‘Welcome to supper! We have twenty-two courses coming on, and I—’ ‘I think we had best wait—’ I began. ‘Wait for what?’ he demanded, brows drawing together in confusion. ‘Why wait when there are so many things to be done? What especially with twenty-two courses to be served and then amusements afterward?’ And with that, he threw himself down onto what appeared to be a solid silver couch and rested a hand behind his head as if he was wearied already. Thoroughly confused, I stood there staring until he finally looked up and nodded resolutely. ‘Ah, I must apologize. I don’t think we’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting before.’ A smile spread across his face as he sat up straight on the couch and extended a white, bejeweled hand. ‘I am Emperor Heliogabalus, but of course, you know that already.’ It took nearly all my power to control my face, but I could feel a strange look coming over it nevertheless. True, I had never seen the emperor with my very eyes, but never, ever would I have guessed that this boy, who could be no older than I was, was my leader. Finally, a group of men wandered into the room, and I started, staring hard at them and unbelieving as to how all of them had chanced to come to the same supper. ‘Oh, my servants in togas!’ exclaimed the emperor as he held out his arms as if to welcome them all and then gestured to the table that I was standing beside. He turned to me, face impish and eyes narrowed and sparkling as he slid to the edge of his couch. ‘The senators do not care for the nickname, but I find it so droll! Yes, my servants, come around and be seated.’ In discomfort—or perhaps it was embarrassment—all eight of the men crowded round to the seats opposite the emperor’s couch. Having all but one eye, many times they ran into one another or jostled the other out of the way as they tried to be seated. At length, when all were comfortable, I sat down also, closest to the emperor, and tried to do anything but stare at the gaping holes in their faces. ‘First course is flamingo brain accompanied by partridge eggs and watercress,’ Emperor Heliogabalus explained from the other side of the table as the servants brought in the trays and laid them out across the table among the bowls of grapes and apples. With a ravenous appetite, he began to devour the food laid out in front of him, steadily looking on at his subjects and pointing to their own silver plates. ‘Eat it.’ I considered the plate in front of me and shook my head. ‘If I want to be sick,’ I muttered under my breath. ‘We—we can’t eat it,’ voiced one of the men aloud from to my right as he looked down at his own plate where a painting of a sumptuous feast rested. ‘Eat it,’ insisted the emperor, his brown eyes growing wider as he pointed a thin forefinger at the plate. Hesitantly, the men lifted the paintings to their mouths and lightly bit at different corners. He is mad, I told myself, shaking my head as a burst of laughter erupted from the other side of the table. ‘Oh-oh, so droll,” he laughed, ending with a deep sigh. ‘Alright, enough with that. Take a grape or two and try some of the partridge eggs.’ I reached for a grape and popped in into my mouth, a terrible shiver racing through my body as my teeth came down with a hard crunch and the bitter taste of lead paint filled my mouth. ‘Eat it,’ smiled Heliogabalus encouragingly. ‘The very best from Apamea.’ My heart thumped in my chest as I blankly stared back at him. What a man. ‘It’s a rock,’ I stated flatly. ‘I’m not mad.’ Another eruption of laughter echoed through the banquet hall, and Emperor Heliogabalus shook his head, taking one of the grapes on his own plate and tossing it into his mouth. ‘These are delicious,’ he remarked with a smile as he gestured to his full plate. ‘Real grapes from Apamea, I’m telling you. Try a partridge egg if you don’t prefer the grapes.’ ‘Probably another rock,’ I retorted angrily, releasing the breath I had been holding. Amongst the general chatter that had eventually arisen after the other guests had reluctantly pushed back their plates, the emperor began a lively discourse with one of the servants standing nearby. Although I hadn’t been paying the most attention, it had sounded as if Heliogabalus had asked something of the servant. ‘I said a thousand pounds of spider silk,’ repeated Heliogabalus with a raise of one brown eyebrow. ‘W-where are we supposed to get one thousand pounds of it?’ faltered the servant as bewilderment lined every line in his face. ‘I don’t know, but I do know that it’s your job to get it for me,’ answered the emperor coolly, tacking on another of his smooth smiles. The he added in a slightly singsong voice, ‘Maybe I’ll even throw in a present…that reminds me. Guests.’ He turned to us all and sat up straighter in his chair. ‘I have something for you before you leave, so don’t forget to remind me.’ Murmurs of ‘alright’ rejoined the emperor’s request, but I didn’t say anything. I only placed the smooth, hard, white orb of a partridge egg back onto the second plate beside me. I would preserve my teeth…and my tongue. ‘What on earth!’ I suddenly exclaimed, finding my chair slowly sinking out from under me. Mirth almost overfilled the emperor’s sparkling eyes as he scrunched up his face and laughed so heartily that he looked as if about to pass out. Gripping his sides, Heliogabalus shook his head back and forth and then placed a hand to his chest as if to still his heart. ‘By Caligula’s consul, I haven’t thought anything so hilarious in years! Your face! Oh, Cyprian, you take everything so seriously!’ ‘And you are mad!’ I exclaimed hotly as I stood up and stared down at him. ‘I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you are certainly not impressing me or anyone else here!’ There was silence for a moment, and I was on the verge of grabbing my satchel to leave when he also stood up and grasped my arm. Looking earnestly into my face, Heliogabalus seemed on the verge of breaking down into laughter when he suddenly stepped back and caught his breath in surprise when he recognized the anger in my eyes. ‘It was just air in your seat,’ he faltered in surprise. ‘Only a joke…’ ‘Please accept my apology, Emperor,’ I said as a wave of guilt washed over me. What was happening to my manners? How could I act as if this were just another one of the men from the army? Surely, he would have my head decorating his next supper table for this. ‘I wish for all of you to accompany me to the balcony,’ Heliogabalus said serenely, as if nothing had happened. The light patter of footsteps against the marble floor echoed throughout the airy palace, and I couldn’t help but to let my attention wander to the milk-white statues populating the halls and the beautiful frescoes and mosaics dancing across the walls. Extravagance bespoke everywhere my eyes landed. Finally, we reached the balcony hidden just beyond a small alcove and found it to be a surprisingly sunny platform and rather spacious. ‘Why are all these people gathered?’ I asked hesitantly as I gave a start, seeing the thousands of eyes directed up at us. ‘My people of Rome!’ shouted Heliogabalus with an overjoyed smile enlightening his face. ‘You’ve guessed it…’tis time for the Lottery!’ A huge applause greeted the emperor’s words, and he stood soaking it all in for a moment, just as a lizard on a garden wall would soak in the sunshine. When the crowd had somewhat quieted, Heliogabalus folded his thin, white arms and slightly angled his tousled head. ‘In exactly three seconds, you could be the proud owner of a new home or a slave or even—’ here he paused dramatically, reveling in the suspense of his own silence, ‘—a prize of three-thousand sesterces! And I mean you , yes you, my dear Roman subject.’ With that, the air below suddenly clouded with thousands of pieces of paper fluttering to the ground like snowflakes. Among the whiteness, I thought my eyes caught a few rope-like items streaking through the sky. A shriek pierced through the air and sent chills skittering down my spine. Grasping the balcony edge, I peered down into the cloud of descending lottery tickets. ‘Snakes!’ came more terrified screams from the mob. I jerked back from leaning over the balcony and stared again at Heliogabalus who was looking out over the crowd with such an amused expression on his face he seemed to be about to go into another laughing fit. ‘Did you put snakes in the catapults?’ I demanded in incredulity. ‘Not just any ordinary snakes,’ Heliogabalus replied with a grin. ‘Poisonous ones. Now, if you will all come back inside, I would love to have you open your gifts from me. No mere lottery tickets for my friends.’ When we were all once again in the banquet hall, he motioned to his servants to bring in the gifts. My stomach growling in dissatisfaction and my ears still ringing with the horrified screaming of the commoners, I flung myself down onto a sofa beyond the table. The eight one-eyed men stood standing in a cluster, their eyes continually darting to the growing pile of boxes in the middle of the floor. ‘There, I think that’s all of them,’ announced one of the servants to Heliogabalus. ‘Very good. Cyprian—’ ‘Here,’ I said shortly, my mouth pressed into a thin line. ‘This one is for you!’ Reluctantly, I stood up and walked over to where the emperor stood beside the mound of boxes, one of his white, ringed hands resting on top of a good-sized package. ‘You’re too kind,’ I said dryly as I knelt down beside the box. ‘You’re welcome!’ smiled Heliogabalus pleasantly. Then, growing more serious, he let his gaze rove the expansive room and then come back to rest on me. ‘I hate this…hate keeping all this wealth for just me. I won’t use it all, that’s for certain, and I just thought that you would at least appreciate a little something to help further you with your valiant ambitions in the army.’ Taken aback, I knelt there looking up at him for a moment before reaching for the latch on the box. In a moment, I had lifted it and bent to look inside. Within the smallest second, I was up on my feet and rushing toward the door, an intense burning feeling repeated in thousands of places on my body. Where was the door? I frantically demanded of myself while furtively glancing behind me at the angry, black cloud of charging bees. The roar of buzzing resounded in my ear, and I caught Heliogabalus standing by the boxes, laughing his royal head off. Without a second thought, I rushed for him and tackled him to the floor, knocking the air well out of his body. Struggling to regain his breath, he sat up, and I jerked him to his feet and shoved him into the hundreds of bees. ‘Get me out of here!’ shrieked the emperor as he fell to his knees and covered his face with his arms. I could see the lumpy welts rising up on the fair skin of his arms already as the bees crowded round their victim. Too terrified to jump in and put a halt to the fracas, the servants hung back, and the one-eyed men were making for the door. After a few solid minutes, I leapt into the mass of bees and dragged the emperor’s limp body out of the cloud, across the floor, and into a different room where I laid him on the floor. I had but instants to escape and make for the haven of my own home deep in the city.

Now, I find that it is only a temporary haven. A letter was just delivered to me from my brother who lives closer to the palace than I do, letting me know that he had already heard what occurred this afternoon. Now, I sit here at my table with this old book before me, knowing quite well that this could very well be my last entry. Now that it is all over, I see that my outspokenness in both word and deed might very well be my fall. A sigh escapes my lips, and I stare out my window into the darkening dusk of the street, wondering why on earth I would feel it my liberty to say and do such things in the emperor’s palace. They are at my door; I hear the tramping of their nailed sandals on the stones of the street. The scarlet torches send glowing sparks up into the night air, and the soldiers are halting at the door. My fellow soldiers. My friends. My brothers. They are entering. My heart is wrenched with true guilt over my rashness, not merely because of the consequences. I did the wrong thing, and I deserve what is coming to me. Here, I am laying down my quill and standing. Mea culpa. Through my fault.


