“Yep, it’s definitely human remains.”; The Medical Examiner stated. His voice betrayed no sign of emotion. “Are you sure Doc? What could have done THAT much damage to a human body? An eighteen wheeler or a freight train?" Industrial equipment? The nauseous deputy continued to speculate wildly. "Maybe this is from a large animal attack. I've seen grizzlies really maul their prey, but nothing to this level of carnage.” Even fifteen years in the Sheriff’s Department hadn’t prepared him for the gruesome sight before them. "Honestly, it looks like this person has been through a wood chip..." Ralph quickly cut him off before the deputy had a speculative meltdown. “I can’t determine ANY cause of death until we get ‘him’ to the morgue for examination.” “So it’s definately a ‘him’, then?” “Right now I can’t even be sure of that; but at least the corpse is fresh.” “I’ll say.”; Agreed Phil. The deputy held his nose in disgust. His asinine criteria for ‘fresh’ was quite different. The next afternoon, Ralph began the medical examination. Normally he was unaffected by the morbid nature of his profession. Being detached helped him to concentrate on the necessary task at hand. All his patients deserved for their final secrets to be told. If they died of natural causes then they could be buried or cremated with dignity. If their lives were cut short from foul play, then they deserved justice so they could eventually be at rest. When the medical examiner realized the surreal circumstances that ended the life of his mangled patient, he dropped his ham sandwich and dialed the Sheriff’s department with a rattled immediacy. “This is Ralph down at the Morgue, you’d better get the Sheriff over here as soon as possible!” II Meanwhile, the Sheriff’s office conducted an official investigation at the crime scene. The forensic crew swept the area and discovered some very disturbing facts. The first of which was a spiked level of radiation near the lake. The second was a trail of large, reptilian-like animal prints leading down to the water line. Lastly came an even more curious item of questionable value. A perfectly-formed, oblong crystal was found among cattail reeds at the edge of the lowland swamp. Whether it had anything to do with their investigation was anyone’s guess but it obviously hadn’t grown on top of the weeds. In keeping with protocol, the team tagged and photographed it as potential evidence. Sheriff John Wright was too level headed to believe a mutated alligator was on the loose but the collected 'evidence' did point to such a bizarre conclusion! The only thing on his mind however, was what to eat for lunch. When the sheriff heard the dispatcher calling him on the radio, he knew he was in for another missed meal. He responded to the Coroner’s request with all the usual police jargon and was on his way. Sheriff Wright knew the importance of Forensic Science to his police department investigations. He just preferred to learn autopsy results from the comfort of his brown leather office chair. He knew that Ralph Gentry recognized his intense dislike of blood drains, phlebotomy tools, cadaver tables; and the cold lifeless occupants of them. Since he had been summoned anyway (despite their unspoken agreement of ‘live and let live’); the Sheriff knew it had to be important. “I came as soon as I could Ralph, what have you found out?” “Prepare yourself John. I know you don't like coming down here but it was necessary. I had to show you this in person. If I had tried to explain it over the phone, you wouldn’t have believed me.” He thought he could handle whatever nightmarish thing Ralph had to show him but he was wrong. With one swift jerk, Ralph removed the sheet and exposed the unrecognizable human remains on the table. It was the most brutally mutilated cadaver he had ever encountered. The sheriff felt a wave of dry heaves make his stomach contract involuntarily. Ralph spoke to distract his nausea. “Do you see anything unusual about this corpse besides its exceptional state of mutilation?” “Jeez Ralph! Did you have to mangle the body so much?” “Oh, I forgot. You haven’t seen the body, have you? I’ve yet to even stick my scalpel in ‘John Doe’. It was already this way when your men found it last night.” Before the Sheriff could interject; Ralph continued explaining. “See the esophagus, imploded pelvic region and abdomen?” “Yes.” The Sheriff replied. He forced himself to look at the monstrosity on the table before them. He attempted to comprehend what the Coroner was trying to point out but the carnage was just too distracting. After a few moments, Ralph further explained. “I don’t have any theories on how this could happen but the cause of death was sudden traumatic shock and tissue damage to the body." The sheriff glared in annoyance at the medical examiner for stating the obvious. Ralph held up his hand to belay the upcoming sarcasm and continue making his point. "Despite its seeming impossibility; this man's body has been literally turned inside-out. The remains are just like an inverted piece of clothing; discarded on the floor.” “How can that be... no human could do th...” Ralph interrupted. “I don’t know HOW; that’s your job! I’m just trying to inform you of the facts. For lack of a better description; some 'thing' has reached down this man’s throat and gathered up his insides and midsection. Then they were pulled outward while reversing his flesh like a shirt.” III Sensing the Sheriff’s next question; Dr. Gentry answered; “Yes it was a man. That much I know. I found his genitals inside his body where his stomach should have been. Here is the stomach. It’s in almost perfect condition except for the fact that it is on the outside of his body.” Ralph had known John’s logical mind for too long. He anticipated his next thoughts too. “No, I can’t identify him by his teeth. They were pulverized by whatever rammed its way down his throat. His fingertips are still intact so I made his prints for your men to run through the computer.” John’s walkie talkie unit paged him. “Come in Sheriff Wright!” He reached down and unfastened it from his belt. “This is the Sheriff. Come in.” He dreaded hearing more bad news but could tell it was coming. “We’ve found more of ‘em.”; The deputy stated somberly. “How many more?”; He reluctantly asked. There was no question over what they were discussing. “Looks like two more severely mangled bodies so far, sir. Another probable body is missing but we have found a blood trail.” “What’s the 10-20 this time?”; He requested. “About a mile and a half North of the first crime scene, on Holcomb Bridge road.” The Sheriff pictured the area in his mind and informed the deputy that he would be there ‘right away’. Then he signaled ‘over and out’ and informed Ralph that more of his morgue drawers were about to be occupied. IV Once again the crime scene showed traces of radioactivity and the bodies were mutilated beyond recognition. Several detectives were already on the scene when the Sheriff arrived. He was debriefed and led to the bodies. “Looks like the same ‘m.o.’ as the first victim.”; He remarked to his chief investigator. The previous murder could no longer be treated as an isolated incident. The news media would have a field day with the story and put more even pressure on his department to catch the perpetrator. No one wanted the murderer arrested any more than him but the non-stop calls from the worried public would only hinder their progress. “Has anyone ran the plates on that camper over there yet? I bet that would provide a strong lead to the identities of these bodies.” “Yes sir. It belongs to an out-of-town family that were here camping last night at the lake. Mr. and Mrs. James; Frank: 51 and Sherry; age 49. Their 15 year old daughter Regina is still missing but presumed dead; based on signs of a mortal struggle and massive blood loss. We believe the attack started here and proceeded down to the lake.” Both men stepped over the yellow police tape to follow the gruesome trail while the detective explained his running theory. “From this point; only the suspects strange, er... ‘footprints’ are continuously visible. An occasional set of heel marks show a heavy drag pattern. This would indicate that the victim was either unconscious or dead; and being carried. We have a search team combing the woods for her... ah... body.” “Good work. Sounds like solid reasoning. Obviously we can't assume the victims are the missing campers without official determination from Dr. Gentry. If these victims are anything like the first one, there will not be any usable dental records to ID the bodies. We may have to request DNA from other family members. By the way, were there any crystals or other unusual objects found near the crime scene?” “Crystals, sir? “Yes, like the one found at the other crime scene.” “Do you really think that has anything to do with this, sir? I mean; it just doesn't make any sense." “None of this makes any sense. It defies logic and sanity. Obviously we have a very violent, highly deranged individual or group on our hands. We can’t rule anything out until we know otherwise. After all, the crystal could be our only concrete lead. No matter how thin or unlikely it seems to us now. If we discover more crystals at this crime scene, then it would appear to be more than an odd coincidence. Oh, and Johnson..... Get a haircut! We’re trying to convey an image of honesty in this department. How can the town’s people trust you if they can’t even see your face?” “Yes sir, as soon as I get off duty.”; Replied Johnson. “Go now son. Your work is done here for today.” V 45 minutes later, three more oblong crystals were found in the bushes by the shoreline. Immediately the Sheriff's 'crystal connection' went from a far-fetched theory; to a near probability. “What kind of maniac would senselessly mutilate innocent people and then leave mineral clusters as a bizarre ‘calling card?’”; The sheriff wondered. "Who or what would even have the superhuman strength necessary to commit such brutal crimes? None of it adds up." The spiked levels of radiation around the crime scenes was equally puzzling. First he requested a roll call of all mental asylums within a two hundred mile radius. Then he organized a search team with bloodhounds to comb the countryside for signs of the suspect. Lastly, he instructed divers to drag the lake for bodies, first thing in the morning. “If the press gets hold of these strange details then the headlines will be calling him: ‘The radioactive crystal killer’; or something ridiculous.”; He grimaced. His investigators needed to hold back unknown details in order to weed-out false confessions. Every leaked detail worked against them. The townsfolk depended on them for public safety; yet they was no closer to catching the murderer than they were from day one. Soon public opinion would turn against his department. When that happened, State police would shut them out of the investigation and take over. Those depressing thoughts plagued him far into the night. It had been an extremely frustrating day. "Small towns are only supposed to only have small-town problems."; He lamented. The next morning, relatives of Cindy Weeks filed a missing person’s report. The Sheriff investigated her case personally since she had last been seen on a nature trail about 3 miles from the crime scene. The young lady was 19 years old (and legally able to come and go as she pleased) but her parents were insistent that she was responsible. They insisted that she would have phoned if she had made plans to spend the night elsewhere. Normally after hearing an ‘angelic’ description of a teenager from naive parents; he would have told them there wasn’t anything he could do until 48 hours had passed. However, under the dire circumstances, he had to investigate immediately. Time was of the essence in these matters. With any luck, she would simply turn up (safe and sound) after spending a clandestine night with her boyfriend. Sheriff Wright hoped that was the case. He and the rest of the search team combed the nature trail where she was last seen, as a precautionary measure. It wasn't far into the search before signs of a struggle, a long blood trail, and another 'posed' crystal pointed to the worst for her. Fortunately, no body was discovered so there was still a (minor) chance of finding her alive. All they could hope for was that Miss Weeks had somehow escaped the ‘crystal maniac’ with survivable injuries. Sheriff Wright’s next course of action was to check with Ralph about the two newest bodies. As expected, they had met with the same fate as the first unidentified victim. Ralph could offer no new information since he had so little to work with. In a rare moment of cooperation, the Sheriff encouraged Dr. Gentry to ‘keep at it’. