He was approached by a massive grizzly bear, with a removable jar for a head. He could vaguely see a brain within it, encapsulated with a green translucent liquid, which kept the brain, buoyant in the center of the jar; almost like magic. Less visible was the seemingly chaotic connective miscellanea that attached its eyes and ears to brain. Which were protected and amplified. The jar itself could rotate 360 degrees, making it very hard to sneak up on it. There had been a mistake, his target was not, this monstrosity that stood before him. He had prepared for an augmented dog but this was no augmented dog; in retrospect he should have thought more outside of the box for this mission. The Collective of Hyper Intelligence, was a collection of the greatest minds after all, could say the craziest minds as well. Who wants to live as a brain for almost an unlimited amount of time. He heard they could still feel their bodies. This drove some mad, and others developed what was called Body Collection Syndrome. He aimed at the jar and fired a single shot. As expected there was no effect. They called it translucent concrete. One of their many inventions. It was uncertain if they discovered it or did they acquire it through some other means. Not only were his guns ineffective, but after he landed they raised an anti-displacement field covering the area. Yet the pumped up grizzly took no advantage over the situation. In fact all that it did was slowly turn its jar head around, and around as if it was keeping track of something. A few monkeys, with attachment collars, started to poke their heads, out of the wood work. So this was what was keeping its intention. There was obviously more he could not see. Including the Mega Mind which would orchestrate the mismatched monkey heads, into already programmed sequences, of various sorts. It was easy to see that the monkeys main goal were to coral him towards whatever direction they need to get him to. As the giant jar head dealt with more pressing problems. He realized its monstrosity of a body was not meant for him but for someone or something else entirely. Which means he does not have to worry about jar head and focus on finding the monkey mega mind. Which was not going to be easy. But he was now well equipped to take on his enemy after all, monkeys are a little less meaty then an augmented dog. It was obvious that he was sold out but there was a bigger picture. Why would the C.H.R. want him. He had already tackled a one of their displacers so it makes little sense that it would be for his abilities. Abilities. His thoughts drifted, how were his abilities being suppressed? Was it mobile or central? Well it made the most sense that it would be one of the monkeys as if it were central or with the behemoth, it could not move freely, to do its other tasks. Yet there could also be another element to the situation. The monkeys jumped place to place in a continues circle around him as he moved forward. He also kept tabs on any of the birds that seemed to follow the moneys and him as they fumble through the jungle. He decided that he would make it as difficult as possible to coral him. Which should affect the monkeys pied piper in string together any kind of effective rhythm of control. Thus over working its circuits? Brain? He really did not know. Nor did he even know if his plan was going to work. But it was a plan. As he wandered around aimlessly constantly fighting against the monkeys guidance. It was not working, well not effectively anyway, when he got too far they got violent. There was the end of a cliff with a waterfall coming up. If he jumped off of that then he would for sure be out of the monkeys range and then could use his dimensional abilities; if he was fast enough to use them before he hits the water, which could also be a solution, but the rocks, at the halfway point of the falls, could cause an injury. He ran as fast as he could and jumped off the cliff. The monkeys, their minds a little fried, could not understand his disregard for his own life. The only one that was not slowed down was the mega mind, and for its prowess? Two shots to the chest. He could hear almost all the monkeys dropping like shaggy rocks. Each with an unique thud depending on its body proportions and discrepancies of form. Before he hit the waterfall he displaced back to the top of the cliff. He could now use his powers freely. He was unsure if he was going to have to deal with that monstrosity again. As he walked past the array of dead monkeys he wondered if he should displace to a safe location. Which could be tricky to figure out if he had indeed been set up from the get go. This was obviously a kidnap of sorts; but why? He decides to leave. Whatever has got jar heads attention, can not last forever. This was his best choice of action. He abandoned his vehicle as well. Which was no biggy he would rather be penniless than an undead operative. Its a valued option many take but they tend to have problems with the living who they mockingly mimic. He and the dead had a history. Mainly they never stay dead. Which is why he ended up displacing back to the battle ground and set the monkey bodies on fire. Better safe then sorry. Having some friends in notorious places was always a great boon but all so the curse. The code is dying even to the veterinarians of this world. He lost some powerful allies with the monkey business; burning down the forest veterans to make sure the monkeys did not come back. But when one ally hops to the other side of the pond his enemies hop to your side of the pond.


Making dreams is honest work. There’s nothing much to it, really, and I’m not trying to be humble by saying that. In the past few years fatigue has become an epidemic. Forced to work, forced to sacrifice sleep for work and family, humans doze off in the most inopportune places, from steering wheels to office computers to you-name-it. It’s cute, watching them submit to sleep so easily. Almost pitiful. I barely have to lift a finger.

But who am I to judge them for craving sleep so bad? Sleep is a drug, an aphrodisiac, a God, a scarcity. I know sleep. I am sleep. My hair is the feather fluff inside your pillows. My eyes are perpetually half-closed, half-resting, gritty and globby no matter how hard I clean them. With my strange, filmy hands I puppeteer sleepwalkers, snorers, and lucid dreamers. I grant the humans I like with wild fantasies and the ones I don’t with nightmares. I am the Sandman, and damn good at my job.

Feeling restless? Have too much energy? Step inside my caravan and I’ll see what I can do for you. That’s it, nice and easy now. Mind the missing step. Don’t be afraid. I’m not the kind of dreamer that’ll lead you astray.

Welcome, welcome to my workshop! You’ll notice that the air in here is different than it is outdoors. Delicious, isn’t it? It isn’t polluted with failed hopes and caffeine, not like the outside world is. I’m allergic to those scents. I’ve lit the finest sage, laced with melatonin and a hint of warm milk. If you inhale deeply, you might get a whiff of the stars and the moon, too. And how do those smell? Like caramel and baby shampoo fused together.

Doesn’t that just inspire sleep within you? Well, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it ? So sorry—I didn’t mean to get testy there. I can see you’re still awake. My clients usually drift off within the first minute of being inside. Why don’t you take off your jacket and find a seat? Anywhere is fine. I prefer to sit on the bed myself. Isn’t it a lovely bed? It was a gift from Father Time. You can tell it was homemade by the delicacy of the stitch-work, the lumplessness of the mattress. He said it took an eternity to make, but an eternity is nothing to him. I’ve seen him work on projects for much longer.

Enough with my ramblings. Let’s talk business. It’s insomnia you have, correct? Not to worry—there hasn’t been an ailment that the ole Sandman can’t cure. Once I coaxed a barn owl into hunting during the day and resting at night. On a separate occasion I lullabied Morpheus to sleep. True story.

Are you comfortable? Good. Let’s see what we’ve got in the inventory. My, my, I really need to organize in there—too much clutter. Ah, yes, here we are: the sheep mobile. My dear friend, would you mind if I hung this mobile above your head? That’s a good sport. Now listen to my words, and heed them carefully. What I’m asking you to do is keep your focus on the sheep. They’ll spin and bray and look so pretty in their popcorny wool, and as they move you’ll count them, one-by-one. Think you can do that? There’s a champ, such a wonderful mortal! Alright: begin. One, two, three, four. Keep counting. Keep going. Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven. Your eyelids are getting very, very heavy. Ninety-eight, ninety-nine. Nothing yet? Two-hundred-and-ten, two-hundred-and-eleven, two-hundred-and-twelve. No? Not even a teensy, weensy bit tired? Let’s try something new. That was an old technique, anyhow. Not very effective. Tell me: have you ever heard of hypnosis? Of course you have—how presumptuous I am, to think humans know nothing! Well, then, why don’t you recline your chair into a comfortable position. Now close those dreamless, vacant, myopic eyes of yours and settle into your body. Make mantis hands: curl your wrists inwards and take in a breath. An interesting fact: mantises are actually very vivid dreamers. Prayer is a form of dreaming. But I digress—oh, I always lose track of my thoughts!—curl your wrists and join your fingertips together. Let your fingernails kiss, like the moonlight pecks your pillow, blessing your night with sweet, sweet slumber. No using tongue! Heh, heh. Just a little Sandman humor.

I hope you’re not sensitive to high frequencies. Humming is a Sandman’s native language, and we’re able to best articulate ourselves when we hum at a very shrill pitch. Let the music of my voice whisk you to unconsciousness. Imagine a realm of unseeing and unknowing—you’ll find it in the empty space behind your eyelids. In the cracks and crevices of your brain. Between the breaks in your snores. Think of this land, and visualize yourself within it, one lonely player in the vast world of dreams.

Hhhhmmmm. Hhhhmmmm.

Rockabye baby, on the tree top. Twinkle, twinkle little star. Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Hhhmmmmm. Hhhhmmmmm. Go to sleep. Go. To. Sleep. I said, GO. TO. SLEEP. Oh my. I do apologize for raising my voice. Frankly, I’ve never seen a patient who’s so insistent on resisting. But have no fear, for I am the greatest Sandman the world has ever known, the purveyor of fatigue and defender of Slumber Town! One restless mortal won’t get in the way of my magic. So what if you haven’t slept in two days?

Five? You haven’t slept in five days? Huh. That’s new. Needn’t fret—I have something stronger than sheep. Stronger than hypnosis, too. Here’s a secret I don’t share with everyone: I always carry a little sand in my sleeve. Really, I do! See here, I’m holding a pinch in between my fingers—no more than five grains. That’s enough to tranquilize an elephant. Not that I think you’re as big as an elephant, of course. You just need a heavy dose. An elephant-sized dose. Once I sprinkle the sand over your head, your reality will melt away, slowly and beautifully, as sleep creeps in.

This will work. This has to work. If this doesn’t work I just don’t know what I’ll do. Maybe I’ll scream or cry or do both at the same time but who can say, really, because it’s never not worked before. So it will work. It must work. If it doesn’t work then congratulations, you win, you’re more powerful than sleep, you’re more powerful than me, and I’ll have been of no service to you, not at all. Alright. Now close your eyes again. Think of nothing but sand. Think of the innards of an hourglass. The bottom of a beachcomber’s sandal. Imagine it seeping through your skin, sliding through your veins. The sand is good. The sand is strong. The sand will knock you out like that . … Like that. … Like. That .