As Stella bent down to pick up her glove, a shove from behind almost pitched her headfirst into the soup can display. “Sorry, love, couldn't see where I was pushing the cart,” said a familiar voice. “Are you alright? It’s these darn bifocals. Can’t seem to get the hang of them. Here, let me help you up.” It was Mrs. Jones, the large, shortsighted lady who came to clean Stella's house every week. She reached down and yanked Stella up by the arm with the strength of a stevedore. “Say, did you hear about the old Miller place?” “What?” said Stella, rubbing her arm. She hated to think what would have happened if Mrs. Jones had wished her harm. Mrs. Jones looked around furtively, leaned close and continued in a stage whisper. “A famous author bought the old Miller place. I heard it from Mamie Hobbs that cleans the real estate office. He’s been on Oprah and everything. I only read the Bible and the Baptist mission magazine myself, but they say he writes some real nice stories. His name’s Dan Bonfatso or something.” She grinned happily at Stella’s surprise. The old Miller place was a beautiful but very dilapidated antebellum mansion in the historic area of town. It had almost reached eyesore status after sitting empty for years since the death of the reclusive last inhabitant. “It’s a big house. Maybe they’ll need a cleaner when they’ve fixed it up. You’d put in a word for me, wouldn’t you? Well, best get home to feed the old man. See you, hon.” With an affectionate parting slap on the back which almost sent Stella reeling, Mrs. Jones trundled off. Curiosity stirring despite her intentions to remain above the gossip, Stella did a Google search as soon as she got home. The author’s name was Dorian Bonifacio, and he had indeed been on Oprah and the New York Times best seller list. His novels were ‘modern but timeless, sublime and daring, addressing the exquisite challenges and pain of the modern age’ according to one reviewer. Stella ordered a copy of his latest from Amazon. Dorian was handsome, looking at her with brooding intensity from the back cover, but Stella gave up after the first chapter, thoroughly confused. She’d stick to her murder mysteries and chick lit even if it meant admitting the limits of her literary taste. During the following week, Stella heard at the pharmacy that the house was going to be demolished and at the vet's that it was going to be renovated. The locals who gathered in the diner every morning for breakfast had a field day discussing the amount and colors of paint that had been ordered from the local hardware store. Everyone agreed that the author deserved credit for buying locally and using local firms for the work but the gossip grew more outlandish by the day. It was going to be a bed and breakfast. It was going to be a walled compound and trespassers would be shot on sight. A chandelier was coming from New York and tiles from Italy. Stella drew the line at listening to speculation about heart-shaped bathtubs and mirrors on the bedroom ceiling. Mrs. Jones was bursting with news when she next came to clean Stella’s house. She had brought her teenage granddaughter Lacey along to help her. “He’s been down here,” she said. “The writer fellow. Had lunch in the tavern with some people. Mary Barnes told my Joe that he tipped real well. He’s a vegan. I thought that was some kind of religion, but Joe says that means he don’t eat no meat nor milk and eggs. And something else…” Her voice dropped to a whisper, and she blushed. “He’s got a boyfriend.” Lacey rolled her eyes. “Grandma, he’s gay. He’s got a husband, not a boyfriend. So what? At least he’s married. You always fuss when you hear about people who aren’t married living together.” “Things have certainly changed since my young days. I don’t know what this world is coming to,” Mrs. Jones said, offended. “But I judge not lest I be judged. Go polish those mirrors, young lady.” She stumped out and began vacuuming in the next room. “Sorry,” said Lacey. “She’s such a dinosaur sometimes.’ “Your grandmother grew up in very different times,” said Stella. “It must be hard to adjust to the new norms. Be patient with her.”

*** Work on the old house continued for weeks with the locals avidly following progress. Mr. Atkins sighed as he counted out Stella’s change after inspecting her car. No credit cards here. You brought cash and got a handwritten receipt at old Mr. Atkins' place.

“I swear I never heard so much foolishness in my life as about this feller coming to town,” he said. “You’d think it was the second coming or something.” “At least people aren’t talking about me as much,” Stella said. “It’s nice not to be the center of gossip for a change.” Mr. Atkins gave a slow grin, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “You was a mite different,” he said. “Coming from the big city with all that talk of natural healing and New Age stuff. Folks had you conjuring the devil and I don’t know what-all. But you’ve made a right nice job of that café and shop, though I still don’t know why people would spend money on stones and doodads. Lord knows we need something to fill some of them empty buildings on the high street and my Janey loves telling me stories about working there.” “Janey is an exemplary employee,” said Stella. “And they are healing crystals, not stones and doodads, I’ll have you know.” She winked at him as she left. He threw his gnarled hands up in surrender and laughed as she drove off. They had a busy day at the coffee shop. Stella was in her office counting receipts when Janey stuck her head round the door. “Psst,” she hissed. "He's here." “Who is?” said Stella, preoccupied. “We’re closed.” “It’s the author. I was just putting up the closed sign when he tapped on the door. I didn’t want to be rude.” Stella emerged. She recognized him immediately. He smiled pleasantly and extended his hand. There was a tall blonde man with him. “Hi, I’m Dorian and this is my husband, Todd. Sorry if it’s inconvenient, but I wondered if we could get a quick cup of coffee. We were trying to avoid your rush hour. We seem to be causing quite a commotion wherever we go.” “I understand completely,” said Stella. “Of course.” Janey had already hurried off to make the coffee, thrilled. “This is on the house. Welcome to town,” said Stella when he attempted to pay. “If you need a housekeeper, I can recommend a very good one. I can also recommend Janey’s grandfather if you need work done on your car.” Janey beamed. “Thank you,” Dorian said. “We do want to support local businesses in the community. We’ll be back.” *** A few days later, Mrs. Jones and Lacey showed up at the coffee shop. Mrs. Jones was uncharacteristically quiet and appeared worried. “A word with you in private, Ms. Stella, if you please,” “Come into my office,” said Stella. “What is it?” “I like working for you, I really do, Ms. Stella. But the thing is that the writer fellow offered me a job cleaning that big house. I said no at first because I couldn’t get used to the idea of two men being married. But he seems like a real nice person and he’s going to pay me a whole lot. Lacey reminded me that I said I wasn’t going to judge, and well, I…” “Someone must have given you a very good reference,” said Stella, smiling. “Though I seem to have done myself out of a good housekeeper.” “I know it was you, and I thank you,” said Mrs. Jones. “But Lacey and I came up with an idea. Lacey can do your house for now while she’s home from college and give you time to find someone else.” Stella looked at Lacey who nodded eagerly. “It seems to be a win-win situation,” said Stella. “And, Lacey, since you’re in college, do me a favor, please. Try reading his books and tell me if you can make heads or tails of them. They're beyond me.”