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about, a large mob of reporters surrounded his car. They were all shouting and trying to get an official statement. He gave the standard, “I can offer no information at this time until the investigation is complete”; brush off. Then he added; “My men are working around the clock to find the person, or persons responsible. Please remember that I am personally involved. I live here too. I promise to make an official statement as soon as I can.” With that public appeal for room to do his job, he made it to his car and roared off in a cloud of dust. VI Later that night John was roused from his fitful sleep by the incessant ringing of the phone. His wife sat up in bed and turned on the lamp. “It’s 3:30 in the morning! Who would call at this hour?” He answered the phone and after listening, said; “Yes Shelia; I know you wouldn’t bother me if it wasn’t important.... What is it?” Mrs. Wright was exasperated. “For heaven’s sake! Don’t they know that you have to sleep some time?” He silently waved for her to be quiet. “I’ll be right there.” Marie interrupted; “Can’t this wait ‘til morning?” John attempted to explain the importance of the situation. “Shelia said there have been strange lights reported at the lake tonight. It may have something to do with the murders. We can’t afford to overlook it.” As the Sheriff drove down the lonely dirt road that led to the lake, he called for backup. The two deputies on night patrol answered his request for assistance. Deputy Phil Bates and Detective Johnson accompanied him as they circled the nature trail. After 20 minutes in the brisk night air with no sign of 'strange blue lights', they suspected the report was without merit. The sheriff was about to go back home when all three men witnessed the etherial lights for themselves. They stood in absolute awe as an alien spaceship materialized at the edge of the lake! The side of the ship opened and four shrowded beings came out into the cool night air. The two in the middle removed their cloaks to reveal their hidden identities. To the Sheriff's genuine elation, they were the two missing young ladies. The other two individuals were definitely not human at all. The men were unable to move from the intense excitement of being face-to-face with creatures from another world. Oddly enough, they didn’t feel as if they were in any danger. In an indeterminate amount of time, one of the aliens spoke. “Are you the one called Sheriff Wright?” The shock of the situation prevented him from responding. It wasn’t everyday that he was addressed by extra terrestrials. The same alien asked if the question had been improperly phrased. Finally the Sheriff managed to ‘choke out’ the correct response. The other alien stepped forward to make an announcement to the men. “We regret to inform you that our immature offspring accidentally terminated three of your organisms. We are in the final stages of cloning the expired individuals from residual DNA samples that we extracted. Once the regeneration is complete, they will be reintroduced back into their native habitat without delay. We regret the inconvenience this has caused you Sheriff; and would like to explain. On our planet; there is an extremely docile creature that roams the marshy wetlands. The offspring of our species enjoy keeping them as pets. This 'bashful' animal is very much like your terrestrial box turtle. It recedes inside its body as a defense mechanism when it is frightened. To coax them to come out; our 'children' often leave a feeding crystal near their nest (as a reward or incentive). If they retract back inside themselves to hide, our offspring reach into their shell and pull them ‘right side out’ again. Sadly, this regrettable incident only happened because of an elemental misunderstanding. You see, the turtle-like animal on our planet closely resembles your human form. Our young incorrectly assumed that your species was also very shy; and thus required inversion coaxing. They were unaware of your somewhat delicate physiology. VII After the explanation was given about the purpose of the crystals, Sheriff Wright winked at Johnson. His suggestion that they might be relevant to the investigation had baffled the deputy earlier. Now they both knew that he was basically right; although neither of them could have guessed the crystals were for bait. By that time the Sheriff had gained enough confidence to inquire about the clones. "Will they be exactly the same as their original counterparts?" “Technically yes. They will be identical; with one notable exception. They will not possess any memories which their original counterparts acquired during their lifetimes. This is because human DNA does not retain memories or any learned information. To compensate, we are programming them with the basic human knowledge needed to survive. Your experts will unfortunately have to teach them anything we overlooked.” In an emotionless tone, the second alien apologized for the inconvenience. The sheriff pointed to the previously missing girls. “What about them? Are they... ah... clones too?” “No. They are the originals. We found them before they expired and repaired the tissue damage. There was no permanent damage to them.” At that time, the freshly cloned victims appeared alongside the aliens and the two girls. After a short pause the ‘talkative’ alien concluded; “Ours is a peaceful race. We has laws which forbid any interference with alien life forms. We must again express our sincere apologies for the inadvertent harm we have caused. We hope there will be no ill will between our two races.” “Our 'vacation' is complete so we will be leaving your planet now.”; Added the other one. “Will there be others from your planet spending their 'vacation' here on Earth?”; The Sheriff asked nervously. “We will be back in about 273 Earth years.”; Replied the talkative one. "By that time, our young will be mature enough to avoid damaging any more of your species." That news greatly relieved the Sheriff. He didn’t think he could handle any more tragic cases of accidental alien mutilation! He was sure he would have his hands full trying to invent an explanation for the ones they already had. Both aliens made an unfamiliar salutation and returned to their ship. An instant later it gently lifted three or four stories off the surface of the lake and was gone in a ‘blink of an eye’. Phil and Johnson snapped out of their trance-like state and expressed their amazement. “Sir, what shall we do about this?”; Phil exclaimed. “Well, they’re definitely out of our jurisdiction now. Besides, we would need something a hell of a lot faster than a patrol car to catch ‘em anyway!” “Seriously though sir. I almost don’t believe what I just saw with my own eyes; and I know that no one will believe our reports!”; Added Johnson. “I want everyone present to keep what we just witnessed to ourselves. Is that understood? If anyone breathes a word of this to the press or our neighbors, they will put us in an asylum! Just leave the reports and explanation to me! Oh, and Johnson.... Next time get a REAL haircut! I'm surprised you saw a damn thing.


In the wooly cotton brains of young adulthood, I strove to be a psychonaut, seeking for a long-prolonged derangement of the senses in order to achieve comprehension of the unknown. I would use a variety of LSD-25, DMT and research chemicals to ascertain the different levels of reality that are hidden within my own perception. Further expansion of the mind was achieved by engaging in deep philosophical conversations surrounding theoretical physics and other areas of study with friends. As I got more experienced with DMT I finally achieved ego death, understanding what it means to be merely a wave packet vibrating to the cosmic frequency with no actual discernable identity. Along with ego-death came a remarkable appreciation for all of existence and being able to see the beauty in every speck of reality, for everything is united and one and the same, we only perceive distinctions between objects. Being that I was very experienced with numerous mind altering chemicals, I decided to try a new research drug called 2-ci. I had already taken 2-ce and 2-cb with marvelous results. So when I heard my friend who I would perform these shamanistic rituals with got 2-ci from the blackmarket in china, I was ready to try it. Little did I know all one needed for a strong experience was 10 milligrams and he had given me 77 milligrams inside a water bottle. I promptly chugged the water bottle while driving back to my home where several friends were waiting for me. My parents were out of town and we had planned a night worthy of Dionysus. Shortly after arriving at my home, I started to feel the first effects. A sense of euphoria erupted as my synapses transmitted this unknown chemical throughout my brain. That euphoria was short lived however as soon thereafter my auditory processing was inhibited by a “wahhhwahhhwahhh” noise that proceeded to block out all other sounds. Before I had a chance to grow annoyed at the incessant auditory hallucination, my vision started to disappear and was replaced with a kaleidoscope like experience. All images were drastically disordered and repeated in infinite regression. Next, came the physical pain, which to this day was the greatest pain I have ever experienced. Every nerve, every fiber of my being was being physically tortured as if on fire and being stabbed at the same time. As I began to shout out in agony, a new horror awaited me, a pain so great that I began to welcome the physical torture; that is the pain of emotional/psychological torment. I had ceased to exist in this world and had access to the web of all interactions I have and would ever make. But in these interactions, probabilities arose and it became apparent to me in this twisted, agonizing state that I will hurt others by staying alive. I watched each interaction of my life play out and those who got close to me only ended up hurt because of something I had done or would eventually do. It was around this time the ambulance had arrived. I was taken to a hospital where I was dosed with over 30 mg of kolonopin. I awoke a few hours later surrounded by my friends and feeling as though I had just been released from decades of physical and psychological torture. I was heavily tramatized. I had bad trips before, but this was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Later I would learn that the dose I took was the highest dose ever taken by a person and to this day no one has reported taking a dose anywhere close to that. As a result of taking such a high dose of 2ci, I would never be able to trip again, not due to lack of wishing to expand my mind but rather my mind was broken and would reject any further attempts to trip no matter what the chemical compound. I would spend the next many years analyzing what occurred during this experience and trying desperately to do good with my life. My greatest fear used to be zombies, but after that experience, my greatest fear became hurting another being. It is almost an unconscious drive at this point to prove to myself that I can help others/improve their lives., in defiance of my fate.


