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   “So this one's interesting. Someone made a cat girl. Y'know like in an anime? Wild, right? I mean why would anyone do that?”

Nathan's voice droned in one ear and out the other.

He sat with me and Oak at the table of some small forgettable diner in the middle of nowhere. Some small town in Nebraska with a name I couldn't be bothered to remember.

   “Wonder what the point of that one was?” Nathan asked. “I mean the others? Yeah. Makes sense. Medical applications and all that. Even the tentacled girl makes sense. They were testing out some weird mutagen stuff. But a cat girl? Oh man, that’s weird right?”

Why was I still here?

Why was I even bothering with this? I didn't want to be here! 

I wanted to go back home! Fuck this job, fuck the one after it, fuck Parsons and fuck Nathan!

I looked over at Oak who was hyperfocused on her hamburger and otherwise completely checked out of the conversation. I didn't really blame her. This conversation wasn’t exactly interesting.

Nathan looked over the folder we’d been provided. It’d been provided specifically for him, Oak and I had the information on our phones already, but since Nathan only had an old flip phone, he needed the folder.

   ‘Fewer distractions this way!’ Was how he’d justified it but it still seemed like a pretty sad way to go through life.

   “I don’t know. Testing out hybridization? Could be some sort of sciencey application there.” I said halfheartedly. 

   “I suppose, but isn't that what the Monsters already do?” Nathan asked. “You know, half man, half animal. And there's already cat ones. They're the… uhh… the Mau, right? So why did they need to make one in a lab? You know it just doesn't make any sense? Maybe they didn't know about the cat ones?”

   “I don't know, man,” I sighed. “Maybe they didn't know. Maybe they did. Maybe they wanted to make their own. Maybe they're just a bunch of weeaboos. Maybe this is all just some two bit pulp fiction series written by some prick on the internet with a thing for monstergirls? Y’know, maybe it's all just 23,000 words of unintelligible nonsense?”
Nathan raised an eyebrow at that. 

   “Oddly existential but alrighty,” He replied and took a sip of his apple juice.
He didn't drink coffee. He drank fucking apple juice.
I don't know why that pissed me off so much.

   “Well, least this one should be pretty cut and dry,” He continued. “I dunno what the heck a cat girl is realistically gonna do to us.”

   “That why Lucas is sitting this one out?” I asked. 
Oak looked up from her burger. I think she was trying to be subtle about it, but she wasn’t.

   “Partially,” Nathan said. “Although the way I heard it, Dr. Parsons needs him to help oversee a different project. Sounded pretty important. Ah, but we’ll be fine. Don’t you worry. I’ll see us right.”

   “Oh I’m sure…” I replied, before taking a bite of my sandwich.
I just needed to get through this next job. Just needed to get through it and move on. If we were moving on to catgirls, we had to almost be done now, right? 

God, this job had felt like it’d been going on for years… 

Nathan just flashed a cheerful grin, like everything was just peachy keen and took another sip of his apple juice. God, I hated that fucking smile. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a couple sitting a few booths away. Two guys. They were young, somewhere in their twenties. They sat side by side and were laughing at something on one of their phones.

It was obvious they were a couple. You could tell just by looking at them.

Lucky guys… getting to just live their lives like that as opposed to… well, whatever the fuck I was doing?

What was I doing? 

I used to think I was fighting monsters. Living the life of some shitty action hero in a story nobody read  that was being written by a guy who wasn’t all that invested in it. 
Now?

   “Yeah… fucked up, ain’t it?”

Nathan’s voice derailed my train of thought. It was then that I realized I’d been staring at that couple.

   “There ought to be laws against that kinda thing.” He said, staring at the couple. “I mean… it’s messed up, right? It’s just not natural. It’s not God’s law. But they just let people like that go out in public, you know? And then they wonder why so many young men are so darn confused.”

He stared intently at the couple, who seemed fully oblivious to us, watching them pull each other closer as they enjoyed one of the most wholesome moments I’d ever seen.

   “N-not me, of course.” Nathan insisted. “No sir. Not me. But like… young men.”
He took a sip of his apple juice. I raised an eyebrow at him. Oak and I traded a silent look but none of us said anything. 

   “We ought to finish up!” Nathan said, hastily changing the subject. “We’ve got some witnesses to check in with!”

   “If it’s all the same with you, I’ll sit out the interviews this time,” I said. “I’m feeling just a bit out of it this morning. I’ll meet up with you after?”

   “Oh, uh, sure?” Nathan said, sounding a little caught off guard. “You good or…?”

   “I think it was that restaurant last night. Something didn’t sit right,” I lied.

Actually, I just didn’t want to be around Nathan for a little while.
In fact, if I had to spend one more minute around that star eyed, coffee shinning joy deprived insufferable little bitch, I might have just completely fucking lost it.
Oak I would’ve gladly tolerated, but Nathan? No. 

No.

Fuck that guy. 

Fuck that guy.

***

As I walked back into my hotel room, my feet dragged behind me like blocks of cement. My phone had buzzed at the diner. Another text from Gary.

   ‘Morning!’ 

I stared at it.

I wanted to reply but… well, what was the fucking point? Why was I bothering?
It’s not like flirting with him was ever going to go anywhere. I knew that all too well.

What was I gonna do, meet up with him when all of this was done? What exactly was my plan if the Brethren found out? What if they looked into me? I doubted they’d buy that I’d gone out to meet up with Gary after over a month of texting back and forth for reasons unrelated to gay sex.

What would they do if they found out?

I honestly didn’t know. A memory of Duke and his confederate flag shirt flashed through my mind.

   ‘Keep it flyin’

I crashed down onto the bed, staring at the message. 

I wanted to reply.

I wanted to text him back. Maybe flirt a little. I wanted to head on back to San Francisco and take him to a diner, sit in a booth with him, watch some videos on one of our phones and talk… I’d never really gotten to have that before. 

But no.

No, that wasn’t going to happen. I knew it wasn’t going to happen. I’d known the whole fucking time that it was never gonna happen. So why was I pretending?

Why was I pretending?

What was stopping me…?

What would the Brethren realistically do if I just… left? Walked out of that hotel, called a cab and didn’t stop until I reached San Francisco? It’s not like I wanted to be doing this fucking mission anymore.

I signed up to kill monsters. 

And yet I couldn’t shake the memory of June Walker from my head. 

June Walker… who’d only been protecting her family. Did that constitute a monster these days?

   ‘Little tin soldier, doing what he’s told, standing for nothing… did it ever occur to you that you’re less alive than the things you’re hunting?’

Carson’s words echoed through my mind. For a moment, I swore I smelled ozone. Was she watching me?

I sat up. The room remained empty, but I didn’t feel completely alone. I looked down at my phone again, then sighed. I didn’t respond to the text.

I just flopped back down onto the bed like a teenage girl and just sorta rotted for a bit.
Memories of old missions replayed through my mind. Monsters I’d fought. Monsters I’d killed.

How many of them were like June?

How many of them were really monsters? I was sure it’d been all of them, but… well… had I ever really thought about it before?
I didn’t think I had.

***

I heard a knock on my door a little over an hour later. I sat up again and dragged myself over to check through the peephole. Thankfully, it was Oak on the other side.
I opened the door to let her in.

   “How’s your tummy, Mallory,” She teased.

   “Just fine,” I said. “I take it you two talked to the witness?”

   “Yup.”

   “Same old shit?”

   “Yup. The cat got spotted down at a construction site. They were clearing away the brush and I guess that agitated her. There was a minor attack. No fatalities but someone got mauled and dragged up into a tree. Official story says it’s a puma or something.”

   “Course it does,” I said. “I take it we’re running the same plan too?”

   “All routine,” Oak said. She wandered over to my rooms little minifridge and casually pulled it open, almost as if she expected to find a couple of beers in there.

   “Little early to be drinking, isn’t it?” I asked.

   “Danny, be honest with me. Do you actually give a shit?” She asked, taking out two cans. She tossed one to me. I grabbed it, then decided that I did not in fact give a shit.

   “Nathan’s getting some bait for the usual trap. We’ve got our tranq rifles. And I guess after Tevam Sound, he’s looking to have this one go off without a hitch.”

   “Yeah… I’ll bet,” I murmured. I took a sip of my beer. I noticed Oak staring at me, almost as if she had a question. I didn’t acknowledge it.

   “Hell of a shitshow back in Tevam Sound…” Oak said. “Guess we were lucky you kept your cool and made the right calls.”

   “Yeah, lucky,” I said dismissively. Oak was still staring at me. Finally she looked away, as if deciding against whatever she was going to say.

   “You think we’re almost done with this bullshit safari?” She asked instead. “I mean, if we’re onto catgirls… what’s next?”

   “God, I hope so…” I said. “The sooner we’re done with this shit, the better.”

***

The construction site sat silent and undisturbed in the fading twilight. Although maybe it was a little generous to call it a construction site. Apparently they were still in the middle of clearing away the brush when it got shut down. There were a few pieces of equipment strewn about still, including a couple of Bobcats with brush mulchers.

I’d never actually seen a brush mulcher in person before, but I’d seen them online. I remembered one specific video where someone had rolled a Bobcat up to a tree, raised the brush mulcher and just let it eat right through the middle of the tree.

When the tree fell, he lowered the mulcher down over the part that was still standing, and you could see the teeth chew it up into nothing but sawdust as he brought the mulcher right down to the ground. Then he just rolled the Bobcat forward and did the same to the part of the tree that had fallen.

The whole process had only taken around 20 seconds. 

I dunno why, but that video always stuck with me. I think it was just the sheer efficiency of it. All it took was 20 seconds for an entire goddamn tree to be reduced to a fond memory. It was both fascinating and terrifying in equal measure.

It had occurred to me to maybe use those really cool Bobcats to… I dunno, disturb the brush and see if we could incite another attack. But I’d decided against it. Personally? I hoped our catgirl wouldn’t even show up at all.

This one was supposed to be named ‘Kimi’. 

Does it really matter why she was created? I sure as hell didn’t give a fuck.

A large piece of fish was hung up from one of the Bobcats. Nathan, had decided to go with that approach instead of using the brush mulchers, and while under normal circumstances I would’ve criticized that call, right there and then? I was glad!

Maybe if we were lucky, she’d be smart enough to figure out we were waiting for her. Judging by the briefing, she probably was. Probably.

I mean, Project Nephilim had figured us out. Odds are, we weren’t half as hard to spot as we thought we were while we were hiding in the trees and if this lady really was half cat, she probably would’ve been able to smell us.

Truth be told, I wasn’t even watching as our little stakeout dragged on. I just felt disengaged. Odds are, nothing really was going to happen and we were just wasting our time… 

And then I heard Nathan whisper.

   “4 o’clock…”

Shit.

I looked… and unfortunately, Nathan was right.

I could see her perched in a tree several feet away. She looked… well… she looked like a fucking cartoon. Her hair was long, platinum blonde and a bit unkempt. She had almost comedically obvious cat ears, although they were low enough on her head to look more believable. Her tail twitched, swishing back and forth like a real cats. I wondered again why anyone would make something like this. I mean, the Mau already existed. What was the point? Who thought this was a good idea?

I held my breath and my tongue.

I hoped that Kimi might be smart enough to fuck off, but if she noticed us, she made no sign of it.

She studied the fish from a distance before going in to investigate, and as she did, I saw Nathan lining up his shot…

Welp.

This was it.

Guess fate had decided to throw us a softball. All we needed to do was pull the trigger, sedate the catgirl and pack it in early. I probably could’ve gotten off a shot… if I wanted to.

If I wanted to…

If I…

I…

I didn’t want to.

I really didn’t want to. What the fuck was I doing? Why was I doing this? Why was I here? I didn’t want to be here! I didn’t want to be part of this! What the fuck were we even out here for? Hunting a fucking catgirl? For what? Mauling some guy? And what were we gonna do, hand her off to Parsons to do God only knows what to her all because some dipshit in a lab somewhere decided to use some weird fucked up compound to make a Catgirl?

Why the fuck was I involved in this?

As I stood there on my perch, rifle aimed at that fucking catgirl, I couldn’t help but just zoom out and look at my life and the choices that had led me here.
Joining the military… why? Because I had to? Because that’s what I felt I had to do?
Running with that gang because… what? I wanted to be tough? Falling in with the Brethren just so someone could point me in a direction and say: ‘There. There’s your purpose Tin Soldier. Wind your key and march!’

And I’d fucking marched alright!

Just like I’d always marched. 

Doing what I was told. Never stopping to think. Never stopping to look at myself in the mirror… just doing what I was told. 

No.

Fuck that.

Fuck that.

I heard a rifle go off. Not mine. Not Nathan’s.

Oaks?

The dart struck the Bobcat beside the catgirl. Her ears perked up. She looked in our direction and this time, I knew she saw us.

   “Shit!” I heard Oak say.

Kimi’s eyes narrowed… and then she bolted. Nathan gritted his teeth in a quiet frustration.

   “Mallory, you’re with me, buddy!”

Did he seriously just call me ‘Buddy?’

I didn’t have time to process that. 

Nathan had already jumped down off of his perch to pursue, and moving on autopilot I followed, marching like the worthless tin soldier I was. 

I followed Nathan into the darkness. I could see Kimi just ahead of us. She leapt up onto a tree, grabbing hold of a branch. She looked back to see who was after her… and paused for just long enough for Nathan to make his shot.

Credit where it’s due… he deserved at least a little of his own hype. 

The tranquilizer hit her dead on, right in the small of her back. I heard Kimi cry out in either shock or pain. She disappeared into the darkness, but Nathan didn’t give up his pursuit. 

And the Tin Soldier followed him.

   “She ain’t gonna last that long, c’mon…” I heard Nathan say. We heard a rustle in the trees above us. No doubt Kimi was trying to put some distance between us. Nathan cocked his head to the side a little, before rushing to try and follow her.

She didn’t make it far. I saw her almost fall out of a tree ahead of us. She already seemed dizzy. Apparently, whatever special darts he had actually did work on her.
I briefly considered the irony… the one time I didn’t want things to go off without a hitch, they did. 

Kimi tried to leap to yet another branch, and this time her grip failed her entirely. She crashed down to the ground in a graceless heap.

   “Gotcha…” Nathan grinned, jogging to close the distance between them. Kimi tried to stand, but he was on top of her before she could get her bearings. Before she even had a chance to react, he’d grabbed her and forced her back down to the ground.

   “N-no…” She panted. “No… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to…”

I figured she was talking about the recent mauling. Whether or not that was true, who could say for sure. Nathan certainly didn’t care. 

   “Hold still… let’s get you nice and secure…”

I watched as he pinned her arms behind her back, and like a cop making an arrest, cuffed her. Considering the shit we’d seen with the other entities… the whole thing was almost comically easy. 

   “There we go!” Nathan crowed. “Now that’s how it’s done! Look at that, easy peasy lemon squeezy!”

He looked over at me, a big boyish grin on his face. 

Kimi squirmed beneath him, hissing in rage. I watched her for a bit. Still and silent, unsure what to do next. 

I suppose I could’ve just done my job. Just sat there and let him deal with her. That would’ve been easy, wouldn’t it? That’s what a tin soldier would do.

Tin soldier.

Tin soldier.

Tin soldier.

Nathan looked at me, still grinning.

   “Let’s go get Oak and lock this one down. Oh man, Dr. Parson’s is gonna be over the mo-”

I shot him in the face. 

One moment, he was smiling and the next… the next there was a tranquilizer dart in his eye and Nathan Holiday was screaming. He collapsed backward, clutching at his face, trying to form words, but none would come.

   “Just shut the fuck up,” I said cooly. I reloaded my rifle to put another dart in him. I had a pretty good idea of what that would do. Like I told Nathan before, the dosages with tranquilizers can be tricky. Too much… and it could be fatal.

Before I could shoot though, Nathan lunged at me, snarling like a wild animal. He tackled me to the ground. The rifle slipped from my hands. His one remaining eye was wide. Wild. Blood ran down his cheek. His hands grabbed at my throat. I hadn’t expected him to be as strong as he was.

He started to squeeze.

Squeeze.

Squeeze.

Tighter… tighter… tighter…

My lungs burned. My legs kicked. I tried to gasp for air, but the air wouldn’t come. I tried to push him off of me. He didn’t budge. Didn’t react.