Agatha has always been stuck in between. When she was born in the Gateway to the West, the doctor reading his watch on her mother’s left declared it 11:59 PM, March 31 st . The doctor reading the wall clock above her mother’s head said it was 12:00 AM on April 1 st . Unsurprisingly, Agatha’s mother advocated for the March birthday while her father insisted she be born on April Fools. Agatha’s mother fainted from the combined exhaustion of arguing and giving birth, and the doctors had the common decency to record that Agatha was born in March. Agatha’s father was not thrilled by this outcome, but he made do because the tiny purple thing that looked more worm than human was gripping his thumb so it, too, turned puffy and swollen. If babies could be wise, Agatha was that. She had the good sense to never allow herself to be propped up by flimsy cabinets or child-swallowing chairs, so her poor parents resorted to carrying her wherever they went and hardly got a moment’s rest. Furthermore, Agatha insisted that baby food was made by the devil and wasted away until her mother realized her daughter would eat her own mashed food. She bought a portable blender to nourish the poor, starving creature, and Agatha was so grateful she allowed her parents to sit down while they slept instead of leaning against a wall, as they had been before. Agatha grew into her life. It had been challenging at first, the doctors likening her phenotype more to a prune than a human, but her wrinkles flattened into the face of a child, and her skin turned from ripe plum to creamy gold. When Agatha opened her eyes for the first time, she didn’t close them for a whole week straight. Her mother is convinced this is why her daughter was fitted with glasses at age seven, but the doctors say it’s just plain old bad genes. Despite this unfortunate physical impediment that made her flee at the mere sight of a basketball or squash ball or any other type of small flying object, Agatha had remarkably good vision. She saw through her father’s petty lies and friends’ bravado and earned the class title of master poker player and best confident. People told her things because they could feel her seeing them. Some of those people thought they confided in her because she was trustworthy and emotionally adept, but others came to her seeking absolution, hoping to justify their actions and relieve themselves of their troubles. By middle school, Agatha’s locker became a sort of confessional, and people waited by her slatted door or slipped little notes inside, asking for advice or catharsis. Agatha became the great secret-keeper of the Eastern Building hallway. She even knew more about most of the teachers than the administrative staff. Everyone from the principal to the class clown came to her for information or opinions. Of course, Agatha never revealed anyone’s secrets unless they were dangerous, but she wasn’t above throwing a few helpful hints their way. Despite her Napoleonic rule over the middle school, Agatha committed several faux-pas that threatened her reign once she got into high school, the first of which forced her to adapt her standards of “dangerous.” Selling out the class drug dealer earned her a good citizenship award in middle school and a fair amount of notoriety, but she’d been victim to a series of underhanded threats from a collection of boys shielded by daddy’s money for the same feat several years later. Although most people talked to Agatha, were friendly with Agatha, and even paid Agatha not to look at them next Thursday during the calculus final, Agatha didn’t have many friends. She’d had a best friend in elementary school, but that friend wouldn’t so much as acknowledge her presence on the first day of sixth grade. She’d known the moment she walked into the classroom. She saw the altered clusters of kids huddled around the desks and understood the expression on her friend’s face when she stared pointedly at the wall behind her. A pang of hurt struck Agatha’s chest and crept up her throat, but what could she do? She smiled at her now ex-best friend and sat with a cluster of girls hanging around the whiteboard speaking loudly about dragons and the properties of dragon scales. Agatha liked dragons a lot. The older she got, the harder it became for Agatha to keep a friend. They’d feel her seeing them and become increasingly uncomfortable. After a single conversation, she could see their comforts and their strengths alongside their vices and their insecurities, and the more time she spent with them, the more their lives unfurled before her. She was always encouraging, always supportive, and never ever shared what she saw unless they asked. People stopped asking; wanted to figure things out for themselves, she supposed. Got lost and didn’t want to find their way. But they still felt her seeing them. She couldn’t very well walk around with her eyes closed all day, so they shied away. Even her own mother felt judged by the harsh glare reflecting off Agatha’s glasses. So, she just sat back and watched them struggle: flounder around and gasp for air and smack away any lifeline she threw. Agatha realized this must be simply human nature, so when her most recent friend took the lifeline, ripped the plastic from the edges of the floatation device, and lashed Agatha’s face until blood ran into her eyes, Agatha realized it was time to walk away. Well, drive away. Agatha had a spiffy red Ford named Darla and decided that she was her new best friend. Maybe it was because Darla wouldn’t run away from her stare or blanch when she smiled, but Agatha decided Darla was her best way out of this mess. Even though she hated driving. It would have been better if they hadn’t shown her all those horror flicks in Drivers’ Education. Every Saturday afternoon, Agatha donned her red sneaker-shoes, jumped into Darla, and set out to explore the city. She liked what she saw. St. Louis was beautiful—made nearly completely of red brick structures with grey sidings and feathering overhangs that fluttered in the wind. When she parked her car to walk the city streets, she felt like a macabre film star walking the streets of a desolate city on her way to do something important. Agatha looked around at the crumbling, empty buildings and felt very important for no particular reason at all. The suburbs where she lived were lovely and sweet, but this, the city. It felt like her. It felt like home. In her red sneaker-shoes, Agatha felt dark and unstoppable and free. She felt cold and brave and fierce. She reveled in it. She stood under a faded red awning and took a deep breath. It stank. She hadn’t noticed it before, but something foul was rearing its way through the streets. The haze was reeking and putrid and choked her. Agatha opened her eyes. There it was. How could she have missed it? It lived in faces of shop owners and the glanced off car windows as they whizzed by, doors tightly locked. It crawled through the alleys and lingered at the bus station. Clear as day, it was etched into the very bones of the city, an unearthed relic that flooded and strangled and drowned. Fear. Agatha’s stomach clenched, and she hurried back to her car, sticking her extra quarter in the meter as she went. This city certainly needed it more than her. When she made it home, Agatha crawled into bed, ignored her mother’s concern and her puppy’s preening, and stared blankly at her white sheets until her retinas burned. She stared and stared and tried to force those faces, that fear from her mind’s eye, but all she saw was the glazed looks, the clutched purses, the hurried walks. She stared and stared and stared. Later, in school, Agatha learned about the division between the city and the county: how St. Louis warred against itself, forcing its pieces and people and taxes apart. How schools and parks and police bowed to the invisible fear of voters who kept them separate, kept them “safe,” hoarded their wealth. The misers of the new age. She learned how the Gateway to the West, once proud and bolstering progressive ideals that flaunted the very essence of a “New America,” fell flat. Its hopes forgotten. The people within cast aside by their own neighbors. By the time Agatha