… LIKE. THAT.

… That’s it. I’ve had enough. I don’t care that I raised my voice. I don’t care if I woke up my neighbors, either. Who cares whether or not they sleep? Not me. Not you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, for more people to be like you? Immune to my infallible powers. Spitting at the feet of the King of Catnaps. Enjoy a life with no dreams, you wide-awake wretch.

Jesus. I need a cigarette.

You think you’re so smug? You think you know better than I do? Then take it, take all of it! Take the sand and the bed and every other piece of sleep-shit I have here. If I’m not strong enough to subdue one pathetic mortal, how can I call myself a Sandman? It’s your turn now, since you think you’re so high-and-mighty. Take the sage, take the sheep. The caravan is yours to keep. It’s time for me to retire—retire to where, I don’t care. And I lied about the Morpheus story, by the way. I’ve never even met the guy.

So goodbye, so long, au revoir, and adios. All dreams must end and mine ends now.


Betrayed by the compliance to my conformity, as if by doing so I’d be contented. Rather, I do not know what “wonder” they speak of, or “joy”. Insidiously listening to those congregated at the water cooler, drenching their unsatisfiable mouths, contaminating the atmosphere with their vague minds. Complying to subside with this awfulness, it has begun to prove impossible. My every day involves a routine of hot air sweeping to mix with the dead, dry, cold air prevalent in here to brew the tornado of thoughts that I have about myself and those in here. Whether we all put forth a face of peace and tranquility, while behind all that, there is a torture of the mind existent in us, involving the constant reminder of the redundancy in our lives that we scavenge like a hunter and gather to find an escape of the cycle. Or maybe it’s just me.

“Hey, there Tom” Jesus, this woman.

“Hey, their Rebecca, what are you up to?” I sarcastically said in a Sussy sunshine voice.

She leaned in and placed her hand on my desk. My desk. Leaving her frog-like handprint on my desk.

" We're going out for some drinks after work. Want to come? ” She said with her Mona Lisa-like smile.

I thought maybe if I pretended to show interest but still said no, at least she wouldn’t feel bad. Not that she cared anyway. Probably asked out of obligation.

“Maybe. Where are you guys going?” “Near here, it’s called Hocus - Pocus” “Oh, Hocus - Pocus. Maybe next time, I need to do a lot of housework anyway.”

“Oh okay, well no worries” She did not hesitate to leave.

 	They don’t care for my company, much less do I think they care for each other, regardless of how well they know each other. No one likes to embark on this ship without any route alone. With others on board, we feel a bit warmer, a bit more a part of something even if there is no purpose for us being on here. We could be standing on the edge of an abyss, but if the path moved along we’d continue doing so because with numbers there is power. It’s an attempt to drown out the exhaustion that comes with this tiresome world. I sit in my seat every day. The cushioning of other objects is the only comfort I feel. Once my mind begins to speak, I shut it out like a kidnapper shuts out its victim with duck tape. The screams make it real, and I want to pretend that I can wake up from this one day.

When I was a child, I remained attentive and observant to the rain that would flow into the drains after a big storm. It would indulge and disappear to then go somewhere. The mystery kept it interesting. Then I realized where it does go. I felt great grief. The more I learn, the more I realize, the less I wish to know. So I just try to walk through these poorly lit hallways, bleak offices, ignoring the decaying wallpaper or the leaks throughout the office, trying to grow numb to it more and more every day. I finished tapping my pen. I finished tapping my foot. I finished starring at my computer clock, waiting for the minute that I can leave. I prepare to leave. My day now begins. I get up in a heap, moving my long legs towards that narrow exit. I shut that hard wooden door with a passion, the most I’ll feel today.

I walk out of the building, the sun meets my eyes. The sun scorches my eyes, disorientating them. I walk on this hot pavement towards my blisteringly hot car. I feel tempted to touch the body of my car. I softly place my hand on my car and feel the burning pain. I open my door with some excitement. I open my window to let in the breeze and let out this hot and congested air. I sense my car fill with an air of excitement. I feel compelled to drive into the sunset as they say in the movies and make use of this sudden surge of excitement. Soon the sun will fall, and the night will raise — the fun will begin. I drive out of the parking lot in the direction to a Mcdonald's Drive-Thru. I can’t have fun with an empty stomach. I pull up and order a Big Mac with fries and soda. I ask for ketchup at the window. They gave me 4 ketchup packets. I did not bother to ask for more. I stepped on the gas pedal and drove to my home. I looked at the car clock with a keen eye, It was 7, the night would soon fall. The speed bumps frustrated me. They reminded me of the barriers that exist to choice. I feel confined and that no day would come where those restraints would lift. Democracy does not exist. It’s an illusion that we continue to feed into with constant dispute, believing we are making use of our “voice”. Arguing whether blueberries or cherries are better, while the weeds devour our fruits. And if so Democracy existed, why must I be constantly be reminded that I have it? Shouldn’t I feel like I am already a piece in it? Well, since I have never felt like I’ve been, or ever will be, I have become chosen to take matters into my own hands.

Driving past these communities, I see how kids innocently play in the streets of their neighborhoods. Kicking ball, hitting a car, running away for a bit, coming back. Until that, all is replaced for something else. Lurking at every corner is a passage towards a tomorrow we would have preferred to never reach. If We don’t measure properly, then things won’t fit or fix together. Asserting with our arrogance, we choose to believe what is best for us and others. Using our individuality as a means of addressing issues that number more than just one. In that way, we’ve never been able to properly measure. Somehow, maybe humans are capable of rejoicing in the error of measurement. Equally, how the works of Picasso with the distortion of faces and other objects, maybe the distortion of civilization, which we attempt to decipher brings us to our feet. I wonder when was the last time I kicked the ball? Remembering when I’d reel my leg back, forcing it through the ball, to then have It hang in the air, waiting to see where the ball would impact. That was my joy. I drove up to the stop sign before my home and drove into the parking space. It was 7:25, and there was light outside still. The street lamps would soon come on. As I walked up to the door of my apartment complex I was met by Alfred. He lives in Apartment 3B. He handed me a flyer.

“Hey there, Tom.”

“Oh, Alfred, what are you up to with these flyers?”

“Well, we have a meeting next week regarding some new projects that are set to commence. We just want to hear feedback from the community in regards to that” “Oh okay. What projects?” “Oh, just another building and potentially a community pool.” “Well, thank you. I’ll see if I go" I walked upstairs and went through the door to my one-bedroom apartment. Gliding through the room to get ready for this evening. I got in the shower and rested my head against the bathroom wall. Met my hands with my face, as water trickled down my spine. The beating of the water against my head soothed me. Running my hands through my hair, removing excess conditioner. I held the soap like a brick, placing it against myself, cementing it down. I washed away my sins. I’ve cleansed myself so I could now begin. I got dressed in all black. I saw my reflection in the mirror — illuminating my heart. My mind rested like rain washing onto a street, collecting itself to soon then be evaporated. I lit a candle. Its smell consumed the room. The smell of vanilla romanced with my nose. I danced my fingers through my pantry searching for a quick snack. I satisfied my miniature hunger. The time read now, 9:25. I gathered my objects and placed them in my bag, and I went out to hit the road once again. I sat inside my car and had a train of thoughts. Last week, I had learned that the company was responsible for the mischief of foreign workers in factories. Relentless exhaustion and suffrage had led some to commit suicide. Everyone at work continued laughing as if nothing. They continued with their lives, and so does everyone in the sight of atrocity. I scavenged through the files of the company at work and I managed to find the company owner's address. It was about an hour out from here. A window had been opened for me, and I wouldn’t question to crawl right in. To uphold ground on the Tyrants of time.