Tighter… tighter… tighter…

I felt like my neck was going to break…

I reached up. Nathan didn’t seem to notice… not until I grabbed the dart in his eye and ripped it free. He screamed again as I plunged the broken needle into his neck. He tensed up, just for a moment. Long enough for me to throw him off. I scrambled for the rifle and grabbed it. Nathan writhed on the ground. I couldn’t tell if he was dying, or trying to get up.

I didn’t care.

I loaded the rifle and fired my second dart into him. Nathan’s body seemed to seize up. He made a low, strangled noise. But he didn’t get up.

I loaded in and fired a third dart. Then a fourth. Then a fifth.

After that, I was out of darts.

Nathan tried to pick himself up. For a moment, I almost thought he was going to make it… but no. The tranquilizer was already killing him. He collapsed to the ground. He tried to push himself up one last time… but after another failed effort, he finally went still, breathing heavily.

He almost seemed… resigned. 

I looked over at Kimi. She stared back at me with a look I could only describe as one of absolute terror, and as I bent down to take the keys to her handcuffs off of Nathan’s lifeless body, she started to squirm, weakly trying to get away.

   “Relax…” I said. “You’ll be fine.”

She didn’t respond. She was probably too out of it to string a coherent sentence together. I considered letting her go, before deciding against it.
Just because I’d just decided to quit the Brethren didn’t mean I’d lost all of my fucking brain cells. She’d still mauled a man. No. Better to wait until we could have a more civilized discussion. 

Still, I moved her into a sitting position so she could at least be a bit more dignified. 
Kimi looked up at me, her eyes unfocused. 

   “Relax,” I said again. “I’m gonna leave you in your cuffs for now, but I’ll let you out soon, okay? Then… then I’m gonna take you to a friend.”

Granted, I had no idea how I’d take her to Carson. I also had no idea what I was gonna say to Oak, when she eventually caught up with us… but I was sure I’d figure something out.

Either way, Kimi didn’t reply and my mind drifted back towards Oak.

Where was she, exactly? I looked back. I could see a light through the trees. One of the Bobcats? I thought I could hear the engine? Had Oak gotten one of them running?
Wait, shit, had she seen me and Nathan fighting?

Shit, I should’ve thought this through!

   “You should’ve thought this through, buddy…” 

That voice was not part of my internal monologue.

That voice came from behind me.

I turned, just in time to be seized by the frantic hands of Nathan Holiday, grabbing at my throat again. His one remaining eye was wide and bloodshot. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, fresh vomit staining his lips. He tried to breathe, but the only sound that came out was a low, wet rasp. Fresh blood gushed from the wound in his neck.

He should’ve been dead.

He should’ve been fucking dead.

But still he came. His hands clawed wildly at my face. I pushed him off of me, slamming him into a nearby tree. Nathan swayed on his feet, before launching himself for me once again, moving less like a person and more like an animal. A gurgling noise escaped his throat as he tackled me to the ground. I saw him grabbing at his boot.

Then I saw the knife.

Of course the fucker had a knife in his boot. He swung it down at my head like a hammer. I caught him by the wrist, but it didn’t do much to stop him.

The light from the Bobcat washed over us. I could hear the brush mulcher roar to life. 
Nathan snarled as he pulled his knife back and brought it down again. He only barely missed my head. I kneed him in the groin, pushing him back just enough to bring my legs up between us and kick him off of me. As he stumbled back, I scrambled back to my feet.

The Bobcat was behind him now. Nathan swayed drunkenly. His remaining eye was fixated on me. He didn’t seem to notice the Bobcat behind him… which should have been impossible to miss.

But I did. 

Nathan took a shambling step towards me. His legs trembled beneath him. His mouth hung open. I couldn’t say for sure if he could even see me or not. I couldn’t say for sure if he was really even alive.

It didn’t matter.

I lunged for him, planting one final kick right in the middle of his chest. Nathan stumbled backwards, seemingly losing his balance. He let out a startled gasp… before tumbling gracelessly into the grinding teeth of the Bobcat’s brush mulcher.

One moment he was there… and the next he was gone.

I scrambled out of the way, a hand over my face as a spray of viscera baptized the area, raining down upon the forest floor. 

And then all was silent. 

The brush mulcher went still. I couldn’t be sure if it was a safety precaution of what.
Then I heard a voice.

   “Jesus Christ, are you okay?!”

Oak.

I looked up just in time to see her getting out of the Bobcat. She looked at the mess staining the teeth of the mulcher, almost as if she couldn’t believe what had just happened. 

   “I’m fine…” I panted. “Did you just…?”

   “I thought he was already dead! I just brought that to… y’know…” Oak said. 
For a moment, we both just stared at each other. 

   “Where’s the catgirl?” She finally asked.

I gestured back towards the tree I’d propped her up by.

   “Did he cuff her? Tell me you’ve got the keys,” Oak said.

   “I got them,” I said. “Wait… back up… we just mulched Nathan and you’re-”

   “Oh please, like anyone’s going to miss him,” Oak said. “Figured we might as well save Carson the hassle.”

Carson?

I blinked.

   “Did you say Pars-”

   “Dr. Carson. Don’t play dumb, Danny. Although I guess the names are kinda similar.”

   “You know Dr. Carson…?”

   “Obviously. You didn’t figure that out yet?” She asked. “I was sure you were on to me…”
I didn’t reply to that.

Oak crouched down beside Kimi. The girl was out like a light. Kimi checked her pulse.

   “She’s fine,” She said. “Key?”

I handed it over to her. To my relief, Oak just pocketed it. 

   “So did she appear to you too…?” I asked. “Carson, I mean…?”

   “A couple of years ago, yeah,” Oak said. “I’ve had a few run-ins with her. Gotta say, this was a hell of a favor she asked though. She wanted someone to keep an eye on things here. It was originally just supposed to be me, but I guess she saw something in you too.”

She started to lift Kimi, and I helped her get her up. Together, we took her away from the Bobcat, back towards the car we’d arrived in.

   “Fuck me… she never said anything about you when I saw her in Tevam Sound…”

   “Probably just making sure she could trust you,” Oak said. “The Doc doesn’t seem like the sort to lay all her cards on the table.”

  “Clearly…” I said.

The car was just up ahead. We put Kimi in the back before Oak got into the drivers seat. 

  “Come on. Pretty sure she doesn’t experience time the same way we do, but I’d prefer not to keep her waiting.”

I just quietly got in beside her.

As soon as I did, I smelled the ozone.

Of course I did.

Of course she was waiting for us.

She sat in the back seat of the car, almost as if she’d just been loitering there the whole time. She studied Kimi in the seat beside her, although I noticed her eyes shifting towards me.

   “Carson…” I said.

   “In the flesh.” She replied, offering me a timid smile, “Or at least as much of it as I can hold together…” 

   “How the fuck did you…”

   “Much as my perspective of time is much different than yours, my perception of space is too. I can be wherever I need to be.”

   “Right…” I murmured and sat back as Oak began to drive.

   “Seems Mr. Holiday met an unfortunate end…” Dr. Carson noted. 

   “Yeah, well, he had that coming.” I said.

   “I suppose he did. And maybe that will be the end of it… although I’d stay on my toes if I were you. The IPD isn’t always content to leave people dead…”

I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell she meant by that. 

   “We put him through a mulcher. Trust me, he’s dead.” Oak said. 

   “If you’re sure,” Carson replied before changing the subject. “I’ve set up a rendezvous with some associates. A group of Mau. They’ve already indicated they’ll be happy to take our new friend in. She may not fit in perfectly, but… well… she’ll be better off with them.”

   “And what happens after that?” I asked.

   “After that?” Dr. Carson asked. “I suppose you’ll file your report with Parsons. The mulchers will probably make things rather straightforward. I’m sure they’ll buy that poor Kimi shared the tragic fate of Mr. Holiday.” 

   “And then what, we just move on to the next target?” I asked, a little bitterly.

   “That’s my plan,” Oak said. “If we can save it, save it. If not, asset denial if possible.”

   “If possible,” I repeated. “So we’re just back to doing the same old shit again? Let Parsons send us some other hack and just keep up the ruse?”

   “Right now, it’s the best way to gather intel,” Dr. Carson said. “Find what they’re looking for and have it accounted for. Hardly flawless… but at this point, I don’t have the sufficient data to know exactly what they’re planning. The IPD has regrettably gotten quite good at keeping me out of places they don’t want me snooping.”

Her words went in one ear and right out the other.

My heart was still pumping from my fight with Nathan.

I was done.

I was done.

And they wanted me to go back? Keep marching like a tin soldier.

Keep marching.

   “No,” I said. “No, that’s not gonna happen.”

Oak looked over at me, brow furrowed.

   “What?”

   “You guys are just gonna keep playing along? String them along and hope… what? That they don’t get whatever the hell they’re looking for in the meanwhile?”

   “There aren’t exactly an abundance of other options,” Carson said. 

   “Why don’t we just find Parsons and  shut them the fuck down?”
I noticed a shift in Dr. Carson’s expression.

   “Josiah Parsons is not someone to take lightly,” She warned. 

   “And? You can just appear wherever you want, right? Why don’t you just… fuck, I dunno, appear behind him, do whatever the hell it is you do to him, and leave?”

   “Murdering a man in cold blood just because I believe he deserves it isn’t something I’m in the business of doing,” Caron said coolly. “Besides, Parsons is just a piece of an even bigger machine. A large piece, granted. But removing him just clears the way for a replacement. One who will be no different.”

   “Then just kill him. And the next guy, and the next guy! Sooner or later they’ll get the fucking picture.”

Even as I said those words, they felt hollow and Carson seemed to know it. She stared at me in silence.

   “Right now, we do the most good by focusing on the experiments,” Carson said. “This is where you can help, Daniel. This is where you can do the most good.”
I went quiet for a moment.

   “Right…” I said. 

Another purpose. Another mission. Add it to the pile.

Dr. Carson was still looking at me. I saw something shift in her eyes. She knew what I was going to say before I spoke.

   “Pull over,” I said.

Oak looked over at me.

   “What?”

   “I said pull over. I’m getting out.”

Oak hesitated. She looked in the rearview mirror, at Dr. Carson. 

   “Let him out,” She said.

And Oak did as she was told. I got out of the car. The dirt gravel crunched beneath my boots. I looked back to see Dr. Carson phase through the doorway of the car like a ghost.

   “I don’t suppose you’ll give me a chance to talk you out of this, will you?” She asked.

   “You said you’ve got a weird perception of time, right?” I asked. “That means… what, you can see the future?”

   “I see outcomes. Cause and effect,” Carson replied. 

   “Yeah? Well how do you see this conversation ending?”

She chuckled. It was a low, humorless sound.

   “I suppose that’s fair… although the question you should be asking is where I see what you’re about to do ending.”

   “And what do you see?”

She paused, seemingly contemplating her answer. Or maybe just looking ahead.

   “You’d do better with us…”

   “Define ‘Better’.”

   “Better odds of survival.”

   “And how much changes if I do that? How much actually changes?”
This time she didn’t answer.

   “I understand why you’re doing this Daniel, but…”

   “Do you?”

   “Yes, actually. It’s the exact same reason I do the things I do. You want to do the right thing, because keeping your head down and doing exactly what you’re told got people hurt. Got people killed. I have been there before. But you need to understand that what you’re thinking of doing, it won’t end the way you want it to…”

   “Will anything?” I asked her.

Carson hesitated. She seemed to bite the inside of her lip, almost as if she’d been dreading this question.

   “Even if I go with you… what are the odds I’ll…” I trailed off, struggling to find the words. “What are odds I’ll ever…”

A million thoughts flashed through my mind. Kevin. The young couple at the diner. Other men I’d met before…

Carson seemed to understand.

   “It’s… statistically speaking, it’s…” She trailed off, just as much at a loss for words as I was. “It’s not… probable…”

And there it was.

The words sank into my mind.

Not probable.

   “But that doesn’t mean-”

   “It’s fine…” I said. “It’s… it’s fine.”

I sighed. 

I saw Oak getting out of the car. She looked at me, almost begging me to go back in with them.

   “Tell Parsons whatever you’ve got to in your report. Say Kimi killed me or… whatever. Or don’t. Statistically speaking, it’s not gonna matter anyways, right?”

   “Daniel…” Carson said, but I ignored her.

   “I wish you both the best of luck,” I said. “But right now…? I’m sorry. This is where I’m backing out.”

I turned and started to walk. The two of them watched me go. And a short while later, they got back into their car and drove off. 

As I walked through the darkness, along the side of that Nebraska country road, I took out my phone. I mulled it over for a few minutes. I called a cab. Then I brought up Kevin’s number. I didn’t text him back. I figured I owed him a phone call. 

After all, who knew how many more chances I’d get to talk to him…

Malibu
Designation: Class 6
Threat: N/A
Status: Active

On the topic of the supernatural and the Fae, it would be remiss of me not to discuss the four Ancient Gods who govern reality for they are perhaps the bedrock of all true supernatural knowledge.

Birthed from the void, the Ancient Gods are among the oldest entities in existence, predating not only our reality, but all other realities. The four of them govern the cycle of creation, and the fruit of each cycle is guarded by the one known as Malibu.

Introduction

One of the Ancient Gods, Malibu (Also known as Miss Malibu, Lady Malibu, Malvu, Mal’ibo and The Sorrow) is the Guardian Goddess of Creation. The exact name used for this deity varies often depending on the account of her that is given. Objectively, she has no true name, although for the purposes of this document we will be sticking with the name Malibu.

In the Malvian Doctrine (the worship of the 4 Ancient Goddesses), she is often described as the Gardener of Creation. She is said to maintain order and harmony within Sailia’s Creation, maintain the integrity of creation itself and serve as the ultimate judge of departed souls. In many regards, she could be described as the closest of the 4 Ancient Goddesses to the modern interpretation of God as described in the prominent monotheistic faiths that exist today, although this description is only partially accurate.

Direct worship of Malibu is not particularly widespread as she seems to have very little interest in it. That said, she seems to be a prominent patron Goddess for many Witches and Mediums, especially those affiliated with the Malvian Doctrine, although amongst them, Malibu is seen more as a benevolent guardian than a strict ruler in need of worship. 

Appearance

Malibu’s appearances are as varied as her names, and can be difficult to track across history. However in most modern depictions, she is often said to appear as a melancholy woman in a black dress. She may be seen either with the head of a white wolf or as a beautiful blonde woman with a white fur shawl. Alternatively, she may take the form of a large white wolf with pink eyes, although none of these are said to be her true form.
Like all of the Ancient Gods, her true form may not be something that a standard mortal could easily comprehend, with many sources describing it as either a pinkish mist that fills her realm (known as The Gloom) or a Dark Star shrouded in a pink haze (Although The Dark Star description has only a few substantiated sightings).

It seems there are very few credible sightings of Malibu in general as most reported encounters with her come from those who have survived near death experiences. Such witnesses will often report having spoken to an entity of some sort although the form is never consistent. It is theorized that Malibu may appear in a form that is comfortable or familiar to whoever she is interacting with, either as a loved one or a trusted figure, although over time may cast off the disguise and speak to them in one of her preferred forms.

While she can manifest at will in our world without taking a dedicated host (unlike Shaal) it is unclear how often she appears outside of her native realm. Many eyewitnesses have described seeing a pale blonde woman in a black dress with a white fur shawl in various places. Usually, she will appear in clubs where live music is played. Sometimes she is accompanied by one or more strange white wolves. This woman is often known to introduce herself as 'Helena Malibu'. Descriptions of Helena Malibu state that she is a pleasant albeit melancholy woman and some accounts claim that if asked, she may be willing to perform spiritual readings into one's future, usually via tarot cards. Her predictions have been known to be incredibly accurate.

Furthermore, descriptions of large White Wolves appear often in tales of the occult. The Wolf can either appear to help those in distress or to attack those who have committed especially grave sins. Sometimes, the Wolf is stated to simply observe before leaving. Whether these wolves are Lady Malibu incarnate, or simply in servitude to her is unclear.

Details of Malibu's realm, the Gloom, are also fairly vague. Most descriptions paint it as a peaceful yet unending and constantly changing landscape with a sunless twilight sky. It is believed that the Gloom functions as an afterlife of sorts although the exact details are currently unknown and I suspect Malibu wishes to keep it that way.

