Cheryl is always bossing me around. She thinks that just because she died first makes her in charge around here, but she forgot one little fact. I am the matriarch in this house. Oh yes, I forgot to mention, I’m a ghost, a specter, a phantasm, an apparition, honestly, whatever floats your boat. You want to know how I got here? Well, I’m going to make this nice and brief because no one wants to linger on a sob story, especially me. I am just getting over it. So, here’s the long and short of it. I got stage 4 breast cancer when my youngest was just a year and half. I was given all the hope in the world- “Hannah, you are so young and strong”… “You have too much to live for”… “You’ll kick cancer’s butt”- but, yet, here I am, haunting my family. Didn’t beat cancer’s butt. It beat me up for a year and a half before it took me out. Yes, that first year was hard. Not going to relive that. The kids were a mess. Jay, my loving husband, was beside himself. And let’s not forget about me. I absolutely grieved for myself. I was missing out on everything. But, it’s been over a year now, and we are all adjusting to a new normal. Come to find out, you get to haunt the place where you died. Which is really cool since I finally get to be a stay-at-home mom, in the ghostly sense. Super pumped we went with the home death thing rather than the hospital. Could you imagine the crowds there? That’s how I met Cheryl, the know-it-all ghost herself. I mean she has been helpful, giving me tips about adjusting to ghost life and all, but if I was being honest, I wish I could have convinced Jay to move into a new development. Could have saved me from having to share my haunted home. Cheryl also passed on here, but she was alone and elderly. And don’t even get me started on Crazy John haunting that sprawling oak tree out back. I swear, he has never once smiled at me. But his presence does explain the kid’s hesitation with the tree house we built. I have surprisingly begun to enjoy being a stay-at-home mom ghost. My days look a little different though. Cheryl explained to me that ghosts have a reverse circadian rhythm due to the spectral goo coursing through our ethereal bodies which, in layman’s terms, means we wake up as night descends and feel sleepy during the day. Just like all moms though, I have a job to do. So, I force my tired self out of bed when Jay and the kids come home. I’ve even developed a sort of schedule that I think is working for all of us. First thing I do is play with 4-year-old Jonah. The surprising thing is that young kids can totally see ghosts and interact with them. Cheryl told me that her and my now 8-year-old Reilly used to have vivid conversations and even play dolls together. That does explain Reilly’s phase of calling all elderly women “Sherry.” But, I digress, Jonah and I mostly play with trains and cars. I ask him about Daddy and school and his siblings. Unfortunately, he isn’t a big talker. Most information I have to glean from eavesdropping. Who would have thought that Jay could be such a talker, especially to his mother, who is at my house at least twice a week folding the laundry all wrong and bringing over gluten-free desserts that end up in the trash. After my little playtime with Jonah, it’s usually dinnertime. They are all so considerate and save me a seat at the table. Dinner is both the high and low point of my day. It’s great because I can catch up on how everyone is doing in school and in sports. Did you know that Cole, my 15-year-old, made JV basketball this year? Even more shocking is he has his first girlfriend, a petite little blonde thing. Doesn’t resemble me at all. Not sure how keen I am on that whole development. Jay has both girls, 12-year-old Tatum and Reilly, seeing a therapist. Not super happy about that either, and all because the girls say they keep seeing me in their dreams and hearing my voice at night. Of course, they do! I visit them regularly. The dimwitted therapist says it’s because they haven’t accepted my death and other nonsense. I’ve been trying to convince Jay to pull them out of therapy, but he just drowns me out every night with some nighttime cold medicine. The interesting thing about this though is Cole because I talk to him all the time and visit him in his dreams, and I know he is listening. I mean, how else would he remember to do his laundry the night before the big game? But that Cole never says a word about it. I knew he was the smart one, just like his mother. The problem with dinner is what is actually served. Jay, love him as I do, is a hapless cook. I knew that when I married him, but I didn’t intend to leave him by himself. You want to hear his meal rotation? Get this. Hot dogs, hamburgers, pizza, spaghetti, sandwiches, fast food, and leftovers. What is missing? Any semblance of nutrition. After dinner, I try to hint at the kids and Jay to clean up. I remind them to do laundry, sweep the floor, wipe down the table, clean the dishes, you name it. But they don’t always listen, which hasn’t changed in life or death. Bedtime is when the real fun begins. Cheryl told me early on that when people sleep they become like young children, able to see and interact with ghosts. I take full advantage of this and visit everyone. Jonah is the easiest since I get to hang out with him during the day too. His messages usually include things like “Mommy is so proud of you” or “Mommy loves you.” The only challenge with Jonah is his memories of me in life are fading so I am trying to combat that by telling him stories about me and him, mostly about him as a baby. Then I move on to Reilly. She’s fun and spunky, just like an 8-year-old should be. I’ve got her mostly convinced not to listen that that therapist. Surprisingly, Reilly has a lot to say, particularly about her schoolwork and her friends. I try to take this opportunity to impart some of my motherly wisdom to her. It’s kind of working, but again, she is only 8. Tatum, on the other hand, is getting awfully moody, trying to push me away. I guess I should have expected this once puberty started. She buys everything that therapist says, hook, line, and sinker. I try to help her navigate friends and boys, but she literally does the opposite of what I say. Piece of work, that one. Cole is next. I thought teenage boys would be a lot harder than they are. Cole is easy. He listens. We converse. He even told me about his girlfriend and, oh, how I tried not to show my true emotions. I can’t hamper this back-and-forth relationship we have. I try to talk to Jay the most, but he just shuts me out with those stupid sleep aids. Cheryl told me that the world really changed for ghosts when those became popular. He does make it so difficult. But I have gotten through to him a little here and there. I mean, do you think he would have spent Christmas with my parents if it wasn’t for my nagging all night long? Next time, I need to convince him to have them here though. It was a lonely Christmas for me, being trapped in an empty house with Cheryl and her stories. No one cares what you baked for Christmas in 1967. Once I finish visiting everyone, I spend a little time with Cheryl. I mean, I need a friend even though she is annoying. And just before morning, I visit everyone one last brief time. Make sure they wake up thinking about me. Genius idea on my part. And this new normal has been working great for everyone. That is, until just recently. It all started about a month ago. I woke up early, to get some Jonah time in, but then he wanted to play with Reilly which made it difficult for me to intercept. I brushed it off thinking it was just a phase and got ready for dinner. I went to sit in my regular seat at the dinner table, and would you believe that blondie girlfriend of Cole’s came over and sat in my spot. No one flinched, except me who ended up standing the whole time. During all of dinner, I wasn’t even mentioned once. Not the therapy, not how my food is better, nothing. All they did was make small talk with blondie. Girl, I don’t care that you volunteer at the animal shelter, you’re in my seat! After the dinner fiasco, I brushed off the helpful reminders to clean up and followed Cole and blondie to his bedroom. What was his father thinking, allowing them to study in his room?! Maybe I need to start including these types of reminders in his dreams. Thankfully, I was there to keep an eye on things. I literally stood over them as they cracked open their history books. I bet Cole felt me boring a hole in his head. That would explain the lack of physical contact between those two. Blondie finally left, and I had my family back to myself. I went back into the kitchen expecting to find chaos, but I was taken aback by the clean dishes and the dryer running. Hmm, maybe all my haunting reminders have worked their magic. Bedtime came and I began my nightly ritual, but Jonah’s visit disturbed me the most. “Mommy, where were you today?’ I was left speechless. Of course, I was here. “I was playing with you and Reilly. Don’t you remember?’ “No, Mommy, you weren’t there. I looked and looked an couldn’t find you.” I didn’t know pain was something that afflicted ghosts as well, but there I was feeling sucker punched. I said a quick “I love you” and left. I needed a minute. I found Cheryl visiting Reilly in her dreams. “Cheryl, get out of her head! How many times have I told you that these are my children?” “Relax, Hannah, she won’t remember. I just miss her. Why are you not with Jonah anyways?” “He didn’t see me today. Or that’s what he said. Why would he say that? He is still young, right?” “Oh dear, let’s go talk somewhere.” Cheryl then led me to the living room sofa where we cozied up under the blankets. “How old is Jonah now?” “He’s only 4. Still a little guy. What is going on? It’s too early.” “It’s not really too early. He is almost 5.” “It’s like I’m losing him again. I can’t.” Cheryl wrapped her ethereal self around me and let me cry, something I had staved off for a few months now. “You still have the dreams, and he can’t forget you. You are his mother.” I cried and cried, thinking about how Jonah will have to grow up without a mother basically his whole life. I was able to dry my tears just in time for one round of visits before dawn. The next day seemed to be more of the same. Jonah playing with Reilly. Dinner with another friend of Tatum’s present, in my seat. Cleaning done without my prompting. It went on like this for a whole month. No one-on-one time with my little guy; someone in my seat more often than not; and cleaning up without my haunting reminders. Were they forgetting me? Umm, I was a pretty big part of their lives. For goodness’s sake, I gave them life. Well, except Jay, but I gave his life meaning and that’s what counts. I was prepared for all this nonsense again today. I think I am even doing a good job resigning myself to the fact that I can only talk to Jonah at night, like the rest of them. And you know what, it’s good for them to not dwell on death. Tatum has been wearing more colors recently and laying off the eyeliner. This is for the best. They need to move on. But then what do I see? Hot dogs again for dinner. Oh, Jay, he is still a mess. Then the microwave dings. And do you know what he pulled out? A steaming bag of broccoli. I almost fell over if that was a thing that ghosts could do. He made broccoli, something nutritious. What was going on? His mother wasn’t even over. This was totally unprovoked. I needed a minute and fled to the girl’s room, but that Cheryl followed me anyways. “What is the matter with you today?” Cheryl said as she sat on Reilly’s bed. “Broccoli. He made broccoli,” I managed through sobs. “That’s good. I’ve been hoping he would add some vegetables to that dinner of his. Why are you upset about that?” “No one needs me. I’m their mother! They should need me!” Anger and grief coursed through me. “They have to move on. You know that.” “I don’t want them to.” “Yes, you do. That’s why you tell them those things at night. I know you tell them that you are proud of them. You tell them to keep living. You convinced Cole to try out for basketball when he was scared. You gave him the courage to ask that sweet girl out. You tell Tatum every night how beautiful she is. You reassured her that she didn’t need to hide. You gave her the courage to be herself. You tell Reilly to keep playing even when she didn’t want to. You fostered that relationship between her and Jonah, one that won’t leave them their whole lives. And Jonah, you have given him all the love a mother could give in her lifetime in just a few short years. You helped Jay become a father we all wished we could have had. You have left a part of yourself with them that will help guide them throughout the rest of their lives.” The waterworks began anew, but they came from a mix of emotions. Grief, of course, but also pride and just a hint of fulfillment. Then the wildest thing happened. Right beside Cheryl, my grandmother appeared. The one who read bedtime stories and took walks around the neighborhood with me. The one who I missed so much when she died. Why was she here? Did she learn how to travel as a ghost? Cheryl really let me down if that was a thing. But why hadn’t I seen her earlier? I died over a year ago. She then spoke in her voice that brought back the smell of cookies and cuddling under the blankets on her scratchy sofa, making me want to be lost in one of her hugs just once more. “Hannah, baby, it’s time.”