She sat in her brightly lit office, journals and books sprawled on the table. She was exhausted but dauntless to have at her enquiry once again. Through her window she saw the moon stamped onto the sky. She heard the cold wind wheezing through everyplace. She hadn't brought along her jacket because she'd not planned to stay out this long. She still sat in, lethargic, about to relish in the joys of true independence, of not being accountable to anyone, of being divorced from the incessant need to be anywhere else right now. Having done the chores of two days in one, she could sleep here if she wanted to. The chair creaked when she started stretching backwards to relax. Then suddenly, she jerked to her feet. - Oh shit! Her hands tried to seek out her bag amongst the clutter on the table and while at it, return some materials to some form of arrangement. Footsteps rustled outside of her office. She paused for a minute trying to decipher whose feet they were. The person was coming into her office. One knock. Then two. She said they could come right in. - Ah, Judith. Still here, he said. Her colleague at the university, Jones, stood behind the door he closed just slowly behind him. -Yeah. Tryna pack up, actually. Been here a bit, she said. She did keep late nights but, infrequently. - I noticed, he said, prying at her table with a fierce curiosity typical to scholars. He summed up the boldness to inquire. - What were you working on? She only sighed. - Not now, Jones.  I just need to get home first. It's late, she said. - True. Just surprised you're still here. Jaime and Georgina should be sorely missing you. - Exactly. That realization...that's the mad rush you just met me in. She turned from her side of the table, having found her bag. - Let me take you home, his hands went to move her shoulders along, supposedly steadying her from clumsiness. She gave her office the vacant treatment, putting it to sleep as she stepped out with him. Out of the department of chemistry. Onwards the parking lot. The moon was way brighter than indoor lighting had undermined. She assured him she was interested in walking briskly, that she'd understand if he was too weary to. She kept her promise and the time barely afforded them chitchats. But he did manage to chivalrously get her into her Ford. - Sleep well. Say hi to Jaime and Georgina for me, he yelled as she drove off. Along the road, she took a turn and stopped by her favorite coffee shop. She hoped they'd have the snacks in-house that she'd want. Famished, all she wanted was a really quick meal, something to drive home on. - Rogers, how're ya doing? He was just coming out from the back when she sat down. He owned the place and was fond of her. - Been awhile we saw ya out this late, doc. - Something wild's ongoing in my stomach. - Just why I'll stay in business forever. They laughed. She fed. She left. She was in the office in the morning, continuing her work. Jones snuck in; asking of her wellbeing, Jaime and Georgina and by extension, her work. She responded in affirmative awkwardness to everything. - All fine, she replied impassively. He went his way and did his job. She'd began to think of Georgina and Jaime. They were her siblings. Now in her forties, they were in their twenties and thirties respectively. She'd mothered them over the years because no one did. She never did have kids but she'd known the mothering stuff too well. She was the efficacious one, preferring to give her siblings the more honorable circumstances of life. She'd initially come from a wealthy home. Her dad died tragically. Her mom remarried, gave her and her siblings away to be raised by strangers. Well they didn't raise them; they rather ignored and often beat them up. She survived the cruelty through time and shielded her siblings. She sighed, shrugged it off and tried to continue her notable work. It'd be about to get to that laboratory-worthy stage and she wouldn't stall it. Everyone knew she'd never stall anything. That's how she'd gotten her PhD. Not very long after agonizing over the details, she'd get to the lab and do her thing. Alongside her assistants and interns. This very day, they'd be an incident. There'd be a fairly dangerous chemical spillover on her body but it'd be neutralized immediately. A casual moment for her, a gasp for her assistants and a panic for the interns. Just a regular work hazard, an inflammation at best. She'd clean up and go home. Next time she'd stop by Roger's, he'd see the pigmentation on her left hand as he stood over her. He'd ask about it. She'd wave it off but he stubbornly wouldn't let it go. She'd gotten away with so much atrocities done to self. Unless she secretly was a masochist, he'd want better answers. She'd get down to explaining the incident at work. - You don't care 'bout yourself enough. Doubt you even know how to, he shrugged. - Why would you say that? - You went to work the next day. And probably right back into that lab. - Well it's my job, she shrugged, nonchalantly. - Of course it is. He drew out a seat and sat across her, staring. Her legs stimulated. All the while as he spoke, she could've felt pesky. But she didn't. She was introspective. Everything she'd ever ran away from or towards was because of fear. She dreaded the loss of control that came with fear and never wanted it for anyone. Especially not her siblings. She believed herself to be lost once when as a child she was rejected by family; she never wanted anything else to escape or get lost since then. Everything simply had to stay intact. In reality, she wanted to be wanted as a mole or an asset is, but she never did dare to want anything herself. She never permitted herself to. Rogers rose up and went for the door. It was still early in the day and she was his only customer yet. He turned the notice on it to closed. - You should really relax today, Judith. He'd be the first person she'd ever know to snatch her away from her routine to impose sympathy on her. It was utterly weird at first, this piteous thing. But somehow she stayed and time kept piling up. The intermittent silences taught her. It'd be the first time she'd perfectly understand the dialect her heart spoke. Her thoughts strode along with it's beating. - I've not paused for anything in a while in my life, she said in a fit of self-realization. Her heart translated some more. She saw the kindness in what she previously presumed to be Roger's intrusiveness. Her heart exclaimed with a shocking pleasure, as did her mouth. - Goodness! With that atom of affection she now felt, she came alive to what she understood had enveloped this place for as long as she had been coming.


Hell, a beautiful place filled with lava and it's vengeful heat and demons like us chained in pain. The sky is as red as blood flowing through the veins of hell as lava fuelling life for the creatures that dwell here. Agony and pain wherever you can see, we are trapped here as long as the sun lives, crying for freedom, but there is no escape. There is no hope at all, nonetheless we kept trying to break our chains, and one of us did manage to escape. We were hoping he would free as all, but he came back with nothing but loss. "I am sorry..." Dingy whispered embarrassed by his loss. "How did it happen?" Buer asked in a desperate voice. "Downspring was his name." "A human sent you back?" "Yes..." "Haha, he got his ass beat up by a human," Doyle laughed. "He's not a regular human, and he wasn't alone." "What do you mean?" Buer asked in a curious tone. "He had a Corphelian with him." "A Corphelian in earth? You sure?" "Yes... He was the one that controlled my powers and threw me up before they sent be back here." "Umm..." We had nothing to say, nonetheless we got another chance, but it's our last hope of getting freedom, and even our best member couldn't make it, So we have to plan and choose wisely, elderly demons were in deep discussion about this. "I honestly thought Dingy would free us all," my friend Pam commented. "Well he didn't," I replied with a sigh. "Yeah... And now we got only chance left." "Tell something new." "I know how to use the portal." "What?" "The portal, I can open it for us to escape." "You kidding? Only one person can go." "I know." "And it's our last chance, and you aren't strong enough for this." "That's why, you are gonna do it." "Stop joking around, why would I do it? To get blamed for wasting our last chance to escape?" "No, you are gonna do it, because I dare you to." "Seriously?" "Yes, I dare you to escape to earth." "Well, you sure? I won't be here to get blamed, if things go wrong, but you are gonna be here." "Well, what's worse than hell, I will manage, now I need your help to steal the portal device, and once we have it, I will send you there." "Fine my friend, it won't be much of a difficulty." So, I stole the portal device in ease, nothing much to say about it. "Wow, you are so sneaky." "Yeah yeah, I know. Now, open the portal, fast, before they find out it's missing." "Don't worry, I will open it, just stay back, while it opens, it runs on huge power." "Oki doki friend." He said some Latin words, which I didn't know, and it began to open and started emitting bright blue light. "Thank you friend," Pam said with a cunning wicked smile. He started running towards the portal only to be pulled back in a jerk by his chain. "You thought I was that dumb?" "You-" "I mean, thank you friend." I threw him away and walked towards the portal, I felt the freedom waiting for me on the other side, a new open world. I looked back at my "friend" and saw demon soldiers coming towards me, "Goodbye hell," I whispered before I stepped inside the portal. A second later I saw myself standing on a wooden floor. Yes! Finally! Something other than lava floors! I felt the nourishing air, not the dull hot air like in hell, this place had a different aura, a good one. Suddenly I realised I can't be in this form, I needed a human form, I need to find someone, I walked around the little room, and I sensed something moving in the bed. It was a little girl covered in blanket, sleeping peacefully. I moved my hand towards her and slowly touched her head, and whispered, "Da mihi identitatem." My giant hands began to shrink and turn from black to pale, I felt myself becoming shorter and within seconds I was a little girl. "Thank you," I whispered as I patted the girl's head before I took my leave from the room. I climbed down the stairs and was greeted by an old woman. "Good morning Sara dear! Wow! You woke up early today." "Ahem... Can I get some water." "Sure, why are you asking? It's always in kitchen." "Ah, I forgot, sorry." "Aw, dear, you must be sleepy." I slipped into kitchen, the window was wide open, I looked back. The old woman wasn't looking at me, I jumped through it and landed the other side on grass. I gently brushed my palms through the green grass, it felt so soft, so good, I don't how to say, I have never touched a plant before, it was something new, something delightful. In front of me was a road with a lot of cars and bikes I have never seen before, colorful and effective. And houses all along the black stretch of road. I looked up, it was blue! Yes! The sky! The sun and his clouds were like king and his soldiers guarding the sky. Damn, how I missed out all of these, I was so happy to be free. "I AM FINALLY FREEEEE!" I gave a scream of joy as I danced through the grass and walked my way while singing my way with a happy smile throughout my face. Pedestrians I met on the way were confused by my glowing face with a never ending smile, "Have a good day sir!" I smiled at everyone. "You too Sara! You seem very happy! Is there a reason you could tell?" "I am free! ah- I mean today is a holiday!" "Oh, good for you! Enjoy your holiday! So glad to see you this happy." I smiled and walked away. I realised I shouldn't hang anywhere near where they could recognise "Sara." So I took a ride to another city, a few miles away. On my way I admired everything on my sight, a beautiful lake, fields of corn and scarecrows, everything, just brought me so much happiness. The bus came to a stop. The fresh air brushed past my hair. While everything was so pleasant, suddenly I felt a touch in my shoulder and I looked back in reflex. "Hello there!" It was a boy in the same size of the girl, who's form I took. "Hi?" "Well, my name is Brandon, and I love singing." "Cool. But why are you telling me this?" "Umm-" "Sorry, I got other works to do, bye." "Wait!" "What do you want kiddo?" "Well, do you see them?" he pointed a bunch of boys standing on the other side of road. "Yes. What's with them?" "They dared me to speak to you." I smiled, hiding the laughter. Well, I was here only because of a dare. "Well, you did a good job." "Thank you! Have a great day!" "You too!" The boy crossed the road and joined his friend on the other side, I smiled at them and continued by exploration. Malls, parks, movie theatres, restaurants, tall buildings and colonies of houses, wherever I went there was something fascinating. Soon, it was noon, and thinking about how much I have seen in so less time was just mind-blowing, and thinking how much I could see if I live here for the rest of my life, made me overjoyed. While I was involved in my beautiful thinking inside an air-conditioned mall,I suddenly heard a scream. I looked around and saw a man with a gun holding a lady in his hands and pointing the gun at her head. "Give me all the money! Or I shoot this lady!" All the humans inside started to panic, he went to the cashier and repeated the words. She opened the drawer and he gave her a bag to fill up. "Ahem-" I stood up. "What do you want little girl?" "I want you to leave her, ask sorry and go away." "Oh- I am scared, please forgive me." he began mocking and laughing. "That's a terrible one," I said as I pounced on him pushing him to the ground. "What the hell-" "Oh little man, are you scared?" I held his neck by my hands and gave an eerie stare at his eyes, eyes that were frightened to death from what he saw inside me. I signalled the lady to move away and so she did. "Leave me! Save me! This is a monster!" I punched his face once, I loved it as he spitted blood and cried in pain, I couldn't stop it, I punched again, this time his teeth broke out, I raised my hands for another punch when suddenly I felt something holding my hand. "Enough," A boy in purple suit was holding my hand. I stood up from the man and turned to the boy, he stared at me. "Is everyone ok?" "Yes! We are alright!" Everyone started to cheer and surround him. "Good, the cops will come soon and carry him, I will go now, have a great day y'all!" "Can I get a selfie?" ,"Autograph please?" ,"Wow! It's Downspring! Hi!" People loved him, I could see. Well, he's the human that Dingy told about, that sent him back to hell, I was in alert. "Come with me," I heard a voice and felt a hand holding wrist, I looked at his face, it was a classic teenager boy, I realised who he was from the way he held my hand, and so I went with him. We went to an empty space in the parking lot. "Now tell me, who are you?" "I- I am-" "I know you are a demon." I was speechless. "Well, you know, when the portal opens it sends a signal out, which is really easy to track." "I am no harm." "Hmm, that's for us to decide," he said as another boy came out from a car parked besides us. "Meet my friend, Prav." "Hello Prav, I am Lilith." "Seriously? You revealed your secret identity to a demon?" "Well, let's be open, this demon seems like a good person." "Huh? It's a demon, there's a reason it was sent to hell." "No, there is no reason." I replied with haste. "What do you mean?" "Well, hell is just another planet used for keeping prisoners who lost in war against Marco-Hendrix" "Who's that?" "Uh, I thought I told you. He's a conquerer of planets. He throws those who disobeys him, in hell." "Ahhh..." I waited for them to finish their little talk, Downspring seemed nice. "Please don't send me back there, I beg you." "Well, I won't, unless you do something irrational." "Thank you!" "Umm- but it's too dangerous." "Well, we have the book, if she does something wrong, we can send her back anytime." "Yes! And I promise I won't do anything like that!" "See, she's good." I smiled at them as cute as I could. "Aw- ok." "Yay! Thank you!" "Of course, now we are going to school, do you wanna come with us?" "Well, yeah, bringing a demon to class will be fun." "Sure! Well I don't have anywhere else to go," I laughed. "Oki then! Let's go!" "Wait! You aren't driving Ling! "Aw.. ok.. Call your driver." I looked out of the window as the car sped through the highway. Cars and bikes and busses running in the highway like us. Little humans walking in the footpath smiled at me as I waved at them shouting, "Have a great day!" The boys inside the car laughed at my overjoyed self, I smiled at them , "You know, it's so happy to be free." "Seeing you happy makes us happy too," Ling smiled. "Well, now I have another super-powered friend," Prav muttered. "Ha well, don't you have any powers?" "Nope, he doesn't." "Uhh, who needs powers, I have my brain." We laughed, and the driver said, "We arrived." I stepped out, it was a brown building with many children entering and leaving and some eating lunch. "Welcome to my school," Ling said as if it was the intro of a movie. But yes, I was sure it was holding a ton of exciting things, and what matters is that, I am free! And yes, that's it! I was so happy as I stepped inside the compound, and looked at the children playing on slide and see-saw and older ones playing soccer and badminton. My first day at earth was a beautiful one, the feeling of freedom and happiness overwhelmed into tears of joy. I felt a hand wiping those tears off, the same hand that held my wrist and brought me here, letting me live here, I smiled at him happily before we both began to walk inside the beautiful brown building. ************