I'm a high school student so I don't have an incredible amount of experience writing. I'd appreciate some advice, although I'm sort of nervous about posting here lol. Thunk. Immediately, I knew what had happened. I begged for it to have been a rock, or a piece of debris on the road, but I knew better. Supposing it immoral to wish it to be a particular species of animal, I still couldn’t resist dearly hoping it not to be a cat. I pulled over my car. I was incredibly terrified to glance over at what I had done. I, instead, temporarily focused on assessing the damage done to my dilapidated little beater. I couldn’t identify any damage to it immediately. Dread creeped inward and shivers ran down my spine realizing that it was time to look at the animal I had mercilessly slaughtered. I doubted that the average person would turn around for such an event, and it provided me a slight amount of comfort in that I felt particularly caring. It was a raccoon. Its insides had been squeezed out of its mouth like a tube of toothpaste. I nearly vomited at the sight of it. Shock and guilt rung through me like a bell, sending shivers through my body from head to toe. The fragility of mortality never left my thoughts, and the consideration of my inevitable accompaniment of my raccoon acquaintance into nothingness consumed my thinking power. I sat down quickly upon the pavement, attempting to dismiss the previous events as meaningless. Thinking about the gruesomeness of the death of the raccoon, I forced the conclusion upon myself that the death was quick and relatively painless due to shock. I felt immeasurably envious of what I perceived as the “average person’s” dismissal for the slaughtering of animals. I briefly entertained the idea that perhaps the raccoon experienced some sort of afterlife, but, of course, I dismissed the comforting fantasy almost immediately. The thought that I would likely keep the trauma and guilt I experienced in this incident to myself forever for fear of ridicule spun me deeper into despondency. With the neverending pondering of the existential nature of our existence infinitely amplified by the gruesome face of the raccoon’s demise, the thought that I will someday end up like it pounded at my skull. My consideration for the amount of time I had spent staring at this piece of roadkill had been long since gone. I simply couldn’t move on from this incident. It ate at my insides furiously, immobilizing my brain from even considering leaving. I internally wept, having not actually cried for many years. I briefly felt as though I had some sort of cosmic connection with this animal, however the nihilistic nature of my beliefs eventually stripped me of this feeling. I felt hopeless, as if I were in a vast sea of despair of which no other person could relate. I eventually stumbled back to my car, wishing for the last time to no one that the innocent animal I had slaughtered had had a good, long life. I collapsed into the driver’s seat of my car, turned the engine over and continued my way back home. The thought that I could become that poor raccoon, an innocent victim to a reckless driver, at any point never left my brain for the rest of my drive. I eventually arrived at my destination, much to my dismay. My home was an old, run-down duplex in the worst part of my city. Although I worked a 40 hour work week, such a property was all I could single handedly afford, and even then I was still deep in debt to predatory student loan agencies and regular loan agencies the like. I sat in my chair, and lit a bowl. The cheap cannabis tasted like chemicals, and was probably filled with them. Nonetheless, it did its job of erasing the raccoon forever from my memory.


First time posting here! I was awakened by a sharp jab to my side, one that went through the mattress I was sleeping on. My body fell and bounced upward once more, further adding to my confusion. I groaned softly before a wave of fear came over me. I was paralyzed when the next sharp stab came. Was my brother doing this? It had to be. My mind rejected any other possibility. I rolled over, constantly reassuring myself that this was some half-thought prank my sibling had conjured in his head. A minute passed without the mattress lifting my body upward. I was relieved that it was finally over, and I braced myself to see my brother’s face, complete with a mischievous look. He would quickly confess that he was the one to pull the stunt and promptly exit the room, leaving me alone once more. I opened my eyes, not aware that I had shut them in the first place. A face awaited my gaze. Not my brother’s, I had known that no more than a split second after I had laid my eyes on it. What was looking at me was black, darker than the darkest moonless night. Instantly, my heart skipped a beat. It spoke as my mouth opened to empty my lungs in a bloodcurdling shriek. It held a slender finger up to its crooked lips. “Don’t,” it whispered. “He’ll hear you.” My lips were involuntarily sealed. The entity glanced upward. “We’re in the clear for now,” it exhaled. “Don’t try to wake it up or we’ll both die, got it?” It’s mouth dissolved into a stern frown. My heart was still pounding out of my chest but I replied hastily, trying to keep my voice quiet. Several questions rifled through my mind, but one stood out. My own lips started to quiver, forming the words “what do you want?” The entity became aware of the fact that he was still giving a potentially hostile expression and shifted it to a more passive one: a smile. “Oh, I just wanted to help, that’s all.” It put a hand on my shoulder. “The One on the Ceiling, he scares me too. Why don’t you come down below your bed with me? We’ll both be safe then.” “I… Um...” With what higher level thinking I could muster, I evaluated the situation. Could this… Whatever this thing was, could it hurt me while we were under the bed? And what was he talking about when he referred to the One on the Ceiling? I looked upward for the first time. There wasn’t much I could make out in the darkness, but I could see a giant blob drooping down from the ceiling. It wasn’t moving as far as I could tell, but in the back of my mind I knew that it would be if I woke it up. I shifted my gaze back to the entity and nodded. After all, dying to him was far better than ending my life at the hands of a mysterious blob on the ceiling. At least this creature had sentience and seemed to have a plan with me. “Great,” the entity gushed, almost abandoning the warning he himself gave me. Swiftly, he dove underneath my bed and I saw his hand beckoning me to hurry. I gripped my pillow and pulled off my covers all without making a sound and joined the entity below my bed. I fluffed my pillow and began to talk a bit louder, trusting my bed to muffle some of the sounds we made. “I’m here, are you happy now?” “Yes, very much so,” the entity chirped, a grin spreading across his face. Not one of malice, but genuine happiness. “Thank you. By the way,” he pointed at my pillow, “can I try that? I hadn’t used one in my life.” I somewhat reluctantly handed over the sleeping device and almost instantly the entity buried its face into the delicate stuffing. “This is amazing,” he commented. A few seconds later, he placed it between himself and I. “I’m sorry, that was just so… soft. It felt like I was holding a cloud.” I didn’t know what to say. Normally children would be warned about beings that made homes under their beds, that they would most certainly die if they were to meet them, but this one… The entity stared into my eyes using his own. “Listen, we should start to sleep now. The faster morning arrives, the faster the One on the Ceiling – and I – will disappear. I bet you want that to happen, right?” I sighed and began to relax my neck, my head descending into the comfort of my pillow. “I suppose so. So just what are you, anywa-?” My question was interrupted by a sharp wail. My baby sister. She was only a few weeks old, but aged enough to keep quiet during the night. Even in the occasional call for food or my mother, I was capable enough to take care of her myself. For her to act up now of all times, though, was a fatal mistake. The tide of fear flooded back into my head and my heart started to ramp up its activity to unprecedented levels. “No...” was all the entity could say before my ears were filled with a crashing sound. Peering my head outside, my eyes yielded the sight of a dark appendage slowly reeling my sister toward the blob, the One on the Ceiling. Even though there was a voice screaming in the back of my head for me to do it, I knew I couldn’t attempt to fight back against the monster. I was too weak to do anything. I pulled my head back. There was a sharp crunch coming from the ceiling and my sister’s wails ceased. In my now shock-filled brain, I linked the sound to a cracker being split in two. The entity placed its hand on my shoulder once more, apparently sharing the same expression I felt myself displaying. “Sleep, James. It’ll all be over soon.


Reposting to adhere to guidelines :). This is inspired by the prompt: "A dating guide for the recently resurrected". Enjoy! **Love After Life After Death** Dating was awkward for Taylor long before he was killed by a metro bus, but it certainly hadn’t made things any easier. He checked his watch. She was fifteen minutes late and the waiter was beginning to throw him pitying glances whenever he passed. It wouldn’t be long before he was getting awkward stares. To pass the time, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small handbook. *Love After Life After Death* was a short read by any stretch of the imagination, but it had given Taylor hope in what had otherwise seemed like a bleak situation. “Whether you’re a shambling corpse resurrected by a necromancer, or some science experiment gone horribly wrong, your love life doesn’t have to be over,” he repeated the words under his breath. It was the opening line to the manual, written in big, friendly letters. The vision of the resurrected wasn’t the best, so big print helped. “Taylor?” asked a distinctly female voice. Taylor jumped and looked up into the eyes of a beautiful woman. He stumbled to a stand, shoving the book in his pocket, and held his hand out to greet his date. “That’s me,” he mumbled, a little awkwardly. She took his hand and shook it. “So formal,” she chided. “S-Sorry,” he stammered. “I just haven’t been on one of these in a while.” Her hand was cool to the touch. *Is it possible?* He wondered. In the book, it had listed several key phrases to look for when trying to find a resurrected partner. Adeline’s profile had used three of the five. Taylor recounted them in his head as he sat back down. ‘Recently returned from a long trip.’ If the manual was to be believed, that meant she had been dead for quite some time, but looking at her face, he saw no signs of it. Her skin was pale, sure, but in the Pacific Northwest, that wasn’t an indication of anything. There were no abnormal lines in her makeup betraying the marks of an autopsy either. *Did I misinterpret things?* ‘Looking to meet someone fresh, but not too fresh.’ That was signaling her level of decay. One of the key rules laid out in the book was the Rule of Descending Composition. The author advised to approach people who were at or below your current rate of decay. This prevented those who looked mostly normal from being approached by a bunch of shambling zombies reciting love poems. Apparently, it caused some issues back in the day. Finally, she had said: ‘Let’s not bring our parents into this.’ That meant that she was likely the result of a necromancer and didn’t want to meet someone raised by the same means. Necromancers tended to fight with one another when encounters occurred between their creations. Adeline cleared her throat, peering over a menu at Taylor. *Shit, how long have I just been sitting here?* He had been so focused on figuring out if she was undead, he had forgotten to say anything. “Sorry… again.” It felt lame, and came out lame, but she smiled at him and his tension eased. “No need to be so nervous.” She laid the menu down on the table. Even as he tried not to, he assessed her face again, scanning for anything. By all accounts, she looked alive, and that wasn’t a good sign for him. Luckily, before he could make more of a fool of himself, the waiter came by. “Can I offer either of you anything to drink?” Taylor looked to Adeline. “I don’t know, Taylor, think a drink might loosen you up a bit?” Ever since his resurrection, drinking hadn’t been the same. Occasionally after four or five beers, he would start to feel a tingling sensation, but it passed just as quickly as it arrived. Nevertheless, he grinned and said: “It’s worth a shot.” “That’s the spirit.” Adeline looked over a small drink menu and ordered an old bottle of wine. *How old is that bottle? Does it mean something? Probably not, right?* No matter how hard he tried, Taylor couldn’t seem to get out of his own head. He ran through the guide’s list of questions to ask on a date and pulled one out at random. “So, Adeline, where are you from originally?” It sounded corny as he said it, but at least he was talking. “It speaks!” she exclaimed, bright mischief burning in her eyes. Taylor felt as though he would blush but knew he couldn’t. The woman who had brought him back had fucked up his facial capillaries. Without tastefully applied rouge, he looked like he was suffering from a fatal disease. “Central Romania,” she answered. “But I’ve been here for a long time.” *Central Romania, well that’s a good sign.* If there was anywhere known for ghosts, ghouls, day walkers, and the undead, it was Romania. Taylor quickly shifted to the next obvious question. “Are you close with your family?” if she really was undead, he was coyly asking about her master, or raiser as it were. If not, it was a simple question with a simple answer. “Not so much.” There was a twinge of sadness to her voice. “Let’s just say the man who raised me was more than a little mad.” Her eyes briefly went to the table, but quickly returned to meet his. Taylor’s heart did a somersault. That all but confirmed it. She was a member of the recently deceased. “Taylor,” started Adeline, “Would you like to ask the question that’s really on your mind?” Her gaze was piercing and froze her heart. “What would that be?” A tremor had crept into his voice. *You’re blowing it, man.* “I think we both know…” “Are you,” he started, but she interrupted and finished. “Yes, I’m a Capricorn,” she replied, throwing up her hands. “I know, you’re a Libra, and things can never work out between us.” The look of confusion on Taylor’s face must have been easy to read, because a smile spread across her lips. “Relax,” she said. “I’m fucking with you. I was raised by a necromancer about five years ago. This isn’t my first time on one of these.” She motioned to the table. “So, why don’t we just relax, have some wine, and we can dig into our afterlives a little bit later?” “Okay,” said Taylor, grinning from ear to ear. The waiter arrived and poured them both a glass. Adeline raised hers, winked and said: “Cheers to Love After Life After Death then.