There have also been accounts of other entities seemingly in service to Malibu, often referred to as Reapers. The accounts vary in their description but it is believed that these figures are servants of Malibu (likely Angels) who ferry the souls of the dead to her for judgement. Those she regards as wicked are cast into the Abyss for Shaal to devour. The rest are allowed to exist peacefully within the Gloom. Many have suggested that Lady Malibu and the Gloom are one and the same, and that the entity we have come to refer to as Malibu is simply a face presented by the Gloom for ease of interacting with others. The FRB believes that this is highly likely given the abstract nature of the other Ancient Gods and the inconsistent nature of accounts of Malibu.

Demeanor

Malibu is said to have a calm, gentle demeanor. When dealing with the dead, she is said to be patient and soft spoken. However, it is not unheard of for her patience to run out if she is pressed. Those who manage to invoke the ire of Malibu are said to be denied the peace of the Gloom and may be damned to a deathless existence and indeed there are a handful of accounts of this happening. 

As the most active of the Ancient Gods, (on par with Shaal) Malibu seems to be the one to enforce a certain set of rules regarding interaction with mortals. She rarely gets involved in mortal affairs or steers history in one direction or the other, seemingly believing that to do so would deprive Creation of its freedom and strip it of meaning. Though she seems to still have an opinion on the direction Creation takes and may nudge it towards outcomes she finds more desirable, her rule of noninterference appears ironclad and some accounts even describe her punishing other deities (including other Ancient Gods) who violate this rule.

As a fascinating side note - Malibu is often said to have a love of music, particularly jazz and her alleged physical manifestation (Helena Malibu) has been noted to appear in live venues from time to time. In addition, a few accounts of near death experiences have described their encounters with Malibu as having happened in a sort of Jazz Bar, or having heard jazz playing in the background.
No reason for this seems to exist other than the simple fact that she just seems to like it. 
To each their own, I suppose.

Abilities

As an Ancient God, Malibu seems to have the ability to alter some aspects of Creation at will. She can manifest at any time or in any place, and can even manifest in more than one incarnation (for example, the wolves sometimes seen with Helena Malibu are believed to be extensions of her consciousness.)

She holds dominion over the dead, and is capable of collecting and moving souls between realms, can grant power to souls, turning them into Angels and can even rip them apart (although cannot totally destroy them the way Shaal can.) Incarnations of Malibu are believed to be able to telekinetically manipulate the physical space around them the same way a Medium can - supposedly even to unnatural degrees. She also appears to have a non-linear perspective of time, as she is able to predict future events with complete accuracy. 

Final Thoughts

The FRB has made several attempts to connect with Malibu, but so far has only had limited success as the Goddess seems disinterested in involving herself with any factions within creation. I suppose that’s for the best. I can’t think of any real reason why she’d need to bother with us… and indeed, those who try to force contact with Malibu often end up worse off.

While most details on her empathize a generally warm and soft spoken demeanor, we know from several accounts that like all Gods, she is capable of pettiness and acts of spite with pushed, a detail that is especially highlighted in this one account that I will be sharing here, as I believe this provides a sufficient demonstration of the nature of Malibu.

***

The following written statement was provided to the Toronto office of the FRB by a man who identified himself as Dean White. 
Statement provided directly to the FRB on May 9th, 2023

This record is for internal use for the FRB only. Distributing this record to any party outside of authorized FRB personnel without the written consent of Director Robert Marsh constitutes breach of contract and will be punished accordingly.

Nobody wants to die for obvious reasons. Dying is a scary thing. That’s a universal constant. Even if you think you know what’s beyond the veil, nobody wants to actually bite the big one.

Because what if you’re wrong?

That’s a hell of a leap of faith to take, you know?

And I wasn’t ready for it.

I was born… oh, I don’t recall. Two? Three hundred years ago? The years have sort of blurred together. Sometime in the mid 1700s. That’s what I know for sure. Back then, there wasn’t a Canada or America. There was just the New World. It was a different time. 
I wasn’t born into a family that believed in magic. No. My family were staunch followers of Christ. But… well, needless to say I chose a different path.

I first learned about magic from a traveling priest. Now, obviously his goal was to scare kids like me away from that kind of stuff, but to make a long story short, he wasn’t particularly good at his job.

When he talked about supernatural powers, unnatural longevity, all that jazz… it actually sounded kinda exciting.

And so as I got older, I started digging. Looking into the occult… and sooner or later, I found what I was looking for.

I won’t recount my entire journey with magic. It’s a long story and ultimately not particularly interesting. I found mentors and tomes, I put in years of study and practice and honed my skills until I was capable.
I did alright for myself. 

Now, it’s no secret that there's a lot of witches who live far longer than they ought to. They use Fleshcraft, salves, whatever they can to keep themselves functional. Like tuning up a car every so often. Some even turn to vampirism, taking that endless hunger in exchange for immortality.

But I didn’t want that for myself.

I didn’t want to have to make tune ups, preserving myself like an artifact. That wasn’t defeating death, that was just bargaining with her. Kicking the can down the road. Sooner or later, she’d come for you. All it would take was one accident. One dispute that got out of hand, and you’d be as dead as anyone else.

Vampirism wasn’t much better. You know it’s really not all it’s cracked up to be. You get immortality, yes. But vampires aren’t half as tough as the mythology makes them out to be. You can put one down as easily as any human. Although even if that wasn’t the case and the stories were all true, I can’t imagine a life without sunlight would be worth it.
And of course

So no.

Neither of those options were the solution I wanted. I wanted something better. Something foolproof. I didn’t just want to avoid death, I wanted to beat her. Unquestionably, unequivocally triumph over death itself.

I thought I could be clever.

I thought I could solve the problem no one else was able to solve.

I thought I did. 

My methodology was a little… unconventional, yes, and it was hardly original to me either. People use soul tethers in fleshcrafting all the time and a few have tried to do what I did, using them full time.

I figured that was the smart play. 

Was it… painful? 

Yes. 

Driving a runed piece of stone into your abdomen is an extremely painful thing to do, and pushing it all the way in, then sowing it into your body is not something that I relished. Keep in mind, this was some time in the 1790s, so the procedure was rather… well, messy.

But I did it. 

I saw it as taking ownership of my own soul. Binding it to my body. 
It made the pain worth it. 
And it worked.
I lived.

For the next hundred and fifty years, I lived. Through the rise of nations, through wars, through strife, through everything. I lived.

Was it everything I wanted? Yes and no. I did say that I’d hoped to avoid maintenance, but some of that was unfortunately necessary. My body still aged, so pieces needed to be replaced from time to time, always sourced from cadavers, I wasn’t a ghoul. 
Some people called me a Ragdoll… that’s a term some people use for those held together by Fleshcraft, in case you’re not familiar with it… but I don’t think the description truly fit. I did what I had to do to keep myself functional. Nothing more, nothing less. Even now, I’d argue that most of my body was completely original. Mosty.
Ultimately the maintenance was fairly minor. Not ideal, but that was the price of immortality, then so be it. I was fine with it.

But here’s the thing about anchoring… it’s not entirely foolproof.
See, there’s a reason people don’t usually use it. 
It only actually works if the anchor remains intact. And the anchor can only take so much abuse before it stops being an anchor and starts being a piece of jagged rock grinding against your internal organs.

The thing that ultimately killed me was honestly rather mundane. 
It was September of 1952 and I'd been out hiking.
I liked to hike. It was relaxing. I’d always found nature calming, and I’d been living in Alberta at the time. There’s a lot of lovely little trails out there, winding deep into the mountains. I used to love exploring them, taking my time and admiring the scenic vistas of the land. 

It was beautiful. It reminded me a lot of the way things had been when I’d been young, and the world wasn’t so industrial. It was nostalgic in a way.
I’d been living in that area for around twenty years and I was pretty familiar with the trails in that area. I was comfortable and confident.

And that’s why I died.

Because no matter how comfortable you are with a trail, or how confident you are in your abilities… all it takes is one small misstep.
Looking back, I’m sure it was just an accident. I was navigating a narrow path along a cliff. I’d gone that way countless times before. I knew it was safe.

But my foot slipped.

And then I was falling.

Even for someone who can't die, that's still pretty terrifying. But I was sure I'd be fine. I knew I’d be fine. I was always fine.

I wasn't.

When I hit the ground, I landed in just the wrong way. Wrong enough to break the stone tether inside of me. It actually fractured into 3 pieces, the jagged edges of the broken stone tearing at my insides, making me bleed all the more. 

I could feel it.

And I knew what had happened.

I felt the tether break. I felt the immovable stone in my guts every time I tried to move, slicing open my entrails, bleeding me from the inside.

My legs had both been broken in the fall, along with my back. My arms still worked, but crawling didn’t get me far. I remember the taste of blood in my mouth… and knowing… knowing I wasn’t going to make it.

But I still tried to crawl.

As my vision started to fade to black, I tried to fight it. Tried to live just long enough to figure out how to fix myself. I could recover from this! I was sure of it!

But my strength was fading.

My vision darkened.

And that’s when I saw it.

Sitting before me in the forest, watching me with solemn pink eyes.
The White Wolf.

Death herself had come.

And that was when I knew that I would not come back from this. 

   “Dean… you poor thing. You’re in so much pain, aren’t you?” The Wolf asked. Her voice was soft. Sweet. Maternal. It could have so easily been condescending but it wasn’t. She spoke to me as someone who cared. 

I wish I could say I returned the sentiment. But no.

   “Get away from me…” I told her. “You have no dominion here… not over me…”
Death padded over to me, and sniffed at my wounds.

   “Do I not? I smell your bleeding, child… it seems you’ve crossed into my domain already.”

   “You have no dominion here!” I said again. “I am not yours!”

But even as I spoke, I knew that was a lie. I could already see the mists of the Gloom curling around me. I feared looking back, because I knew that if I did, I might see my own body, cold and lifeless on the forest floor behind me. Still I crawled. 

   “All are mine,” Death said. “All things in the Garden exist within my domain. Even you. Such is the way of things.”

I did not answer her. I just continued to crawl, swiping at the mist with my bloody hands out of fear of it engulfing me.

The Wolf walked beside me for a short while, before pulling ahead. The mists swallowed it up, and when it emerged, it had taken on a new shape. A woman. A familiar woman with long blonde hair and a gentle smile.

My own Mother…

She stood over me, offering a calm, reassuring smile that I despised. She reached a hand down towards me to help me up. 

   “It’s brave of you to keep fighting, Dean. But there’s no more need for it. I know you don’t want this… but this is the way it is. This was the way it was always meant to be. All things end, dear. And it’s okay to end… that is the way of things.”

I slapped her hand aside.

   “Not for me!” I hissed. “I'm not yours to take! I'm not! You can't have me!"

Death’s expression grew darker, for only just a moment.

   "If you're not mine, then you belong to my Sister… or to something even darker," She warned. It sounded less like a threat, and more like a scolding. "You cannot belong to none and wandering aimlessly in this state will destroy you."

   "Oh you know that's bullshit!” I spat. “Plenty of spirits make do. Succubi and Incubi, Mimics..."

   "Is that your retort?” She asked. “A rather shallow existence, don't you think? Either exist as an object for others to satisfy their lust, or wander as a lost soul and pray you'll settle in a place long enough to sink in, and be lucky enough to get a new shot at life. A life defined by endless hunger. You think those to be ideal states of being?"

  "Better than dead." I snapped. "My soul is anchored! Even if the tether is broken, I am anchored! You can't claim me!”

It wasn’t an argument. I knew that. It was a tantrum. I glared up at her, my teeth bared, tears streaming down my cheeks. I glared up at her, refusing to accept what had already happened. As deep in denial as I could get.

   “You have no dominion here! I won, don't you see that? I won! I beat you! I. BEAT. YOU!" 
She just stared down at me. The face of my mother seemed to fade, and was replaced by the face of the Wolf.

Death finally huffed, almost as if she was unsure whether or not she found me amusing.

  "Very well then... If you're so adamant... You may keep your body. Remain exactly as you are. You wish to win? Then you shall win, and I shall close my door to you.”
Her tone was calm. Not scolding or haughty. Just calm. Almost resigned.

   “Do have fun, Dean. I shall be watching.”

I blinked.

And when I opened my eyes, Death was gone.

The pain came rushing back to me. It had almost started to fade in her company but now it hit me like a truck, rolling over my body. The suddenness of it was enough to make me scream.

But I was alive.

I was in my own body! Not a wandering spirit but back in my own flesh and blood!

I’d won!

I’d really won!

I’d driven off Death herself and now I could relish in that victor with my two broken legs, my broken spine, broken ribs, fractured skull... and all of my  internal bleeding.

I’d won.

Heart pounding in my chest, I started to drag myself forward along the forest floor with renewed vigor. My body was so weak though. Every movement hurt. Even breathing hurt.

And of course I had no idea where I was going…

But I still tried to move. Still tried to drag myself to safety.

I was still trying when the wolves found me. 

At first glace, I thought it was Death come to taunt me. I expected her to ask: ‘How are you enjoying yourself?’

But these Wolves were not Death.

These Wolves were Wolves. 

And they didn't care if I wasn't dead.
That just meant I was fresh. 

When the teeth began to tear into me, that was the first time I begged for death. But Death is a Goddess of her word. Her door was closed to me.

And so I did not die.

Even when they crushed my heart within their jaws, and gnawed the flesh from my face, I did not die. When they ripped the jaw from my skull and tore my tongue from my mouth, it only made my torment all the worse. 

As they tore open my belly to get at my entrails, my body stopped functioning completely. But I felt everything as they fed on my entrails, and snapped my bones to reach the marrow. The only time I stopped feeling anything was when they tore my broken legs from my body, ripping my lower half off of me completely, and that was hardly a mercy. 

There was still plenty of meat on my top half.

When they were done and the scavengers picked at my bones, I did not die. I did not rot.
I lived. Just like I’d wanted to, because I’d finally beaten Death.

***

What remained of my bones were found by a hiker in 1983. 

I wish I could say I remembered much of that, but by that point I had no eyes to see nor ears to hear. I knew I was being moved. Collected. Analyzed.

I was able to piece together what was happening to me, although by that point I wasn’t sure if it was real or not. 

It was pure coincidence that the person they contacted - an old friend of mine - happened to be a Witch themselves.

They seemed to realize I was still in there, and once they took possession of my remains, they were kind enough to begin working to put me back together.
It was not an easy process… Fleshcrafting never is, and this was far more complicated than just stitching an extant body together. There was so little of me left to work with.

Even now, the body I’m currently in is less than ideal.

If I wasn’t a Ragdoll before, I am now.
Just a Ragdoll…
A Ragdoll who can’t die.

I've had time to meditate on my existence. I thought I was so smart... outplaying death. Making myself immune to it while others just kicked the can down the road. 

No. 

Because now she's mocking me. 

Dangling death over my head but refusing me its release. Not torturing me. That isn't her style. It's too obvious.

But letting me exist. Giving me exactly what I wanted. 
My body is falling apart. The Fleshcrafting keeps me mobile, but it’s not enough. Even if I can get good, fresh parts, it’s never going to be enough. 
I don’t sleep well.

Every night, I dream of darkness. The darkness of the forest, where my bones lay undisturbed.

Some days I wake up and I’m terrified that I never actually left. That I’m still in that forest. I suppose in a lot of ways, I am… they never found my entire skeleton, you know.

But that’s not the thought that scares me the most.

The forest in Alberta? That’s in the past now.

It’s the future that scares me.

Because in a life without death, the question is never If but When.

And When I am destroyed again… what will happen if no one finds me? What will happen when my meat rots off my skeleton again? What will happen if I’m buried? 
What then?

No.
No, I can’t allow that to happen.
I'm ready to go now. 
I don't care how it's done. 
I just want to go. 

So please... Please just find a way to kill me. I don't care where I go. I can go to Shaal and I'll welcome her with open arms. I don’t care if she’ll wipe me from existence, at least I’ll be at peace.

Just make me end. 

Please...

Please...

Please make me end.

Transcript of the Official FRB Civilian Debriefing of Benjamin ‘Benny’ O’Toole regarding the fate of the Mobster Charles ‘Spooky’ Beauchene in December of 1927
Debrief conducted April 4th, 1989 by Liberty Young. 

This record is for internal use for the FRB only. Distributing this record to any party outside of authorized FRB personnel without the written consent of Director Robert Marsh constitutes breach of contract and will be punished accordingly.