Tuesday 4:20

The sentences on the page blurred into opaque black lines as Callie's eyes tried to fixate on the words, she squinted them to focus. Her math professor’s monotone voice dragged on despite the class's apparent lack of interest. The window was open. A cool breeze gently hit her face, occasionally taking a bit of her vibrant red hair with it. That’s what it said on the package, vibrant red. She twirled a strand around her finger. The clock mocked her, it extended every second as long and tedious as it could muster. The bell shrieked through the corridors and a swarming of voices erupted around her. Callie kept her eyes on her backpack while rapidly shoveling down her papers, so harshly that they wrinkled and tore. She was in a hurry, she was told to come at 4:40. Callie Davis slung her backpack over her right shoulder and walked out.

4.26 p.m

An explosion of heat hit her as the plastic doors shredded open. It must have been one of the hottest days in Seattle. She tried to get past the people rushing out, but it seemed to be nearly impossible. They all must have been in a hurry too. The clock showed just past 4:30, she wouldn't make it. Callie glanced around the subway, all the seats were taken. She leaned into the corner while simultaneously grabbing one of the cold metal handrails. It was like a dance. A dance she performed every day, but especially on Tuesdays.

By adjusting her grip, her fingers slowly became less sweaty. Her eyes bored out the window as the subway headed to the next stop. Every time Callie visited, the feeling that all was lost grew. Every week her grandma got a little bit worse. Margot had always loved to talk, and Callie tried to keep the tradition up. Even when she mixed up the dates and details, Callie was always her number-one listener. She tried to follow along by nods and smiles to keep her engaged, even though it was difficult to keep up sometimes. It was a jumble of stories that didn't make sense. Callie imagined that everything she told her was memories from the old days, before the sickness swallowed her. The brief moments of her grandma’s recall often caught her off guard, but before she knew it, she fell back into that looming fog

This was her stop, Pearson Street. Once again, her backpack took place over her shoulder. Callie waited for the doors to open, impatiently tapping her foot on the rubber floors. With a creak the doors shut open. Almost running, she crossed the turnstile, heading right.

4.52 p.m

Margot held up her feet and wiggled them, showing off her new blue shoes, cozy and soft for her feet.

“My granddaughter got them for me,” she told a nursing home attendant, joyful. Her face brightened as she saw Callie in the hallway. Of course, Callie didn’t know if it was her granddaughter she saw or someone entirely else. Her dirty Doc martins left a trail on the clinical clean floors as she approached.

“Calliope is here to see you Margot” the nurse informed, giving Callie a don’t be late next time kind of look. It may have seemed a bit harsh, but it was true, every minute wasted was a lost opportunity.

“You know you shouldn’t walk in with your shoes dear; you’ll get the floor all dirty”

Margot reached for her purse, pulling up a pair of pink silk slippers.

“You can borrow these” she dramatically sighed, accompanied by a smile.

Who am I today? Her mom? Her nurse? An old colleague or friend? She thought. She admitted that her usual stubborn optimism had grown fainter and fainter over the months. Callie didn’t know what was more terrifying anymore, being forgotten or forgetting herself. A year ago, Callie was sure her grandma was the exception, she was healthy and strong. Never had any surgery complications or diseases. She was a ray of sunshine, the sun itself. Back in the day, she had a thousand lovers, sailed from continent to continent. Her grandmother was always on board with an adventure, and so had her grandfather been. Age was never an obstacle; she captured age and made it her own. Played with it, teased it, and mastered it. She was the drama, the life of the party. Never a dull moment by the side of Margot Davis. In Callie's mind, her grandmother would never, ever forget her. How could she? She felt betrayed, erased, like none of their memories together had mattered in the end. Can you truthfully say you shared a memory together if you’re the only one remembering it? It felt strange being the only one responsible to keep them alive if she forgot, then who would be the reminder? A wave of guilt washed over her. She knew her grandma struggled, fought the black mist clouding her head. It was wrong to hold her accountable.

"Grandma, how are you, any stories to tell? It’s me Calliope", she said with the usual hopeful tone, by now it sounded forced.  e “Honey I'm not blind, I can see who you are, I'm not dying just yet,” she said with a scoff and a laugh, patting the side of the bed for her to sit down.

Callie stood in utter shock. A glance of hope and excitement rushed through her body. What was happening? She leaned to the nurse and whispered. “Is she really lucid?”

The nurse nodded.

“She’s been lucid for about half an hour now; I was afraid she would fall back before you came here. This might be her last time of lucidity, ” she gave a compassionate expression. “ we try to keep her brain active by talking, terminally lucid patients often lose themselves in their silence, then there is difficulty ever bringing them back”

There was an awkwardly long pause, it seemed to go on forever. Then the forbidden words were said. “ Alzheimer's will beat her at last, and this might be that day”

Callie glanced towards the withering woman sitting on the hospital bed before her. She didn’t dare to look the nurse in the eyes. The nurse took the hint.

“Tell me if you need anything”

She gave a last pitiful smile, then walked away.

“Calliope, it’s been a while, don't keep me waiting!” Margot laughed while taking a sip of water, raising her arms for an embrace.

Calliope , only grandma called her that. It had been a long time since she last heard that name. She had missed it. Her name had always been Callie, ever since first grade. It is not only easier to pronounce, but also to spell and remember. Most people didn’t even know that her real name is Calliope.

Callie didn’t answer. Instead, she hugged her, tight. Wrapped her arms around the frail shell of a woman and cried. She cried and cried, until her eyes were swelled and red, until mascara smudged on the white hospital gown. “ Honey what’s wrong?”, her grandmother asked, gently patting Callie's head. She wiped her tears away with her hand, smiling. “ I have just had a very very bad day, and seeing you has made it so much better”.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in months” Margot continued, smiling softly.

“It feels like I haven’t seen you in years” Callie laughed, tears threatening to run down her cheeks. She rubbed her eyes, once again ruining her black eye makeup of the day.

Her grandma had no idea that her brain was tearing itself apart. And today Calliope didn’t have the heart to remind her.

 “Do you want to play some board games? I know they have your favorite on the shelf over there” She smiled her best smile, the one she knew her grandma loved. A youthful smile, full of hope and dreams. She turned to the shelf, trying to keep the fantasy going. Do this, she told herself, do this for your grandma, do this for Mags. Callie wanted her grandma to leave this world in peace and joy, not by seeing her grandchild grieve her death before it had happened. She had to keep her talking, keep her engaged.

7.05 p.m The hours went by. One hour, two hours. All Callie could think about was, how much longer until she forgets me again. How much longer until nothing could be understood? It was like slowly pressing a nail into a balloon, knowing it would pop any second. How much longer until there wasn’t anything to remember anymore? Until she wasn’t just confused and forgetting memories anymore, but when there were none left to forget.