It’s 2 a.m. I’m lying in bed, waiting for the day to start, so I can finally escape this nightmare. Once dawn hits I’m jumping out of bed, running to the Ops Managers' office, and handing in my resignation. I'll explain to him that I can no longer work here, and thank him very much for the opportunity, but I’m seeking employment elsewhere. I’ll pack my bags and leave this place on the next bus out to town. For the last five months I’ve been working at Hillcraven Gold Mine. It’s a relatively small operation, but one that's been going for over two hundred years. I’ve been working as it's surveyor, much to the dismay of my mother. I was originally supposed to study and become a software developer. After passing high school and getting my degree (alongside the hundred other kids who had the same idea), I'd spend most of my days sitting behind a computer monitor, drinking copious amounts of coffee while typing code for hours on end. Luckily for me, a few bad marks on my final report card prevented that catastrophe from ever happening. As a result, I’ve become what is known as a ‘third generation miner’, as my dad likes to call it. He made his living as a mine surveyor, and his dad did as well. It was fate, really, that brought me to here. The work is tough, but I’ve found that the mining culture and the routine of the work is extremely enjoyable. I've been living in a commune on-site with five other men, provided to me free of charge by the mine, eating meals at the cafeteria for pennies and only going in to town once a month for a whole week of drinking with my colleagues. The routine has created what I can only describe as a kinship between me and my coworkers. We eat the same food, work in the same conditions and sleep in the same house. Every morning at 6:30 a.m. sharp, we wake up and make our beds, rubbing the sleep from our eyes and stretching out our stiff limbs. We walk out and join the other hundred people in the locker rooms. We open up our assigned lockers, get changed into our overalls and gumboots, grab our hard hats from the racks and make our way to the lamp room. The lamp room is where you get the safety equipment required for going underground. The kit includes one battery-powered LED headlamp, which you attach to the top of your hard hat, an external battery pack that provides power to the lamp, which you thread through one side of your belt, and one small oxygen tank that you clip onto the other side of your belt. So far no one has bothered to explain to me when I should use the oxygen tank, or even how, so I pray that I won’t have a need to know anytime soon. Once you’re kitted out, you make your way to the mine shaft. The Shift Boss will be waiting outside the lift, with his ragged clipboard and leathery face. You give him your name, and tell him which tunnel you’re going to today, and he’ll make a note on his list. That way, they can see who’s missing at the end of the shift, and who shouldn’t have gone in in the first place. The Shift Boss is also responsible for checking if you have the right equipment on. If you don’t, you can’t go in. Got your hard hat? Check. Headlamp working? Check. Earplugs? Check. Last on his list is your boots. He’ll glance over his clipboard and give your gumboots a quick once-over, to make sure you have them on. Once he’s checked that off the list, he’ll give it a second check. If your gumboots have so much as a spot of dirt on them, he’ll raise his eyebrow at you and give you a chuckle. “Been working the night shift, huh?” he’d ask. All the fellow miners will laugh at that, having been asked the same question at some point. “What?” I asked the first time it happened to me, my boots muddied and hard hat perched awkwardly on my head. “Your boots. The only people who have a reasonable excuse to have dirty boots are the people who work the night shift.” He replied. “But we don’t have a night shift?” I asked, slightly confused. “Exactly. Make sure you keep your boots clean.” He replied, stepping aside to let me into the lift and looking back down at his list, checking off the next person’s name. All the surveyors must also report to the survey office for a briefing on what parts of the mine you'll be surveying that day, as well as to fetch the equipment from lock-up. Since I’m the only surveyor on the mine besides Mark, I have to lug the near-10kg equipment by myself. Mark is nearing eighty, has severe arthritis and spends his days in his office, looking over the mine plans and watering his beloved fern. He retired over ten years ago, hopping onto the solitary bus that takes you back to town once a week to live with his wife of fifty years. His plan was to spend his last good years with her, doing some gardening on the two-acre property that he brought in the 80’s, until he passed away, hopefully, in his sleep. After spending a month living with her, though, he hopped right back on that bus and begged for his job back, deciding that he’d rather spend his last few years working away from home. His duties mainly comprise of checking my work and updating the plans when necessary. On occasion, though, he’ll grace you with one of his many pieces of advice that he’s acquired through the years. “Always keep both feet firmly on the ground while in the tunnels. Don’t wanna slip and fall.”, he’ll tell you as you pass him in the kitchen, or: “A sharp pencil is a sign of sharp work.” One of his favorites though, that he never seems to grow tired of, is: “Always check your headlamp before you go down. It’s easy to get lost and without a torch, you’ll never make it back.” I normally try to follow the advice he gives me. Most of it makes sense, and has actually helped me at times. Thanks to him I always check my lamp before going down. I mostly just give it a cursory click-on and click-off while the lift takes me down to the right level. Yesterday I was working alone in one of the quieter parts of the mine. It was an old shaft that they were looking at expanding, and it was my job to make sure they knew where they were going. While I was setting up the equipment, I stepped on something soft. I picked up my foot. It was lying on the floor, half-buried by the dust and debris. A small pocketbook. Curious, I dug it out and dusted it off. *“Survey Report - Mark Whittel.”* it said on the front, in neat block letters. It was bound by a green leather cover, slightly scuffed and warped from sitting in someone’s back pocket. I chuckled to myself as I picked it up. He must have lost this back in his heyday, when he was still making his rounds. I thought it would be funny to show it to him, take a look through his old notes and laugh at how he lost it. I slipped it into my pocket and carried on with the job, forgetting about it almost immediately. Once closing came I went back up the lift, locked up the survey equipment and said goodnight to Mark. I handed in the headlamp and oxygen tank and went to the locker room. It was there that I remembered it, as I was changing into my normal clothes. By that point Mark was most likely asleep, so I’d have to show it to him the next day. My colleagues and I ate dinner in the cafeteria, playing a round or two of poker before ultimately moving back to the dorm. As I lay in bed, winding down and getting ready to sleep, I decided to take a look through the pocketbook. Just out of curiosity. The first few pages were just random personal notes on things to remember, as well as some drawings of different tunnels, all of them labeled. I laughed at a few of them, the contrast between the old man Mark I know and the young man Mark in this book was startling. After a few more pages, though, something caught my eye. A note was written across the page: *“If you’re reading this, please send help. I’m trapped down here with no idea how to get out.”* I almost choked laughing at that. The Mark I know could probably navigate those tunnels with his eyes closed, there’s no way he’d lose the exit. He must have been very young. I couldn’t wait to show him this. We’ll go through it together, most likely in tears thinking about Young Mark lost in the tunnels. Getting found by a group of miners who probably never let him hear the end of it. I turn the page and carry on reading. This time the page is full of text. He’s numbered the date at the top. *“Day 6”* *“It’s been almost a week since I came down here, and none of the tunnels seem familiar. I’ve been walking upwards for what seems like hours now, with no signs of me getting closer to the surface.”* *“I was surveying tunnel B2L when my headlamp turned off. I stood there frozen for a second, the darkness causing my muscles to seize up. I reached for its switch, flicking it off and then back on. The light flicked back on, luckily, but that was the least of my problems.”* I turned the page. *“For a moment I couldn’t believe what had happened. I wasn’t in the same tunnel.”* I re-read that line again, slightly confused. Did he mean that he somehow accidentally wandered into a different tunnel? Or was he just magically teleported to a different part of the mine? I’ll have to ask him tomorrow. “I wandered around for a while, calling out, hoping someone would hear me and tell me which section I was in. My equipment was missing as well, most likely left behind when I was taken here.” *“After what felt like hours, I heard noises. What sounded like people digging further in. I made my way towards it, still calling out, until I heard them stop and call back to me.”* *“I’ve been working here for over ten years. I started as an ordinary miner, rubbing shoulders with everyone at some point, before getting promoted to Chief Surveyor.”* *“In all that time, I have never met these men.”* I turned the page again. *“Day 9.”* *“These men have a wild desperation about them. Some just keep hammering against the wall, ripping chunks out of it with wild abandon for days on end. Some just sit idle, making small talk or just staring at the wall.”* *“They told me that there’s no way back up, as far as they’ve seen. At some point they worked on the mine and their lamps did the same thing as mine. When they turned back on, they found themselves here, just like I did.”* The next few pages are filled with what looks like scribbles drawn inside a grid. They all start in the center square and stretch out until meeting back in the middle, hundreds of little strands stretching across the pages, After awhile, I realized that they were maps. *“Day 10.”* *“They call this ‘night shift’, due to the fact that all their watches stick at 2 a.m. sharp. Mine’s been reading the same thing since I got here. When I asked them why they were digging, they explained that no matter how far up or down you go, you end up back here anyways. So they decided to go sideways.”* *“I’ve been here a week, and to me that sounds like a reasonable choice. Some of these guys have been here for years.”* *“Since I got to night shift, I haven’t felt the need to eat or drink. Sleep hardly comes and almost seems to be more out of habit when it does. I’ve spent the week mapping out the tunnel system, there are hundreds of offshoots that all seem to end up at the same spot, no matter how irrational it is.”* *“Day 11.”* *“I think I’ve finally found something. A small stress seam at the end of a dead-end tunnel. It stretches from the floor to ceiling and is just wide enough to stick my pinkie through. I can feel air coming from it, a soft, erratic breeze that must come from outside.”* *“I’m turning back and finding the other guys to help me dig. This could be the way out.”* The next few pages were full of sketches of the tunnel wall. He labeled where the stress seam is, as well as the optimal spots to dig it out. I flipped through them until I found another page full of text. This time, it looks like it was written with a shaky hand. There’s no date on the top. *“They haven’t stopped chasing me since we let them out. As far as I can tell I’m the only one left alive. They were waiting on the other side for someone to break the seam.”* *“They look just like us. Same faces, same clothes, same everything.”* *“I’ve been hiding but I think they’ve found me. I can hear them coming, they have good sense of smell. I can hear them sniffing-”* The rest of the pages are blank. I turned off my torch and placed the pocketbook on my nightstand. As I turned on my side, something caught my eye. Fred was lying in his bed, his head turned towards me. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could feel the hair on the back of my neck rising. He's been staring at me, his eyes wide and mouth slightly open. My heart beat faster as I realized he hadn't blinked. I turned away from him, my insides going cold as I fought down my paranoia. I shut my eyes. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm myself down.