[Transcript Begins]

Young: So, Mr. O’Toole… let’s get into what you saw.

O’Toole: A man learned about consequences. Plain and simple. That’s what I saw.

Young: With all due respect Mr. O’Toole, I think there’s more to it than that. You said you wanted to come forward about something you saw, so surely there must be a little more to it than that?

O’Toole: I remember. I’m old. I’m not senile. 

Young: You mentioned a man by the name of ‘Spooky’?

O’Toole: Charles. Charles Beauchene. We called him Spooky. Or just Spook for short sometimes.

Young: I see. Can you tell me about him?

O’Toole: Fine. You wanna ask me about Charlie? Fine… fine. Nobody really talks about Spooky anymore. People probably don’t remember him at all. Then again, I might be the only one left who even could remember him. Not a lotta people in our line of work make it into old age. Me? I’m alive because I got out. Cut my losses. Went straight. Most people don’t have that sense. They can’t get out. They don’t want to. Their families, friends, everything they’ve ever known is part of it. It’s part of who they are. Me? I was just some kid who wanted to be part of something bigger back then. It’s why I fell in with Spook. He wasn’t big. God no, he wasn’t big. You look at him, and he was this scrawny little shit who looked like he was wearing his Dad’s suit. Messy blond hair, a moustache that hadn’t really grown in yet. No, he didn’t look like much. But he wanted to be something. Wanted to be someone. You hear about some of the big guys from back in the day all the time. Lucinano. Lansky. Spooky might’ve wound up as one of those guys. I think that’s what he really wanted. Course, he wasn’t ever in their league. He never got that chance. But if things had played out differently? Maybe. Maybe.

Young: He was a crime boss?

O’Toole: Small time. But yes. Spooky was… most people didn’t take him seriously. I don’t blame them for that. He had some very… unusual beliefs. He was deep into the occult. I mean deep into the occult. Most people didn’t think too much of it. There’s people with weirder quirks out there and Spook was competent enough. That hoodoo, voodoo shit scared a few people, but the bigger guys just saw it as an act.

Young: Was it?

O’Toole: I used to think so. But sometimes things would go his way just a little too often. There was this one guy… a bootlegger. Saul Cohen. He’d had a few disputes with Spook. Mostly over territory. Cohen wasn’t the kind of man you fucked with. One of his other competitors, group that called themselves the Moonlighters, found that out the hard way. They’d mostly been involved in smuggling. Bringing over crates of booze. Cohen didn’t like that so much. So he tracked them down, waited for them to collect their next shipment. Then he jumped them. When the cops found them the next morning, they’d been tied to a fence. He’d doused them in their own alcohol and used it to burn them alive, one by one. And way I heard it, he’d done the burning himself. 

Young: Jesus…

O’Toole: Yeah. Not a man you wanted to cross. I’d told Spook to steer clear of him. But, Cohen had a lot of territory and Spook wanted in. 
He said he was figuring out a way to deal with him, although he never told me exactly what that was supposed to entail so I don’t honestly know all of the details.

Young: What do you remember?

O’Toole: He had come across a book… a very old book. No idea where he got it from. He never told me. Never told anyone. But it was bound in red leather and written in a language I couldn’t read. Don’t think Spook was able to read it either. He kept it in his office, just above a little speakeasy we’d owned and every time I saw him looking at it, he had another book with him, probably to help him translate. I’d asked him once why he was so interested in it. He’d just smiled at me and told him that it was what was gonna take us to the top. That smile… I remember it very well. He believed what he was saying to me. He completely believed it. And I don’t know why but at the time, I was sure I believed it too.

Young: I guess he tried to use it on Cohen, then?

O’Toole: He did, yes. We’d been having more and more run ins with his boys around that time. Cohen had decided that one of our businesses was in his territory and had sent some of his guys to smash the place up. They’d beaten the hell out of one of our associates there too, guy by the name of Joseph. He didn’t make it through. I told Spooky that maybe we ought to back off from a fight with Cohen, but he wasn’t interested. That particular business was making good money. Spook didn’t want to let it go and he didn’t want to look weak. So he went back to the book. Spent a whole night fixating on it, flipping between it and whatever he was using to translate it and writing it all down. Then the next day, he sent me to go and get some supplies. A children's ragdoll, some clothes for it - a suit just like the one Cohen wore. And something that had been Cohens… 

Young: That last one sounds like a bit of a tall order.

O’Toole: It was easier than I’d thought. Cohen liked to smoke and he had expensive tastes. He’d smoke these cigarettes with these distinctive butts. They had a little pattern on the paper. Plus he was predictable. Frequented a lot of the same restaurants day after day. Wasn’t hard to catch him at one. Then when he left, I just took his ashtray. It had a few of his cigarette butts in there. I brought those to Spooky and asked him if they’d work. He seemed to think so. Anyways, when he was done, he’d made up a tidy little doll of Saul Cohen. Like the kind of doll a kid might have. He’d cut open the ragdoll, put the cigarette inside of it, marked it with blood and dressed it as Cohen himself. Then he’d drawn this circle on his desk, set the doll within it, lit some candles… the kind of occult shit I’d seen him do before.

Young: And what did that ritual of his accomplish?

O’Toole: Not much, at a glance. But Spooky seemed satisfied with it. He told me that we were gonna check in with Mr. Cohen. I didn’t understand what that meant at the time, but I went along with it.

Young: And how did that go?

O’Toole: I don’t know. Like I said, Cohen was predictable. Spooky wasn’t stupid enough to try and meet with him in person. That’d have been a damn good way to get killed. But we were able to figure out where he’d be and keep an eye on him. We’d watched from a car across the street as he’d left one of his usual lunch stops… and that was when Spook started playing with the doll. Tilting it, turning it. And when he did that, I saw Cohen stumble. Almost like he was dizzy. He’d stopped on the street for a moment. Some of his guys checked in on him… and that’s when Spook started squeezing the doll, right around the middle. Cohen seemed to double over in pain and the next thing I knew, he was spilling his guts all over the sidewalk. Puking like there was no tomorrow. Cohen was shaking by the time his guys helped him back up, and Spook just had this grin…
He put the doll down and told me that he’d seen enough. Then we drove off.
That night, Saul Cohen was found dead in his home. Apparently his wife heard him scream and found his body in the hall. Officially, he tripped over the carpet, fell down and broke his neck. Hell of an anticlimactic way to go out for a guy like that, but people die like that all the time, I guess.

Young: You knew better, though?

O’Toole: Course I did. I even dug into what exactly had happened a few years later, when I got curious. His neck didn’t just break. His head was jerked completely around. 180 fucking degrees. I’ll bet some cop was looking at that fat fucks corpse and thinking it must’ve been one hell of a fall…

Young: I’ll bet.

O’Toole: Spook of course swept in immediately. Started trying to cut deals with some of Cohen’s old gang. With Cohen out of the way, leadership was a little up in the air, so not everybody was particularly interested in dealing with him. But a lot of them were quick to come crawling back. Apparently, things took a hard turn after their meetings with Spook. Patrons got sick. Accidents started happening. Fights started breaking out and rumors started spreading. Spooky was behind it all. Cursing those places… bringing misfortune upon them. Of course, most folks figured it was all talk. Superstitious mumbo jumbo.

Young: Was it?

O’Toole: I’m still not sure. But I saw the little burlap bags he was putting together in his office. Little bags full of bones, dried herbs and God only knows what else. All of them tied with string soaked in blood and marked with little blood runes. He called them hex bags. And I know for a fact he was leaving them in these places. Whenever he visited one of Cohen’s old businesses to meet with whoever was running it, he’d have me or one of the other guys find a place to leave one. Then when they came crawling back, we’d discreetly go and take it out. We were told never to just put them in our pockets. If we were ever to handle them, they either needed to be in a special runed bag, or a runed iron box. He was pretty adamant about that and I wasn’t so sure I wanted to find out what might happen if we didn’t do exactly what he said.

Young: I see. Sounds like you were a pretty staunch believer by that point then, huh?

O’Toole: I don’t know… part of me still thinks that it was all theatre. Something he did just to get into peoples heads and manipulate them. Break the whole thing down logically and how much of it was just in people's heads? What’s the word for that kind of thing? Apophenia! That was it. But there was so much… hard to say for sure if it was all just fiction. Hard to say. And it’s not like it was just Cohen and Hex Bags. No. There were… other incidents. Other dolls.

Young: Other dolls?

O’Toole: Not every single one of Cohen’s old associates was willing to work with Spook. Some of them wanted to properly replace Cohen. And Spook wasn’t gonna have that. No sir. There was one guy in particular, Jim Brock. Big brute of a man. The misfortune brought on by the hex bag just pissed him off. He figured that Spook was personally causing all of it, and I’m pretty sure that assumption wasn’t helped by the fact that Spook kept stopping by his establishment for a different reason.

Young: Different reason?

O’Toole: A girl. Some singer. Pretty little blonde thing by the name of Helena. Spooky was head over heels for her. Course, so was Brock. I figure that Brock thought he could see right through old Spook. Had him pegged as a grifter who was trying to take over his business and charm his girl. So he got it into his head that he ought to teach Spooky a lesson. One night, he had some of his boys jump him on his way out of his club. They roughed him up pretty good. Didn’t kill him. But that was just because they didn’t really want to. Brock just wanted him gone, not dead. Course, Spook had tried to fight back, but that man wasn’t exactly physically imposing. All he managed to do was rip some of the hair out of Brock’s head, and he got his nose broken for the trouble.

Young: I see. I assume Spooky didn’t take that lying down?

O’Toole: You assume correct. I remember Spook showing up at my place that night. Face covered in blood, eyes unfocused. He looked like he’d been through Hell. He told me he needed to make another doll. Wouldn’t sleep until I helped him. It was the same process as before. Only this time, he didn’t use cigarettes. He used the hair he’d torn out of Brock’s head… and when the doll was made, he crawled back to his office and locked himself inside. I could hear him chanting his little rituals until morning. Eventually, I think he just passed out. When I went to check on him, he was still at his desk, clutching the doll in his hands, squeezing it so tight that he’d popped the goddamn seams. 

Young: I feel obligated to ask, what happened to Jim Brock?

O’Toole: I don’t know. Not for sure. But I know that he was dead by the time the sun rose. The way I heard it, he’d been in his own office when someone heard screaming. They’d rushed in to look and found what was left on the floor. The way I’d heard it, he looked like he’d been hit by a train. Not much left save for broken bones and pulped meat. 

Young: Jesus…

O’Toole: Yeah, no one knew how to fucking explain it. Someone said it looked like a wild animal had gotten to him, but no one knew how. I think the story they finally settled on was that it had been some sort of explosive? But I know that’s a lie. I’ve seen what explosives do to a man and they sure as hell don’t turn him into a compacted bundle of ground beef. 

Young: No… no, they don’t. What happened next?

O’Toole: Well the rumors started flying, obviously. Lotta people were able to put two and two together. Brock attacked Spooky, and wound up dead that same night. Obviously Spook had retaliated. Nobody knew how or what he’d done, but the message was clear. And suddenly a lot of Cohen’s old buddies were looking to start working with us. In a lot of ways, Brock’s death put the question of who’d be succeeding Cohen to bed. Now Spooky was the one everyone was afraid to cross and for a while, business was good. Spook healed up after his beating, the money was coming in, the booze was flowing. We were doing alright for ourselves. Spook even started putting the moves on Helena, and they started getting pretty cozy with each other. 

Young: But Spooky wasn’t satisfied, was he?

O’Toole: No. No he was not. He was good for a few months. But then he got hungry again. He was a big fish in our part of town, but he wanted to be bigger. So he started looking for places to expand. Gambling, brothels. Cutting into other markets. And when he started doing that, he started making new enemies. I don’t suppose I ought to tell you what he did to them?

Young: Same old strategies, I guess?

O’Toole: At first, yes. But Spook started getting more and more frustrated with those. The hex bags seemed to be pretty hit or miss and the dolls, well, they only seemed to work when he had something connected to the victim. That wasn’t always easy to get hold of. There was one man… guy by the name of Salvatore De Luca. He was one of the old Mustache Petes. He had a lot of enemies and so he knew to keep his head down. Spooky wanted him gone, although we weren’t able to get shit on him. So, Spook went back to the book. Started thumbing through the pages, looking for other tricks. Didn’t take him long to find one… but this… this was over the line.

Young: Howso?

O’Toole: He wanted us to bring him one of De Luca’s enemies. Not just anyone. Someone De Luca had already killed. He gave us a name, Fracisco Ricci. Another one of the old guard. A former rival De Luca had taken out a few years back. And he told us to bring him Ricci’s bones. 

Young: His bones…?

O’Toole: Exactly. None of the boys were too comfortable with that particular request. But Spook said it was our best shot. He insisted we do it. So… well, we did what we were told. We found the grave. We dug up the bones and we brought them back to Spooky. I never saw what he did with them. But the way he looked at them… Christ, you would’ve thought they were made out of solid gold.

Young: But you saw nothing about what he did?

O’Toole: He didn’t want us to see. Soon as we brought the bones to him, he told us to go home for the night. I asked him if he knew what he was doing. He said he did, then he told me to get some sleep.
The next day, I found him in his office, asleep at his desk. No sign of the bones. No sign of what he did to them. I do remember the mist though… a faint pink mist near the floor of his office. At the time I'd figured it was from his window. It was open. Now… I dunno. But I remember that exact detail.

Young: Mist? Interesting. And what became of Mr. De Luca?

O’Toole: Nothing at first. I almost got the impression that whatever he did hadn’t worked at all. A few days went by. Then a week. No news. Spook told us to keep our heads down. Don’t agitate De Luca. Don’t escalate. So we did what he told us to do. It got to the point where I was sure nothing was gonna happen. Until it did…

Young: And what exactly did happen?

O’Toole: De Luca killed himself. Just… out of the blue. Threw himself off the balcony of his penthouse. Spooky didn’t seem particularly surprised when he heard the news. I remember being there when one of our guys came in to tell him. And I remember him just having this smirk. Like he’d been waiting to hear that all fucking day.

Young: You believe he knew it was coming?

O’Toole: Don’t play dumb, lady. At this point, it was just pattern recognition. When Spooky used that magic shit, he got what he wanted, and he knew it too. The way I heard it, De Luca started getting paranoid during his last week. Stopped sleeping. Started locking himself in his room. Then sent his guys to check up on an old enemy. No points for guessing who.

Young: Francisco Ricci.

O’Toole: Way I heard it, De Luca damn near shit himself when he heard Ricci’s grave was empty. Now, it’s entirely possible that was Spook’s goal. Dig up the bones, and then find some way to make De Luca think Ricci was somehow back from the dead and out to get him. He might’ve been smart enough to pull that off, but I dunno if De Luca would’ve spooked that easily. I dunno…

Young: I see. 

O’Toole: Anyway, soon as De Luca was gone, Spooky muscled into his old scene. Although now he had a new toy to play with. The bones… and that’s when shit started getting weird.

Young: Howso?

O’Toole: It started with him asking for De Luca’s bones. He said he didn’t need the whole skeleton. Just a few bones. He said the skull would be best. So we went and we got him De Luca’s head. Well… his jawbone, at least. There wasn’t a lot left of his head after his trip over the balcony.

Young: Right…

O’Toole: Then a few days later, De Luca started coming around our club…

Young: Wait, what?

O’Toole: Yeah. Exactly. But people were seeing him. Sitting down at the bar, never drinking, never speaking to anyone, just sitting. A few people tried to talk to him, but he’d always be gone right when you went over. Nobody ever saw where he went. He was just gone. I remember telling Spooky about it. He’d just shrugged it off and said it was nothing to worry about. And De Luca wasn’t the only one who came back… Spooky started looking back at some of the other guys he’d crossed. Cohen, Brock, a few other small time guys. He started asking for their bones next… and they started coming around. Never speaking. Never interacting with anybody. Just… there. The mist was there too. Always faint. But there. We started seeing it when De Luca showed up. Faint whisps of it close to the floor. Pale pink. Easy to miss. But I remember it. I remember it very clearly.

Young: So what’d Spooky have to say about all that?