Hello guys firstly I am sorry because I am not good at English and my grammar is cheap but I feel honored to share this story with you hugs and kisses to you all. It was almost midnight, everyone minded their own businesses as I was waiting for the right time to approach my crush Mike. Then so sudden the power goes out, oh!! Shit! They screamed on fear of the darkness we were left in. As for me this was the perfect time. ...........few hours earlier...... Hey, Jaz come on let's give it all, nope Rena I am not in a mood  sorry. Shit.. you girls like to play hard to get right!? He insisted, Rena stop being naughty boy, excuse me I responded and left in hurry. To see Mike as if we had an appointment, in a moment I found him, was so excited to spend time with him but guess what!? I found him fuck with Umbra. One of our cult members, she's nothing like me, she's cutest thing we had in our gang,hot, sexy and alot more exciting than I was. I should have hastily retrace my steps then right? But no I didn't I stood like statue, I was disappointed in them for no reason at all, I was not Mike's girlfriend but I felt jealous to see him with Umbra. You must be wandering.. who's this Mike!? He's sweetie charming prince, yeah he's a big catch I must say, pleasant looking,ample, the guy with a sexy lips I have ever met. How I wish to kiss those f*cking lips of him even once. I almost forgot to tell you that he's gymbo. I really love him ........ pause...... I couldn't turn back, I watched them cuddle, touching,, I've seen umbra draws his Straight big dick into her mouth with strong suck. I cried out of jealousy  wow I had vaginal stimulation and wanted to fuck with him too. I wished to make him feel like the most badass in the world. But then he didn't care, nobody was interested in me in whole cult except that good for nothing Rena. He pisses me off. And the cult calls him pissbutt of the gang. Umbra saw me then while they were in the middle of the shag. WTF freaky what are you doing here? I..i..i Wa..n..t Mi..ik I tried to answer but..I was doomed Leave us alone idiot. She screamed in rage. Mike swiftly stands up, go to pieces dunce, what a killer joy...he rushed me out theni was speechless. I got consumed by so much anger wanted to kill them all. Sometimes life puts us inyo wild situations I was humiliated and decided to get even. I felt wronged, embarrassed but most of all jealousy.the whole gang were celebrating insanity holidays I went out of the old abandoned house we were in. I became short-tempered in a moment, I wanted to be left a lone. Rena came right after me, and I hid because I had nothing to chat with. I hides behind the wildflowers in the garden, and then I decided to be that wild freaking asshole they always bragged about. I went back to party smiling as if nothing happened, but that was not my only intention. And then the powe goes out, hahahah...we all heard a very weird laugh. We were scared then.we thought that it was ghost as there was a saying..the basement was haunted house. Hhh!!you little scumbag kids your end is near.. Hhha we all laughed...stop it Rena it's not cool. And then we heard strange knock three times Knock.knock.knock Followed by smoke like mist in house. We became more scared and the situation was serious. I shouted, Rena..Rena..aaah where are you I am scared. I mustered hmmmm! The whole gang busted into laugh, I was offended and reminded of the humiliation I suffered since we became friends. I asked myself"why do they hates me so much! What have I done so wrong for them to treat me like garbage"? I heard a summons very weird ones... Jaz,,Jaz want my help to seek revenge on them? As I hesitated to respond I was already haunted. I said.guys did you hear that!?no one responded and the voice laughed at me.. don't be so naive nobody is going to hear you anyways. I am hungry, feed me and I grant you access to Mike. I agreed and went back to room I left umbra with Mike. Suddenly I grabbed umbra,sucked her heart, starred at it and then chewed it. I've never seen anyone with fear as how Mike looked like. He was so pathetic, owe I pitied him so much I wanted to spare him but it was not my decision then. WWe fucked hard and wild I was happy, after that the shit in my mind forced me to kill him too and feed it I refused and it got angry. It started...hahahha I knew that you were weak but not so weak to disappoint me. It was so much annoying than before. I said,,, I am not weak at all bitch. So prove it junkie it provoked me I went out for Chloe,Rin,and Taira I heard them screaming I approached Rin my eyes were red-blackish then Have mercy Jas please, I went dumb then and spared no one. My fingers grew tall and sharp like blade I pulled out Ron's intestine and swallows them all. Chloe and Taira shouted and they were noisy they died in fear. I was like wow!! I left the basement with my blooded clothes as I went out it was in the morning already and my nails scared me Too I fainted The next time I woke up I was behind the bars. My fellow inmates were gossiping behind my back that I was wild animal which killed the whole cult. I was not in right mind and remembered nothing at all. I screamed like crazy mt attorney shouted at me, to calm me. But no.. I didn't shut up I screamed that I killed no one . That's when someone's voice calmed me. Jasmine it's true you are not a murder, you killed no one Hhha see, I murdered no one bitches waited to see that person...... Fainted then and I didn't get to see him. The end! I love you guys