### Musket Whines ###### 6 min read - 1264 words Quiet as it was, you could hear a baby takin' it's first breath out in the street that mornin'. I wasn't no liar and I'd be damned if I'd let that bitch steal my horse without no say so on my part. Velvet meant the world to me and I wasn't about to concede to no horse thievin' whore over the say so of an ol' drunkard. They called me Fire in my brothel tendin' days, on account of my hair, and Velvet was my prize. She was my escape. The day I knew I was done makin' men satisfied in exchange for dignity, I offered a trade for my services, the exchange being Velvet. You could get you'self a shit foal for ten dollars. Velvet was priceless in my eyes. Within a day, Sherry was at my door, falsely accusin' me of stealin' her man and her horse. Sherry kept comin' round, spreadin' evil words and I'd had enough. I says you want my horse, you goin' to have to kill me for her. That's how it all started. My beloved horse and a lying, no good, whore. So here I was, standin' back to back with the devil's wife herself, pistol in hand, ready to die for my ride to a better life, wonderin' if I'd made the right choice. A crowd had gathered, account of drunkard's mouths always bein' open, and I was uneasy about the short path layin' ahead of me. My heart pounded away like the hooves of a thousan' horses. If Sherry didn't do me in, my heart just might. Pistol to my chest, I could barely hear the words the Deputy Sheriff statin' the rules of the duel over my heart poundin' away, but I knew the rules. Ten steps and I'll be sending the devils wife back to her fiery rockin' chair. I could back down, but the world wasn't built for cowards an' I'd lose Velvet and my ticket out of this hell hole. "One!" I took my first step, mind racin' and retracin' my childhood. I thought about my father leavin' me as a baby in the care of strangers in this harsh, cruel world. From what I hear, my father was more interested in the bottom of a bottle than raisin' a child. If Sherry wasn't shittin' herself now, she would be soon. Fuckin' liar. "Two!" Another step. First home I can remember was just four walls and a loft of hay to sleep in. Damn strangers already had 'nough children and treated me like I was just another animal in the Goddamn barn. If they hadn't of had chickens, I'd probably had died of starvation. Raw eggs taste like snot, but it's better than an empty stomach. "Three!" I remember the orchard out back behind the barn. The days after school spent cryin' and wonderin' why kids were the devils spawn, teasin' my hair and freckles. I miss the taste of apples and peaches already. If we get through this, Velvet can have all the apples she want's, from here 'til kingdom come. "Four!" The steps are coming automatically. I think of the fields of hay and my muddy, tattered clothes as I hid from that abusive, piece of shit, fondlin' me all the time an' tellin' me to settle down. When I'm done blowin' Sherries head clear off, I'm comin' for you next. "Five!" I'd turn now and send that bitch packin' if it wasn't for the crowd and the Deputy watchin'. If I miss that whore and she get's the better of me, I'll be damned if someone else don't do her in for me. Not like she's done anyone in this town any favors, accusin' everyone and everything of fuckin' up her life. "Six!" I see the sign above the saloon doors swingin' in the breeze and some drunkard spit's tobacco while leanin' on the s'loon door. Anyone who wasn't in the street before is makin' there way out here now, ready for a spectacle to begin. I may have been an ugly child, but I grew into my own and I can see the wanderin' eyes watchin', wonderin' if I'll be back in there solicitin' a bed. "Seven!" Well if Sherry ain't shit herself by now, she sure as hell 'bout to. Hell, I'm having a hard time keepin' my whits 'bout me. Ain't no one in this town know'd me to be the lyin' type, but I said I'd die for Velvet and that's a promise I intend to keep. Nothin' in this world ever meant much to me, God knows ain't no one befriended me for the sake of doin' so. Velvet will change all that. She may not be human, but she's a good horse and a worthy companion. "Eight!" I can feel the sweat beadin' across my brow. The sun is bright and hot, leavin' me worse for the wear. A dress might have been cooler, but ain't no one to impress and I intend to get while the gettin's good when I'm done killin' a bitch. I remember the first time I saw a man die in this street, and the feelin's are lessened each time I take witness to it. "Nine!" I can see the crowd fidgetin' among themselves. They're like a fox that's happened upon a hen house, pacing with the eagerness of knowin' blood is 'bout to be shed. I can see a child pullin' at his momma's dress and wonderin' what all the countin' and silence is about. For all I know, this is the first death he'll witness. I remind myself to try to breathe steady. It'll be over in a few more pounds of my chest. "TEN!" It's just a number, but the Deputies word echo's through the street. I spin around, catchin' a glimpse of the shops and shop keeper's scornful eye's watchin' two women about put one or the other to death and it feels like an eternity as I'm bracing myself for what could be my last. As I start to straighten out my arm and prepare to take aim I can see the Deputy standing off to the side, eyes flickin' back and forth from me to Sherry to catch the moment one of us falls. A shot rang out and it wasn't mine. I gasp and pull the trigger of my pistol, hopin' to at least finish her sorry ass off before I fall down dead in the street. The second shot ring's out and I fall back expecting that I'll soon be taking my last breath. From where I lay on the ground, I watch as my bullet pierces through Sherry and she falls to the ground on her hands and knee's gaspin' for air, blood starting to pool 'round her breast. She's chokin' and coughin' up blood like I'd seen so many times before on this very street. I want to check myself and see where I've been hit, but I need to watch her lyin' eyes take in their last sight. Somewhat unsurprisingly, I haven't been hit. Sherry was always a shit shot and inexperienced when it came to shootin' pistols. She must have been shakin' in her boots, because I wasn't prepared for what I saw unfold. I glanced around the crowd wonderin' what became of her bullet and as I my eyes trailed from person to person, I saw him fall to the ground. Sherry had let her shot out early, probably on account of bein' a dumb whore, and caught the Deputy Sheriff in the throat.


I am pathetic. Sitting here, under my favorite tree in the forest behind my house, I deduced that I am a complete coward. The books next to me were mocking me, so I glared even though it made no difference. My mother thought I was studying, hence the books. In reality? I was thinking. I had blown my only chance at actually scoring a date with the dreamiest boy in my senior class. Geeky old me had actually flirted with him, strung him along, poked myself in the eye repeatedly every morning in an attempt at eye liner and when the moment came? I choked. Literally. Note to all the attractive guys out there: don't ask a usually ignored virgin on a date when she's in the middle of finishing off her water at lunch. It screws with us. That was not an intentional pun, by the way. Anyway, here I sat, in the forest stuck with political science books that I had no intention of reading and a phone with too many text messages from a guy I thought would never talk to me again. I unlocked my phone to find a voicemail. To listen or not to listen, that was the question. Debating, I dropped the phone in front of me and stared. What did I want? Why couldn't I just say yes? What the hell was wrong with me? Groaning, I stood up, brushed off my sundress and picked a dandelion weed. With my books tucked into my side, I considered going back inside and consulting my mother. Instead the dandelion inspired me. It's tiny white spindles swayed in the wind and I decided to make a wish. Only a miracle would save me now. 'Give me the courage to say yes next time.' And I blew. I watched as the seeds floated along with the wind away from me. "Will you go out with me now?" I gasped and turned around, seeing the man who I had been plagued with thoughts of all day. I hadn't heard him crunching through the leaves as I had clumsily done. Being caught up in my own head could be all consuming sometimes. How did he get out here? In the distance, I heard my mother talking on the phone on the back porch and got my answer. He had come to my house. He still cared. "Well?" he said, looking awkward for the first since I had known him. His hazel eyes were squinted against the sun and he looked handsome in jeans and boots with a button up shirt. This time I breathed, opening and closing my sweaty hands. Do not choke, you can do this. Just react. Throwing my books behind me, I let modesty go to the wind and ran up to him, straight into his open arms. He twirled me around and laughed. I looked at where I had been standing and smiled secretly. I had my answer. As if in slow motion, the books fell to the ground like gravel, demanding my response. Without choking, I uttered the word my wish had granted me. "Yes.