They talked and talked, then talked some more. Every time she caught Margot slipping out of the conversation, she quickly asked a question. Remember that time you colored your hair green to prove to me that green hair could be pulled off? Tell me about when you and grandpa sailed over the Atlantic. Tell me your life story . Every time she left for a bathroom break, Callie's heart stopped, imagining her returning confused and dazed. But instead, she came back complaining that they’d changed the toilet paper to the “wrong type”

After a while, Callie fully fell for her own fantasy. They laughed as if they were back at home, drinking lemonade on the balcony, gossiping about the other elders across the apartment. Her "enemies", she used to call them. She laughed at the memories until she realized she was the only one laughing. It had happened. A small wrinkle between Margot's eyebrows had formed. Her previous expression had disappeared and confusion took its place. Her eyes traced the cards in her hands, then curiously set her eyes upon Callie.

7.47 p.m Margot stared at an unfamiliar room. Unfamiliar people were talking to her. People were walking all over the place, but she didn’t remember where she was. Everything seemed familiar, but she just couldn’t recognize anything. All these people were suddenly trying to talk to her, but she didn’t know who they were, or what they were talking about. A girl was crying beside her, she didn't recognize her face. She stared at her reflection. She stared at a fading memory. A memory that would soon be forgotten along with the knowledge of her existence. She felt as if she had entered a home, but couldn’t find her way out.  It all seemed comforting, but it slowly became the same thing, and then it became nothing. Margot Robbins was sitting there, a shell of the person she used to be.


“This man says he’s your father and he’s dying,” Billie says. She’s looking at me with her face creased in concern.             I shrug. “And what’s the bad news?” I take the phone. “Hello. I don’t know who you are, but this isn’t funny.”             “Xander. It’s me, dad.” I hear the voice and my heart starts beating a drum solo. My throat goes dry. “I know it’s been a long time, son. I have bowel cancer and just a few days left.” Dad’s voice has dropped in tone. He’s wheezing which is good news.             “Good to know, dad. Thanks for the call. See you at the funeral.” Maybe it sounds cold but trust me Mitchell deserves it.             “WAIT. Xander. I know I wasn’t the perfect father.”             No shit. “Wasn’t the perfect father?” I cough a laugh and feel the tears coming. “Someone who had a few affairs isn’t a perfect father. You’re a fucking monster.” I’m yelling down the phone at that withered pile of trash. Billie is backing away from me with fear in her eyes.             “I did terrible things Xander. I’m sorry for all of them. I want to apologise to you in person before I go.” All I see when I hear his voice is him with blood on his knuckles standing over me, my mother, and my brother Zach.             “I’m going to hell, and I know it, Xander. Please let me atone for some of what I’ve done.” His voice has some sorrow in it, but I know it’s bullshit because I’ve seen him hitting my mother as she screamed for her children to run and hide.             I see red on my thumb and taste the blood. I realise I just bit myself because listening to his voice brings back feelings I’ve been trying to bury since I ran away from home.             “How did you find me?” I ask.             “Your girlfriend there mentioned you on her Facebook page. I told you the internet was dangerous. Didn’t I? Still, helped me find you again so I can’t complain.” He’s got the voice of someone you’d think worked on a farm all his life. No. He hit people for money doing bare-knuckle boxing. He liked it. It wasn’t enough for him, so he brought his work home. He’d practice on all of us.             “I don’t want to talk to you, Mitchell.” My voice is the coldest ice.             “I know and I get that. But you’re my heir, Xander. You’re gonna get the house and the car when I die.” I hear him groan in pain and an involuntary smile forms on my face. “It’s all going to be yours, boy.”             “Burn it. I don’t want anything to do with you. I know where your skeletons are buried.”             “Not on the phone, son. You know they record calls.”             “To anyone who may be listening to this call, my father is a murderer.”             “Xander! Fucking hell. You got some metal in your bones now? Where was that fire when you were a kid?” He asks as if it was my fault.             “That’s just it, dad. I was a kid. I thought you were supposed to love me. I thought the anger would drain out of you some day and you’d be like a normal dad. I was-” I stop because I don’t have the words. “You never changed. It’s who you are. Just a bitter, violent old man who likes hurting people. I’m done with you.”             I drop the house phone. It swings on the chord and smacks against the wall. I wipe tears from my eyes and try to slow my breathing. Billie starts to talk but I need space. I lock myself in the bathroom and sit on the toilet seat. All I can do is clench my fists to stop my hands from shaking. The mirror shows blood on my face from wiping tears with my bleeding thumb.             I wash the wound and slap a band aid on it. I splash my face with cold water. Pulling a towel from the rack I dry my face. Hands become claws around the towel. I scream into the soft fibres. Decades of rage set loose.             “XANDER! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Billie hammers on the door.             “I’m fine. I just had to let that out.”             I open the door. She’s there with concern in sparkling brown eyes. Poker straight black hair hangs below her shoulders. She presses her head into my chest. I hang my head over her shoulder and squeeze her.             “You’re alright. I’m here.” She rubs my back as I tremble with emotion. Feelings I thought I’d forgotten. She doesn’t ask, but I know she has questions. I said too much over the phone. I’m woken by my own screaming. Billie isn’t there. She’s on the sofa with Genzo the cat.             “You’ve been tossing and turning for hours. You were calling out names I’ve never heard before.”             “Talking to dad stirred up everything. I can’t keep a lid on any of it now.”             “You’ve never had a lid on it Xander. It’s just worse now. All the traumas you’ve taken from other people. All the memories come spilling out when you sleep.” She strokes Genzo. The ginger fluffball purrs and climbs up her body to press his face against hers. His whiskers spring back into place every time his head emerges from her neck.             Holding the cat, she stands. With the needy love of a new-born, Genzo lets himself be held with her hand on his bum, face peering over her shoulder.             “You can’t absorb other people’s pain forever. It’s destroying you.” She picks a bit of paper from next to the phone and holds it out to me. “You also need to confront your past. You’ll never be whole if you don’t.” I’m standing outside my father’s hospital room. I’ve been standing here for ten minutes, trying to work up the strength to go inside.             I pull out my phone and open the voice memo app. I hit record and slip it back into my jeans. Knowing he might admit to something from all those years ago helps me harden my soul enough to open the door.             He’s sleeping. The life sign monitor has lines jumping across it that mean nothing to me. Numbers fluctuate in green, orange, white and blue.             Oh, how the mighty fall.             He was a muscular man when I ran away. He towered over me. Skin sags on his bones. I can trace every vein like rivers on a map. Black hair on the arms is grey now. I put my phone on his bedside table, next to the water jug. I don’t want my pocket muffling the noise. When he wakes up, he probably won’t notice the phone is there.             We pull two chairs over to the bed. The sound of the old metal covered in flaking white plastic scraping across the laminate floor wakes the beast.             “Xander. That you?”             “Do you have a lot of sons coming back to visit you now that you’re dying?”             “You’re the girl I talked to on the phone? Never figured you were Asian.”             Billie shifts in her seat. “Maybe I should wait outside?” She was supportive before. Now she’s uncomfortable.             “Why don’t I meet you at the canteen?” I say. She nods and gets up.             “That what you’re into now?” Mitchell asks when Billie closes the door on her way out. I see her shadow walking away through the blinds. When I don’t answer him, he shows me his collection of gold teeth. Souvenirs from his boxing days.             “She’s pretty.”             I look at the life sign monitor again and wonder what I need to turn off for the old wretch to die. “What do you want dad? I’m not here for a chat. You wanted to unburden yourself. Go.”             “The day you left was the day I lost my powers.”             “You’re full of shit.”             “I’m serious Xander. It all stopped after we had that fight.”             “It wasn’t a fight. You broke my nose.”             “Well, whatever. I had to start living my life like normal after that.”             “You couldn’t kill people anymore?”             “It wasn’t like that, son.”             “Tell that to Zach,” I say. My brother’s name makes old Mitchell wince.             “You know I feel bad about that.” He leans towards me. I take a step back. “What happened-” I cut him off before he can lie.             “I saw what happened, dad. You punched Zach until he stopped moving because mom was already unconscious. You took him out into the garden, and you started digging a hole.” I remember that Mitchell didn’t carry Zach like a father holding his son. My brother was slung over his shoulder like a bag of cement. He was buried with as much care.             “Not so loud Xander.”             “Scared everyone will know you killed your son?”             “I have hated myself every day since then.” His blue eyes look into mine.             “LIAR!” I look right back             “I aint lying, boy.”             I move back towards the bed, and I prod his wheezing chest with my finger. “You lied to me and mom the moment she woke up. You called the police. Said he was missing. You took our memories,” talking about our powers on the recording isn’t great but as long as I have a confession it shouldn’t matter. “You tried to make us forget. Mom spent her days looking for him until she worked it out.”             “Your mama wouldn’t have worked it out if you hadn’t told her, boy. What she did aint on me. That’s you.” He’s looking desperate. He’s sweating and the numbers on the little screen by the bed are going up.             “She hung herself from the tree because I gave her back the memories you’d stolen. She died right where you’d buried Zach.” I’m shivering with rage. My heart is racing with adrenaline. I want to hit him the way he hit all of us. I want to beat him until the whole room is red.             “You aren’t gonna tell nobody are you boy?”