Carl Jenkins felt his cheeks cracking at the points where his smile ended. He’d been autographing his books for hours, his fingers were cramped, and his throat was dry. “Fantastic work, Carl. We haven’t done this much business since Christmas.” Marty, the bookstore owner and Carl’s best friend, put another paper cup of water on the desk. Carl rubbed his eyes and sipped some water. “How much longer?” “Just another hour.” Marty ran his fingers through his red curls. “The line is still out the door. We can extend the signing for another day.” “Sorry, Marty. I’m supposed to go on Oprah in two days. I’m flying out tomorrow.” “You finally made the big time, buddy.” Marty slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Maybe I’ll be so lucky someday.” He adjusted his glasses. “Well, gotta go. The cash register is calling.”  “Gosh, Mr. Jenkins, I’m so thrilled to see you in person! I’ve read all your books!” Thank you so much—” Carl looked up at the woman. His eyes widened, and his mouth formed an o. “What’s wrong?” He pointed at her head. “Are my roots showing?” “No.” She felt her head. “Oh, that.” He nodded. “I didn’t choose my last boyfriend very wisely.” “I guess not.” “Of course, the cleaver was really your idea.” “What?” “Don’t you recognize me?” Carl blinked his eyes rapidly. Red hair, red nails, red dress, cleaver in the head…. “Ruby?” “Silly man, I thought you’d never figure it out!” “But, you’re dead!” She giggled. “I’m alive enough to take you to a cocktail party after this little shindig is over.” “I can’t—” “Oh, yes you can! Lots of people are anxious to meet you! Besides, would you rather go home to an empty house and an empty brain?” “How do you know about—” “I know all sorts of things about you, Carl. I know you haven’t been able to write anything for months. And I know why. You know too, don’t you, Fatty?” “Fatty?” Carl asked. A tall man unfolded himself from behind Ruby. “Don’t you remember me, Carl? I’m the one who’s always getting lost. But I’m not as lost as you.” “What are you talking about?” Carl asked. “We’ll explain it all to you at the cocktail party,” Fatty said. “So, pack up your stuff. It’s time to go.” “No, it’s not.” Carl folded his arms. “I have another hour.” “That’s real-world time, Carl.” Fatty smiled. “That doesn’t apply to creative types. Or to us.” Marty turned the sign on the door to CLOSED and shut off the overhead lights. Only a few reading lights remained on. “That’s it, Carl. I’d take you out for a victory drink, but my wife has other plans. We’ll celebrate some other time.” “Are you sure everyone else is gone?” Carl asked. “Yup, the only ones left are us two bookworms.” Ruby and Fatty grinned at Carl. Carl shook his head. “I must be really, really tired.” He gathered up his pens and his briefcase. The two men left the bookstore, and Marty locked up. “See you later, buddy.” Marty waved, got into his car, and drove off. The street was deserted. Carl sighed and shook his head. “Please smile, silly man, you have a party to go to!” Ruby chucked him under the chin. “So, why couldn’t Marty see you two?” Ruby and Fatty laughed. “You don’t understand, do you?” Fatty asked. “Let’s get the party going. Maybe it’ll light a candle in that dark mind of yours.” Ruby clapped her hands. Store lights turned on and street lights burned bright. Fairy lights twinkled above the road. The strains of a jazz tune wove through the clinking of glasses and conversations of people sitting around candle-lit tables in the street. “That’s better, isn’t it?” Ruby smiled. “Well, I’m going to find Joe. Fatty will introduce you around.” She kissed Carl on the cheek, and walked into the street. “Joe? Joe? There you are!” She threw herself into the open arms of a large man with part of his face missing Carl put both of his hands over his mouth to stop himself from gagging. “What’s wrong? It’s you who decided Joe should shoot himself in the head.” Fatty pulled Carl towards two men dressed in pin-striped suits and silk bowties. “Pull yourself together. It’s time to meet Randy and Wendell.” “So, you’re the famous author.” Wendell shook Carl’s hand. “And you’re…awfully blue.” “You would be, too, if you choked on a piece of fruitcake.” Wendell nudged Randy. “And you’re sopping wet, little brother.” “You would be, too, if you were dragged down to the bottom of the lake by a stack of fruitcakes,” Randy muttered. “Excuse me for interrupting this family reunion, but can you tell me why I’m here?” Carl asked. “Sorry, you’re absolutely right.” Wendell stood on a chair. In his best lawyer’s courtroom voice, he said, “I need your attention, everyone!” The music stopped playing, and the voices fell silent. “As you all know, we’re here to help Carl understand why, in the midst of great success—” Everybody clapped. Carl bowed. “He has a horrible case of writer’s block.” Wendell patted Carl’s head. “It could ruin his career.” Everybody tsk-tsked. “Before I continue, let’s make certain we’re all here.” Wendell tapped his head with his finger and looked at Carl. “It might give you a clue.” Wendell turned his attention back to the crowd. “Family first. Mom, Dad, Jasper?” They waved. “So glad you’re here – love you all.” He pulled a notepad out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Moving on. Jack, and Trish, are you here? How about everyone on that jet?” Everybody at the back of the crowd cheered. “My goodness, Carl. You know how to do it up.” Wendell crossed out a line in his notebook. “Hmmm, a whole den of feeders. Sorry, Carl, they weren’t invited. I was afraid they’d drool on everybody and spout nonsense. They would’ve ruined the party. I’m sure you understand.” Wendell crossed out another line. “We’re done with families and groups. How about individuals who—” “Look, Wendell, I’m not that dense,” Carl said. “I get that everyone here is one of my characters who died.” “Not just died,” Wendell said. “You’re quite the serial killer, you know. How many of us have you done in by murder, suicide, heart attacks and strokes, cannibalism, falling off a cliff, and automobile accidents, not to mention a plane that disintegrates in a storm? Do you know that you’ve written only two stories where all the characters survived until the end?’ Everybody booed. “Ok, folks, quiet down!” Wendell said. Randy rolled his eyes. “Really, Wendell, this is going to take forever.” “Patience, little brother. Carl here hasn’t been sleeping well, so he’s a little slow.” “How did you know?” Carl asked. “Why don’t you let me help out?” A short man approached, his dark hair greying at the sides, his suit spattered in blood. “Yes, please, Dr. Gerber,” Randy said. “You’re the therapist.” He pulled Wendell off the chair. “How did you get so bloody?” Carl asked. “Nita’s Uncle Otto finished me off with an axe,” Dr. Gerber said. “He didn’t like Nita talking about her mother.” Carl stared at Dr. Gerber. “Don’t you remember? Never mind, of course you don’t. I can set up an appointment with you after the party.” Dr. Gerber hoisted himself onto the chair. He coughed to get everybody’s attention. The chatter died down. “Tell me, Carl, do you find you’re more anxious than usual?” Dr. Gerber asked. “You’re having trouble sleeping, right?” “Right,” Carl said. “Maybe your appetite isn’t so good?” “Right.” “Maybe you’re having trouble concentrating?” “Right.” “Now tell me, Carl,” Dr. Gerber said. “What do dead folks do to their killers?”  “You’ve even written a story about it.” Randy handed an autographed book to Carl, with the story dog-eared. Carl scanned the story. “Well, they haunt their killers.” Everybody clapped. “And how did your haunted hero react?” Dr. Gerber asked. “He was anxious, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t—oh” Carl looked at all his characters. “You’re telling me I can’t write because you’re all haunting me?” Everybody laughed. “Anybody here want add anything?” Dr. Gerber asked. A muffled sound came from a shattered floor-length mirror leaning against a lamppost. “What?” Dr. Gerber asked. The muffled sound repeated itself. He turned to Carl. “That’s Mona. She’s a little hard to hear behind that glass. Why don’t you go ask her what she said?” Carl walked over to the mirror and faced the blond woman dressed in dirty sweats. “I couldn’t hear you. What did you say?” “Come a little closer. My voice is hoarse,” she said. Carl leaned in closer. Mona grabbed him. “Hey!” Carl yelled. “Let me go!”  She didn’t let go. She pulled him into the mirror. There was a loud pop. Mona stood in front of the mirror. Carl was trapped inside. Carl pounded on the glass. Mona laughed until she crumpled to the ground. “How does it feel to be one of your own characters, Carl?” She turned around and faced the crowd. “I say we bury this thing.” Ten passengers from the crashed jet grabbed shovels and the shattered mirror, and ran behind the bookstore. They were back moments later. This wasn’t real time, after all. All the store lights up and down the street turned off except for the bookstore. “What’s happening?” “I don’t know!” “Let’s go see!” Everybody crowded around the windows. All of Carl’s books dissolved with a poof. “What does this mean?” they all asked Dr. Gerber. Dr. Gerber looked at his clothes. “No blood! This must mean that Carl doesn’t exist, and we’re not dead anymore!” “Look at you, sweet man!” Ruby said to Joe. “Your face is whole again!” “And the cleaver is gone!” Joe said. Ruby and Joe hugged. Randy, Wendell, Jasper, Mom, and Dad laughed and hugged each other. “We’re all alive again!” “Mom,” Randy said, “No more fruitcake, please!” “I promise, Poo Bear,” Mom said. Randy blushed. Wendell stood on a chair. “Listen everybody! Listen!” All the characters hushed. “We may be alive now, but nobody will know who we are, unless we find another author.” Everybody booed. Wendell held up his hand. “Quiet now. Admittedly, we made a poor choice in Carl. He wrote horror. But there are authors who are much kinder to their characters.” “How about Marty?” Fatty yelled. “He writes romance.” “Marty! Marty! Marty! Marty!” everybody chanted. “Marty it is,” Wendell said. “Yay!” everybody cheered. The candles flickered out on the tables, and the jazz music faded out. The fairy lights, the tables, the liquor glasses disappeared. The street lights returned to their normal hue. The bookstore lights turned off. The characters smiled at one another as they evaporated into nothingness. Marty and his wife, Katy, strolled down the street after dinner. They stopped in front of the bookstore. “I had a great day,” Marty said. “I sold the entire stock of my latest romance books.” He shook his hand. “I’ll have to ice down these fingers. They’re cramped from signing.” “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.” Katy caught his hand and kissed each finger. “And tomorrow morning you fly out for Oprah.” “Listen, darling, I just had a great idea.” He hugged his wife. “Imagine a jet plane, crash-landing on a deserted tropical island.” His hand swept through the air. “Love. Intrigue. Strangers falling in love. One couple is Trish and Jack. Another is Ruby and Joe.” Katy laughed as Marty swung her around in the air. “I could build a whole new series around it. What do you think?” “You’re brilliant, absolutely brilliant!”