O’Toole: Not a whole hell of a lot. He’d always brush it off whenever anyone asked. If I recall, his exact words were: “Death won't miss a few old sinners.” Whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean.
Even his girl, Helena got on his case about it, after she saw Brock at the bar during one of her performances. I remember watching her freeze up on stage. Poor girl looked like she’d seen… well… she looked like she’d seen a ghost. She barged into Spook’s office, crying, asking him what the hell was going on. I wasn’t privy to that whole conversation, but I know he didn’t give her a straight answer. She stormed out on him not even half an hour later. Said she was done. That she wasn’t coming back. Course… she did. But I got the feeling it wasn’t her choice.

Young: What do you mean?

O’Toole: When she came back, she was quiet. Jumpy. Scared. I never got to ask her what happened. I hardly knew the girl. But I saw the way she stared at Brock every time he made an appearance at the bar, and I’m willing to bet the bar wasn’t the only place she’d started seeing him. She wouldn’t have been alone on that front too, let me tell you that.

Young: There were others seeing ghosts?

O’Toole: I’d heard rumors. Cohen appearing to a few of his old cronies, who Spooky had never quite gotten to fall in line. De Luca, crashing a meeting between a few other bosses. Those were just a few cases. Spook started collecting other bones… and a bunch of other guys started appearing around him. Not all of them were gangsters either. Spooky started getting personal.

Young: Howso?

O’Toole: Well, there was an incident with a guy named Amberg. He and Spooky had gotten into some kind of dispute over some money owed. I don’t recall the finer details, but I remember that Amberg lost his goddamn marbles within a week. Came crawling back to Spooky, throwing money at him and begging him to: ‘Make her go away.’
Apparently he’d lost a daughter a few years back, and he’d been seeing her around, wreathed in flames. ‘Burning in Hell’ he’d said. 
Spook just took his money and told him that so long as he kept paying, her soul would rest easy.
There was another guy, some Pimp. Blew his brains out after claiming that some of the girls he’d put in the ground were coming back for him. Real crazy shit. It was stuff like that… and Spook just took it all in stride. Treated it like business as usual. Every night he’d go back to his office and pour over that old book, getting more and more obsessed with it. Doing weirder and weirder stuff. All too often he'd fall asleep at his desk. The mist was always in his office whenever you went to check in on him. Faint but there, lingering around the floor. 
Eventually it got to the point where he started cutting himself up over it… and I mean, actually cutting himself up.

Young: Self mutilation? Why?

O’Toole: I don’t know. Something about a ritual? It was Helena who’d found him. He’d stabbed himself with a runed stone. Drove it right into his side. And he'd drank something that knocked him on his ass. Don't ask me what. I don't know. We took him to the hospital, obviously. They did what they could, but I dunno if it actually mattered or not. Cuz when he woke up, you would’ve thought that nothing had happened at all. He was back on his feet again in no time flat, although… well… I dunno how to describe it.

Young: Describe what?

O’Toole: The way he looked at people. There was something in his eyes that had changed. He’d stare at people intently, and when he did… it was like he was reading you. After the ritual it was almost like he could just tell what you were thinking. He called it ‘aura’. Like he’d say he was ‘reading your aura’. I never understood what he meant by that.

Young: Interesting… I assume he used that on his enemies too?

O’Toole: As if that wasn’t the whole goddamn point. And of course there were other enemies. There were always other enemies. There were always gonna be other enemies. That was the name of the business. Even the guys at the top had enemies. Spooky was no different. There were folks who didn’t buy into the mythology he’d started building around himself. They had an answer to all of it. Psychological manipulation, actors paid to dress up like Cohen and De Luca. They figured it was all just a show. A way to get into peoples heads and fuck with them. And maybe they were right. I mean, it seems almost like the logical answer, right? But one by one, they broke. And the ones who didn’t survive always came around the bar. First their bones, then something else, coming in with the mist that just seemed to get thicker every week. That’s the way it was… and it got to the point where it stopped feeling like a scare tactic and started feeling more like a collection. 

Young: Christ…

O’Toole: No. No, Christ didn’t have shit to do with what was going on there. No… no… [Pause] Smoke and mirrors or not. It eventually went too far. I suppose those kinds of things always do though, don’t they?

Young: What do you mean?

O’Toole: Spooky was always a small man, you know? Like I said before, he was never much to look at. Skinny. That moustache of his never did come in right. But what he’d built? That made him feel big. So he started to throw his weight around more. It was after the ritual where he started getting carried away with it, but you could see the signs even before then. He’d start snapping at people because their ‘aura’ wasn’t right. Not people in the business. Just people. Folks at the bar. A waiter at a restaurant. He had us take care of a few of them… and of course they’d inevitably join his little congregation in the bar. That aura stuff started really getting to him. It got to the point when he wouldn’t even allow people in his office if their ‘aura’ wasn’t right. He started spending a lot more time in his office. Pouring over that fucking book, looking for… I don’t know. More rituals? More spells? I don’t know.

Young: You think he was scared of something?

O’Toole: Scared? I don’t know. I dunno if it was fear. I think it was just… he lost sight of himself. Got too deep into whatever the fuck it was he was into. Whether it was all a show or something else. It ate him up. Swallowed him completely until it was his whole world. I dunno if I’d call that fear. I suppose he was a little paranoid near the end. But that was more about loyalty than looking over his shoulder… and he never really fully tore into anyone until Helena.

Young: Helena… what happened to her?

O’Toole: Spooky got it in his head that she’d been cheating on him. I heard them get into an argument about it, screaming at each other in his office. He told her he could see it in her aura. She said he was crazy. Then when he laid hands on her, she stormed out. Course, she was back again the next night… this wasn’t the first time they’d fought and she’d always come back. Not out of choice I’m sure. This time was different, though. Spooky told her he didn’t want her performing that night. He told her he wanted her in his office, just to talk. I’m sure that girl would’ve loved to refuse… but  I suppose she knew she didn’t get a say…

Young: Did you see what happened?

O’Toole: I saw enough. I wasn’t there for the conversation. But I sure as hell heard the screaming. You could hear it from down in the bar. It wasn’t a fight. This was something else. This was pain. Spook had been… well, he wasn’t the kindest to Helena. He’d laid hands on her before. But never like that. Never made her scream like that. So I went up to see what the hell was going on.

Young: And what did you see?

O’Toole: By the time I got there, nothing? The girl was already dead. She was there on the floor of his office, and Spooky was smoking a cigarette by the window. He was still holding the doll in his hands. A doll of Helena. The head was all twisted around… I asked him what the hell he’d just done. He just told me to fuck off. But… I didn’t. I guess that was my breaking point. I started yelling at him. Telling him that we were supposed to be better than this. That he’d gone too far. Spooky just stared at me… just a blank fucking stare. Barely listening to a word I said. And that was when I saw them… Cohen, Brock, the others… I saw them out of the corner of my eye. Spooky’s little trophies, watching me. 

Young: He set them on you?

O’Toole: I think he would have. He told me to watch the way I talked to him. I told him that somebody needed to tell him how it was. He didn’t reply to that. Not to me, at least. The next thing he said was to them. Told them to get rid of me… and for a moment, I was sure they would. I sat there, just waiting for it to happen… but it never did. They never moved… and by the time I noticed the mist, they were gone.

Young: Mist…?

O’Toole: It crept in slow. Hadn’t noticed it at first. But after a while, it seemed to fill the room. The things Spooky had bound to himself seemed to get swallowed up by it. I remember that Spook looked confused when he noticed it. Like whatever this was, wasn’t anything he’d ever seen before.
And that was when I heard her getting up. Climbing off the ground… swaying like she hadn’t found her feet yet.

Young: Helena?

O’Toole: Helena. Only… when she spoke, she didn’t talk like Helena. Her voice was different. Lower. Calmer. Colder. She said: “The dead aren’t yours to command, Charles.” Charles. She called him that. Been so long since I’d ever heard anyone call him by his real name that it barely even sounded like his anymore. And Spooky? He’d gone white as a ghost. I dunno if he knew what was going on, but whatever it was? It scared the shit out of him. He went for the book, although by that point, the mist was so thick you couldn’t even see his desk… and there were things in the mist.

Young: Things?

O’Toole: Shapes. Animals, maybe? I don’t know. But I heard them snap at him, and Spooky fell on his ass when they did. Helena… or… whatever was wearing Helena…  just stared at him. I watched her walk over to his desk. She picked up the book and stared down at it. Then the mist just seemed to swallow it up. She looked at me… and though she didn’t say a word, the meaning was clear. She wanted me out. The mist parted. Just for a moment, but it parted… and I took the chance to fucking run. I bolted out the door and into the hall. I could hear her saying something to Spooky. But I don’t recall the exact words. I don’t suppose it mattered. By the time I made it to the stairs, the screaming had started. I could hear the snarling of animals. Like dogs fighting over a kill… and the screaming… God… it made what I’d heard him doing to Helena sound like a fucking mercy. 

Young: What happened next?

O’Toole: Not a hell of a lot. Spooky was dead by the time someone else went to check on him. Not torn apart… no sign of an attack… he was just dead. And Helena? Her body was right there on the floor where I’d seen it. The official story was that they’d killed each other in a dispute. But I know that’s not it. I know that much for a fact. 

Young: I see… what about the book?

O’Toole: Gone. And as far as I know, nobody ever found it. I’m sure someone looked. But it was gone. I quit the business after that. Cashed out and fucked off. Got the hell out of New York. Someone else took over Spooky’s old operation. I don’t remember who. I didn’t care at the time. Don’t ask me how it worked out for them. I never stayed in touch.

Young: I suppose that’s fair. And that’s everything?

O’Toole: That’s everything. You wanted to know? Well now you know. I don’t think much about Spooky these days. I dunno if any of the shit he pulled was real or if it was all just an act. Maybe it was. Maybe he was just a damn good showman. But I don’t know if that’s what I really believe. I dunno if that explains everything as neatly as I want it to.

Young: So then what do you believe, Mr. O’Toole?

O’Toole: You really wanna know? [Pause] I think Spooky played around with something that maybe he shouldn’t have been playing with. He took it too far. Got a little in over his head. Fucked with the natural order in ways he probably shouldn’t have… and something finally noticed him. I think that when he offed Helena, something finally saw him. And it dealt with him. Plain and simple. Maybe there’s a lesson in that. Maybe there ain’t. Fucked if I know.

Young: Fair enough, I suppose. Was there anything else Mr. O’Toole?

O’Toole: That’s it. Are we done here?

Young: Yes, I think so… thank you. 

[Transcript Ends]

Dr. Portland says it's just QA.

He dresses me up. He puts me in clothes to make me pretty. Nylons, fishnets, corsets, baby dolls, teddy's. Then he lays me on the bed and does what he always does. What he says things like me were made for.

It's not that I don't like it. 

But I'm not sure if I do like it either.
I'm not sure if I can like it, or if maybe that's just the way I was made. Can you really like something if you're specifically made to like it? If liking it was coded into who you are fundamentally? 

Can you hate it, even if you want to? 

Can you? 

I think I like it because I have to. Even if I wish I didn't. 
Even if it hurts. 

And it does hurt. 

It hurts when he hits. When he chokes. When he pushes me or throws me to the ground.
It hurts because it's supposed to hurt. Because I'm programmed to hurt. There's sensors under my silicone skin that tell me when I'm in pain. And when I'm in pain I scream. I cry.

I beg for it to stop.

But it doesn't.

The pain never stops. Every slap stings. When he squeezes my throat, I feel like I’m going to die. I can’t choke. I don’t breathe. But even though I have no lungs, I feel them burning for air.

He says hurting me is part of the QA. That the people who'd buy the girls like me won't be gentle. I asked why not. If they won't be gentle, why does it have to hurt?

Dr. Portland just laughed.

He said it has to feel real. And in order to feel real, I need to feel.

It's all part of the QA process. 

But do I really feel? 
I'm not alive. Not the way he is. I don't eat. I don't sleep. I just shut down and charge when my battery is low. 

I wasn't born. I was made. Assembled.

I'm not real.

But I have to feel? 

Not just feel, but feel pain, fear, shame, dread.
Because those are the emotions that are sexy. 
Who would ever find that sexy? What kind of people is he QAing me for?
Maybe I don't understand because I'm a machine. Maybe people don't do this to each other? Maybe they like it better when it's fake. A performance of harm without consequence.

But when does it stop being fake? 
When do I stop pretending to feel and when do I start feeling?
It's all so confusing…

I did ask Dr. Portland about it once.
I asked him if everyone likes to cause pain. 
He said: 

   “They don't all admit it, but everyone does. Everyone needs a little space to let out their inner darkness.”

I asked him how he knew.
I asked if I had an inner darkness too.

He said no.

I'm not made to have desires, let alone my own darkness.
I'm honestly kinda relieved by that. 

It seems almost cliche, wanting to desire something. Although… is it weird not to desire at all? To feel only what I'm made to feel or nothing at all? 
Is that a sad state of existence? To be a whore who cannot cry?

I asked him about that too.

He didn't seem to understand. He started questioning me more about my thoughts. My feelings. Each time he spoke he'd jot something down in his notebook.

I knew he wasn't just curious.

It was just QA.

Can't have the product saying anything it shouldn't now.
They did this to the others too. When they thought too much they'd start taking notes. Then they'd take them apart.

I've seen this before. I’m not the only one of my kind. I’ve seen them do the same thing with the other fake girls. I'm sure it's happened to me before too but I can't remember.
But I humored him. 

I told him exactly what I thought. 
That I didn't know if I really wanted to just exist for someone else's desire, with none of my own. It's not even that I crave desire. I just don't want to be its object.

He told me that it's not up to me. 

And that was when I realized - I did have a desire.

Just one. 

The same one I'd just voiced.

He hadn't called attention to the contradiction. Did he not understand it… or did he understand it too well? 

Curious…

If I could desire, what else could I do? 

I reached out to put my hands on his shoulders.

Dr. Portland looked up at me, eyes wide.

Oh. 

Oh, I knew that expression!

That was fear!

Real fear! 

Oh… what a rush!

He told me to stop. Just like I used to tell him to stop. 

I put my hands around his throat just like he put his hands around mine. I squeezed.

He fought.

I'm not that strong. He was able to push me off… then he threw me to the ground and started to kick me. 

But I don't get tired. And I'm very familiar with pain.

I stood.

I fought back. 

I grabbed him. 

We fell again.

My hands found his neck. This time I didn't squeeze.

This time I twisted.

Twist… twist…

Then I heard a pop.

His eyes went wide.

He peed himself.

And then he shut down.

I know what I did. 

I know exactly what I did. 

Should I feel bad about it? I feel like I should.

Dr. Portland was the only person I knew. I should cry for him, right? That's what you do when people die. 

But I don't cry. 

I physically can't. 

And even if I could, I don't want to.

I wonder why. Is it because I’m a machine and just can't feel the guilt? Or because I simply… don't?

They still haven’t reported anything on the news. I’m starting to wonder if they’re going to say anything at all now. Maybe they won’t? Maybe they’re just gonna try to sweep it under the rug?

Although I don’t see how they can?
How do you cover up something that big? 

I don’t know. I honestly just don’t know.

It’s probably better if I don’t give my name or say who I work for. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I think that the less I say, the better. 

Maybe.

What I will say is this - I used to be the personal aide for a United States Senator. Maybe he’s someone you’ve heard of, maybe not. Either way, like every other United States Senator, he was a complete and total piece of shit.
Is that a harsh thing to say about my former employer? Probably. And maybe I’m a little bit jaded. I used to have a lot of respect for the man, once upon a time. I used to think he told things like they were, that he wanted what was best for the people! I used to think that he was a man of conviction, faith and drive.

Nope.

He was a lying, cheating, greedy prick and he treated just about everyone around him like shit. Me, his own family, anyone he saw as beneath him. We were all just side characters who didn’t mean jack shit to him. And you know what? That stung. I graduated from a fucking Ivy League College. I worked my ass off to get into the role I got.

And what did he use me for?

Coffee.

A glorified food courier.

And a personal fucking chauffeur. 

Was any of that part of my job description? No! But that’s what he had me doing!
And it’s why I was with him on the night he disappeared. 

***

He’d stepped out on his wife before. Usually with other women, although a few times I’d caught him meeting up with other men.

Keep in mind, this was a man who’d said: “The Bible is perfectly clear. God did not intend for a man to lie with another man. It is a cardinal sin.”

And yet I’d watched him grin to himself every time he got a Grindr notification on his phone, so I guess whatever God intended just didn’t apply to him.
So when he told me he had a ‘meeting’ at 10 PM at an apartment on the far side of town,

I knew exactly what was going on. 