### The Glass Locket ###### 7 min read - 1812 words "VANQUISH!" My cry rippled forth through the locket as I lay with broken wings on the battlefield, awaiting the magic that pulsed in my outstretched hand. I watched as the black smoke poured forth, transforming into millions of dark Fairy warriors of old. They moved like lightning, leaving a path of destruction in their wake. I knew the weight that the command would carry. Usnar, the blistered Demon of plague, crumbled before me mid-stride and let out his last breath as his army of evil followed suit. Winter was falling upon the land of Amignor and the war was finally over. It was mid summer when I came upon the glass locket. I was exploring the ancient caverns of Rawnessmined, the abandoned fortress of Inod, the Dwarf King. I had learned from the lore of old that the fortress had fallen when a dwarven miner had accidentally opened a chamber while excavating the royal tomb. An accident that had allowed Goblins, Orcs, Ogres and Demons to sour the land for nearly a millennium. These were caverns that had forever sealed evil away from the peaceful world above. Free from their earthen jail, the armies of evil made their way to the surface, leaving the caverns and spreading their plague upon the world above, slaying any good creature that stand in their path. In the years following this release of evil, all manner of creatures came together, hoping to restore peace and the world to its former self. Elves, Fairies, Humans and Dwarfs working together was a rare sight indeed, but our numbers were slim in comparison to the thousands of evil creatures that now plagued our former homes. I had found a small hole in one of the cavern walls that allowed passage into the tomb of a long forgotten Elf. It was hard to say how long the body had been there or how it came to be in such an unnatural resting place. It was like he was frozen in time, clutching the locket to his heart, in a deep and peaceful slumber, resting in his casket. I remember stretching my hand out to clear the dust from the locket and as my slender fingers made contact, the Elf withered and crumbled to dust. The locket, loose from the grips of the Elf's hand, slowly began to shrink until it was an appropriate size for a Fairies neck. Among the ashes was a notebook that had also shrunk. The words were hard to make out, but the images made it clear that this was no ordinary locket. A mysterious magic placed upon this forgotten artifact allowed the holder to issue it commands. I placed the notebook in my satchel. Placing the locket around my neck, I decided to make my way to the forest surrounding the fortress before night fell upon me. "Ora... ORA!" I could hear my father calling me from the doorway as I walked the branch that led to our home within the oak tree. For as long as I could remember, Havenwood had been home to the Fairies. Elves would come and go as they pleased, but it wasn't until recent years that the encampments of Dwarfs and Humans had started to grow. I double checked my neckline, making sure the locket was out of site. I didn't want anyone to discover it until I had a chance to learn more about the magic it held within. "I'm coming! Sorry I'm late. I was just out searching for food and..." "You know I don't like you going anywhere near that dark place. We've had this discussion a thousand times. It's simply not safe." Father shook his head and sighed a sigh of relief, knowing his only daughter was safe. "Just because we stay young forever..." "Doesn't mean we can't die. I know, I know. I'm sorry! I just can't help myself sometimes. It's not like there's evil living there anymore. We know they've left." "We can't know that for sure. The forest is our home. We have no business in the stagnant air of that cursed place." Father turned and walked back inside the oak. He paused in the doorway and turned, motioning for me to follow. "Imere would like to hold a meeting tonight. You've been invited to join us. Come along child, we're late." Imere was Queen of the Elves and very wise. Although she was older than anyone could recall, it was hard to tell from looking at her. She had a timeless beauty, fair and soft. Looking her in the eyes gave me goosebumps. Whenever I was around her, it felt like my mind was an open book for her to read. The meeting was short lived, as Imere was growing tired of the Dwarfs and Humans using the forest to cook their meals and their smoke that would billow through the boughs. Her main objective was to remind us all that there was evil lurking outside the forest and it was growing in numbers and strength. Something had to be done and time was running short. For months, the Dwarfs had their blacksmiths working day and night to create Armor, Weapons and Traps. The Humans worked with them to create Broadswords, Daggers, Mail and anything they could contribute to the coming war. The Elves had been working tirelessly on Bows, Quivers and Arrows. The Fairies very rarely used weapons and preferred their own methods of war. We had armies of trained war mosquitoes. While the larvae grew, we would poison their water and increase the toxicity within their habitat, slowly making them immune. When grown, we would prepare them for war by allowing them to gorge on the poisoned animal blood we were given by the Humans, who loved meat. This kept them immune and in times of war they could easily spread the poison to any being who was not protected by our antivenom. Over the following weeks, I tried to decipher the text of the notebook, hoping to uncover it's secrets. I recognized the characters and some of the dialect, as it was some form of Elvish, but due to its age and wear, it was hard to be sure what all it meant. One afternoon, in the late fall, I was sitting on a tree limb, enchanted by the drawings within the notebook. Without much thought, I put the notebook back in my satchel and took the locket out from under my coat. I decided to open it up. Everything around me went quiet and still. As I looked around, I noticed birds were floating mid flight and leaves were frozen in the wind. Time stood still. I shut the locket and the deafening silence disappeared, returning bird calls and sounds of rustling leaves to my ears. Both amazed and confused, I quickly searched for the notebook in my satchel, hoping to uncover this secret. To my amazement, it was like new. What had happened? I opened it up to find that the language and imagery was clear and in my own native tongue. How strange, I thought. Out of fear, I tucked it back in my satchel and decided not to open the locket again. Upon returning home, my Father was waiting for me. "Imere would like to see you. She tells me it's urgent." I wasn't sure how to react and now I was definitely concerned about what I might have done. Were there other side effects from opening the locket? I pushed past my father and made my way to our usual meeting area, anxious and scared. "I believe you have something that doesn't belong to you." Imere said sternly. "Unfortunately, there's nothing to be done about that now." She opened her right hand and gestured for me to come closer with her left. "The notebook please." "What note..." "Please, don't take me for a fool." Imere extended her right hand closer. "What you've found should never have been found. However, now that it has... Please, bring it to me." I handed her the notebook and took a step back, awaiting my punishment. I watched as she flip through the notebook and close it with a look of sadness. "Come with me. I need you to understand the significance of what you mistakenly took for an ordinary piece of jewelry." In the weeks leading up to the war, Imere explained the powers behind the glass locket and its history. She taught me the commands, explained the imagery within the notebook and told me how it could never fall into the hands of the awakened evil. The more I learned, the more intrigued I became and understood why she seemed so concerned upon realizing the locket had been found. When winter arrived, we thought we were prepared for the battle ahead of us. We gathered together and made our way to the outside edges of the forest, dressed in armor and weapons ready. The enemy had been preparing as well and their armies were already approaching. Before we knew what hit us, we were engaged in battle and surrounded. Our first casualties were the Humans on horseback that led us out into the battlefield. Swarms of war mosquitoes covered the evil forces that threatened to smite the existence of good throughout the land of Amignor. They were practically useless against the massive hoards of Goblins and the Orcs weren't even phased for a moment. I watched as our numbers slowly dwindled, hoping not to have to use the locket. I was caught off guard and felt the crude club of a massive Ogre strike me in the back. The blow propelled me forward, dazed and injured. I fell to the ground and rolled to a stop. I felt the club tear my wings and the fall only further crumpled them into a useless mess. I rolled over to my back, preparing myself to fight from the ground. The hoard of evil's leader, Usnar, was striding towards me. I could hear my father shouting out my name in despair. Reaching towards my neck, I pulled out the locket and took a deep breath. \* \* \* When the battle was over, I wandered back into the forest and found my way to the old abandoned fortress. Without the use of my wings, it felt like it took a lifetime get to the entrance. I stumbled my way deep into the depths of the caverns below, finding the hole in the wall where I had found the locket. I crawled along the tunnel that led to the tomb of the lockets previous owner. When I had arrived I noticed that the elf's casket had shrunk and was like new, just like the notebook. I climbed inside and removed the glass locket from my neck. Holding it to my chest, I laid back and fell into a deep sleep.


Grandma?  Yes?  Come with me.    Just brought me down here for the fun of it, eh?  No. Look. He’s stuck there.  Watch out for his pincers when you pick him up.  Ok. There we go. I think he’ll like that a bit better.  So, you didn’t bring me down here just for the fun of it?  No. I brought you to show you something.  Hmm?  Come with me.    That’s a peaceful place.  Do you think you can get up here?  I don’t know. You’re so much younger than me. You’re nearly how old?  Tomorrow I will be eight!  Eight?  That’s why you came to visit, remember?  Of course I do.  Here, I’ll show you the easiest way up.  Ok, I’ll try.  First right here. Yep. Then your other foot there. And then up here. And now you’re there!  That wasn’t all that bad.  Nope.    I see why you like it in here. It’s cozy.  You can hear the waves. Oh look!  Hmm?  Grandma, did you fall asleep again?  Oh. It seems these days I do that a lot.  Look, though! He’s my buddy. I need to go say hi to him. Stay up here.  Ok.    It’s cold in the water, isn’t it?  Really. But it’s worth it. Hi buddy!  (chirp, chirp) (click, click, click)  I love you. Here you go. You love mama’s bread, don’t you?  (Click, Click)    You missed it again, Grandma. Well, next time. I guess.    The sun is almost setting now. How long was I asleep?  An hour or so.    Weren’t you showing me something?  Yes. I showed you Buddy. But you were sleeping.  Buddy the dolphin?  Yes. You remember! I gave him some of mama’s bread. He comes every day.  He must be your friend by now.  He has been for this whole summer.    It’s going to be dark soon. Come with me. You remember the way down!    Let’s watch the sunset. Sit down next to me.    I love you Grandma. So much. I don’t mind that I have to show you every day. Like it’s the first time.  Hmm?  It’s fine. Sleep.  Ok.  ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– Because this post was not 500 words, I am adding words at the end. I am not doing this to cheat, only because my short story is the length I wish it to be.