The sun was beating relentlessly on the old cobblestone streets of the city when the stray cat appeared out of the shadows. It was a small, scruffy feline, its fur dyed a dull gray. Its eyes were a deep yellow, and they seemed to be dancing in the fading light that surrounded it. It stared at the girl for a few seconds and then continued on its way. She followed the cat, winding through the narrow alleys and passages of the old part of the city. There was something about that animal that urged her to go after it and she did so without even considering any other possibility. The cat meowed softly, looking back from time to time, as if it wanted to make sure that she was chasing it. The girl looked around, not knowing what to do. Despite the fear and confusion that was starting to rise within her, she felt a strange kind of excitement that urged her to continue on the trail marked by her peculiar companion. The cat led the girl through winding streets and alleyways, and soon they were in a completely unfamiliar part of the town. She felt a shiver run up and down her spine, but she didn't flinch. Instead, she kept her gaze focused on the cat's tail, which swayed slightly as they walked. Concentrating on it helped her not to get carried away by her thoughts. The cat eventually stopped in front of an old abandoned building, and the girl felt her heart skip a beat. She looked up at the roof, which seemed to tear the sky. The walls were on the verge of crumbling and were shrouded in a gloom that gave her great apprehension. She approached the door slowly, full of intrigue, then she stretched her small hand towards the doorknob, and then withdrew it. She had no idea what was on the other side, but she knew it was something important. So, she took a deep breath, reached out again and opened the door. The cat meowed softly and stepped back, as if to encourage her to follow. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped forward, to enter a large room, decorated with intricate tapestries and filled with empty bookshelves and furniture covered with sheets. She shifted her gaze across the mysterious and wondrous objects that filled the room. In the center was a large table, with a single chair, just opposite the entrance. The cat meowed softly and the girl felt a sense of anticipation as she sat in the chair. The room was filled with an almost palpable sense of magic, it was as if she was on the threshold of something wonderful. She waited with bated breath, unsure of what would come next. The cat meowed again and ran to a large, ornate mirror resting in the corner. The girl followed it, curiously, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. The cat stared at the mirror, as if it wanted to tell the girl something. She stood next to it and saw her own reflection, her long, black hair, her green eyes, and her pale skin. She saw something else besides: in the mirror, there was ancient furniture and bookshelves full of books. She saw that she was sitting at a large table, with a chair opposite the entrance, just as she had been a few minutes before. She saw the cat approaching and staring at her, inside the mirror, meowing softly. She gasped and put her hand over her mouth. It could not be... At that moment, another figure appeared in the mirror, only slightly distorted. It was her, but with different clothes. "Hello," said the girl, with a shiver. "Who are you?" "Hello," the girl in the mirror replied. Her voice was soft and soothing, and her eyes were cold, her gaze was stern. "Am I... dead?" asked the girl, uncertainly. From within the reflection, a large woman appeared, wearing a long lace black dress, with a red gem in the middle of her forehead. She had black hair and piercing green eyes. Her skin was pale, almost transparent, and her lips were so red they seemed to be bleeding. "No, not yet" the woman spoke in a husky, alto voice. "But you soon will be." "My name is..." the girl paused, unsure how she should introduce herself. "I mean, my name is..." "I know what your name is, Karen, I can see your reflection in my mirror" the woman said, with a thin smile. The girl wanted to scream, to run away, but she couldn't. She was paralyzed with fear, frozen in place, her eyes were open wide, her mouth was open like a gaping hole. "You have a gift, child" spoke the woman with a wicked smile that twisted her lips. "You have a power that is rare, even amongst our kind." The girl in the mirror blushed and looked down. "It's silly, really." "Oh no!" the woman said, with a hiss. "It does not seem silly to me. In fact, it is quite interesting. Especially since you are reflected in my mirror. I must admit, I am intrigued." "What is this power?" asked the girl, curious. The woman's smile widened and she walked around the table, approaching the girl. "You have a gift, child," she repeated "and I am going to teach you how to use it." The woman leaned over and whispered into the girl's ear. The girl closed her eyes and breathed in, her heart racing. She felt something strange, as if something had stuck to her skin. "Do you understand?" asked the woman. The girl nodded, still holding her breath. "Good. Now, open your eyes." She did as she was told and saw her own reflection in the mirror. It was her, but it was not. Her face was pale, whiter than it had ever been, and her eyes were black, as if she were dead. Her hands were covered in blood and her clothes were torn. She moved one of her hands and felt a strand of her long, black hair fall across her face. She raised her hand to brush it off and the motion of her hand made it seem as if she was about to touch herself. "What did you do to me?" she asked, terrified. "I showed you how to become one of us," the woman replied. "I taught you to use your gift." "One of you?" asked the girl. The woman nodded. "Yes. You have a rare gift, child. You can step in and out of mirrors, and what you see there is not exactly what is real..." "What do you mean?" the girl asked, her voice trembling. "Well, let me put it this way: you can go into the mirror, and you can come out of this mirror, but what is on the other side of the mirror might not be exactly what you see here." The girl nodded, her eyes wide, her hand on her mouth. "Why?" she whispered. "Why did you do this to me?" The cat leapt with agility, landing on the girl's frail shoulder where it pressed its sleek body against her neck. The woman's gaze hardened, and the light in her eyes sent a ripple across the mirror, causing her reflection to crawl back into the deepest corner of the room as if it were afraid of her. "I gave you a gift," she said, with a low hiss. "I gave you the power to become invisible, to hide in the shadows, to hear the secrets of people and use them in your favor. I gave you the power to be more than you could ever be in life. That is why I brought you here. To show you the way." "I don't want" said the girl, a pleading look in her eyes. "You don't have a choice," replied the woman, sharply. "This is what you are. You are a being of the night, of the shadows. You are a being of magic, of mystery and power." "I don't want" repeated the girl. The woman growled and grabbed her tightly by the throat and pressed her nails into her skin. The girl let out a scream, a high-pitched, tense scream, which rattled the walls. The cat bristled on her shoulders and leapt at the woman, smashing through the mirror and knocking her to the floor. As she fell, the cat jumped up and ran to the corner where the girl's reflection was and, meowing softly, lay in her lap. The mirror glass shattered into a thousand pieces, cracking the girl's skin at some points while the blood from the woman's forehead dripped down the rest of the glass, covering it with a thick red layer. The girl stood up, her face pale and her hands trembling. She felt pain but did not know what it was. She heard a moan but did not know where it came from. He was breathing, but he did not know why. She felt something in her chest, something throbbing, something shifting and moving, and something calling to her. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she was back in the room with the mirror. In front of her, the scattered panes of glass from the mirror crackled on the floor and there was no trace of the dark woman left. Then, she felt a faint meow. She turned her head and, next to the door, found the cat, who was quietly watching her, then turned and walked out the door. Again, she followed its steps. The sun had disappeared, and a full moon illuminated the dark roads. The cat was not there. It was raining.


"There she goes. Thinking she's so perfect just because she has a nice body." "I can't stand her, she's always so happy, there's nothing to be that happy about." "Why can't I have the perfect body and smile? Why can't I wear clothes like that?" So many thoughts raced through Liana's head. She was never content with herself, and never present in the moment. You could be talking to her but she would not hear you. Her mind constantly fighting to hear what you were saying yet wondering why that person couldn't stop staring at her. It must have been her stomach, or it must have been that she was just so tall, like a giant. Throughout her entire childhood and teenage years she was always stuck. Stuck in a place where she was trying to be a person who she clearly was not. Every time she expressed her creativity it was shot down. "Why are you so weird? Why do you wear your hair like that?" She didn't realize those were the voices of people who were hurt and wanted to hurt her to feel better about themselves. Third grade through seventh, she had no friends, just people who would stare at her and laugh. She never spoke to anyone, she'd would walk through the hallways with her eyes on the floor. If she made eye contact with anyone, she would quickly look away. She always sat in the furthest seat back, you see, she didn't want to block anyone's view and hear them complain loudly, "I can't see over this giant!". In the eighth grade she met Sarai, a beautiful girl who she became best friends with. Liana always kept up with Sarai's favorite colors, her favorite food, even the way she ate it. She became obsessed with the way Sarai dressed, and even started to wear makeup like her. If there was a favorite show Sarai had, you'd better believe Liana was on top of it too. "Why can't you just be yourself?" Sarai asked. "You don't have to dress like me or act like me. Just be you, and don't worry about what others have to say. They are not happy with themselves so they project that onto you, don't let them win." Liana didn't understand. Her feelings were hurt every time someone ridiculed her for the way she looked. Whether it was her big curly hair, the gap between her two front teeth, or the fact that she was taller than everyone in the school, it was always something. Someone was always pointing at her and laughing. You see, Liana was not only ridiculed at school, but also at home. She was always told that she was not pretty, and that she was too fat. Surely Sarai could not understand the way Liana felt. Sarai was beautiful, she stood about five foot four, beautiful long and straight hair, her nose was shaped perfectly and her teeth perfectly straight. She had a beautiful white smile and a perfectly proportioned body. Nobody had ever made fun of her, in fact, all the boys loved her and she had many girl friends. She didn't even have to try, people just wanted to be her friend. She was physically and spiritually beautiful, never judged anyone, she was best friends with Liana, the ugliest girl in the school. Despite Sarai knowing that Liana wanted to be just like her, she still loved her unconditionally, like a best friend should. They went everywhere together, and she always hyped up Liana's ideas. They went on to be friends until the day they graduated high school. Sarai married her high school sweet heart and had children, so she didn't have much time to spend with her friend. Liana started taking pictures and editing them, posting them online and getting into dating websites. She looked for male validation. She craved attention, and would stop at nothing to get it. This led to many heart breaks and wounds. When she turned 23 she realized that everyone around her was happy and she wondered why she couldn't be as happy as they were. At 24 Liana met a man named Don & that is when she realized all she wanted to do was be herself. She didn't want to lie anymore, she didn't want to pretend to be someone who she was not. She wanted to be her truest self so that this man would love her for who she truly was, not who she pretended to be. Don taught her to meditate and taught her that if she wanted to be at peace, she must clear her conscience. Not only that, but she had to forgive. She had to forgive herself and forgive those who hurt her. Through many tears and lonely months, Liana fought to silence the voices in her head. She realized that it was never about silencing the voices, but sorting them out. She needed to talk to herself out loud so that she could make sense of them. The more Liana dedicated time to herself, and less time to social media, she became peaceful. She started to glow, and she started to love herself. Something she had never felt. She had to accept that she was made unique by God, and that she had to release the thoughts that others put into her head. That she did. She started talking to herself and everything started to make sense. She sat on her living room floor every morning and gave thanks to God for waking her up. Her chest felt lighter, and she could finally have a conversation with Don, giving him her full and undivided attention. She could finally sit in a room full of people, and be the only one smiling. She was happy, you could feel her energy when she walked into a room. Her glow was immaculate, the more she became in tune with herself, the more she was able to help others get out of their shell. Liana continues to walk through this world, but now when people look at her, she knows it's because she is beautiful. When she talks, you can hear her smile. She learned to love herself and because of this she was able to let her cup overflow into the hearts of others. Such a kind soul was masked behind anger for her entire life. Liana realized that many of the people she thought were happy, actually were not. They did not understand true peace and self acceptance. Those people pretended to have perfect lives because they did not want to be left behind by their friends. That could have been her, moving through life pretending to love it but secretly wanting to die. Many people are angry just because she is happy, they wonder, "How can she be so happy? What is there to be so happy about?". Now that she knows this, she accepts and loves all people, because that used to be her. Angry at other peoples happiness and success. You must look within yourself for your peace, don't depend on others. You must learn to let go of people, even the people you love. To reach true peace, all your love must be given to yourself. Only then will you truly be happy. Accept your mistakes, and forgive yourself for them, and always make a conscious effort to become better than you were five minutes ago. When there is nothing left to fix in you, then help others fix themselves.