learned about the Delmar Divide, where the disparity between income, property values, and race was so ingrained in the populous an actual line of de facto demarcation existed, Agatha had closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see. She stopped taking Darla for adventures in the city, fearing for her safety and seeing the destruction her own lifestyle wrought. She didn’t want to see the shaking hand of the people who stared or reached their empty cups toward her. What was she to do—stop living? She hadn’t chosen this for anyone. She couldn’t fix this for everyone. On her last trip out of the city, Agatha squeezed her eyes so tightly shut, Darla smashed into poor Mr. Abernathy’s new Honda. Once Agatha calmed the fluttering in her chest enough to get out of the car and hand over her insurance information, Darla rolled away. Agatha had parked her, but Darla was tired of all the seeing and decided to leave, rolling out of reach and into the intersection of Olive and Price instead. Agatha bemoaned the loss of her beloved car and her mother’s accompanying fury, but she was secretly relieved. She hated driving and never wanted to listen to a car radio again. In fact, she never wanted to listen to any radio again. If news or current events podcasts or local press aired, she closed her eyes, practiced her deep breathing, and carefully felt her way out of the room with her hands. And Agatha knew she was a coward. She made a point of leaving the city while school was out to go somewhere cooler, nicer, with tortoises or homemade fudge shops or bookstores built into the walls of bank vaults. In those places, she saw declining wildlife populations, mass obesity, and the sweat and love that dripped from the thinning pages of books. Somehow, it was easier there. When Agatha finally graduated high school, she packed her bags and resolved to never look back. Never revisit the horrors or beauties that haunted her memory and chipped away at the lives of her loved ones. Agatha was subsumed by fear, and she would never let it happen again. She did everything possible to stand by her oath. She lived in the quiet and dark corners of rooms to avoid any harsh light, and people jumped when she emerged to talk, her face veiled in shadow. She became affably known as the ghost on her college campus, and Agatha thought it seemed fitting because she felt dead. She’d closed her eyes so tightly she couldn’t see the feats of her brave novel heroines or revel in the sunlight of the city. She couldn’t fret over tortoise populations or listen giddily to intriguing secrets. Dead people didn’t do those things. She might as well have been the breath of her own city’s corpse, flowing in and out and going nowhere. But her city wasn’t dead. In her heart, Agatha knew that, just as she knew the ant-like people she saw buzzing around under the tall St. Louis Arch weren’t dead either. It was time to come alive again, feel the beauty and the pain and the power of life coursing through her. Agatha looked in the mirror and rubbed her eyes. They were sore from disuse. She threw herself a lifeline and grabbed ahold. Agatha dedicated herself to gripping the possibilities that prostrated themselves before her and building something beautiful with them. She ran her fingers over each new prospect and folded delicate origami cranes and stars out the pieces of life fluttering around her. The knots in her chest subsided. Slowly, only halfway realizing what she was doing, Agatha opened her eyes. The veil lifted. Her eyes themselves got progressively worse, and each year she slid into a thicker pair of glasses, but Agatha looked beyond her fear and her friends’ fear and her lovers’ fear and the fear of her city. She saw the haze, widened her eyes, and peered through it. At last, Agatha donned her red sneaker-shoes again, jumped into her new car, Bertram, and headed west for the city made of red brick and blue awnings. The city full of sights so horrific and beautiful, it could have been a postcard for standard American living. Its depth and pain gave it meaning, a goal for the future, a purpose. Its wounds made it alive. Agatha headed home.


Vincent VanPire was excited to finally be moving into his inherited abandoned house, once owned by his very wealthy great uncle, Count Victor VanPire. Situated just along the outskirts of a picture-perfect development, a three-story, century-old mansion stood tall yet on the verge of crumbling.            Vincent stood out in his front yard and stepped back to take in the whole house. The ancient shutters hung loosely on its hinges, the porch was nearly caved in and the paint was nearly all chipped. Ivy grew up, down, and around every crevice of the house, giving the appearance of not having been lived in since Great Uncle Victor. Which it probably wasn’t.            As he took in his new inheritance, he smiled proudly. “Just a few more years and the roof vill finally cave in,” said Vincent happily. “And now that I’m mostly settled in, I really should invite a few guests over. Vat do you think, Venus?” he asked his beloved pet fly trap. Venus trapped a buzzing fly, and suddenly Vincent had an idea. “That’s it, Venus! I shall throw a dinner party and invite our new neighbors. Vat a great idea!”            Vincent walked back inside to the drawing-room. He strode over to his desk, took out his quill, and dipped it into a bottle of blood-red ink. The invite was to go to his new neighbors across the street, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, inviting them over for dinner at 7 o’clock. It was now noon. He walked over to his old but trusty barn owl. “Frankincense, deliver this to the Smith’s across the street. Hurry now! I have much to do before seven.” The owl squawked then snatched the piece of folded parchment in its beak and flew out the window.            “That’s one thing done. Now I must get the house ready! But how vill I finish on time? I need some help.” He looked down at Venus, who sat still in her pot. No, Venus wasn’t much help. Frankincense was of no use either. Vincent now couldn’t help but feel rather anxious. He peered outside in the direction of the family cemetery. Suddenly, it was as if a light bulb had been turned on inside his head. “Of course! How silly of me. I’m not alone. I have my family to help! And I have just the thing to raise them.”            Vincent ran into the kitchen and grabbed a jar from the spice drawer and read the label: RISING DEAD SPICE  A mixture of ground ingredients of burnt hair, rotten toenails, and dead skin. Sprinkle a dash of the spice over graves of the dead during the day to raise them to do your bidding. Corpses will remain raised and possessed until nightfall. Note: Corpses cannot converse with the living. Side effects: Feelings of nostalgia, not wanting corpses to return to grave.            Vincent sprinkled the mixture over the graves. And like magic, the corpses of his extended relatives (aunts, uncles, first cousins, and second cousins twice removed) rose from the dampened dirt.            “Velcome, velcome!” cried Vincent. “Ve have much to do today, and I vill need all of your help.” The corpses’ gazes remained unemotionally fixed on Vincent. “I will need this mansion restored to its former glory and a feast fit for a king by tonight.” The group of reawakened dead stared mutely. “Now!”            As if scrambling in slow motion, the corpses began to move. Some went to the top floor, some went downstairs and the others went into the kitchen. Vincent clapped his hands together. “Vunderful. Now I can see if Frankincense has come back with a reply.”            Vincent marched up the steps to the attic where Frankincense usually liked to perch. Sure enough, there he was with a piece of paper beside him with the Smith’s reply saying they would accept his invitation. Vincent was elated; it would make his first friends in the neighborhood.            A few hours passed by quickly. The corpses had gone back to their graves and Vincent was now dressed in his finest black cloak. At first, he revealed his fangs but then thought against it. “I wouldn’t want to overdress,” he explained to Venus and revealed all human teeth. Then at seven o’clock on the dot, the doorbell rang followed by a shriek. “They’re here!” he cried and ran to open the door.            