            “Is that all you’re worried about? You don’t want people knowing you’re a murderer before you go?” I should have known. He just wants to get away with it. He just looks at me. “Don’t worry. I don’t want to stand before a jury and relive everything you did to us.” He sighs with relief. “The minute you’re gone, I’ll be at a police station spilling the beans.”             I think about the life I lead because of him. I have the memories of dozens of murderers and creeps inside my head. I take memories. I eat the sin of monsters to make the world a better place. It’s the same power that Mitchell used to use against his family. He stole the memory of Zach’s death from my head for years. When I got it back, I found my own power. I gave mom her stolen memories.             “Thank you, son. That’s a big relief.” He smiles. Something inside me snaps. He’s thankful? Fuck him.             I take his hand. I look into his blackened soul, and I see years of drinking, years of shitty jobs. He was never as bad after I left. Maybe I did take all his power. He still remembers a life of causing pain. He misses feeling powerful.             “Fuck you.” I hiss the words and start to pour in all of the memories I’ve taken from terrible people and the people they’ve hurt. I pour in trauma and guilt. I give him the sins of lives he never lived. I fill him up with the hatred that’s been eating away at me for years.             I take all of it in to make the world a better place, but it eats away at me. I struggle to sleep. I toss and turn. I feel guilt for things I remember that other people did. I have the PTSD from survivors of unspeakable horror.             “My last gift for you, dad. Know how I’ve felt. Know what it felt like for Zach. For Maria.” I stand up and leave him there. His eyes are racing around the room as the memories of other monsters fill his mind. His heart rate skyrockets.             An alarm goes off. I hear running footsteps outside the white room.             The door bursts open and a nurse rushes to the old man’s side.             “Your father’s heart rate is spiking. I need you to leave the room sir.”             “I was just leaving anyway,” I tell her. I take my phone. Mitchell’s eyes catch the action for a moment and I give him a wink. I meet Billie in the canteen. She’s got her hands wrapped around a paper cup of coffee. She looks up and frowns.             “Why do you look so happy?”             “He admitted it.”             “Huh?”             I lean close to Billie and whisper. “Mitchell killed my brother Zach. He had powers like me but he used them to make people forget the things he did. I just recorded his confession.” I can’t help smiling. She thinks I’m mad. “How can you be so happy?”             “Because I crammed all of the memories that have been driving me crazy into his head. Now he knows how it felt for me and all the people like me that I’ve helped.”             “I never knew.” She leans forward to kiss me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”             I shrug. “I couldn’t think about it. I’ve been running away from it for years.”             “You finally make sense.” Her hand on my cheek is magic. I feel love my father wouldn’t understand. I wish my mother had met a man who did. Maria deserved better.             I kiss her back. “I love you so much.”             Our lips part and her brown eyes search mine. “What now?”             “Now we wait for his obituary and then I take his confession to the police. I want to bury Zach properly. I don’t want it to be a case. He’s not going to live long enough for a trial anyway.” I realise I’m squeezing her hand too hard and let go.             “We’re going to be alright Xander. I love you too.” Her small hand squeezes mine. I’m sitting in a police station interview room. My dad’s funeral was yesterday. I’m betting the only people there were the priest and the guys who lowered him into the ground. The walls around me are grey. A camera peers down at me from a corner of the ceiling and one wall is a mirror with another room behind it.             My reflection is calm. I’m not. I put my phone down on the table and wait.             Ten minutes pass and an officer opens the creaking door and sits down across from me.             “Hello. I’m officer Nunez. I understand you’re here to report a crime?” He leans forward, brown eyes watching me. He hits a button on a recorder that’s sitting on the metal table between us.             I take a deep breath. “My father killed my brother Zach. I have his confession.”             Officer Nunez’s eyes bulge. “Wow. Ok. On your phone?” He points to it.             I nod. I unlock the phone, go to the recording, and hit play. The police officer sits back in the chair and listens.             The recording ends. His eyebrows are up as he nods his head about something. “Right. And this was your father?”             “Mitchell Browning. Yes. My name is Xander. My brother was Zach. My mother’s name was Maria.”             “Right. This is some serious stuff. Before I get the paperwork, is there anything else you want to tell me?” He looks as though he wants a confession from me.             “I know where my brother is buried.”             “Under the tree?” He asks. I nod. “For the tape.” He points to the recorder.             “Yes. Under the tree.” I picture freshly dug dirt beneath an ash tree. Years later I see my mother swinging from the branches above it.             “Thank you, Mister Browning. I’ll be back with the paperwork.” He gets up. I see his sky-blue shirt disappear and the metal door clicks behind him.             I lay my head on my hands. I’ve imagined this for a while. There’s no sense of victory or revenge. It doesn’t feel like justice for Zach. Maybe it will be closure for me. I think of my father. I’m not sad he’s gone. I’m not happy either. Part of me still felt something for him, as my father, not the man he really was. I wish I could turn that off. Blood is thicker than water, and I feel really thick for feeling anything at all.             I’m told he was ranting and raving for the last few days before he died. That’s something at least. He suffered. Good.


“You nervous?” “A little. You know… I’ll be okay.” “I’m sure you will. I’ll be at the café. Text me when you’re ready.” Corey, fifteen-and-a-half-years-old, repeated ‘ You got this ,’ to himself. If only he believed it. He’d driven hundreds of miles practicing over the last few months. But until he passed this test, to the world, he knew squat. First tests… firsts of anything are mysterious to the uninitiated. Rites of passage used to mean something. Crossing that line meant leaving childhood forever. He’d take on the mantel of adulthood and everything that meant. Driving legally was about the only rite of passage remaining. Yes, it’s an important step, but a step down from facing enemy fire on a battlefield. Parked in the DMV lot, Corey and his father sat in Corey’s vintage Plymouth Valiant convertible. They got out and shook hands. Corey’s father said, “You know your stuff. Stay focused. You’ll do great.” “I’ll knock this out and then I can take that job.” Corey headed toward the building. Because of his appointment, he wasn’t worried about the line of people waiting. He’d heard horrible things about the DMV. But this might be okay. A lanky man with a DMV badge intercepted him. He carried a clip board. “Looking for a tester? Have a driver’s test scheduled?” Corey nodded. “You’re up. I’m Ziggy. Let’s see your paperwork…” Ziggy looked at Corey’s permit. “Oh, you’re a Pisces…” “What?” “Don’t know if you’re coming or going. Always swim against the current. You know how it goes… Can’t ‘go with the flow,’ as they say.” “This is for my driver’s test, right?” “Of course. DMV at your service… We’ll discover what drives you.” “Me?” “Yeah… you, I, everyone goes ‘round wearing these chassis.” He slapped his chest and arm. “Are you the vehicle to greater understanding? Or will you merely tick off the miles ‘til you get hauled, creaking and groaning, to the scrap heap?” “Uhm, my car’s over there.” “The convertible?” “Yeah.” “Nice. You like the top up or down?” “Down.” Ziggy snickered. Corey gave him a curious look. “Nothing… A private joke. You consider yourself convertible? Or already converted?” “I don’t get it…” Already on edge, Corey began doubting his grasp of reality. They got in and fastened their seat belts. Corey started the car and revved gently. Ziggy said, “So, is this an automatic or manual transmission?” “Automatic.” Ziggy sighed. “Isn’t that like life? So often, we act without thinking. Let ‘the Man’ do it. You know, ‘the Man,’ the government, the internet. No personal initiative anymore.” The word ‘mystified,’ popped into Corey’s brain. Ziggy continued. “You feel in control, Corey? Admit it. There’s so little we control.” Corey tried to focus. “Where are we going?” “Ah, age-old questions. Where am I? And, where are we going? Where are you going, Corey?” “I meant for the driving test. You want me to drive?” Ziggy laughed. “If you don’t know where you’re going, how do you know if you got there? Right?” “Right…” Corey wondered how he could pass this. ‘ What would passing look like? ’ “Tell you what… take the wheel, pull out of the lot. Just drive.” Corey idled to the exit. He flicked the signal and checked for oncoming traffic before turning. Waxing philosophical, Ziggy talked nonstop. “Ahhh, the great wheel of life… You know, the great mandala? ‘Round and ‘round it goes. Where it stops… Where are you on that wheel, Corey? Do you know?” “Hands at three and nine o’clock, sir.” “Very good. Not what I asked but, good to know.” Needing to concentrate, Corey wanted to tune him out, but couldn’t. He slowed for traffic and entered the freeway onramp. “Yes, merging is always a good idea. But with what do we merge? With the universe? The void? Traffic? What do you think, Grasshopper? I mean, Corey?” Corey accelerated and entered the main flow of traffic. He wondered, ‘ Focus… How do I get through this?’ Ziggy said, “How does it feel to travel at the speed of life? So much happens. All at once. Time is such a blessing.” Ziggy rambled on. “All these people hurtling toward their respective destinations. Oblivious to the sea of humanity in which they are immersed…” He laughed. “Who thinks of the other drivers’ problems? Or even as people? Where the hell is everyone going?” He looked at Corey to see if he got the point. Corey nodded. “Corey, you ever hear the one about the fish getting asked, ‘How’s the water?’ Hilarious.” Corey signaled his lane change. He watched his speed. ‘ Hang in there. Just drive…’ “Ever wondered what it would be like to live without limits…? That would be fun, right?” Corey said, “I like speed limits. Those and stop signs are great inventions. Living without limits might be great until a giant tree decides to grow in your path.” Ziggy nodded, “Yielding is great skill too… Yielding to the greater reality barely out of reach. Take this exit.” “You mean the one I just passed?” Ziggy nodded. “I missed my turn.” Ziggy shrugged. “Relax. The brass ring always comes ‘round again.” “Meaning…?” “Take the next exit.” Corey signaled to change lanes. The other driver wouldn’t let him in. “It all comes down to passing, doesn’t it? Pass the test. Pass the car. Pass the time. Pass the potatoes. Is there no end to it?” A driver flashed his lights and let Corey into the lane. Ziggy offered, “Right of way. Who’s really right? More rights than responsibilities... Two wrongs don’t…” Corey fumed as the next exit proved impossible to access. ‘ Oh well, not trying to get anywhere special. Keep moving forward. Focus on safety…’ “No detours, friend. All roads lead to enlightenment.” Corey rolled his eyes as he got into the exit lane, coasted and slowed for the light. Ziggy said, “Of course, enlightenment demands caution. Or discernment. Is the light red or green? And who decides?” Corey snapped. “What are you talking about? Is this a driver’s test?” “Keep your eyes on the road, Sport. You learn to drive playing video games?” “Yeah… did you see that wall ride Chastain pulled off in the NASCAR playoffs?” “Careful. This ain’t NASCAR. You don’t want to get towed away with a toe tag.” Corey pulled to the curb and shifted into park. He turned to Ziggy. “Are you a pod person? What does any of this have to do with anything?” Ziggy made a note on his clip board. “Signal and, when safe, re-enter traffic flow. Head back to the DMV. This test is over.” “But…” “You failed.” “But how…? I did everything…” “It’s in the stars, my Pisces friend… When the student is ready, the teacher appears. I assure you, you’re not ready.” Corey drove back in silence. He felt lost. ‘ How was this a driver’s test? More of a seminar on New Age claptrap.’ He pulled into the lot and parked. He focused on his breathing. ‘I drove perfectly. No errors. Arbitrarily failed by this DMV guru. Kiss that job good-bye. Re-schedule. Will I have to wait weeks?’ Ziggy exited and leaned in. “Better luck next time, fish boy…” He slammed the door and walked toward the main building. Corey watched Ziggy go through the door. He needed to chill and then re-schedule his test. He set the brake, stepped into the morning air and stretched. He entered the building and watched for an open window. “Hi. I need to reschedule. I failed my driver’s test.” Corey passed the clerk his permit. The clerk searched his monitor. “I can fit you in for 10am tomorrow. That work for you?” Corey nodded. “Let’s see, Egbert’s free. But he can be a bit slow.” The clerk leaned in. “Except when he’s behind the wheel… Then there’s Miranda. She’s never failed anyone. You’re not married, are you?” Corey said, “No.” “Okay. You're in. Who was your tester today?” “Uhm, Ziggy…?” “Oh, you mean Otto. I’ve heard about him…” “That’s okay. I learned something.” “Really? From Otto?” At peace, Corey felt inspired. “...Whether I’m the water or the wave.” “Wow… That’s some driver’s license test… What did you decide?” Corey smiled. “I'm both.”