Don’t Go Back Trevor was up early that day, just like he was every other morning. He threw on his hi-vis shirt and long, blue work pants. You know the type, with the yellow reflective strips around the bottom. His steel-capped boots were stained with the undeniable evidence of years of hard work. The logo on his shirt read … “Thomas Constructions.” After brushing his teeth, he crept silently into the kid’s rooms and planted a loving kiss on each of their foreheads as they slept. I waited in the kitchen wearing my dressing gown and slippers, my un-brushed hair was a tangled mess. In my left hand I held out his coffee. In my right, his lunch box. Trevor pulled me close to him, threw his arms around me and squeezed me tight as our lips met. “I love you, Hannah, I’ll see you when I get home.” “I love you too, I’ll be waiting,” I said. I loved being a stay-at-home mum. Thankfully, I didn’t need to go out to work, we had more than enough money with just Trevor’s wage. Life wasn’t extravagant, but we were very comfortable and wanted for nothing. Trevor was a real family man. He would spend every spare minute with the kids and I. “Making memories,” that’s what he called it. Quality time, which could never be regained once it had passed. Our little family was happy and carefree. At least that’s how it was until Trevor didn’t come home from work that day. The date was January 12, 2014. The day the world, as I knew it, fell apart. But that was five years, three months and four days ago. So obviously I’m all good now, right? Not exactly. After the so-called grieving period was over, I was expected to function “normally” once again. The bank accounts had all but dried up. Trevor’s funeral had taken a large chunk out of our savings. I had to find a job to keep up with the rent and other bills. After every workday, I had to pick up tired, grumpy, hungry kids. I struggled to keep on top of all the general housework too. With very little sleep, it was a battle I was losing. “How is any working mother expected to get all this done?” I asked myself. Most nights I resorted to wine, just to help me fall asleep. Those were the times when I really missed Trevor. One of those nights, with help from some cheap Merlot, I began to drift off into my wine-induced coma. “Trevor, how am I going to keep going?” I mumbled to myself. After I had tossed and turned for hours, the alarm clock rudely interrupted my sleep as it announced another workday. I groaned as I reached over and slammed my hand down on the OFF button. Daylight had pushed most of the darkness away and the sun hovered on the horizon. I reluctantly peeled back the covers and slid out to greet the day. My pillow had somehow made its way onto the floor during the night. Max, our poodle, had taken advantage of the opportunity, snuggled deeply into the softness. He looked up at me and I knew he wasn’t giving up that comfy spot any time soon. The sheets were bunched up in a pile at the foot of the bed and my hair looked like it was fast becoming dreadlocks. Still half asleep, I made my way slowly to the bathroom.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. I turned to face it, for a better look. “Oh my goodness, who IS that?” I asked myself. Dark grey smudges under my eyes were the tell-tale evidence of way too little sleep. I had my pyjamas on back to front AND inside out. The rhythmic, pounding in my head was unbearable, made worse by the blinding rays of morning sunlight now streaming in through the half-open blinds. I squinted my eyes in an attempt to dull the brightness. One look at the kitchen benchtop made me feel instantly ill. I carefully pushed aside the empty wine bottles and unwashed dishes. My breakfast that morning consisted of two headache pills. Washed down by strong, black coffee, in a mug that had “Best Mum Ever” printed on the side. Trevor had given it to me when Jacob was born, just over eight years ago. When the throbbing of the migraine finally began to ease, I went in to wake the kids. Mia was just like any other six-year-old. She never wanted to get out of bed, but once she was up and her renewed energy kicked in, she was full-on. Jacob, on the other hand, was always keen to get the day underway. He bounced out of bed and skipped into the bathroom. “If only I had that energy,” I thought. They were growing up way too fast. It seemed like only a couple of years ago that Trevor and I had been out shopping for baby items. Our morning ritual was well rehearsed. Wake, dress, coffee, school drop-off, work. Mia was a major source of stress for me each morning. She could never make up her mind how I should do her hair. Jacob, in comparison, was fairly laid back. I always tried to have their lunches packed the night before, to save myself time. The kids even received their breakfast at school, such a valuable godsend for working mothers. Our mornings had continued, unchanged, like this for over five years. When Trevor was here, I used to be a happy, fun-loving person, now I just went through the motions. I was just an empty, unfeeling shell of who I once was. Instead of enjoying my kids growing up, my life was now filled with traffic jams, work meetings, school pick-ups, after school activities, takeaway meals and re-filling the washing machine and dishwasher. I even had a robot vacuum cleaner that would go about its business while we slept. Who had time to vacuum the floors these days? The busier life became, the more reliant we were on modern technology. We needed it, just to get by. I bought myself a new, all-in-one, washing machine and dryer. All I had to do was pop in the dirty laundry in the morning and press a button. When I arrived home in the evening the clothes were washed and dry, ready to be worn again. A future upgrade that would also fold the clean clothes would have been very welcome. The fridge would tell me what items I needed from the shop. Then it would order them online and have them home delivered for me, all without me lifting a finger. I never had time to read to the kids, or play a game, so Jacob and Mia sought company in their iPads. Each day morphed into the next, an endless cycle of sameness. It frequently occurred to me that we needed to have more and more technology and automation, due to a shortage of free time. On the other hand, we needed to work longer and longer hours to afford this technology. Was it just me, or did that sound ridiculous? I just couldn’t seem to come up with an alternative. Then it happened. After a full bottle of red, I had just dozed off when one of the kids turned on my bedroom light. I was about to tell them to go back to bed when I realised the light was not on at all. It was the sky outside that was lit up as bright as day. “What the heck?” I mumbled, only half awake. I peered out the window, now curious. There was an intense, white light, high up in the sky. I tried to make sense of what I saw, but I had never seen anything similar to compare it to. A massive glowing ball. It almost looked like a full moon, only bigger and brighter. I watched as it slowly descended towards the horizon. The glow faded out until the darkness of night once again took its rightful place. My mouth was still gaping open at the sight. “This is for you, Hannah,” said Trevor. The bright sunlight streaming in my window woke me up the next day. I was processing the dream I had the night before when I realised that it shouldn’t be this light yet. “The alarm clock must be broken,” I thought to myself. Mia came running in, “Mum, the tv won’t work,” she protested. I flicked on the jug as I passed through the kitchen. Hmmm. No power there either. The whole house had no electricity. I went next door to ask Mr. Jones if his power was still on. He answered the door wearing nothing but a towel. His muscular, tanned physique was still dripping from the shower. As he tousled his hair, I tried to avert my gaze from his bulging biceps. “Nope, I think it has something to do with the meteor crashing down last night. The whole city’s out as far as I know,” he said. “Meteor? I thought it was a dream.” I said. “Oh, it was real all right. I watched it come down,” said Mr. Jones. So, if the meteor hadn’t been a dream, what about Trevor’s voice? I wandered back home in a daze. “Can we stay home today, Mum?” pleaded Jacob. “I guess we’ll have to, at least until the power’s back on,” I said. “It shouldn’t take long.” As I would soon find out, I had definitely misjudged the situation very badly. The kids were happy to not be going to school, at least until their phones and iPads went flat. “We’re bored, Mum,” they chimed in unison. “Go out and see if any other kids want to play,” I said to them both. As they ran out the front door, I stood there wondering how I was going to get the piles of dirty laundry done.

Two days later, the power is still off. All the food in the fridge and freezer began to smell funny. The unwashed laundry was still in the machine, waiting. All the shops were closed, luckily my pantry was well stocked with food. The neighbourhood kids were happily playing together outside for the first time in years. The robot vacuum was still sitting in the middle of the loungeroom floor, where it went flat. “Hannah, I know you can do this,” Trevor’s voice seemed to be coming from inside my head. Two months on, the power is still off. Finally the smell was subsiding in the kitchen. The offending white goods and their rancid contents had been moved outside weeks ago. I finally resorted to hand-washing the clothes and pegging them outside to dry. This brought back memories of helping my mother peg out the clothes when I was a child. It had been a great bonding time for us. We would talk about everything as we pegged. All the shops and other businesses were still locked shut. When cars ran out of fuel they were simply abandoned where they stopped. The local kids invented new games to occupy their time. They didn’t even seem to miss their devices anymore. Bicycles were now the favoured mode of transport. I’ve never seen so many bikes. It seemed as if everyone had at least one bike in their garage that had been forgotten for years, until now. Two years on, the power is still off. You’ve all seen those sci-fi disaster movies, so I won’t bore you with the details of our day-to-day activities. But I will say, we have all discovered the true meaning of mateship and cooperation. Neighbours helping neighbours. People communicating with people. Realising that there is much more to life than simply work and money. It seems those with the least, are the most likely to share and are often the happiest. “Hannah, I’m so proud of you.” By now I was getting used to hearing Trevor’s voice. It soothed me and made me feel like I wasn’t alone. I was now enjoying a wonderful and contented life with my children, I had fun with them, and I learned new things with them. I finally knew what was really important. To simply just enjoy life. None of us know what will happen in the future. We should live each day as if it is our last. But I still really do miss my automatic washing machine/dryer. Six years later, totally without warning, the power came back on. “Hannah, don’t go back.” Trevor warned.


The moment her fingers wrapped around the neck of a guitar instead of around the spine of a book, I knew that the family tradition would die with me. From the moment my twelve year old daughter plucked at those strings for the first time, she was a goner and everybody knew it. Everybody acknowledged it. They even praised her for it. But, according to the whispered rumours flying around the shelves I stocked on a daily basis, I was villain in every story that featured my daughter.

I don’t understand why she won’t support Danica’s music.

All Larissa ever cared about since little Dani was born is their family legacy.

A bookstore owner or a librarian is hardly a profession to be proud of, if you ask me.

Dani’s won so many prestigious awards already.

When will Larisa realise that the poor girl is better off following her dreams than being stuck in this town like all the other women in their family tree?