There in the doorway was Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Vincent was surprised to see they were nearly as pale as him. “Ah, the Smith’s! Velcome! Velcome to my manor. Well, it’s not my manner completely. You see it was once owned-”            “Your- your doorbell. It- it grabbed me!” gasped Mrs. Smith, who Vincent now realized was clutching her hand. He turned to his doorbell, which was in fact surrounded by a rare plant that Vincent found on his travels. The plant was known to squeeze its victims to the point of suffocation. Luckily, Vincent had trained it to know the difference between friend and foe.            “Now, now. You know not to strangle our guests!” Vincent slapped the plant and it shriveled away. “Yes,” he said turning to the guests. “Come in, come in…” The Smith’s slowly made their way inside. “Now as I was saying, this was once owned by my great Uncle Victor VanPire. He recently died close to three hundred years ago-”            “Excuse me,” said Mr. Smith. “ Recently passed away three hundred years ago?”            “That is correct.” The Smith’s looked at each other.            “But… but how is that recent?” Vincent laughed.            “Well, my family has a history of living long, full lives you see. Tend to get a little cranky around the full moon…”            “We- we brought this,” Mrs. Smith shakily handed over a tray. “It’s my famous casserole.”            “Why how lovely! Let me put this into the kitchen. Come, follow me this way.” As he led them through the living room past creaking suits of armor, stained oil paintings, and other odds and ends, he failed to notice the Smith’s trembling violently, holding onto one another as if they were going through a haunted house.            Which to them, it was.            Suddenly, a loud bang emanated from the kitchen. Mrs. Smith shrieked again. “What was that?”            “Hmm, not sure. I may have left the cauldron boil for too long. I’ll just check. Now, I have a delicious meal waiting for you, wouldn’t want it to go to waste! Why don’t you two take a seat in the dining room and I’ll have the food set out momentarily.”            The Smith’s sat down at the long dining room table. The table indeed was set formally; a rich plum velvet runner lined the table, with worn silver candelabra and dinnerware set at each place. Both of them took a seat on the black velvet chairs, the crackling of the fireplace the only noise for the next few minutes before Mr. Smith picked up an emerald goblet filled with a dark smoky liquid that had a scent similar to rotten eggs.            “And here we are!” announced Vincent, his black robes swishing behind as he strode in from the kitchen. A tray seemed to be magically pushing itself with what the Smiths could hardly call food. As Vincent piled their plates, Mrs. Smith pushed a slimy tentacle around with her fork. Mr. Smit nearly gagged as he sniffed what looked like a wriggling finger.            And just as Mrs. Smith was about to excuse herself, she felt something wrap around her ankle. Nervous, she looked down and saw a large, slimy tentacle climbing up her leg! As she looked down on her plate, she noticed her dinner was no longer there.            Just as expected as anyone would who had a tentacle around their leg, Mrs. Smith screamed and fell backward out of her chair. As she kicked furiously to try and free her leg of the tentacle, she noticed that the tentacle had fallen limp. When she looked up, a Venus flytrap had bitten the tentacle in half, freeing her of its grasp.            Without another word and with the largest shriek of the night yet, the Smiths ran from the house as fast as they could. Vincent took a look at his beloved pet. “Vy Venus, that vas very nice of you, to help Mrs. Smith from her dinner. Speaking of, it went very vell, don’t you think?”            And Vincent smiled, happy to have made some new friends.            Well, almost. THE END


At the point when dawn was about to peak its way over the mountains, Jeff and Estrella decided to leave the warm comfort of his truck and continue their conversation on a bench next to Lake Hodges to watch the sunrise. Jeff got a bunch of blankets from the bed of the truck and they cuddled together. "I cannot believe we were talking all night," Jeff said. "I know, that was a pretty amazing first date. This is an amazing first date," Estrella said. They watched as the trees and the top of the hillside glowed with yellow and orange. Colors were becoming more vibrant, adding to the magic of the night. Jeff looked at Estrella and seeing the sun's rays dance around her face, she seemed even more beautiful than last night. "My goodness," Jeff said, "what planet are you from?" Estrella asked, "What?" "I mean, you're so beautiful, there is no way you are from planet Earth," he said dreamily. Estrella laughed nervously. A glow came from her ear and she grabbed it quickly, put her head down and said, "Stop it." "I'm sorry," Jeff said, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. You just are beyond anyone I have ever met before." Estrella had a gem encrusted bracelet that started to vibrate. She quickly said, "That's so sweet. It's like a saying, right? You think I'm out of this world, that is all, right!" Jeff was confused by her panic and the amount of glowing and vibrating her jewelry was doing. He said, "I guess?" Estrella started yelling, "And there is no reason," she started to glow more, "no reason," the glow started to surround Jeff too as Estrella yelled, "ah, dammit!" Both Estrella and Jeff were consumed by the light and disappeared off of the bench by the lake. When Jeff could finally see, he was in a blank white room with only the blankets showing any color. The lighting made it hard for him to grasp where he was. He ran from one side of the room to the other. Trying to pinpoint a door or some sort of escape. It looked like a box was made around him and he was trying to find anything he could do other than panic. Panicking seemed like the only option. Then a voice came from somewhere, everywhere, "One moment Jeff. I'm trying to fix this." "Estrella?" Jeff called out. "Yes, I'm here with you. Don't worry. I know I can fix this," she said. The walls of Jeff's room came alive and robotic arms tried to restrain him. Jeff ran to his blankets and tried to fashion a weapon. "Stay back," he yelled as he tried to whip the blanket out. "Jeff, just go with the arms," the voice of Estrella said. "Back off you monster!" Jeff was trying so hard to be brave. "Jeff, stand still!" Estrella's voice rang out. He scoffed in protest and then stood still. The robotic arms held his wrists and sat him in a mobile chair. Restrained, he was rolled into the main conference room next to the bridge. The room with its giant table and many lounge chairs looked fancy enough to be part of a spaceship or on an episode of Empire. Estrella was standing there with an intimidating man who had her same deep brown hair and dark skin. Both of them had a similar smile but only Estrella had the kind of pouty lips that Jeff would love to kiss forever. "Daddy, you overreacted," Estrella said to the intimidating man, "Look at him. He's so sweet." "So, what if he's sweet. He figured you out. Do you know how dangerous that is?" Estrella's father said. "He didn't figure me out," Estrella protested, "You reacted too harshly after hearing a pickup line!" "What is a pickup line?" her father asked. "He was trying to be romantic. A lot of Earth men try this. Look," Estrella said and as she typed on a keyboard, she turned the main wall into a screen. She brought up a screen with a foreign language and a lot of photos of people who looked like they were on dates. "Here are some basic Earth courting rituals and here are some of the pickup lines. A lot of them compare women to aliens." She showed a list of pickup lines in English, so Jeff could read them too. He wished he couldn't. They were an embarrassment to his kind, especially if he was trying to impress Estrella's father who was apparently from Outer space.