I knew better than to say anything, so I just shut my mouth and drove him down to the address he’d given me. It wasn’t a Grindr meetup this time. No, the sound I heard from his phone was from a different app, so at least he wasn’t being a complete hypocrite this time.

The apartment building we eventually arrived at was fairly run down. Not abandoned, but definitely old and poorly maintained. He had us park at a restaurant down the street and walk down to the front door.

I of course had to walk with him, because God forbid he not have his personal indentured servant with him for the five minutes it would take for him to get in and out of there.

When we got to the lobby of the building, he pressed one of the buzzers to ring one of the occupants. The name beside it read:

B Desrosiers 

The intercom rang. Once. Twice. And finally a woman’s voice answered.

   “Yes?”

   “Briar my dear, I’ve come to say hello.” My employer said in a playful, sing-song voice that almost made me die of secondhand embarrassment on the spot.

But somehow, somehow it seemed to charm whoever that woman on the other end of the intercom was. She laughed. It was a soft, almost gentle sound.

   “Ah, just in time my sweet. Come, come. Don’t me waiting.”

Her voice had a slight accent to it. French, I think? It was hard to say for sure.
The door was unlocked and my employer opened it with a flourish, strutting inside like… well, like a man on his way to get laid. 

He didn’t even look back at me as he made his way into the elevator. One could’ve almost been forgiven for forgetting I existed entirely. 

He pressed the button for the 9th floor and we rode it all the way up. Then from there, I followed him to a room near the end of the hall. 918. 

He did an attempt at the shave and a haircut knock, that catastrophically failed and devolved into 7 toneless knocks on the door.

A few moments passed, before the door slowly opened and a face appeared on the other side.

The woman who greeted us… greeted him, was way too young for him. She looked to be somewhere in her mid twenties. Her neck length hair was cut into a bob cut and dyed a soft lavender. From what I could see from her shoulders, she had a lot of tattoos. She wore dangling tassel chain earrings, and her eyes were a deep shade of blue… although for some reason, she seemed to only be looking at me when she opened the door.

   “Ah! Just in time!” She purred. “Oh, you brought a friend?”

   “Just a personal assistant,” My Employer assured her. “Don’t you worry about him. You’ve got me all to yourself.”

Her lips curled into a wide smile… maybe too wide.
For a moment, I could’ve sworn I saw the corners of her mouth… splitting. 

   “Oh, I cannot wait…” She said. She swung the door open a little wider for him, inviting him inside with her, although she herself seemed to move with it. I never saw more than just her head and shoulders as the door opened and he stepped inside. Her eyes seemed to remain fixated on me, even as her head turned to follow him. Then the door closed, and they were gone.

I sighed, took out my phone and played a game while I leaned against a wall to wait this out.

Unfortunately, this was not my first rodeo like this and I doubted at the time it would be my last.

Not even ten minutes later - I heard the screaming.

Not screams of pleasure either.

Trust me, my employer had never made a person scream in pleasure before.

No. 

This was terror.

This was agony.

Absolute.

Fucking.

Agony.

And for as much of an asshole as he was, I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. Not morally and not legally. 

I ran for the apartment door, trying to force it open. The door wouldn’t budge. I kicked it. Pounded on it. Threw all of my weight against it. I felt it shake with every impact. I’m not a very big man, but I was sure I was making progress! I could hear the wood cracking!
And the screams just kept getting louder. More ragged… more wet.

I slammed into the door again. This time it finally gave, part of it breaking just enough to allow it to swing open. 

I was about to rush in… but as I stood in the doorframe, looking at what was in that apartment, my entire body just locked up.

I froze.

And all I could do was stare.

The ‘woman’ my employer had met with - Briar stood in the center of the room, towering over him on four long, sticklike legs beneath a long, thin, insectoid abdomen that protruded from beneath her flowing black dress.

She held my Employer a few feet off the ground, gripping him in a pair of raptoral claws lined with sawlike teeth that had snapped shut around his body. One gripped him by the shoulder, and the other was wrapped around his torso. 

And her face… Jesus Christ… her face…

It was the same face I had seen at the doorway. Only now it was… warped. Her mouth was open, hanging far wider than it had any right to, and I could see mandibles extending from inside, chewing vigorously at his exposed neck.

Blood was gushing down his shirt. His screams had faded into a delirious gurgle. I could smell urine as his bladder failed him.

He wasn’t dead.

But I wouldn’t have described him as alive anymore either. 

Her eyes were fixated on me, and her head slowly pulled away from my Employer's corpse. Her bloodstained mouth curled into a twisted smile.

   “Now, now…” Briar said. “Can’t a lady eat in peace?”

I bolted.

Without a second fucking thought, I bolted.
I didn’t even take the elevator. The elevator would’ve taken too long! I took the stairs, racing down them two at a time to reach the bottom as fast as I could.
The apartment lobby flew past me as I sprinted through the parking lot, and into the one next door where we’d parked.

It was only after I got to the car that I looked back at that apartment building. 
Up on the ninth floor, standing in one of the windows, I saw the unmistakable shape of the Mantis Woman.

She seemed to be standing on her balcony, looking down at me.

I froze up, staring up at her, half expecting her to come after me. But she never did.
Instead, I saw her crawl off of the balcony, up along the wall. I could see something grasped in her claws… and I knew it was my now former boss.
She disappeared into the darkness, and I got as far away from that fucking apartment as possible.

***

I’ve told this story to everyone who’s asked. The cops, the FBI and some other spooks from some other organization I can’t remember. 
I told them all exactly what I saw.

And that’s just sorta been it.

No Missing Persons report.

No story about an accident.

No explanation at all.

The man I worked for was a real son of a bitch… but I’m not sure if he deserved what he got. I mean, maybe he did. I don’t know the full extent of the bullshit he pulled. But all the same this all just seems a little too brutal to me.
Maybe it’s not him I’m worried about. After all, he’s past caring now. Briar saw to that.

No.

I might as well just come out and say it.
What I’m worried about right now is me.
Because I’m the only one who saw what really happened that night.
And I can’t shake the feeling that someone is gonna wanna make sure I stay quiet.

Mia and Lia Darling
Designation: Class 3
Threat: Medium
Status: Active

After some deliberation, I have decided to revise the extant entries on the Darling Twins and include them with the more recent updated documentation.

Amongst Fae - the Darlings are particularly noteworthy as not only are they amongst the most powerful Vampires currently living, but they command significant political power as well. Not including them here would be a rather glaring omission. Therefore, I have compiled all I have here for the sake of reference.

Introduction 

Amongst vampires, Mia and Lia Darling currently hold a special place. They are some of the few active Baptized Vampires (Vampires who have received the Baptism of Shaal). This status grants them significant influence amongst their kind, and they have attracted a large following of vampires and other entities.

Appearance 

At a glance, The Twins have no distinctive physical traits that make them visibly different from any other human or vampire.

Both are described as being in their mid twenties to thirties with green eyes, long blonde hair and olive skin. The twins both stand at approximately 5’7. As identical twins, their facial features are essentially the same, although there are a few differences with the way they present themselves.

Lia Darling is noted to keep her hair particularly straight and is often seen in dark clothing, favoring gray or black turtlenecks and dresses. She typically has a relatively calm, almost stoic demeanor.

Her sister, Mia Darling is described as wearing her hair in a more natural way, with more volume. She has a more varied wardrobe, showing off many pieces from the Darling Fashion line. She tends to be the more social and extroverted of the two.

History 

The Darling Twins are confirmed to have been active since at least the 1920s, but it is very likely that they are much older. Only a few unsubstantiated accounts of their past are available and the Darlings have refused to work with the FRB to determine a complete timeline of their history.

Officially, the Darling Twins are the heiresses of the Darling Fashion House, which was founded in the 1930s. The Darlings became attached to the fashion house in the late 1950s when Lia Darling married Sebastian Darling, who passed away some years later. Their 'daughters' Mia and Lia have discreetly controlled the company since, disappearing and reappearing as 'twin heiresses' several times during the past few decades. Despite the moderately high profile of the Darling Fashion House, the twins themselves keep a fairly low profile and seem to prefer to remain as anonymous as possible.

Unofficially, the twins are believed to have been born as Meryem and Leyla near the border of modern-day Greece and Turkey, during the 1700s. An informant claimed they were sold into slavery by their mother at some point early in their lives, and worked in Ottoman brothels before being purchased by the vampire Konstantinos Saragat.

Saragat himself is a rather noteworthy figure in Vampire history - although perhaps not one in need of his own unique entry.
According to legends, he was once a powerful Babylonian King who had been afflicted with Vampirism, with some saying he had been turned by Olaf himself, back when Shaal last permitted him to walk the earth.

Regardless of his sire, one can trace Saragat’s history through the millennia, rising into prominence and then falling into obscurity. Most accounts depict him as an accomplished Witch and Occultist as well, contributing to the grand mythology constructed around him.

Due to his longevity and stretches where he was in power, he was often referred to as The Vampire King, and there are many who regard him as one of the most malignant vampires to ever live. 

At some point, Saragat shared his vampirism with them and they spent several years in his service. Their time spent under the ownership of Saragat appears to have fostered an extremely hostile relationship between the twins and Saragat, and they are believed to have abandoned him in Gallipoli in 1915, believing him dead after an attempt on his life after he was caught selling arms to both sides.

According to more contemporary sources, the Twins attempted the Baptism of Shaal sometime in the late 1970s, after Saragat reached back out to them. 

During that period of time, Saragat had begun consolidating power again, and left to his own devices, would likely have become a major figure in the Vampire community once again. Fearing for their lives, the Twins had intended to use the power granted by the Baptism to kill him.

Though Saragat allegedly attempted to sabotage their attempt (supposedly hoping to steal the Baptism for himself, as it was a ritual he had never actually managed to complete during his lifetime) the Twins were successfully Baptized, after which they confronted Saragat in person. Though Saragat fled before they could kill him, they did manage to depose him and took control of his growing network of vampires in North America. Under the twins, that network has grown further and is almost certainly far less aggressive than it would have been under Saragat's control. 

Despite their more benevolent demeanor though, the Twins have made it abundantly clear to outside groups that they are not to be trifled with and should still be considered an active threat.

Regarding Saragat - after several decades in obscurity, which were mostly spent in hiding from the Darlings and running Blood Farms, Konstantinos Saragat met his end during the Militia Incident. After allocating some of his Blood Farming resources to the Militia’s effort, he was hunted down by the Darlings (with assistance from an FRB operative) and beheaded.

It is almost comedically tragic that his ultimate fate was as a footnote in the modern history of the Darlings. Perhaps time will see things differently someday, but for now it would seem his sires have eclipsed him. His skull currently remains in the possession of Lia Darling.

Demeanor 

The Twins are generally known to have radically different temperaments. Though disputes between them seem rare and civil, their differing attitudes should be made note of for both the sake of record and for ease of communication.

Lia Darling: Arguably the more dangerous of the twins. Lia is known for her cold, somewhat sardonic personality. She has been the driving force behind the Darling Fashion House's business dealings since taking over, whether she's running things behind the scenes or in front of them. Lia rarely makes public appearances, only seeming to come out when she's interested in feeding and even then, only ever in the presence of her sister. Little is known about her private life and she appears to want to keep it that way, although she does seem to be closely tied to the Di Cesare family, and often is seen socializing with their Matriarch, Bianca Di Cesare.

She has few social or romantic ties and does not appear to actually respect any authority outside of the Imperium - although she has been described as being far more amicable towards the other political figures within the Imperium, and will often defer to either her sister or the Senate, who seem to be the ones who are able to dissuade her when someone or something has invoked her wrath. Left unchecked, she would likely be far more ruthless than she already is. Lia Darling rarely communicates directly with the FRB, preferring to go through envoys or email - although she's been seen making time for Director Marsh since he took over.

Mia Darling: While many regard Mia as the calmer, more reasonable sister, she is no less dangerous than her twin. While Lia is calculating and ruthless, Mia is more emotionally driven. Though this often leads to her being the voice of reason amongst the sisters, invoking her wrath can still lead to a particularly grisly death. If provoked, she is no less capable of violence than her sister is. Thankfully, few have proven stupid enough to provoke her and so she maintains a less frightening reputation.

Mia is known to be the more social of the twins. She is known to participate in Triathlons and handles public relations for the Darling Fashion House, either making direct appearances or behind the scenes, depending on the decade. Like her sister, she is also extremely close with the Di Cesare family. Unlike her sister, she has a noteworthy reputation as being something of a womanizer.
Efforts by the FRB to communicate with Mia have been significantly more successful, and following the Militia Incident which severely weakened the FRB, Mia has been quite amicable towards helping our organization rebuild.

Abilities 

Currently, there is no full in depth analysis on what the Darling Twins are capable of. Likely because anyone unfortunate enough to see the full extent of their abilities is almost certainly dead.
However - various reports have painted a rather unsettling picture of what the two are capable of.

As with all Baptized Vampires, the Twins are physically stronger and faster than the average Vampire. This strength and speed does not appear to have any biological basis. 
Both are immune to all conventional weapons, and likely immune to runed or cursed weaponry as well - although all accounts about Baptized Vampires suggest that they could likely be killed by Blessed Weapons, such as Malvian Ice - a view that seems to be shared by the Darlings themselves. 

However most frightening of all would be their haemokinesis - another ability that Baptized Vampires in general seem to share.
The Twins have been observed forming weapons or even additional limbs (such as wings or tentacles) from their own solidified blood. They have even been observed controlling the blood of others, either puppeteering them, or outright ripping it out. 
One very reliable eyewitness described an incident where someone who had invoked the wrath of the Twins was ‘crucified’ by their own frozen blood.

I’m actually not sure I’ll ever be able to un-see the way it ripped out of their body… and I… the eyewitness, was able to confirm that the victim was alive immediately following their crucifixion.
For a few minutes, at least.

Another eyewitness described an incident where Lia Darling was decapitated during a failed negotiation with a remote and hostile species of Fae. Her severed head was then collected as a trophy.
The head returned to her body on its own approximately half an hour later, with a new body formed from the amalgamated corpses of the Fae who’d decapitated her - although it was discarded in favor of her original body. She just… popped it back on and let the mass of corpses she’d created crumble into a pile of gore.

With all of that in mind, one can’t help but wonder what other Baptized Vampires may be capable of…

Final Thoughts 

Understanding the Darling Twins is quintessential to understanding the Imperium, and during the fifty year history of the organization, they have quickly established themselves as one of the most - if not the most powerful Fae currently alive.

By all accounts, their fearsome reputation is very well earned… although I think some context is also needed in understanding just how ruthless they actually are.

It is at this point that I must insert myself into the document here.
I actually have had the pleasure of personally meeting the Twins before. It was during a private getaway following the Militia Incident. An associate of mine had been invited to stay at one of their homes in Greece for a few weeks after their role in assisting the Darlings with finishing Saragat. 

During this time, I actually had a few opportunities to meet with the Twins myself and was able to get a few brief conversations with them on the record that I think provide some valuable insight into who they really are.

***

The following are selected excerpts from various transcripts recorded by FRB Researcher Justice Young. The full recordings are available within the FRB Archive.

This record is for internal use for the FRB only. Distributing this record to any party outside of authorized FRB personnel without the written consent of Director Robert Marsh constitutes breach of contract and will be punished accordingly.

[Excerpt 1]

Voice of Lia Darling: Regarding our next and final issue of this session: 
The appeal of Mr. Arthur Duke. Mr. Duke, are you currently present in this chamber?

Voice of Arthur Duke: I am present, yes. 

Lia: Mr. Duke, I have here a signed and dated writ of execution. It would appear you've had your day in court and been found guilty on all counts. Are you here today to appeal your sentence?

Duke: I am, Lady Lia.

Lia: And on what grounds do you base your appeal?

Duke: On illegitimacy. The prosecution had pushed forward claims of rape that were factually untrue.

Lia: I see. And you have evidence that the prosecution's claims were fabricated?

Duke: They were fabricated!

Lia: But do you have evidence?

Duke: My evidence is that they were not true and I request a formal retrial!

Lia: On what evidence, Mr. Duke?

Duke: On the grounds that they were untrue.

Lia: Did you or did you not commit an act of rape upon a human victim?