I never cared much for idle gossip. I found it amusing; a much needed source of amusement for avid readers looking for a more entertaining shopping experience. Hardly anyone in the whole town found the married and bored Mrs Drewby a credible source of information anyway. But on days like those--on days like these --when it all became a bit too much, I would find herself closing my eyes and replaying images of old memories to keep the cold at bay. I would visualise a younger, more enthused Danica running up and down the shelves, dragging me towards a shelf and pointing at a book on the topmost shelf with unwavering adoration.

On days like these, I would watch at the shadows creep into my store through the large glass door and see her walking through the door; her eyes locked onto the shelf pushed against the farthest wall. Her guitar would be slung over her shoulders and her feet would lead her towards her target before the bell can stop ringing to announce her daily arrival. But then I blink, and the memory of my teenage daughter fades away.

I let out a shaky breath and glance back down at the headlines glaring up at me from the wooden surface of the store’s front desk. Upon first glance, they aren’t that different. But the more my gaze glides between them, the more glaringly obvious their differences become. One is printed across a typical, neatly folded Eldrige County newspaper. The other is printed against an A4 sheet of paper with creases along the edges of were it was folded into quarters. One of them has a picture of my daughter on stage with a guitar and an award in her hand. The other has a picture of my daughter and her brother being shielded by my husband as they’re accosted by the paparazi outside a police station. Both of them are dated May 5 th . Both of them were supposedly published from the town’s printing office two days ago, but only one copy circulated this town that morning.

TWENTY YEAR OLD MUSICAL PROTEGE STILL MISSING

MYSTERY BEHIND LARISA LEROUX’S MURDER FINALLY SOLVED

Two very different headlines rest side by side in front of me. I grab hold of the one that doesn’t belong in this town and turn it over. A single question is penned in the elegant strokes of her handwriting. It greets me as soon as I flip over the article she photocopied and slid between the covers of the book on my shelf. After unfolding her note in half, it was the first thing I saw. I’d scoffed as I read it, but that was before I saw my name across the headlines. I look down at her question with new eyes.

Do you believe in a parallel universe too?

I feel a vibration against the side of my thigh. I place the creased note back down on the countertop to unearth my phone from the confines of my jeans. I blink down at the sight of see my husband’s name flashing across the screen for a minute. After blinking away the moisture pooling just above my lower eyelid, I hold the phone up to my ear.

“How’s the search going?” Direct. To the point. The phone calls between myself and the rest of the people Dani left behind have been this way ever since the night she disappeared. I shake my head, my eyes straying to the picture of the musical protege in her shining moment--then to the picture of a girl whose face is gaunt and cast in shadows. “It doesn’t matter where I look, Phillip. There’s no sign of my Dani anywhere.” “We’ll find her soon. I know we will.” I wish that I could say the same. I wish that I had an ounce of his unwavering faith left inside me. I wish that she hadn’t sent me the article.

A moment of silence passes on his end. Then Brent’s voice drifts through the phone. “Where’s the pasta sauce?” “Not now, Brent. I’m on the phone with your mother.” “Hey, mom,” Brent says, his voice significantly louder, “where did you put the pasta sauce?” “Check the cupboard next to the one above the oven, sweetie.”

“It’s been five hours since the search teams headed home,” my husband says, resuming our earlier conversation. “How much longer are you planning on staying out there without taking a break?” “I’m not in Ridgemond right now,” I tell him, making my way around the front desk. As I approached the store’s entrance, I added, “I’m at the bookstore.” “Again?” Brent asks, too surprised to bother hiding the incredulity in his voice. “No offence, mom, but I think the last place you’d find Dani would be at the bookstore.”

The corners of my mouth lift up into a rueful smile despite the empty void expanding in my chest. I’d be lying if I said that thought hadn’t occurred to me. But around a week ago, I realised that her public aversion to the store is what made it the perfect hideout during the day. When everyone in town was out searching the whole continent, it made sense for Dani to hide out in the one place nobody expected her to be. I started leaving notes again, just in case she did indeed wander in when no-one was watching. And then one evening, when I went to check the shelves, the sunset was the most beautiful it had been in weeks--all because of those two glorious words. The sun shone a little brighter each day that I continued to open Charlotte’s Web and unfold one of her notes.

Now that I know the notes hadn’t even been from her to begin with, I don’t know if the sun will ever shine again.

In the background, I can make out the faint beeping of our microwave. I flip the OPEN sign attached to the door to CLOSED when Phillip’s muffled voice reaches my ears. “You’ve been going out of your way to lock up the bookstore a lot lately. Is there something that I should know about?” I cast a glance at the newspaper on front desk; at the battered copy of Charlotte’s Web beside it. “No. Not at all.”

“We promised not to keep secrets in this family, Larisa. Not after the way Dani’s secrets caused her to run away from home.” “She didn’t run away .”

“I’m on my way to join the search,” Phillip informs me. “Come home as soon as you can, okay? I don’t feel comfortable leaving Brent alone, considering everything that’s happened.” “I have one more thing to do and then I’ll head home.”

I hang up and grab hold of the newspaper on the counter. Its pages crinkle in my tightened grip, but I barely pay attention on my way to the photocopier in the back room. I detach the front page away from the rest of the newspaper and find a pen while the machine whirs to life. A million thoughts, a million possible responses, pop into my head before I settle on one. Tearing the cooling sheet of paper away from the machine, I flip it over and scrawl a messy reply. By the time I wedge the battered book onto its perch in the centre of the shelf, some of the weight pressing against my chest eases.

I may have lost all hope that my daughter wants to be found by me, but somewhere out there is a girl who hoped to never stop feeling her mother’s presence.

I may never be able to have the opportunity to tell my Dani just how much I love her and appreciate her music more than any stupid family legacy, but I can make sure that Danica never forgets the feeling of just how much her mother cared about her.

…...

My hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

The moment we received the call about the arrest from the county police--the moment I watched the life drain out of our father’s eyes--I knew we’d have to experience the pain of her death again like a second tidal wave. It wasn’t until we went down to the station today and sat across from mom’s killer that the cold started to creep in under the surface of my skin. We were in two separate rooms. A thick wall of glass separated us from her murderer. If he glanced our way, his eyes wouldn’t be able to see anything but his own reflection. His calloused hands wouldn’t be able to reach out and grab me at all, and yet as soon as I raised my eyes to his, I felt like he was looking directly at me. He knew I was there; that we were there to watch the police officers interrogate him again. He stared directly at the glass and recounted every sordid detail of the night he slit my mom's throat with a smile.

Why did you do it, Mr Fitzgerald? She blackmailed me about coming out to the police with my secret. She uncovered the truth about a rumour, you see. Dug her own grave, if you ask me. Would you state what rumour you're referring to for the record? I don't have to. Her daughter knows all about it. Don’t you, Dani?

My hands haven’t stopped shaking since we left the station. No amount of stacking the shelves will get them to stop.

“It’s not your fault.” I glance up from the steaming liquid in the mug my hands are wrapped around to see my dad watching me with a worried crease in his brows. I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. A hand reaches across the table. I want to flinch away, but he I can feel his shared grief through the contact. He wants to shoulder my burden. He needs to share his own grief at losing his wife.

“It isn’t your fault,” he repeats, his tone firmer, more resolute. “Everyone is entitled to their secrets, Dani. But using his own secrets as a motive for a murder that he committed makes him the one at fault, not you.”

It wasn’t about that. It was about so much more than that. I never told mom a thing about what happened when she was alive, and she took it upon herself to uncover the truth. I didn’t tell her what happened, and it led to her death. I need to make sure I don’t make the same mistake with dad, but every time I think of coming clean, images of all those secret encounters with our neighbour flash through my mind. I can almost feel Mr Fitzgerald pressing his body against mine when no-one else was looking. I can feel his unwanted caresses, his forceful holds. I can hear the rasp in his voice and feel the tears stream down my face every time it happened.

After everything that happened, how can I possibly tell my dad that every time I look at Mr Fitzgerald, all I see a sexual assaulter, not a murderer?

Everyone is entitled to their secrets.

But what if I wanted to start carrying mine around on my sleeve for my family to see?

My dad glances down at his watch with a frown. “I have to head out to work soon.” He looked torn between stepping out the door and keeping an eye on me. I forced a smile and shook my head. “I’ll be fine dad. Go to work.” “Call me if anything happens.”

“I will,” I promise. And strangely, despite everything, I meant to keep my promise.

The moment he walked out the door, the shadows started to creep back into the bookstore. Nobody had entered all afternoon. The townsfolk were probably giving me the time and space that my father practically yelled at them to give. I finish my tea in an attempt to chase away the cold settling inside me. When the last rays of sunshine completely disappear over the horizon, I drag myself over to the shelf and grab hold of Charlotte’s Web. A page folded into quarters slides out of the book and onto my waiting palm. The headline of a newspaper from May 5 th  stares up at me--" Twenty Year Old Musical Protege Still Missing" --and proves what I already guessed about mom being from an alternate universe. I flip her note over, expecting to see a lengthy explanation about how she, too, used to tell Danica all about her conspiracy theories every time she made pancakes on a Sunday morning. What I read is something completely different, yet very much needed. I don't realise just how much I needed to hear the words until they were scrawled in her handwriting for me to discover.

I never had the chance to tell my daughter how much I love her before I disappeared. If your mother was anything like me, she didn’t care about the family legacy at all. Don’t hold on to the pain of losing me for too long, my Danica. I’ll always be here if you need to talk, but if you’re keeping any more secrets from Brent or from dad, take a chance and trust them with your secrets. Your family will always love you no matter what. I will always love you, no matter what happened to you or who you become one day. Au revoir, ma fille.