Hour Two The first hour garnered more attention then he wanted so he decided to change who he was. Another mask, another face and yet simple enough to be seen through if someone truly cared. The girl was a weird object of desire for him. All too appealing and all too taboo for a have baked person to possess and yet she confessed in him. He doesn’t know what to do. He cares for her yet not quite in the way she would wish. He does not want to lead her on and yet it feels like this chance is the chance to make it all right. A woman grown yet not quite a woman at all. Old enough to know what she wants and yet young enough not to know better. He thinks her eyes are more warped then his for she sees him as a perfect gentleman. Or at least she sees him as a person to be treasured. He feels like a broken being and she doesn’t believe him. What exactly does she see? He’s hungry in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. His deformity makes him ashamed and yet he wants her. She is not true beauty and yet he still lusts for something more amazing then him. She has everything he could never have after all so maybe he just wants to take a part of her away. He lies to her. He lies to everyone after all so why would that stop him now? His life has been for the most part uneventful so why not embody someone else for awhile? To experience the things, he has never experienced would be the reason so he lies. The feeling of wading in that shit is natural to him. Comforting even to be somebody else for awhile. Yet we digress. She is blind and naive. After all she’s a very sheltered 18 year old woman who was never at the top of her school hierarchy. It scares him how his flippant lies harm him and yet it excites him at the same time. She may not be the prettiest girl in the room but her smile and blush are second to none. A pleasant sight in a workplace filled with foul-smelling middle-aged men. He wants her and she believes she wants him. He doesn’t want to hurt her. He who sits in the shit of his words does not want to use her like toilet paper as a single sheet would never be able to clean the mess he makes. Still, any possible relief from the feeling of the bog and the oppressive smells it brings clings to his shallow soul. He wants her he thinks yet still cares. The two sides of his mind keep fighting in turmoil so the half-baked man does what he always does. Nothing. He keeps a comfortable distance as he waits down the clock. His rotten doughy outside being more tainted by the sweet nothings he says until she has to finally leave. He hopes her College life goes well but also hates her for the chance he never had. He knows that she built that chance for herself all on her own and his half-baked self should mind it’s own business and yet still… he hates her. She hurts herself sometimes. A small bit of control and a small amount of defiance. He doesn’t understand why she does it to herself as the half-baked man only understands venting anger that way. To bite hard enough not to draw blood and yet be able to clear the mind of its red haze. Her cutting herself reminds him of the scars his sister carries. He feels anger, pity and jealousy for it. Yet the fleshy dough of the half-baked man does nothing. He does not know what to do about the girl. So, he waits out the clock, hungry for what he could and couldn’t take. So that the choice is no longer his.


At one point in my childhood, my grandfather gifted me with, what my 9 year old self considered to be, the coolest watch I’d ever seen. It had a delicate leather strap that had been embossed with little bees, and the face had Winnie the Pooh with a bee about to land on his nose. I wasn’t a particularly big fan of Winnie the Pooh, but what really made it unique and exciting was the fact that in lieu of a seconds hand, it had a disk that was painted with a string of bees that rotated as the minutes passed, flying their way forever around the face of my watch. Something about it just captured my imagination, and I loved it. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t have it for very long. One day, I wore it to school when I was in the 3rd grade. We had been painting that day and were transitioning to another subject, so I went to the back of the room to wash my hands. I remember so vividly removing the watch and laying it gently to the side of the sink so that it would not get wet, taking the time to even stretch out the band so that it laid flat, and face up so as not to scratch it. When I had finished washing my hands there was a line of other students behind me, so I quickly grabbed some paper towels and dried my hands then returned to my seat, forgetting all about my watch. By a few hours later, I realized what I had done and quickly went back to the sink to retrieve my possession. Only to find that it was not there. I checked the floor and peered into the trash, then around at my fellow classmates. I was at a loss. What should I do? You see, as a child I often felt invalidated, or unimportant. I was a middle of the radar type kid, keep quiet and do your work, don’t get called on and don’t get in trouble. Because of these feelings I never spoke up, I never told the teacher or asked anyone. It would have put me in the spotlight that I tried very desperately to avoid. I chalked it up as a loss as I sat back at my desk and sulked for the remainder of the day, thinking of what I would say when my grandfather asked me why I wasn’t wearing my watch. About a week later I saw one of my classmates in the back of the room washing her hands. She was one of the “cool” girls, always perfect homework and handwriting, the one who seems to be friendly with everyone except me, and she was wearing my watch. But what could I say? Who would believe me? I even noticed that she had managed to get a bit of green marker on the band. My heart dropped as I watched and silently said goodbye to my gift. Fast forward two decades, and I have my own little 9 year old running off to the third grade every day. Recently he purchased his own digital watch from target, with his own money. It was a proud moment. A few months ago, we realized that the watch was missing, my son said he wasn’t sure where it was and that he may have lost it. My husband and I scolded him that we must keep track of our belongings, then chalked it up as a loss. Today I received a phone call from my son’s vice principal, she says that my son had confronted another student about a watch that he thought was his but had lost. She asked that I describe the watch to her, and when I did, she confirmed that yes it appeared to be the watch in question. She’s waiting to hear back from the other student’s parents whether they can confirm the purchase of the watch or not. Regardless of what the other parent says, I’m proud of my boy. He felt that he was wronged, so he took action and stood up for himself. Somehow, twenty years later, I was able to instill a value into my son that I still struggle with today. I still remember that girls name, her face, and the jealousy I felt that day as I sat at my desk while she washed her hands wearing something I had once treasured. I can never go back to fix that, but at least my son won’t have the same regret.


This is part one of a series I've been working on for a while. Currently, I have six parts up (plus 4 parts of an alternate horror version). Warning Profanity.  The world is going to end soon.  Or that's the conclusion one would reach from surfing the internet. Mayan calendars predicted the end, they were wrong. Homophones said gays would be the fall of modern society. But they got the right to marry, and I got a raise two months after. The two incidents were most likely coincidental. Still though, one day someone is bound to say the world is going to end and the next day it'll be gone. Poof, up in smoke. No more dogs or cats, no more Ben and Jerry’s and existential crisis. No more keeping up with the Kardashians because spoiler alert for those not keeping up, they’d be gone too.  I digress. While someday the world may be over, that day wasn’t today. Today was for all intents and purposes, normal. Work was work. Hopefully, sitting in the car and contemplating life, afraid to walk into the office knowing damn well it drains every ounce of happiness from me isn’t a pastime that only I partake in. Because I did that today, as I do most days.  Then, Janet, she’s the receptionist, was in front of me somehow It dawned on me that I entered a sort of hypnotic state and walked into the office without realizing. She was chewing gum, smacking her lips eagerly, her eyes burrowed into me.  **Janet**: Well?  She intimidates me, more than other people do. I’m never prepared to talk to her. Not that it matters.  **Me**: The uh… calls? Today’s calls…  **Janet**: Um-hmmm… Here.  She handed me a folder. Same as any other day. Same as the one I had held in my right hand.  **Me**: This is… yeah, you know.  We trade folders. She’ll file my reports, and I’ll go track down pests. We’ll do the same routine tomorrow.  I turned around and pushed back out the front door. I walked not to my aging, beige Toyota, but to the aging, white company van. The side of the van says "Ron's Pest Control" in black text with no logo or even a phone number. Shouldn’t it have both, maybe even a slogan? One that rhymed, like “We fight pests better than the rest!” Also, I don't know who Ron is. A John hired me, Mike is another exterminator, Mary does something in the office maybe accounting, and of course, there's Janet, no Ron though.  ▪ ▪ ▪  A family was sitting outside their home with tents and a grill set up. The camping gear screamed, “help my house has been overrun with rats!” so I knew I was in the right place. The family was squinting at the van, it is never what people expect. I got out and circled the van, they now squinted at me. I am never what people expect.  **Me**: Is this 215 Hanger drive?  **Man**\-on-lawn: Yes sir.  **Me**: Rat infestation, right?  **Man**: Yes, are you the exterminator?  He glanced once more at the van as if it would answer him, well I suppose it did. I nodded.  **Man**: Well go on and get your equipment and let yourself inside.  **Me**: That won’t be necessary, I’ll go in and evaluate before I bring anything in.  Walking into the front door of the house, the family’s eyes were on me the whole time. That is until the door shut shielding me from their quizzical looks. The living room was modest. Only one photo of the family hung above a couch that has seen its fair share of movies from the outdated wide flat screen parallel to it. No rats though. Then my nostrils were attacked by the foulest stench of what had to be body odor and rotten food. There was a rat: somewhere.  On my left appeared to be the kitchen so I started walking towards it. The stench seemed to be getting worse so either I was getting closer or my body was refusing to get used to it. I stepped through the doorway, my right foot on linoleum, my left still on the living-room carpet. I turned my head to the left and there it was. It was red, not that color matters. Its claws were overgrown by a few inches and wrapped around a beer bottle that it most likely helped itself to. Its tail fell off the chair and spooled into a coiled mess on the floor. Its bright yellow eyes glanced over to me, they were puffy, perhaps it was rabid.  **It**: Hey  I moved myself into the kitchen and took a seat across from the rat.  **Me**: Hey.  The rat didn’t follow up with anything, just took a long swig of the beer.  **Me**: So, what uh, what’s your name?  **It**: Ron.  This Ron and the Ron I supposedly work for are probably unrelated.  **Me**: Okay, ah, Ron? You can’t be here okay?  If he doesn’t give up easily I’ll have to go back out to the truck and get the Weaponized Overcharged Rely Device or W.O.R.D for short.  Ron started sobbing.  **Ron**: Man, she’s planning on leaving me and taking the kids. I just needed to get out and collect myself, Ya know? But no bar would serve me.  **Me**: Because you’re a rat?  **Ron**: What? No, because I smell so bad. What you gonna do to me?  **Me**: Well, I’d taze you and call for back up. They would probably tranquilize you and lock you up.  Ron threw his hands.  **Ron**: Whoa man, no need to taze me, I’ll go. Rather deal with Samantha then spend time in jail again.  Must be one of Mike’s regulars. He got up and walked at the back door, which shut on his tail. It didn’t seem to faze him. I went out the front door.  **Man**: What’s wrong? Need your equipment? Told you to get it.  **Me**: No, he left, no need to get anything.  ▪ ▪ ▪  I went over paperwork with the home owners. They tried to tip me, very generously at that. I had to decline. It’s against policy. I watched for a bit as the family started taking down the tents to begin reclaiming their home. Then I left, off to the next house.  Oh, I should have mentioned it up top, Ron’s Pest Control isn’t your typical extermination specialist; our hours are 24/7. Well that, and we are one of the only few exterminators trained to deal with the weird and supernatural. And a giant 6-foot rat breaking and entering to help himself to booze isn’t an out of the ordinary call.  If you liked what you read, here's .