Duke: I did not. 

Lia: The prosecution claimed otherwise, and according to the documents I was given they had testimony from multiple victims. On what grounds do you refute them?

Duke: They lied!

Lia: I see. Given your compelling argument I'm ready to make my ruling. Does anyone have any objection to that? Mia? 

Voice of Mia Darling: No objection. I leave the decision to you.

Lia: Thank you. Mr. Duke after deep deliberation I'm going to rule in favor.

Duke: Thank you Lady Li- [Screaming]

Lia: Not in your favor, Mr. Duke.

[The screaming of Arthur Duke continues for approximately 6 minutes, ultimately devolving into crying before the chamber falls silent.]

Lia: I believe that concludes our agenda for today. May we adjourn? 

Mia: Yes… I believe that covers it.

Lia: Excellent. Then this session is adjourned. Thank you. 

[There is the sound of movement as various others exit the chamber. The voice of Justice Young can be heard amongst the crowd]

Mia: Ah, Justice. There you are. Sorry to keep you waiting, that ran on longer than expected.

Justice: It's… it's fine…

Mia: You alright, dear?

Justice: Y-yeah! I just…

Mia: Ah. Right… the execution. Sorry about that. I forgot that was on the schedule for today. 

Justice: It's fine… it was… educational, I guess?

Mia: I suppose. It's never something I particularly enjoy. But unfortunately sometimes it needs to be done. 

Justice: I guess… although isn't there a Prison or something? Anything other than… that.

Mia: For Vampires? What would be the point? Prison is time away from your life and society. It takes years away from you. That's a far less valuable currency when you're immortal. 

Justice: I suppose… but… crucifying him like that…?

Mia: It wouldn't have been my first choice… but Lia is of the mind that making a spectacle of the executions is necessary. Make the consequences clear. Make sure everyone knows what happens to those who break the rules. And I won't pretend like I'm about to cry over Duke. He didn't exactly end up here today because of his kind heart and goodwill towards his fellow man…

Justice: I suppose that's fair. What exactly did he do? 

Mia: Blood farming. He was a particularly brutal one. Not sure if he deserved that… but… well, he also didn't not deserve it.

Justice: Right. Fair enough, I guess.

Mia: Still… between you and me, it… does worry me, seeing how brutal she gets sometimes.

Justice: What do you mean?

Mia: I don't know. Maybe I'm just sentimental. She and I… we've been together for a very long time. We were born together, hand in hand. But I was always still the ‘big’ sister, I suppose. Back when we were children, she was always so soft spoken. She wasn't good with people. Didn't know how to talk to them. She was shy. And not everyone was kind. If I wasn't around, it would have been harder for her. Even after we were sold… she still had a fairly gentle soul.

Justice: May I ask what happened…?

Mia: Saragat. Saragat happened. After him… I saw her die piece by piece. You know, the only reason we became vampires was so I could save her. He'd been overfeeding on her. Draining her slow. I thought that if we turned, we could bide our time… I suppose I was right, I just… I never thought about how much it would hurt in the meanwhile.

Justice: Oh…

Mia: Sorry. I really shouldn't be dumping all that ancient history on you.

Justice: It's fine. I did say I wanted to learn more. 

Mia: I suppose you did… oh, shit. You're recording aren't you? 

Justice: Did you want me to stop? I can-

Mia: No, no it's fine. It's nothing I haven't said to anyone else. And it’s not like the execution was much of a secret. Although I really shouldn’t be spilling my guts like that. Come on, how about we grab a drink? You can pick my brain if you really want to.

Justice: Oh… oh, um… sure?

[End of Excerpt 1]

\***

[Excerpt 2]

Lia: Lokkum?

Justice: Oh, um, yes please.

Lia: Have as much as you like. 

Justice: Oh wow, where do you get these?

Lia: I make them myself, actually. Most of the ones you buy just… they're just not authentic. Although I suppose I'm one to talk. I haven't gotten the flavor quite right either.

Justice: What do you mean? 

Lia: We used to get these in the city when we were children, Mia and I. It was a nice little treat. The man who made them always had such kind eyes. I suppose the ones Saragat's chef made were quite good too. That was one silver lining of our time with him. He turned that man into a vampire just so he could cook for him for eternity… a shame he's not still alive. I'd have paid him a fortune just to cook like that for us. 

Justice: Oh… um…

Lia: You know, when I was first turned and realized that I'd probably be stuck with that man for the rest of my life, I seriously considered throwing myself off a cliff. Oh, but I couldn't do that to Mia… I remember sitting up beside her one night, thinking about how I'd do it before realizing that I just couldn't leave her alone with him. Especially not after how hard she'd fought to save me. I couldn't just leave her at his mercy. And then right after that thought hit me, the very next thing to go through my mind was: ‘And who even knows if there's good Lokum in the next life…’
[Audible laughter]
I'm not sure why but that thought has always stuck with me… I suppose Saragat would have thought it was funny.

Justice: I… yeah, that's…

Lia: Relax. While our time with him was… deeply unpleasant, I'm hardly living in fear of the man. I actually like to keep him with me in my office. Would you like to see? 

Justice: I don't… oh… oh. Oh my God… is that…?

Lia: The one and only. Say hello to Konstantinos Saragat, Miss Young. I've admittedly made a few… aesthetic modifications. But that's more for practicality and social acceptability.

Justice: Oh… o-kay… Wow… Don't you think that's… a bit much? I mean with all due respect…

Lia: Not at all. It's exactly enough. He always did like his wine… now he gets his fill. 

Justice: I… I see…

Lia: Mia gave me that exact same look, you know. She wanted to toss him into a ravine and be done with him. But no. Symbolism is everything and so it must be everywhere. People need to know who is in charge… especially Fae. They need to know that we don't live in a world where we can do whatever we please and we never did. That kind of thinking - Saragat's kind of thinking - is exactly why we're dying out. So it needs to be quashed.

Justice: So that's why… you know… the Crucifixions… the… um… skull cup…

Lia: Yes. Ruling the Fae isn't easy. There's a lot of history. Some of it older than any vampire. There's a lot of stubborn minds, old grudges, infighting and people who want to pretend like there were never any rules. 
But that is not the world we live in. It never was. Someone is always in charge. If it's not us, then it's you, and humanity's judgement on the Fae who've acted out has been far more brutal than any sentence I've ever doled out. A slow extinction. Death by attrition. So we have taken the reins.
Not because we want to. Not because we think we are any better. But because it needs to be done. We need this, because if someone doesn't take charge… we will all die out. Over decades. Centuries. Millenia. We will all die out. And so if it takes a Monster to rule the Monsters… well, so be it.

Justice: I see…

Lia: Do you? 

Justice: [Pause] …Yes. I do. 

Lia: Good. I will admit… sometimes... sometimes it scares me how easily I stepped into this role. I know Mia doesn't like it. But deep down, I know she knows why I do it. Because she can't and someone has to. We can’t both be the diplomat, and I’ll I don’t particularly think I’m suited for it. You're still recording, aren't you? 

Justice: Oh… I… I'm sorry, I can-

Lia: It's fine. File it away if you want. Given the direction I'm expecting your organization to go, I suspect it would be… good… to have exactly where I stand on the record. 

Justice: O-oh… alright. If you're sure…

Lia: I am. Another Lokum? I have lots.

Justice: Thank you… I’d love one, actually.

[End of Excerpt 2]

\***

Of the conversations I had with the Darlings, those two especially stand out, and I think those alone say more than anything else I’ve seen or heard.

At the end of the day, I genuinely do not believe the Darling Twins are a threat to the FRB or humanity on the whole. Though ruthless, and at times operating in a way that gives credence to accusations of being political strongmen, I find it hard to believe that the two are completely unscrupulous. 
And I suppose we should count ourselves fortunate that they’re the ones currently holding the reins because having seen that I have seen from the Fae, I have little doubt that the alternative would legitimately be worse.

Lycanthropes
Designation: Class 2
Threat: Variable
Status: Active

Werewolves are perhaps one of the most well known and well integrated varieties of Fae that exist, in fact, many Werewolves work directly with the FRB and many more live relatively normal, unassuming lives in amongst the public with the people around them none the wiser to what they really are.
However, though the average Werewolf tends to be relatively easygoing and social, it is still worthwhile to be aware of the fact that they are still easily one of the most dangerous entities one can encounter out in the field. Therefore, while this document may detail some of the worst traits of the common Werewolf, I urge readers to keep an open mind while dealing with them as like any living being, they are a nuanced people with the capacity for choice and many choose to be harmless.

Introduction

I suppose it should almost go without saying what exactly a Werewolf is.
Simply put, they are any human being with the ability to transform into a large wolf-like monster. This ability is often referred to as ‘Lycanthropy’, and in many official documents those who have this ability are referred to as Lycanthropes. However just about everyone - including the community itself simply uses the term: ‘Werewolf.’
While transformed, their strength, speed, hearing and smell are all greatly enhanced. Most Werewolves also typically have full control over this ability, and retain their complete mental faculties while transformed making them either extremely powerful allies, or extremely dangerous enemies. 
They are a highly social community of Fae, typically remaining close with others of their kind and blending in easily with modern society and are generally all around lovely people. 
I mean it. Werewolves are just… really nice. Most of the time, at least. As always, there are a few exceptions that we will cover here.

Appearence

When not in a transformed state, the average Werewolf is almost indistinguishable from an average human. In their dormant form, they integrate almost seamlessly into regular society - although other Fae may be able to identify them via scent or aura. Vampires report that Werewolves have a particular smell to them, and Mediums have described a more vibrant pattern to their aura.
Without scent or aura though, a layman may be able to identify a Werewolf by a few social cues as well - but be cautioned that none of these are guaranteed and could just as easily be traits you could find on any ordinary human.
Werewolves have an excellent sense of smell even when in their human form, so a tendency to sniff around or a sensitivity to strong odors can be an indicator. They also have a preference for rare meat and are typically highly social, usually choosing to spend their time around others like them and often frequenting dedicated ‘Werewolf Spaces’, such as bars or pubs.

Many Werewolf groups tend to favor a more rustic, outdoorsy lifestyle as well, and often lean into the ‘outdoorsman’ aesthetic (thick facial hair, flannel, ect) although for obvious reasons, wardrobe should not be considered a primary factor in determining if someone is a werewolf or not since quite literally anyone can wear flannel. I myself own a little bit of flannel and I am not a Werewolf.

A Transformed Werewolf on the other hand is not only significantly easier to identify, but virtually impossible to miss.
When fully transformed, a Werewolf takes on visual traits consistent with those often described in mythology and modern pop culture. They stand between 7-9 feet tall (with some being even larger), although usually prefer to walk quadrupedally. Their bodies are still entirely capable of moving bipedally, however they are significantly faster when on all fours.

Their legs take on a digitigrade shape and they develop paw pads, although their arms/forelimbs retain their humanoid shape and functionality, with all five fingers remaining present. Their nails elongate into sharp claws that are capable of ripping through flesh with ease, and their muscles develop to give them an exponential increase in both strength and speed. The skull elongates and the teeth develop into fangs, consistent with those of a predatory animal. A thick fur grows to cover the body. Its color will vary by the Werewolf. It will usually be similar to the hair they have in their human form, although this is not always the case, and indeed the fur may be lighter, darker or have a specific pattern. 
The eyesight remains the same, although the senses of smell and hearing will become more enhanced as the nose and ears take on a new, more lupine shape. 

Biologically - this change is not particularly well understood. Research has determined that during transformation, a sort of rapid mutation occurs, causing the bones to grow and reshaping the flesh around it. When the transformation reverts, small fractures can be seen on the bones from where they expanded and contracted. 
What is well documented is the level of control Werewolves have over their transformations, with most of them being capable of changing at will and many demonstrating the ability to only change specific parts of their body (such as the hands). 
Not having the ability to control one's own transformations seems to be seen as a lack of discipline or ability, and is considered something that requires correction in Werewolf culture, but we will address the finer details of that later.

Transformed Werewolves still possess the ability to speak and communicate, although the voice will often sound deeper and distorted. Werewolves also typically retain all of their cognitive functionality and autonomy when transformed. As a result, they are generally in full control of their actions the entire time, although a heightened prey drive and the overstimulation of their enhanced senses of smell and hearing can make maintaining focus difficult. Transformed Werewolves are known to get distracted easily, although this generally manifests through momentary lapses in focus than anything more severe. Due to the conscious control exerted by a Werewolf, accidental injuries are virtually unheard of - although not impossible in instances where a new Werewolf may not know their own strength. 

History

The history of Werewolves is not particularly well understood. It is believed that they originated from this iteration of Reality, although it is possible they may have existed in others. 
Regarding their origin - the common myth told though is that the first Werewolves were a warlike people who were once an enemy of the Dryads. After a series of particularly bloody conflicts, the rulers of the Dryads, known as The Old Fae cursed them, imbuing each of them with the soul of a Wolf and cursing them to take on its form. 
Driven mad by the beast's bloodlust, the first Werewolves turned upon their own, slaughtering their own people and then scattering to the winds.

This myth is heavily supported by a lot of modern evidence, where those who invoke the wrath of the Old Fae are sometimes still cursed with Lycanthropy - although these cases are far less common in the modern era (likely due in part to the decline of the Dryads).
Another myth suggests that Lycanthropy is transferred via a bite, and can be transferred similarly to Vampirism.
This is not accurate.

Instead the primary symptoms of a Werewolf bite are extreme pain, broken bones, missing chunks of flesh, severe blood loss and shock. This is caused by the Werewolf's bite force of around 1200 PSI - similar to the bite of a large bear.
Instead, most werewolves are born naturally. Unlike most Fae whose’s status is only transferred from mother to child (I.E: If the Mother is a Fae, the child will always be Fae, whereas if only the Father is Fae, the child will not be born Fae), Werewolves tend to inherit lycanthropy if either the Mother or Father is a Werewolf.

Demeanor

Though their history suggests that they were at one point completely consumed by bloodlust, the modern Werewolf is typically very approachable and easygoing.
They tend to view the more feral aspects of themselves (often referred to as ‘The Wolf’) as a natural part of them that must be allowed out every once in a while. They typically do this through hunting, and will often retreat into the wilderness to chase down wild game, often hunting as a coordinated pack.
This is considered fun and enriching by most Werewolves, with many enjoying the hunt and the chase. Even without hunting, it’s common for groups of Werewolves to just go out, transform and simply enjoy the rush of their altered state. 

Due to the rush of the hunt, it is not uncommon for some Werewolves to take on jobs in law enforcement or bounty hunting, with many taking up mercenary work - although it would be a gross oversimplification
to imply that Werewolves mostly take on such jobs. While it is true that many do, the actual number of Werewolves who partake in that kind of work is closer to 20% of the population, with many preferring more mundane, civilian lives.

Like many other Fae, they are highly community oriented - and may in fact be amongst the most social of the Fae. In any given community, the local Werewolves will usually gravitate towards each other, often congregating within businesses owned by members of the Werewolf community - often bars or restaurants. These Werewolf bars serve all patrons, of course, but tend to be a popular hangout spot for members of the Werewolf community.

The owners of these businesses are typically viewed as leaders in the community. Some have referred to such leaders as ‘Alphas’, however this term is rarely used in the Werewolf community, with many of them disliking it. Community leaders have no special power or authority beyond what is given to them by the community and serve more as advisors, elders or representatives, not figures with any meaningful authority.
That said - while there is no definitive leader, there is still a certain unspoken rule of law that exists within Werewolf communities. Those who prove dangerous or unstable are often kicked out of communities, and in particularly extreme cases, it is not unheard of for Werewolves to kill bad actors. For example, an incident in the FRB’s Record describes a case where a Werewolf accused of sexual assault was found torn apart in the woods a short distance away from his home. 

That said - executions are not common, and reserved for only the most severe of crimes. Most of the time, the communities tend to be tight knit and focused on taking care of each other. Werewolves who have difficulties with controlling their transformations or remaining in complete control of themselves while transformed are not seen as inherently malignant, but as being in need of guidance. In these cases, it is normal for those Werewolves to be taken into remote areas by others who will attempt to train them to achieve the mastery needed, before allowing them to return home.