Love, Mom

The pressure against my chest vanishes the more I read over her words. I feel the beginning of a genuine smile start to spread across my face. I feel something akin to hope for the future start to blossom within me. It's a feeling I thought I'd lost the ability to experience. And although she signs her note goodbye, it’s been so long since I heard my mother speak French to me that the simple phrase-- Goodbye, my girl-- chases away the cold I haven’t been able to shake off for weeks.

I reach into my pocket and unearth my phone. I press my finger against his name before I can even consider talking myself out of what I’m about to do. Because mom is right. My family doesn’t know a thing about what really happened and Brent still hugged me on his way back to school. Dad stayed behind all afternoon to make sure I was okay.

My family loves me regardless of the little they know.

He answers on the third ring. “Danica?” I click on the button that connects Brent to our call. He answers almost immediately. “What’s going on?” he asks, no doubt noticing I have him on a joint call with dad.

“There’s something I need to tell the both of you. It’s about Mr Fitzgerald, and what he did to me for months.”


There is always someone who gets picked on in life. When I was at school it was Jeremy Longbottom. He was a mountain of a guy, ginger hair and freckles. His teeth stuck out way beyond his lip and consequently he couldn’t pronounce his ‘L’s so if you asked him to say ‘lovely lollies’ he would end up saying ‘wovely wallies’…much to the amusement of all the kids gathered around, who found it extremely funny no matter how many times we made him say it. We were all so unfair to him. But we were just all kids. Jeremy Longbottom had another problem that led to him being laughed at…he was crossed eyed! “Who you looking at Jez?” they would say to him “If you’re talking to me, it’s rude not to make eye contact!” much more laughter…. “I am wooking at you” he would say and a chorus of “I am wooking at you” could be heard coming from just about everyone in the classroom, but then… “SIT DOWN EVERYONE!” yelled Mr. Johnson our teacher “and SHUT YOUR MOUTHS ALL OF YOU” Everyone scurried to find their seat, get out their books and sit as if they were a bunch of ‘nerdy do-gooders’ which most of them weren’t! Mr Johnson continued to shout “Now what were you all laughing at?” (He knew exactly what they were laughing at; it wasn’t the first time it had happened) Nobody spoke. “Ok then – would you like to tell me what the class was laughing at Jeremy?” Jeremy sat very still in his seat, his huge frame spilling out on either side. He looked at the teacher sheepishly (well half looked as one eye looked at Mr. Johnson and the other one at the boy sitting next to him) and answered “Ummm Wincon told a joke and we were all waffing at it Sir”. Mr Johnson didn’t believe a word of it but there wasn’t much he could do about that so he told them all to read their passage and keep their mouths shut! No matter how much Jeremy got picked on, laughed at or generally disrespected, he never told on anyone. In a way it didn’t seem to worry him that much, and quite often he even joined in with the laughter. Jeremy’s mother Mrs Josie Longbottom never knew the full extent of how much her son got picked on at school. When she asked him as he walked in the door if he had had a good day, the answer was always “Yeah Great day Mum, rearry wuvly”. She did wonder why her son never really brought anyone home to hang out but when she quizzed him he always told her that he liked his own company best, him and his dog ‘Wag’. And of course Jeremy had his hobby, the one that no one but his mum and dad knew about. There was something else that none knew about too and that was the appointments that Jeremy went to each day after school with his mother – speech therapy. He knew that if he could only get rid of the problem he had with his letters it would hopefully make life a lot easier. “Righty-o Jeremy we are working really hard at this but you need to get your teeth straightened to help even more. How about it Mrs Longbottom – you need to get Jeremy braces to pull his teeth back and that will make a big difference”. “Oh dear me” she replied “I hadn’t really thought about braces. Of course we must. I’ll ring up when I get home”. Jeremy may have sounded dumb at school just because he had a speech problem and he may have looked as if he wasn’t the smartest kid on the block because of his problem eyes, but the truth be known, Jeremy was a very clever young man. He excelled in his science and computing class but because the rest of the class messed around so much they didn’t notice just how smart Jeremy was. At the end of the year awards night, the students were told who would be getting an award ahead of the night, and this year, because Jeremy knew he needed good marks in his last year, he was collecting the science, IT and English awards. (Every other year he had pretended to be dumb – he didn’t want to be a ‘show off’ he told his mum). There was a boy in his class that he knew was pretty smart too, Raymond, and he was collecting the Maths and History awards. He was never shy about letting the other kids know just how good he was too! He was a good looking guy so didn’t get picked on for anything. Life at school was easy for him. “Hey Jeza” one of the kids called out to him “How are you getting three awards? Have you paid someone?” and the rest of them laughed. They weren’t malicious, just dumb really, and maybe at times just horrible! “I guess I’ve put the effort in this year” he replied shyly “Just in time for moving on eh?” said another one flicking through his comic. It was the last year of high school for this class and in a way Jeremy knew that he would miss them. Despite the name calling and being laughed at all the time, they were quite funny, mostly at his expense but they did let him join in some things. When they got their basketball stuck behind the backboard they would ask Jeremy to jump up and hit it out, which he did – they would kindly let him have a few shots at the ring. He enjoyed shooting the ball up towards the ring but when he didn’t even hit the ring someone always said “you need to go with your right eye Jez or you’ll never get it in!” They didn’t know that Jeremy was booked in for an eye operation sometime next year that he was hoping would fix his eyes permanently! He glanced up at the basketball ring thinking ‘three pointers here we come!’ They also let him be the ‘end of the rope guy’ when they had school sports and it was the novelty games, like ‘tug of war’… The team with Jeremy on the end of the rope always won, he was so heavy and strong! Of course he was patted on the back and ‘high fived’ after they won but that didn’t last long! One morning after the awards had been announced, Jeremy walked into his classroom to hear one of the boys yelling out “here comes Einstein” most of the class chuckled except the few who said “who’s that?” Jeremy was both embarrassed and a little bit pleased at the name they had given to him. “Einstein” he said out loud “Who would ever have thought?” So for the next few weeks he was called ‘Einstein’. There was no more ‘Dumbo’ or ‘football eyes’ (One at home and one away) or ‘Wongbottom’ and he didn’t mind. He was aware he was nowhere near an Einstein but Jeremy knew, deep down that he would do well in life. He was happiest  in the garage fixing up computers, clock radios, fans, light fitting and just about anything electrical that most people didn’t have a clue about, or couldn’t  be bothered to find out! He didn’t charge much money as most of his customers were friends of his parents but he made enough pocket money to keep him going. In the break between finishing high school and starting university to do an electronics degree he gave all of his savings to his mother and this went towards his eye operation. It was scheduled for six months’ time, so between now and then they worked together to get as much ‘repair’ work as possible for Jeremy to do so they could pay for the operation. University was totally different than high school had been for Jeremy. The students were more mature in many ways so the name calling and personal jokes ceased. Some of the others called him ‘big guy’ and ‘ginger nut’ but Jeremy didn’t mind that – lots of the class had nick names. He looked around the room one day and realised that if you had something ‘different’ about you and stood out a little, it didn’t matter. There was one guy in a class who had dreadlocks down to his waist, a lizard tattooed down the length of his nose and a ’fedora’ on his head and everyone loved him! When Jeremy had his braces put on people were more interested in why he was doing that at his age rather than his speech impediment or strange looking eye. “My Gran has teeth like you Jeremy, she doesn’t care that we all call her ‘Bucky’ – it’s no big deal but she is ninety now!” said one guy. “Well” said Jeremy to himself, I’m only young and I wouldn’t care if it was just my teeth that needed fixing up- but I’m not telling the girl of my dreams one day that I really ‘Wuv her’!!” It took a long time for the braces to ‘settle’. Jeremy had a lot of trouble eating without pain and there was so much he wasn’t able to eat that he could before. After a few weeks when the discomfort had gone his mum told him “I think I’ll get myself some braces, ones that really hurt me, look at all the weight you’ve lost!” In his mid-season break from Uni Jeremy was booked in for his eye operation. He told some of the guys he had become friends with that he wouldn’t be around for a while because he was having his eye ‘fixed’, would be away for a few weeks. “So” said one of his friends “you’ll be able to see quite clearly some of the girls that I’ve been pointing out to you!” “What? Oh yeah, funny” said Jeremy thinking that it sounded alright to him!” The operation went well. Of course Jeremy couldn’t see what his eye looked like for three days and then he wouldn’t feel the full benefit of the surgery for quite a few weeks. The bandage was tightly wrapped over his eye and around his head. He was told that the operation was successful as far as the surgeon was concerned but the test would be when it was tested! Day three came and Jeremy’s mother stood in front of him with a hand held mirror. “Do you have to have a mirror right in front of my face Mum?” “Oh Jeremy, how long have we waited for this, for your eye to be straight? Of course I do. The Doctor unwound the white strip from around his head and Jeremy sat up straight – the last bit came away and he stared into the mirror…… “Amazing” was all he could say. He looked at his mum and she was crying. After they arrived home Mrs. Longbottom checked out her diary to see when the braces came out of Jeremy’s mouth. “Only two month love and your braces are due to come off and then it will be intensive speech therapy. I’ll have myself a new son!” When his braces came off it was hard to believe it was the same person. Instead of what seemed like huge teeth hanging out to dry, in their place were straight, white teeth. It seemed to change Jeremy’s face, and beaming at his mother as they sat having a celebratory coffee together she thought ‘I never thought the day would come when I could call my son handsome!’ Jeremy was in his second year of university now - a ‘straight A’ student but still quiet about his achievements. He had made a few good friends and was enjoying life. He had eyes that looked in the same direction, straight teeth, weight loss (he still had ginger hair but it was in vogue now) and the ‘crowning stroke’ came on his mother’s birthday. The family of three had gone for a meal to celebrate. They came home for cake and coffee and were all sitting at the dining room table when Jeremy spoke “Mum I would just like to say that I hope you’ve had a great day, you’ve always been a terrific mum to me…Happy Birthday and I Love You” Mrs. Longbottom just stared. For as long as she could remember her little and then bigger boy had told her “I wuv you” but today…. Even Mr Longbottom was touched, saying “Son I’m proud of you. Say something else” “I LOVE LOVELY LUCIOUS LOLLIES” Jeremy shouted. He sailed through his degree, passing of course, and being asked to consider doing his Masters. It was no surprise to anyone that Jeremy didn’t have to apply for jobs - people heard he was available and put their offers on the table! Life had turned around three hundred and sixty degrees since he left high school. The position he took was with a large, well one of the largest around, IT companies. It had offices all around the world, London, Singapore, Japan, Australia to name a few. Jeremy had a job title that needed a really long badge to go on and he got one! Along with his own state of the art office and a very substantial salary!! It had taken a lot of what seemed like punishment as a child, determination and grit as a teenager (and some cosmetic and therapeutic intervention along the way too) to get to this stage of Jeremy’s life, but as he continually thought, it was worth it. He had his first big corporate function after being at his new job for only three months. He was the lead speaker and a lot rested on him to do his firm proud!!  “I have every faith in you Jeremy otherwise I wouldn’t be taking this chance – you know some of the names of the people coming to this don’t you?” his boss said to him. “Unfortunately I do” Jeremy thought to himself. He needn’t have worried! It was a huge success. There had been a few guest speakers throughout the evening and at the end of the night Jeremy was standing in a group with his peers discussing the evening, having a well-deserved drink and relaxing now that it was all over. “Well done Jeremy” his boss, tall and confident, the president of a large conglomerate group patted him on the back “You were well prepared and the presentation was what I was hoping to see and hear” and he walked off smiling. Out of the corner of his eye Jeremy could see a male figure walking towards him ‘I know him from somewhere’ he though as the man walked up to him and stood face to face. “That was outstanding Jez, or should I say Einstein?’ “Raymond” Jeremy shouted, delighted in seeing him. “Less of the Einstein – have you met some of the brain boxes in this room?” “I have met quite a few of them Jez my friend and let me tell you, you belong up there with them. Einstein is suitable for you, believe me”. Then the group they were standing in joined in with calling Jeremy Einstein, laughing and drinking, until Jeremy and Raymond decided that they needed to sit somewhere a bit quieter to catch up with the vacant years between them. As they were walking towards a table Raymond jokingly turned to his old school friend and said “Say lovely lollies Jez”.