\*\*\*** **I originally posted this story in** r/Wholesomenosleep **but decided it was more appropriate to post here, since it's not really scary** **\*\*\*\***  Let me start off by telling you a little bit about myself. I am an only child and I have a mother who loves me more than life itself. I don’t know if this is a good thing or bad thing, only that I can’t always control it. Usually at night, when people go to sleep, they’ll have dreams, wake up, and then vaguely remember them. The same happens to me, only not quite. When I sleep, I travel into the past. Sounds cool, right? But here’s the thing, I can’t always control where and when I travel to. Sometimes I get nightmares, too. In these nightmares I involuntarily travel to the worst possible times and places to be. Let me tell you, waking up in a Nazi occupied Germany wasn’t fun in the least bit. Now that you know a little about me it’s time to get onto the reason I’m here. I feel that I’ve done a terrible thing and I have to get it off my chest. My father passed away earlier this year due to a heart attack. And to be honest, my mother hasn’t been taking it well at all. Ever since that day, she hasn’t been herself. She’s quieter, she likes to be alone, and she stopped doing the things she has always enjoyed such as gardening and holding her book club meetings. About a week ago, I knocked on her bedroom door, only to walk in on her sitting up in bed, just staring at the window. This is how most mornings have been for a while now. I was just checking in on her to tell her that I finished preparing breakfast and afterward decided to resume moving around a bunch of my father’s stuff around in the attic as we have been trying to organize some boxes. One thing you need to know about my father is that he was very old school. He saved newspapers, and kept a journal which he wrote in daily. So I went upstairs and starting moving boxes when I noticed one of them was slightly open with a piece of newspaper sticking out of it. Curious, I opened the box and pulled out the newspaper. The headline read: “October 9th, 1990: Plane Crash Kills All Passengers on Board”. “Jesus Christ” I thought to myself. I continued reading the article until I got to a list of confirmed deaths. What shocked me about this list was that among the deceased, there was someone named Elena who shared the same last name as me: Decker. My parents had never told me about any aunts or cousins who had passed away so I was surprised to see someone with my last name had died in a plane crash. What stuck out even more was that my father kept a copy of this newspaper. Inside the box was my father’s journal. He wrote A LOT and had a journal for every year. I grabbed his 1990 journal and flipped through the pages until I got to the date on the newspaper. I skimmed down the lines, tracing the words with my finger until I got to the middle of the page. “I wish I could have stopped her from getting on that plane. When Elena was packing up that morning she had misplaced her ticket and I helped her find it, just in time. A moment later and she would have missed her flight.” I flipped through the pages, skimming the lines for anything else about Elena, but I couldn’t find anything. Maybe there was more, but I wasn’t going to read through this monster of a journal to find it. At the very bottom of the box, I found a physical copy of Elena’s obituary. From it, I found out that at the time of the plane crash she was 17 years old. She was a senior in high school, a cheerleader, and one of the top of her class. I didn’t want to ask my mother about it, but I knew exactly where and when Elena could be found. I kept the newspaper article and later that night I was in bed, thinking about Elena. I leaned over to grab the article off my nightstand and read the date one more time. “October 9th, 1990” I thought to myself that if I could experience the American revolution to pass my history test, I could go meet this Elena girl, right? So I shut my eyes and focused on that date. I’m not good at focusing my travels, but I’ve been getting better at it lately. Honestly, it’s a hit or miss but there was no harm in trying. I cleared my mind and closed my eyes, patiently waiting to fall asleep. After I don’t know how much time, I woke up. It was day, and I was in the middle of a football field. There were guys running and cheerleaders practicing their routines. Cars were driving by on the street and I tried to take a moment to absorb in the scenery and where I was when suddenly, a football hit me in the back of the head. I fell to the ground and a big guy runs up to me, laughing. “You gotta keep your eyes open, you’re in the middle of a football field, man” he said “Maybe you should watch where you’re throwing the ball, Brad” said an unfamiliar female voice from behind me. I turned my head, only to see one of the cheerleaders there, she had her hands on her hips and seemed irritated, like this isn’t the first time something like this has happened. “Sorry Elena, Will and I were playing catch and it turns out Will only knows how to catch, not throw.” said Brad. Jackpot. Brad went back to playing football and Elena helped me up. “Are you from around here?” she asked “Nope, my family just moved here. I’m still trying to get used to the city.” I replied, trying my best to come up with a fake backstory. “Oh I see. So what’s your name?” she asked “Romeo, I think I got that your name was Ele-” as I tried to answer, I heard thunder. It was raining when I went to sleep and the thunder was literally ear shattering. As it continued, I began to pass in and out of this period in time. In order for me to stay in the current point in time, I have to remain asleep. I once was in Salem and my alarm went off. I was labeled as a male witch and I think you can infer how that went. Anyway, eventually the thunder stopped and I stopped slipping between the past and present. Elena however, gave me the most wide-eyed look I’ve ever seen in my life. Shit, I thought to myself. “You’re a time traveler” she exclaimed “What? How do you know?” I asked “Because I am too, and the same happens to me. Did your alarm clock go off?” she asked “Oh” I began to chuckle “nope, there’s just a lot of thunder” I explained For the rest of the day Elena and I just talked about our time adventures and she took me to one of the best burger places in the city. “So, when did you first find out about your powers?” Elena asked “I’ve known for a while. It’s so much of a big deal to me anymore. I haven’t told anybody.” I replied “Good, keep it that way. If people knew what we could do, then we wouldn’t be having adventures anymore. Everybody has regrets. If someone you loved died, and you knew your best friend could easily go back in time and save them but didn’t, how would you feel?” she said I looked out the window and a car pulled up, I looked through the tinted window to see the driver. It was my dad, but a lot younger. My heart skipped a beat to see him, so full of life. “Hey, that’s my dad. I gotta go.” she said. Suddenly all the pieces came together. Elena packed grabbed her things and was putting them into her backpack. My dad honked the car three times outside. “I’m running late to the airport. You should travel here more often, or maybe we could go somewhere else” she said I got butterflies. My first instinct was to tell her, and spare her a cruel fate. However, one rule I stick to when I travel is to not change anything too much. This was something more significant to me. If I saved her, I could change everything about my family, including my own existence. Would my parents still have me? Would my parents be different? Would it be for the better or for the worse? Either way, I stopped myself. My throat was in a knot. I just swallowed, looked her in the eye and said: “Yeah, see you around.” Elena left through the front door and I watched her through the window, getting into the car, and talking to my dad. He pulled away from the curb and as they drove off into the distance, my alarm went off. I woke up, it was morning the sun was up. My first thought: I just killed my sister. I don’t know how to feel. I keep telling myself that it was to ensure my own existence but at what cost? I got up to open the curtains slowly. “I love it when the sun shines after a thunderstorm” said a female voice behind me I turned around, to see Elena in the doorway. “Elena you shouldn’t be here” I started to say. She walked toward my bedside, and picked up the article. “Shit.” I thought to myself “Don’t worry, I’m asleep on the plane right now." she said. In this moment I really didn't know what to say to her. All I could do was look her in the eyes as they began to water. "I noticed you looked a lot like our dad. So I thought to myself, why would my brother from the future travel back in time to meet me, seemingly for the first time.” she explained, looking up at me. “I wanted to tell you, I really did.” I said Elena slowly put the newspaper article back on the nightstand. “The past is the past. If I can accept it, then so can you.” she said, tears beginning to flow down her cheeks. I walked up to her and gave her a hug, she hugged me back, a lot harder. As we embraced, she began to slowly fade from this point in time and I was left there, alone in my room.


7:00pm EST  Good evening, America.  I know the media has been climbing all over each other for a statement from the Presidential office regarding our current health crisis, but I wanted to have as much information as possible before addressing the American people. Were times not so dire and the need for action so immediate, I would still be waiting for more information to address the nation. Unfortunately, America, that is not the case. The bald truth is this: more is unknown about this epidemic than is known. Medical professionals around the world are working tirelessly to provide answers, but as of right now, no cure or preventative mediation have shown long-term effectiveness.  Known by different names around the country – Creeping Flu, Bellows, Influenza M – the infection is spread through direct disease transmission. Simply being touched by an infected person does not cause transmission of the disease from one person to another, but an exchange of bodily fluids will. This can come from being bitten by an infected person, ingesting fluids from an infected person, or sexual contact with an infected person. I must stress… simply touching an infected person will not transmit the disease. Forced quarantine upon medical professionals based on this misinformation will only lead to further infection and unnecessary condemnation, not to mention the loss of valuable personnel.  The speed of infection appears to increase with every new generation. Because of this, providing an accurate timeline for symptom progression is impossible. What we can do is provide a concrete, concise list of symptoms. Before we address this, however, it is important to note that one or two symptoms does not necessarily indicate infection. With so much confusion, stress, and exposure to new drugs, it absolutely makes sense that people would be getting sick with perfectly normal diseases. This is not the Wild West and we are not horses: a bullet is not the cure for a broken leg, nor is it the cure for the average flu. Even now, when the infection can potentially spread so quickly throughout the body, we must be sure of our decisions.  That being said, the symptoms, in order, are as follows:  1. General fatigue/weakness 2. Cluster headaches: sharp, burning pain behind the left eye 3. Burst blood vessels in left eye 4. Quickly onset fever of above 106 degrees Fahrenheit 5. Vomiting/diarrhea 6. Hallucinations 7. Paralysis 8. Death 9. Reanimation  Symptoms will appear in the order shown. No variation of symptom order has been observed, though personal susceptibility to individual symptoms may accelerate the onset of specific steps. Again, I must stress that individual symptoms do not indicate an overall infection.  Finally, it is with a heavy heart I inform America that its military will be unable to assist at this time. Were this an invading foreign power at our nations door, the United States Armed Forces would be fully prepared to stand and defend her people. As it is, we have been found shamefully unprepared to address an epidemic of this strength and nature. For the foreseeable future, the American people will need to rely on their own grit and perseverance in order to weather this storm. This will not be the first time the mettle of the American people was tested, nor will it be the second, nor the third. America is a nation born of independence and ingenuity. A nation of adaptation and spirit. This is a fight we will win, my fellow Americans, but one that will take a heavy toll.  Doubt is a rot in the heart of mankind which is easily planted by fear – one that must not be allowed to take root.  It has been an honor serving you, America. Thank you, good luck, and god speed.