She started to read, "’You must be a star, I can't stop orbiting around you.’ ‘You're the sun...and I'll revolve my life around you.’  ‘If I had a star for every time you brightened my day, I'd have a galaxy in my hand.’ ‘I think we may have been transported to the surface of Mercury, because things became unbelievably hot when you walked into the room.’” "These are terrible," her father said. "They try. It's sweet. Jeff is sweet," Estrella said. "Well, he knows too much," her father said. "Because you told him too much. That's not his fault," Estrella said. "True, but we can't take any chances. It was a mistake letting you study at California State San Marcos. I thought it was a small school and you could just blend in," her father said. "I did blend in Daddy. It was going so well," Estrella said. "I know and I'm sorry I didn't know what 'pick up lines' were but his kind is dangerous. They'll capture you and study you. We'll have to take care of him," her father said. "Sir," Jeff interrupted, "I'm not dangerous. I like your daughter and I want to date her. I wouldn't tell anybody. Who would believe me anyway?" Estrella's father looked at Jeff who seemed so unimpressive. He wasn’t in great physical shape and he seemed a bit lost. Then Estrella’s father looked at her. She watched Jeff like he was a treasure that she had just found. She looked like she wanted him with her forever.

Estrella’s father opened up one of the screens on the wall and went to think by the view. It was pitch black outside with the occasional sprinkling of lights from stars. Jeff knew he was on a ship and had a feeling that they might be in space but the confirmation of it made him feel lightheaded. Estrella went to stand by him and held his hand which helped. She was so beautiful. His space princess who might get him killed. It would be best to just stare at her and stop time all together. It would also be best to stop thinking these cheesy romantic thoughts before another one gets him hauled off to another life or death dimension. Estrella's father turned around. "Here's my decision," he said, "We won't kill you." Jeff sighed with relief. "WE! I was never going to kill him!" Estrella yelled at her father. "I would have needed your help," her father said in an extremely matter of fact way. Jeff whispered, "Maybe we should listen." "Then you would have been on your own figuring it out because I wouldn't have helped!" she yelled. Jeff a little louder, "But killing is off the table so why don't we move on now." "I can't believe you. Just because I'm your daughter doesn't mean I'll do everything you say. I have my own life too," she argued. Jeff yelling now, "How about we move on and talk about sending me home." Estrella and her father stopped and stared at Jeff, surprised at his outburst since he was still restrained to the chair. "Oh, we can't send you home," her father said, "That's not safe. You'll stay here, with Estrella. No more university for you, young lady. You can keep Jeff, like a pet." "A pet!" they both protested. Estrella's father released Jeff from the chair with the push of a button. "Okay, well, get him comfortable somewhere and get ready. We leave after I plot another course for a new system." Estrella's father left. Jeff ran from the chair to the window that was still open, showing him that it was definitely space. If he leaned against it and looked down, he could see Earth. "Wow," he thought, alongside with, "I'm screwed." Estrella went to him. He looked at her and grabbed her hands. He started breathing heavy and stuttering, "Earth, Earth, space, space, pet, pet, pet, I can't, I can't, I." “Don’t worry, you won’t have to,” Estrella said.

She grabbed Jeff’s hand and called to her father, “I’ll just show him around.” She pushed a button on the wall and a hidden door slid open leading to a hallway. She dragged Jeff with her. As they were rushing through the hallway, Jeff saw a few openings to rooms making him realize that the ship looked like a traveling home with lounge chairs and carpeting and bookcases. He thought that he must have been beamed into some sort of holding room, it was so scary and ugly compared to all of this. “Pay attention,” Estrella urged and Jeff stopped sightseeing. “We need to get past my dad and into the communications room. There we can hook you up to the transporter and send you back.” “Me? What about you? I can’t go back without you,” Jeff said. “Aw Jeff, you are sweet,” Estrella said, held his hand closer to her and looked into his eyes hoping that he would kiss her. “And what do you mean by hook me up? That sounds painful,” he said. Disappointed, Estrella reassured him, “It will be fine. It’s the same way we got here.” They hurried around the corner and a huge creature was in their path. It was the size of a lion, had saggy, furry brown skin, and claw-like paws. It was watching them and Jeff pulled Estrella behind her and said, “Get behind me. I’ll protect you!” “Jeff.” “Estrella let me do this,” Jeff said as he tried to make himself look bigger. He called out to the creature, “Over here. Fight me.” “But Jeff.” “I can handle this,” Jeff said and started running towards the creature, ready to fight. The creature ran towards him too. As they were about to collide, the creature threw its front paws up on Jeff’s shoulders and started licking his face. Jeff made “uck” noises as the creature slobbered on him. Estrella came over and said, “Easick, down buddy,” and the creature got off of him. “He’s like the equivalent to a giant dog on your planet. My dad lives here. He wouldn’t have a dangerous animal roaming the halls.” “Of course,” Jeff said embarrassed. “That was extremely brave of you though. Thank you,” Estrella said and urged him to continue following her to the communications room which was just a few feet away. “The door is open. Daddy never keeps the door open,” she pointed out. “Unless he’s plotting a course for our next destination,” her father chimed in. Estrella and Jeff froze in the doorway. “I thought you did that on the bridge,” Estrella said. “I changed it to here when I realized there was more room and a better computer,” her father answered. “Oh,” she said and they all just stood there in awkward silence. Finally, Jeff stepped up, “Sir, I like your daughter a lot and I would never hurt her. I would do everything I could to protect her.” “I know,” her father said, “I overheard you try to protect her from our pet.” “Oh,” Jeff said still embarrassed. “We’ve had him for over fifteen years,” her father said. “I understand,” Jeff said. “We raised him from a tiny pup and he played with Estrella as she grew up,” her father said. “The point is Daddy, that Jeff will keep me safe. We can trust him. Please let’s send him back,” Estrella said. “Are you sure?” her father asked. Estrella looked at Jeff. He took her arm and held her. She did not want to be separated from him but she wanted him to be happy more. “I’m sure Daddy. Please send him back,” she said. “Okay, help him get hooked up to the transporter,” her father said. “Come on, quickly,” Estrella said and took Jeff to a pad in the room, “When I turn it on, just make sure you stand in the middle of this and stay still.” “Okay,” Jeff said. Estrella started to walk away from him and he grabbed her hand to stop her. She turned to him. “Am I ever going to see you again?” he asked. Estrella smiled and moved closer to him. She placed her head on his chest as she went to hug him, “I don’t know.” Jeff held her and stroked her hair. How does he find her if she leaves the planet? He touched her chin and motioned her to look up at him. Another moment he wished he could stop time for as he kissed her. “Time to go,” said Estrella’s father. Jeff saw a tear on Estrella’s cheek as she said, “Remember, stand still.” Jeff nodded and did as she instructed. Everything became bright and blinding again. Jeff felt a dramatic change from warmth to a biting chill. When he could finally see, he was standing by the bench, in front of the lake. A whole day must have passed because it was dark and cold with two moons reflecting off of the lake. Confused, Jeff looked up to see one of the moons moving around. It wasn’t a moon. It was the ship. Was she really gone forever now? Jeff wondered if he moved too quickly to return to Earth. Maybe she was everything that he ever wanted. But how could he know after just one date? He saw the ship go from moving slowly to being gone in a flash. He saw another, smaller object, coming down from the sky. As it got closer to him, he could see that it was a tiny capsule with a propeller helping it descend. He put out his hand to catch it and it popped open on impact. Inside was a note with a phone number and the message, “Call me,” then a heart with the signature, Estrella. Jeff gave a sigh of relief, she’s not gone forever. Jeff held the note close while he gazed at the night and the glow of one moon reflecting off of the lake.