The sounds grew louder as I got closer to the tree. A loud, hiss-rattle sort of buzzing, almost impossible to articulate, but as familiar as my own voice. I stood beneath the crepe myrtle, no actual shade at all to protect me from the excruciating Texas sun, wondering where it was. Suddenly, I was smacked in the face with a fierce and angry flutter, as it scuttled off higher up into the branches. “Bastard,” I muttered. “I hope my cats find you!” It hiss-rattled louder in defiance at my intrusion. “I’m just trying to water my fucking tomatoes!” I yelled at it, knowing it couldn’t care less. It was getting darker, as the sun had already begun to set, which was basically the only good time to water anything, unless it was early morning, and I am not an early morning person. I thought maybe those little alien fuckers would be asleep, or gone, or just NOT THERE, but they were, and they left creepy, crispy, brown shells everywhere in their summer wake. I plucked them off the tomato cages and the fence, crushing them like eggshells with a disgusted satisfaction. I continued my watering, and one flew down and landed right on the top of the tomato cage, staring at me. I stared back, studying his big black beady eyes, and large wings that were almost beautiful, if they weren’t hiding all of their icky legs beneath them. “Don’t you have someone else to bug?” I asked. “Get it? Bug?” I laughed at my own punny joke. “Yeah, I got it,” it grumbled back at me. Huh? Am I having a heat stroke? “It wasn’t that funny, and anyway, you’ve been a bitch since you came out here. I’m just trying to live, how is that even bothering you?” “You’re really loud, dude. I get migraines. Your loud ass buzzing all day doesn’t help.” “I don’t know what a migraine is, but I have to find a lady friend, and she’s not gonna know that I exist if she can’t hear me, soooooo…..” I start to feel dizzy. I am having a heat stroke, surely. Or is it a mirage? Have I had too much sun? Or worse, am I developing schizophrenia? I walk over to the table under the patio and sit down. I’m sweating buckets, even in the near dark. The cicada follows me, perching on the edge of the very full ashtray kept outside for our roommate. “This is disgusting,” he muttered. “I hope I don’t smell like an ashtray if a lady actually shows up,” he made a face. Yes, this talking cicada just made a pissy face at me. Maybe I’m high. “You’re not high or having a heat stroke,” he answered me, reading my thoughts? “I AM actually talking to you.” “Why? No cicada has ever bothered to speak to me before. I feel so lucky!” “I detect your sarcasm, but you are not wrong. You should feel lucky. Not everyone gets to talk to me.” I look inside the house, through the mini blinds. The kitchen lights are on, but no one is around. I thought my boyfriend was doing the dishes. Yes, he does the dishes. Instead, though, it was empty, and quiet. Even my little dogs were nowhere to be seen. Usually they came outside with me, but since the temperature said it “felt like 109”, I made them stay inside so they didn’t burn their little feet. “See, you’re so kind. Even to those little rat things.” Reading my mind again! What the hell?! “The hairier one ate my friend last week,” he continued. “You didn’t even help him. You got your phone out and made a video of her playing with him. Biting him, dragging him around the yard by his wings, his legs. You thought it was CUTE.” “I did not think it was cute, I thought it was pretty gross, actually, and I tried to get her away from it, IF YOU REMEMBER CORRECTLY. I don’t want my dog eating bugs and then licking my face later–” “BUGS!!!!” He was indignant. “You’re in for a surprise…” “I think I am plenty surprised, already, and quite possibly losing my shit. Anyway, she was very determined. I think she’s part cat. Every time I tried to get it away from her, excuse me, HIM, she grabbed him and ran to the other side of the yard. Didn’t you see me cover him with a giant leaf when she finally dropped him for a minute? She couldn’t see him anymore, so I was able to get her inside the house. So she didn’t actually eat him, she just.. Played with him.” If you could see beady black eyes without irises roll, this is what he did. My explanation was exact, though! She didn’t EAT his friend. “He still died, Human. Died from those injuries.” “Furthermore, I don’t know why I even care if she played with him, or why you care, either. He may have been your friend, but isn’t that less competition for you with the ladies? Isn’t it better that he’s gone?” “You’d think so,” he said wistfully. “But we did live in burrows next to each other for 17 years, so we grew up together. We had many, many long conversations. So aside from the fact that in an odd way, your dog leveled the playing field, so to speak, it is bittersweet.” I blinked the sweat out of my eyes, and wiped my forehead to no real avail. The air was almost suffocating. I am sure that has to be why I am sitting here, having a conversation with a cicada and not actually freaking out, other than wondering why the hell I am sitting here, having a conversation with a cicada. The least of which because I have never liked them, because when I was six years old, a boy at my babysitter’s house used to snatch them off tree branches, and squeeze them so they would scream loudly, and chase me, up and down the street. Once he was chasing me through the yard, and I tried to climb the chain link fence to escape him, snagging the inside of my knee on the top of the metal fence, blood pouring down my leg. I have that scar to this day and have never forgotten how or why I have it. “You have that scar to always remember us!” He said, butting into my thoughts. “Nick shouldn’t have been chasing you on the daily with us, but we can’t transform in broad daylight and blow our cover, so we just went along with it. He was a sadistic prick. He was soon removed.” “Removed???? Wait, what the fuck, how are you doing that? How are you talking, and how are you reading my mind? Where is everyone, why are your loud ass little buddies quiet all of a sudden?” “We’re not alone. They aren’t quiet, you just can’t hear them, the way we truly speak. With our minds. Which is how I can hear yours.” I started to feel unnerved, and then I remembered he just said we can’t transform in broad daylight and blow our cover . My blood ran cold, and I began to wonder if I was still breathing, because I could not move. “You’re breathing, chill. Everything is fine.” “I suppose we have different definitions of FINE.” Suddenly, the cicada jumped off the edge of the ashtray, and into the air, almost upright. His many legs began to meld together, until he had two arms, two legs, one body, one big head, but still, two giant black eyes. He was a greenish brown, like a cicada, and his skin reminded me of clay. Somehow I was calm. Not moving. Waiting. “I guess clay isn’t so bad, you aren’t actually disgusted by me, so, that’s a plus.” His lips and mouth, which were very small, did not move. He … smiled? “YES WE SMILE! We can’t help ourselves, just like you lot can’t.” You lot. “Look, I’m not going to hurt you, I just want you to come with me on a little field trip. You may even enjoy it.” “I don’t really have time to go anywhere right now, I’m sweating like a pig, I need to take a shower, my boyfriend is probably wondering why I’m taking so long out here,” I sputter. It’s one thing I was talking to a cicada. It’s another that the cicada morphed exactly into the alien-like creature that I always thought they looked like. I think about all the cicadas I’ve seen in my life, wondering if they were all aliens. “Yes.” He said abruptly. “It’s how we keep our eyes on you. Well not you specifically, except in this case, of course,” he chuckled. “Humans in general. Some of us get eaten by cats or birds or squished by cruel little six year old humans chasing other humans, etc, but that’s just how it goes. We are the soldiers on the ground.” My head began to feel like a fishbowl, sloshing around. “Just relax,” he said. “You’ll be back before you know it.” Panic suddenly shoots through every one of my cells and limbs like lightning. “Hey Marco!” He turned around, talking to someone, another alien, again without moving his lips. The alien walked up out of the darkness of the backyard and joined him. “I found my lady friend.” His big black eye winked.