C/W: domestic abuse

Another morning that she woke up from a nightmare. This has become a well-known ritual three weeks ago. She struggles to recall the last time she had a peaceful sleep without it being interrupted by someone she dearly loves dying. He is still asleep, waking him up to ask to calm her down would cause no good. He would get angry again, as if it was her fault that she is crying every time she wakes up. She reached for the tissue that usually are on the bedside table. ‘They are not there this time, where did he put them, but most importantly why? How am I supposed to clean up before he wakes up? Did he plan this, so he can hit me?’ a usual strain thought crossed her mind, while she rubbed her forearm with an old bruise from his grab on it. When you are in an abusive relationship for a long time, you start to suspect the worst even in the most innocent actions. Assuming it is just thoughts that she got used to overtime under manipulative actions, but it doesn’t answer the question, where the tissues went. An unordinary thought ran across her mind, ‘Should I leave him?’ but it was stopped as immediately as it appeared. Was it the first time she considered leaving him? No, she kept this option in the back of her head for a few months now, but she never acted on it. Clear thinking was shut down by her mind every time it came to putting an end to this relationship. She was scared of being left alone, like most people in similar situations do. However, this one seems to stand out. They never had a conversation about ending the relationship, she never brought it up, and he never tried to stop her. The only thing that continued to prevent her from having this conversation is her own bruised thinking. She laid on the bed and proceeded to look at the ceiling to let tears flow back into her eyes. She noticed a spot that wasn’t there previously, that kept her occupied for a certain amount of time before that annoying thought crossed her mind again. She shook his arm. A loud slap on her cheek deafened her for a second or two. ‘What do you think you are doing?!’ he yelled at her hardly awake but already very angry. ‘Where did you out the tissues?’ holding in the tears from the slap, she replied. ‘What in the actual hell are talking about, huh? What tissues?’ he answered as if he didn’t understand what she was talking about. With this response his voice sounded more awake than last time. ‘The tissues that were on the bedside table, so I could wipe my tears after waking up from nightmares,’ now more calmly she responded. She tried to stay in line and not have a go at him, she knew it would end much worse than just a slap. ‘Do you understand what nonsense you are talking right now? There were no tissues on ‘the bedside table,’ he showed quotation marks with his hands and made the nastiest giggle possible. ‘Yes, there were,’ now with a strength in her tone she replied, ‘I put them there, so I am asking where you put them.’ ‘I did not put them anywhere, what don’t you understand from my speech?’ he rose his voice and started saying the words slowly, mocking her, ‘I d-i-d  n-o-t p-u-t y-o-u-r t-i-s-s-u-e-s a-n-y-w-h-e-r-e.’ ‘I want to break up,’ she said not expecting herself to say that. ‘You want what?’ he began yelling. ‘To break up,’ almost silently she pronounced. ‘Okay, aright, if this is truly what you want, go ahead. Just don’t cry about me when I kill myself.’ The manipulation, that he attempted to make, was done so many times before and portrayed in so many scenarios in countless amount of literature pieces and films. She could not have reacted better, ‘Fine,’ she attempted to leave the bed. Absolutely shocked, he grabbed her by her hand and started crying, ‘After all this time, you have nothing better to say?! You never loved me; you are a horrible person!’ While her mind was bright enough to act and not look back, she silently stood up and got dressed. He kept on screaming about committing suicide and about how ungrateful she is for leaving after everything that he has done to her. He truly considered himself to be a good partner, even after screaming at her to the point of losing his voice, even after beating her to the point of her fainting, even after all the lies and avoidance of confrontation. This caused him to shout and beg, after a while, he fell onto his knees and grabbed her arm while looking at her from beneath, ‘Please don’t go, we were so good together. ‘We really were not, good-‘ ‘No,’ he pulled her arm with more force, ‘Stay!’ he commanded. ‘I will no longer stay with you, you hurt me, you abused my trust in you and in people in general!’ she was on the verge of crying. ‘Okay, go,’ he let go of her arm. She turned around and walked out the bedroom door, put on her trainers and pulled the doorknob of the front door. She glanced at him for the last time in her life as she hoped, ‘Goodbye.’ She closed the door behind her and walked towards the stairs, it would have been easier if he started chasing her. Looking back with every step down, she reached the ground floor. There it was freedom, or so she thought. She left through the main entrance door and looked outside: the leaves on the trees never seemed greener, the sky was never a blue as at this exact moment. She made five steps into a new single life when she heard a scream, ‘You really thought I’d let you leave like this?’ A whistle cut the air and the toaster fell right onto her head, killing her instantly. The passer-by woman, who was walking a dog, stood completely shocked after witnessing such horror. After a few seconds, she made a disturbingly disgusting noise that is hard to be imagined to be made by a human being. The woman was dead, lying on the pavement in the pool of her own blood. She was murdered almost not painfully and with almost a free heart. She escaped him and his influence, but he still did not let her experience happiness and live a life if it wasn’t with him.


I’ve had the same friends since high school, but as the years passed, it became more difficult to see them often. We used to live within ten minutes of each other; a nostalgic memory now that everyone had moved to various points around the country. To stay in each other’s lives, we decided to commit to meeting up somewhere each summer. I’ve never liked flying, but after last year, it has become a much more preferable option. The plan was to stay at a cabin in Maine, and instead of flying, I elected to take the two-day drive. Luckily, a family friend knew someone who ran a bed & breakfast around the halfway point and offered to set up a reservation for me. At the end of the first day of travel, the sun had been down for nearly two hours when I happened upon a gas station. After parking, I read the rest of the directions given to me, only to realize they were far too vague. My exhaustion got the better of me, and despite the late hour, I called the B&B's number. “ Hello?” “Hi, is this Marie?” “ Yes… ” “Hey, I’m Cal. I’m supposed to be staying with you tonight?”

I paused for a confirmation, which didn’t come immediately. I thought that maybe she didn’t hear me or the line dropped, but when her tired and thin voice returned, she seemed more surprised than anything. “ Right… Okay. ” “Ya, it was booked by a woman named Carla Henning. Sorry, it’s so late, I’m just having a bit of trouble with the directions,” I explained. There was another shorter silence followed by a sigh. “ Where are you? ”

It was a fair question, but one I was unprepared for. I frantically checked my phone for my location, relaying it to her as best as I could. “ I’ll be right there, ” She said, hanging up.

I was taken aback. I had expected her to explain the directions in more detail, or to possibly stay on the line while I drove. Instead, I felt a little silly that she was coming to get me. After about half an hour, a low sputtering reached my ears before I saw her truck drive up, red with faded paint and rust. Marie rolled down her window, and I admit I was a little shocked at exactly how ancient she looked. The creases in her face seemed to force her expression into a permanent scowl, and her hair was sparse, yet curiously shaggy.

“Are you Cal?” “Yep, that’s me. Sorry about all of this,” I said, trying to be as repentant as possible. “Oh, it’s no trouble. The roads around here have a mind of their own if you don’t know where you’re going. Just follow me.” She gave a small, but friendly smile as she rolled her window back up. I got back into my car and felt a twinge of guilt, not only for putting her out but also my misjudgment. Her truck rumbled louder as she exited the gas station, and not wanting to betray her kindness any further, I quickly followed. After turning off the highway, the road slowly winded and narrowed into a steep path as we entered the Goliath Mountains. Pine trees rose on either side and even if they weren’t so dense, the moonless sky kept me from seeing much beyond the road. Eventually, Marie turned into a large clearing and I parked beside her, looking around as much as I could.

Straight ahead was a two-story house whose siding may have once been yellow, even if it seemed to have forgotten it. Shingles were missing from the roof, and the chimney was falling apart, but the lights on inside provided some sense of comfort. On the other side of the clearing was a smaller bungalow, with many of the same features and defects, but no warming light from within. I turned off my car before stepping out. “Well, that’s your house over there. Sorry, it's not the bigger one.” Marie said with a chuckle, “I’ll unlock it.”