I remember the day Laura brought her new son home for the first time. I was excited. I knew I'd recall it as the most important day of my life. After much debate, we decided he should be named Hampton, a family name, though I always called him Hamp when his mom wasn't hovering nearby. Her face shone with such pride in the little guy. She held him so tight that I worried she might crush him. I wondered whether she knew the proper way to carry him.            "Be sure to support him from his bottom so you won't drop him.           "Don't hold him too tight, or you might squeeze the life out of him." She wouldn't surrender him to anyone else's hugs and affection. I could hardly catch a glimpse of him, wrapped as he was in his swaddling clothes. He seemed so small, wrinkled, and wiggly when she let me see him. When I looked carefully at him, he didn't look like me at all; he appeared so—well, ugly. But I knew he had to be mine. I felt confident he'd grow out of it, that eventually, he'd become handsome like me. Hamp slept most of the time—actually, he mostly dozed, cried, and pooped. At night he lay next to his mom in bed. At first, Laura wouldn't let me sleep next to them. I sat in a recliner chair across the room and watched them as they slept. I feared Laura let him sleep too close; she might roll over and suffocate him. She never did. As a new mother, she must have had a natural maternal instinct on how to care for her baby. Later, when I was allowed in their bed, Hamp reached out, touched me, cooed, and cuddled me. The thought of him caressing me—loving me—sent chills down my back. He had accepted me. And soon, he learned to say my name, Herman. As he got older, Laura began reading him stories, mostly fairy tales, from a hardbound book with detailed line drawings illustrating the story's characters—knights, princes, princesses, and dragons. At first, Hamp enjoyed looking at the pictures with wide-eyed fascination. He pressed his hand against the colored forms and giggled as he traced the drawings with his tiny fingers. Eventually, he took crayons and scribbled on the books to improve the artists' work, the results annoying his mom. Still, she accepted his need to express himself, and over the years, she collected many more illustrated books for Hamp, books with colorful renderings of kings and castles, pirates, and pirate ships. I sat with him for hours explaining the art, helping him sound out the various letters, and how to string the letters into words. He learned to read, love words and stories, and appreciate art as he leafed through those books. Hamp and I became the best and closest of friends. Since Hamp was short and chubby, he became an attractive target for bullies. In elementary school, he frequently needed me to soothe the physical and emotional wounds he received at school. At night when Hamp was upset or frustrated, he could punch me in the arm to relieve the stress; when he was lonely or feeling rejected, we could hug each other tight, and he would feel accepted and secure. Even as he aged, he'd come home and hug me—anxious or lonely. When he was in the seventh grade, he came home especially upset. There was a dance at school. His first childhood crush had been on a black-haired girl named Barbara. He thought she was beautiful, though he was confused why he considered any girl attractive at that age. He idolized her and sat staring at her at every opportunity during class. He asked Barbara to dance with him that day, and she agreed. Holding her hand and putting his arm around her waist gave him an unfamiliar tingling feeling. Then some of the bullies interrupted them. They taunted Barbara, "You shouldn't dance with that ugly, fat boy." She stopped dancing with Hamp at once. That day he came home humiliated—broken-hearted. He came to me, tears streaming down each cheek and his eyes puffy and red. As always, I was there to comfort him. I tried to convince him that he'd make other female friends. I wasn't much help since the only female I had been close to was Laura, his mom. But I did convince him that most of his life lay ahead of him, and things would get better.            Then came the fights in high school. Hamp had to learn to face aggression: avoid it somehow, fight his way out of the trouble, or run from it. I recommended that he learn to avoid conflict altogether; I had no idea how to advise him how to fight. He'd come home bruised mentally and physically regardless of which path he chose. He needed me most then, and I was happy I could help him deal with life’s pains and bruises.            After Hamp left to go to college, he didn't come home at night anymore. He decided to go into art and writing—the fine arts. I like to think the time I spent with him and those beautiful books had a lot to do with his decision for his future. I haven't seen him in such a long time since he went away to college. At night I sit on a chair in his bedroom and wait for him to return. I am lonely. He must not need me as much anymore. After a while, Laura decided to redecorate Hamp's bedroom. She placed what remained of me in a cardboard box that went into a dark closet. I guess I'm lucky. Though Laura sewed and mended me many times over the years, I lost most of my stuffing. I was afraid she was going to discard me with the trash. So, I'll sit here waiting patiently until Hamp returns for me. I'm sure he'll come home soon and take me with him when he leaves. I know he still needs me. After all, we're still best of friends, aren't we?                                                            END