She strode ahead through the unkempt grass to the guest house, and I quickly grabbed my bag before catching up in time for her to get inside and turn on the light. I stepped in and examined the decor that no doubt had existed long before either house. A dead fireplace sat across from me, and to my right a small table with a wood-burning stove behind it. On the other side of the room was a large orange couch, and in all the corners sat strange, but beautiful plants. Still, I could sense that something was off. “Where’s the bathroom?” I asked.

“You can use that bucket there.” She responded, pointing to a corner that indeed held a large, metal bucket.

I thought she might be joking, but her expression suggested otherwise. My disbelief must have been evident since she was quick to offer an alternative. “You can also use the bathroom in my house if you need to. I’ll leave the back door unlocked. That’s the pull-out bed there, and if you need anything else, I’m a pretty light sleeper.” She then bade me goodnight and left. Fatigue washed over me, so rather than stay up to read or watch something, I decided to retire to bed. After wrestling with the pull-out and eventually pinning it, I turned out the light and laid down. A curtainless window hung to the right of the front door and directly across from my face. Through it, a quarter moon stared down at me, so I turned over and wondered how long it would take me to fall asleep. I woke up after seemingly no time at all, as judged by the brightness of the moonlight still streaming into the guest house. I hadn’t moved, so I was still staring at the back wall and the projected silhouette of the window’s cross frame. In the frame’s bottom corner, I noticed a shadow and assumed it was a spot of dried paint or some other blemish. My exhaustion was winning once again when a chill ran through my body as I saw the shadow move. It was only for a second, so my mind ran wild with rationalizations. I thought perhaps I hadn’t seen it move at all, and if I did, it may be just a swaying bush outside. Ten minutes passed by my guess, and the shadow remained. I knew that if I didn’t investigate, sleep would remain a stranger to me, so I decided to turn and look. After some self-persuasion, I spun around and the thing in the window moved out of sight.

I froze, propped up on my elbow, and heard nothing but my heartbeat. I had seen it for barely an instant, so only made out one detail. However, it was all that was needed to send my fear over the edge. Because when I turned to the window, someone’s eye had stared back at me. I jumped out of bed and instinctually went for the light, but stopped myself, knowing that it would only give an advantage to the watcher. Grabbing my phone, my worst expectations were fulfilled as it had no service. With my options diminishing, I summoned up a sliver of courage to confront my night stalker. Picking up a fire poker, I threw open the door before I could convince myself otherwise. Beyond the threshold, I had anticipated the scariest person imaginable but horrifyingly found no one. I began to think more clearly and deduced that the person may have slipped around the back. Turning left, I crept around the side of the guest house, approaching the rear, and my guess was confirmed. I saw the back of someone just around the corner. They were cloaked and crouched, probably waiting for me to come around the other side. When I was a footstep behind, I swung my makeshift weapon at the figure's head, and stayed only long enough to watch them collapse before I sprinted to the main house. Bursting through the back door, I called out to Marie. Without a response, I began to search the house for her, heading upstairs first. After checking a bathroom and a cluttered storage room, I finally found a bedroom, but the bed was empty. Instead, my gaze was drawn by a collection of scattered pages on a table in the corner. Turning on the light, I looked through them and, from what I could make out, they were the paranoid ramblings of someone far less sane than how Marie had first appeared. Supposedly she had found something in the mountains. A map was enclosed, showing a nearby lake, and a small cave that had been circled with the word “CAMP” written in red. In these writings, along with her fear, she seemed also deeply regretful. She was desperate to return what she had taken but was somehow unable to. There was a constant dread, as she believed that someone was coming for her. While it was unclear who or what this was, she seemed to know when it would come, and that it was inevitable. That was all I could read, and I turned towards the door, only for my heart to drop to my stomach. There in the doorway, in a ragged and dirty cloak, stood Marie.

The wrinkles of her face contorted to mirror her psychosis, now reflecting the woman in the papers behind me. A red trickle ran down her forehead, no doubt from the fire poker I still held. Noticing the kitchen knife in her hand, I froze once again. We stared at each other, waiting for something to happen, and my sight moved to the wall on her right. A calendar hung there, with an impressionist ocean painting, and a circle around today’s date. “Marie, listen…” I tried to mediate.

She interrupted by charging at me, blade first, and I jumped onto the bed to leap around to the doorway. She came at me again, so I swung the fire poker once more but only succeeded in embedding it into the wall. Unable to get it loose, and with my rampaging host before me, I chose to leave my only defense and flee. I flew down the stairs but felt her bounding close behind me. Breaking through the front door, I ran to my car and tried to open it before realizing that my keys were still in the guest house. I barely had time to curse before Marie was upon me again, and I was forced to run in the other direction, into the forest. Branches whipped my face, and I stumbled over nature’s uncounted and unseen obstacles as I plunged into the dark of the wood. I’m not sure how long it was before I checked behind me, but once I did, I was punished with a large stump that sent me landing flat on my face. I quickly scanned my surroundings, finding that Marie was nowhere to be seen and hearing nothing of her strangely energetic chase. After making sure I wasn’t seriously injured, I dusted myself off and weighed my options. Going back was the obvious worst idea, but I struggled to think of much else. At last, I decided to walk further into the forest, hoping to discover my salvation elsewhere. Either due to the cover of clouds or the density of the trees, the moon provided only a glimmer. I still had my phone, and although it couldn’t make calls, it could still light my way. With a half-dead battery though, I tried my best to feel my way around instead. Staying calm while doing that, though, was not an easy feat. It wasn’t enough that this forest was dark and alien, but like most others, it was loud. Trees creaked, the wind whistled, and animals called out to each other. More than once, the otherworldly cry of an elk sent me into a cold sweat before I realized what it was. Surprisingly though, and thankfully, none of my frequent stops to look around me ever came up with anything. Before long I broke through the forest’s edge and the shimmering blackness of a lake lay before me. As expected, a cave emerged from the ground to the right. Marie had marked this area “CAMP,” so in my desperate mind I hoped that there may be something useful inside, even perhaps a radio. The entrance was smaller than expected and was so close to the shoreline that I needed to sidle along the water’s edge to enter. Once I did, I was met with a steep slope that almost got the better of me as I descended into the earth. The moonlight reached about halfway down, so once I found the bottom, I was in complete darkness. It was at this point that I gave in, and sparingly used my phone to examine my surroundings. Ahead was a narrow hallway stretching forward into unseen depths. The suffocating shadow made pressing on difficult, but I still held onto my sliver of courage. With the hallway appearing perfectly straight, I tried to keep my light off as much as possible. However, the fear of walking into something horrible or falling into some unknown pit did not keep me blind for long. The only sounds were my footsteps and breathing, echoing through the passage. The rhythm they formed only amplified the solitude that I was trying very hard to fend off. Of course, when that feeling disappeared, it became all the worse. It started slow, a barely noticeable noise that likely occurred a few times before I became aware of it. Eventually, though, my foot scraped the cave floor at the same time that a heavier dragging sound came from behind. I turned around immediately and heard nothing, unsure if it was my imagination. Unfortunately, the disorienting blackness stretching out on either side didn’t help. After listening for several more silent moments, I turned back and continued. However, the noise was cruel, as right when I felt slightly comfortable again, it returned. Like before, I stopped and listened to the emptiness. Silence once again. I was about to continue when a far worse rendition of the noise erupted. I could hear with certainty, something heavy, and rough being dragged on the ground in short repetition. I did not have time to analyze it further, since, after a pause, it transformed into a continuous slither. Without hesitation, I turned and fled, praying the hallway would finally end in safety. My legs burned and I started to think the tunnel might indeed be endless. Finally, my hand left the wall as I entered a new area. I could make out a door behind me, so as my pursuer grew closer, I slammed the door and held it with all my weight. The horrible dragging became louder, and my confidence in that thin barrier waned. Right when it sounded as if the thing was about to crash through, a silence came instead. I pressed my ear to the wood, holding my breath to hear the slightest indication of something on the other side. After waiting  for what seemed like long enough, I stepped away. I almost opened the door again, but a second thought convinced me otherwise. Instead, realizing my phone light was still on, I used it to look around. The first thing I noticed was the circular room I was in, about fifteen feet in diameter. The second was my phone’s battery, which had dropped to nine percent. I would have turned it off right away if something on the wall hadn't caught my eye.

There a mural of swirling designs formed odd shapes and menacing figures, despite appearing completely abstract. I followed the fresco until it culminated symmetrically across from the entrance. The patterns pointed down at a pedestal against the wall, with an indent carved into the top. I assumed it would have held some object or artifact, but there was nothing there. I searched the rest of the room, initially finding only dust and stone. Eventually, though, I discovered two familiar things, which at that moment had become truly terrifying.

They were a pair of shoes, which as my light traveled upwards, I saw was attached to none other than Marie in the now open doorway. Dried blood plastered her face, and both her clothes and hair were caked with mud. Her eyes burned, seeming to make my light obsolete, and a kitchen knife was still clutched in her hand. “Of course, you’re here,” she croaked out. With a cry, she prepared to lunge at me, but something stopped her. In the tunnel behind, the heavy dragging had returned, and Marie turned to face it. It grew louder as it filled the chamber, and right before its source appeared, my phone died. A symphony of screams followed, both human and not, that I cannot recall without shuddering. I did not feel anything, but from what it sounded like, Marie would soon be no more.

Sure enough, the screaming stopped, but it did not yield to silence as whatever the thing was slithered around. I stood as still and quiet as possible, praying it would leave and that I would finally be able to as well. This was proven useless, with something rough touching my leg before latching on in an instant. I soon felt my entire body immersed in this texture, no matter how much I fought. I wondered how long I would be able to stay conscious before finally being consumed. I awoke to a lack of oxygen, and something still surrounding me, which I quickly realized was water. I saw the reassuring light of the moon above me and swam up, breaching the surface of the lake. After coughing up more water than I thought my lungs could hold I saw my surroundings, including the lakeside cave now crumbled, barring anyone else from entry.