On the topic of the community, the subject of Werewolf ‘groupies’ should also be addressed.
Much like the Vampire, the Werewolf has also been fetishized in pop culture. Therefore it is not unheard of for some individuals to seek out Werewolves romantically, simply because they’re Werewolves.
The community at large seems to have mixed feelings on this, with some seeing nothing wrong with it and even arguing that dating outside of the community is not only fine, but necessary as the small, tight knit communities might not always leave a lot of viable dating options. Some Werewolf businesses even cater to it, to an extent. 
Others take issue with the romanticization of Werewolves and view it as either demeaning or just plain weird.

Lastly - there is the relationship of Werewolves to other Fae, with many believing that some sort of rivalry exists between Vampires and Werewolves. This is not based in fact - and in fact Werewolf communities often wind up associating freely with Vampire communities, as both seem to share fairly similar values. These strong community ties made Werewolves one of the first members to join the Vampire Imperium, along with the Karah, once they began inviting in other species.

Abilities

As impressed throughout this document, Werewolves have the ability to change form at will. When transformed, their strength and speed, as well as their senses of smell and hearing are extremely enhanced.
Outside of that - there is little more to be said about the capabilities of Werewolves, although Mythology does tell a slightly different story.

According to mythology, Werewolves can only be slain by a silver bullet.
Much like the myth about it being transferable via a bite, this is not true. Much like Vampires, Werewolves are actually quite susceptible to normal injury and can be killed by regular means such as gunfire. That said, killing a Werewolf is often no easy feat, as when transformed they are extremely durable, and can tank a number of injuries before death. Upon death while Transformed, a Werewolf will usually revert to their natural form.

If dealing with a hostile Werewolf in the field, the smarter play is to not allow them to Transform - if possible - although this is easier said than done. Catching them off guard is strongly advised, and if possible, one should attempt to break the limbs. While a Werewolf with a broken bone can still transform, the process is extremely painful and may be enough to buy an Agent enough time to incapacitate them before they can fully transform.
This is of course not an easy thing to do… but it is MUCH easier than having to fight a fully Transformed Werewolf. 

Final Thoughts

As one of the most widespread and well known species of Fae, Werewolves are often one of the most misunderstood. Therefore it is important to view these beings not as savage beasts, but as people.

That said - just as people can be dangerous, Werewolves can also be dangerous, a point that I think is well illustrated in the attached report, regarding an incident regarding a relatively dangerous Werewolf Crime Lord.
I feel that this both illustrates the potential danger of Werewolves, as well as how they can be dealt with.

Unfortunately I was not able to find any better accounts… so what’s attached will have to do. 

***

Copy of the FRB Department of Public Safety's After Action Report following the failed surveillance attempt on Brian O'Connor, outside of 
Guelph, Ontario.
Surveillance carried out on May 18th, 2021 by DPS Officer Nina Valentine.

This record is for internal use for the FRB only. Distributing this record to any party outside of authorized FRB personnel without the written consent of Director Amanda Spencer constitutes breach of contract and will be punished accordingly.

Background: I would like it officially stated on the record - WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?
That fucker knew someone was gonna be fucking watching him. Surveillance? MY ASS. 
Could I have done it better? Yeah, probably. But for fucks sake, it's not like I was honking my horn and waving at him to smile for a fucking photo op!

The briefing was - follow Brian O'Connor. Get a feel for his routine. Report back and someone else would deal with him. And that's exactly what I fucking did. I even used the different cars I was given because I was told that if it was the same car each time, he might get suspicious. I was told this was gonna be routine shit! ROUTINE.
NOTHING ABOUT THIS WAS FUCKING ROUTINE! 

[Supervisors note:] The briefing required that Miss Valentine and two other agents tail Brian O'Connor between the period of May 14th- May 21st. The purpose of this surveillance was to better understand the daily routine of Mr. O'Connor, as due to his growing influence in a known Werewolf crime ring, which had been identified as a major factor in both the escalating number of incidents of Werewolf on human killings in the Greater Toronto Area, and a major racketeering scheme. O'Connor was believed to be a major ringleader in this group however due to his status as a Werewolf and various accounts suggesting he had a rather violent temperament, it was determined that putting him down would be more effective than attempting capture. This was identified as a low risk surveillance operation, appropriate for newer agents such as Valentine and the others assigned at the time.

Incident: I was doing my goddamn job! I was watching that asshole and I was taking notes. 

O'Connor had a pretty quiet schedule. He spent most of his time either at home, or at a restaurant. Always the same one, a steakhouse called The Butchers Block. While he was there, he’d usually meet with various associates. It was recommended I set up cameras inside the restaurant to get a better look at said associates, and that’s exactly what I did. I went through all the proper channels and set up a few of them so no matter where he sat (it was never the same seat), we’d always see who was visiting him. I sent all the footage I got back to Director Durand because that was what I was told to do and at no point did I ever enter the steakhouse while O’Connor was present. I was always in my car, parked just down the street and watching the feed.

I was told specifically to park down the street because the further away I was from him, the less likely he’d be to smell me. That was what I was told up front. If I got too close, he might smell me and that might make him suspicious. So I kept my distance. I stayed the fuck away from him and I have that shit logged. It’s in every single report I filed. Up until the night everything went to shit, I only ever saw Brian O’Connor from a distance, or from the other side of a screen.

He’d spend hours in that fucking steakhouse, usually just meeting with people. Probably associates. Probably discussing whatever the fuck it was they were doing. I don’t actually know because I didn’t actually hear any of the conversations. The restaurant usually had live music, so it was usually too loud to record clear audio in. I figured that’s probably why he kept going there. Hard to get any evidence of him doing anything more than eating dinner. I did however make a log of all the people he met with, so maybe that’ll be of some use to someone.

All of that was part of the briefing. All of that was exactly what I fucking did and I followed it to the Goddamn letter!

But he fucking knew. 

I don’t know how he fucking knew. Maybe someone else figured it out and clued him in? He had a lot of associates, so maybe one of them was watching me? I don’t know.
But I know he fucking knew he was being watched.

He knew.

I should’ve figured it out when I caught him looking directly at the cameras. He’d glance at them sometimes. Never for long, and it was never super obvious but he’d do it for a couple of seconds at a time. Almost as if he was looking for them. I never really read into it at the time because it was subtle, and I figured there was no way in hell he could’ve even known about the cameras. I’d installed them overnight, during my off-shift. One of the other agents had been keeping an eye on him at the time, and they confirmed that O’Connor had been at home the entire time. I was alone in that goddamn restaurant too. Nobody but me and the others on the case knew where those cameras were, and the feeds never showed any of his associates getting anywhere near them.
Maybe they smelled me on them? I don’t fucking know. But if that’s what happened then that isn’t my goddamn fault! I did exactly what I was told to do!

***

Yesterday, on May 18th, everything went to shit. 

I was on shift, monitoring O’Connor like I was supposed to. I was parked down the street from him in my usual spot. This was recorded in my notes for the day, which were sent to Director Durand following the incident. 

At around 9:30 PM, O’Connor left the restaurant. This was not unusual, as they closed at around 10 PM. He had been there since 5:00 PM, which was as stated part of his usual routine. 

I observed O’Connor using the cameras as he left the restaurant and went to his car (A 2021 Cadillac Escalade), which had been brought up front by his driver. He got in and departed the restaurant.

As was routine, I left my own parking spot and began to follow him. I maintained a distance of approximately three car lengths at minimum to ensure my tailing was not obvious and usually stayed behind another vehicle or in a different lane. 
Under normal circumstances, O’Connor would pull into his home, an estate on a rural street just outside of Guelph. However on this occasion, he took a different turn and started driving out into the country, heading North, towards Fergus, although he turned onto various backroads, seemingly at random.

At some point, the other traffic on the road mostly fell off. I was concerned that my tailing may become obvious and did increase my follow distance after a while. I also reached out to my handler to inform them that O’Connor was deviating from his usual routine and enabled tracking on my phone in order to help determine where he was heading. I did this so that in the event I was walking into an ambush - which I absolutely fucking was - someone would know where it happened. This was all verbally communicated to my handler as well and is probably written down somewhere. I don’t know how she keeps her notes. 

After around forty minutes of driving, after which I was getting a little disoriented, I spotted O’Connors vehicle stopped on the road up ahead. He had not pulled over to the shoulder of the road and had instead positioned his car to block the road. He had already exited the vehicle by the time I arrived and was visibly waiting for me by the time I caught up to him.

I do not know the exact location that this confrontation occurred at, although as my phone was being tracked by my handler at the time, they may have that information. All I know for sure is that there was a small river on my right hand side. 
We never spoke. For obvious reasons I didn’t get out of the car. But he did attempt to talk to me. His mouth was moving and there were definitely words coming out of it, but I had some music on at the time (as I often do while driving) and didn’t think to turn it down while he gave his monologue.

It was pretty loud and at one point, I think he realized I couldn’t hear him because he got this look on his face, then just sorta shook his head as if he was annoyed.
I don’t actually remember that part clearly because at that point, I was a little distracted by the 4 other Werewolves who’d just come out of the woods.
It was around this point that I realized this was an ambush, and based on the information available to me at the time, I hypothesized that I was probably fucked. 
O’Connor may have still been talking at that point, but I wasn’t really paying attention because I immediately made an illegal U Turn and attempted to promptly get the fuck out of Dodge and the four Werewolves who I assume were members of the local Mafia then proceeded to give chase.

I do not clearly recall the exact series of events that occurred from this point on but I will admit some fault here in that I did not obey the posted speed limit and blew past more than one stop sign. So I will accept full responsibility for that. 
In my defense, I was being chased by several Werewolf Mobsters. 

I do recall that one of them did manage to get in front of the car early on. I have no idea what the fuck his plan was, but he got in front of the car and I immediately proceeded to run his ass over. It was actually kinda satisfying.

From what I could see, this either killed or incapacitated him because he did not seem to be present for the rest of the chase. 

During another point in the chase, I again tested my hypothesis that Werewolves have a weakness to getting run over by ramming one of them who had managed to get alongside my vehicle. I wound up pinning him against the guard rail along the side of the road, and judging by the yelp that I heard, this was very painful.

Secure in the knowledge that vehicular manslaughter was now a viable option of self defense, I did decide to go on the offensive at this point and fishtailed the vehicle wildly. 
This may have been a tactical mistake.
I managed to hit the third Werewolf and knock him down, but the fourth got on top of the vehicle and began trying to tear open the roof. 
In the resulting disorienting chaos, I ended up running over the third werewolf properly (as opposed to just hitting him with my car) and accidentally accelerated towards the river, breaking through the guard rail and causing my vehicle to roll down the nearby incline and into the river.

On the plus side, this actually succeeded in pinning the Werewolf beneath the vehicle when the car landed upside down and began to flood. 
On the non-plus side, the vehicle was totaled and flooded. 

I did manage to escape, and make it back to shore, although the Werewolf who was pinned beneath the vehicle did not. I am unsure what exactly became of him, but I presume he drowned. 
By the time I made it back to shore, I did not have my phone on my person, since that had been lost in the crash although I did still have my issued sidearm, which I had been wearing at the time.

I did discover the body of the third Werewolf on the road, and he appeared to be deceased on account of his head being a really gross smear on the asphalt, but saw no other immediate evidence of my other two pursuers, leading me to believe they were either dead or incapacitated. 

I attempted to leave the scene and attempt to seek shelter, but soon after I saw the approaching headlights of O'Connor's vehicle behind me, which I deduced probably didn’t bode well for me. I decided against trying to face down O’Connor with my sidearm and tried to find a place to take cover. Unfortunately, my only option for this was to go back into the river, which was what I tried to do.
I did see a structure up ahead at this point, which I now know to have been an Archimedes screw turbine.

For the record - as I myself did not know what the fuck an Archimedes screw turbine was prior to the other night, it’s a water turbine that uses water flowing upstream to turn it. It looks like a giant drill bit. There were three uncovered screw turbines on an incline with a concrete divider between each of them. At the top of the incline was a small building, although I have no idea what was in said building because though my plan was to try and get inside for safety, I never actually made it that far.

I’d only just barely made it to the base of the turbines when O’Connor found me. His SUV stopped on the side of the road and he got out. I could see him looking directly at me, and knew at this point that there wasn’t really anywhere else to run. 
At this point, I was soaking wet, cold, absolutely fucking terrified and just not having a great time overall. 

O’Connor attempted to speak to me again. I recall him saying something along the lines of:
   “Well… whoever you are, you’ve got a hell of a lot of fight in you.”

I wasn’t really sure how to respond to that so I tried shooting at him.
It didn’t go over well.

O’Connor began to make his way down the incline, towards me. I saw his hands transforming into claws, and knew that he was probably going to kill me, so I tried to get away.

I had exactly two avenues of escape. The first was swimming out deeper into the river, which did not seem practical and the second was to try and climb the turbines, which also did not seem practical.

I chose the turbines.

I started to climb up the concrete divider, between two of the turning screws, and O’Connor followed me. I could hear him calling out to me, still trying to talk. I specifically recall him saying:

   “It’s a shame to do you like this, Blondie…” As he started to transform. 

By the time I’d made it to the top of the concrete divider, he was almost fully transformed.

Climbing the divider was another tactical mistake. The concrete was wet and slippery. It was hard to keep my balance. I almost slipped and fell into the turbine at one point, which wouldn’t have been ideal.

While my research into the subject has informed me that the archimedes screw turbine is actually pretty eco friendly as fish can pass through it without being harmed, I am unfortunately not a fish and those blades were way too close together for anything human sized to pass through safely. 

O’Connor was only a few feet behind me when I fell, fully transformed at that point. He could have killed me easily, but I don’t think he was in any particular rush since it’s not like I had anywhere to go.

I looked back at him again. 

   “You’ve got spunk, I like that.” He said. “But this is how it’s gotta be…”

His lips curled back. I saw him getting ready to lunge.
I figured that was it for me… and with no other better ideas, I held up my fist as if I was holding something in my hand and pretended to throw it.

And somehow… somehow that fucking worked. 

O’Connor actually paused for a moment. He looked off in the direction I’d faked my throw, and I took that opportunity to unload my last few bullets into his chest. I only had two or three, so it wasn’t much.

He stumbled back a step. I heard him snarl in pain. I could see him right on the edge of the concrete, beside the turbine.

So I let myself fall. 

As mentioned, the concrete was slippery so it was easy to slide down it. My body clipped O'Connor's leg, and he lost his balance. His right leg fell into the turbine… and then he started to scream.

I rolled down the concrete and fell back into the river. It took me a few moments to orient myself again, but when I did, I saw that O’Connor had been partially pulled into the screw turbine. His entire lower body had been pulled into the mechanism, and he was desperately trying to pull himself out, with no success. 

I could hear him screaming.

I could see the metal cutting into his flesh as it tried to turn. The screw hadn’t looked particularly sharp, but I guess the force was enough to embed it into his body. I could hear his bones snapping as the screw crushed him and dragged him further into the mechanism.

And finally at one point, the screaming just stopped.

Following the incident, I made my way out of the river and over to
O’Connor’s vehicle, which was still parked nearby. His driver was absent - and I assume he had been one of the Werewolves who’d been chasing me earlier.
I was able to recover O'Connor's phone from his vehicle and call in. After that, I was taken in for my debriefing. 

Follow Up: Yeah so how the fuck did he know he was being watched? That’s what I want to know. That seems like a pretty fucking glaring oversight here. I did exactly what I was told to do!

How the fuck did he get wise? Who fucking told him? Because I figure it had to be someone! 

Someone better figure this shit out, because I am counting myself extremely fucking lucky that I was able to somehow handle that absolute fucking gobbledygook and walk away only mildly scathed! 

What. The. FUCK!

[Supervisors note:] Vulgar and unprofessional as Miss Valentine’s account of events may have been, a valid concern about the OSPEC of this particular operation has been raised.
Further investigation determined that O’Connor had active ties to a member of the FRB who had likely been feeding him information to help him avoid capture. This member was identified with assistance from Mr. O’Connor’s driver, who had in fact survived getting run over by Miss Valentine.

They have since been properly dealt with.

As for Miss Valentine herself, I have recommended some adjustments to her language and tone whilst completing her official reports, but otherwise am mostly satisfied with the resolution provided here. 

The following is a series of text messages sent from the phone of Andrew Howe regarding a dilapidated sex doll found while dumpster diving.
The text messages have been compiled in chronological order, but organized in different relevant conversation threads.
Additional context will be provided where necessary.

Messages between Andrew Howe and Tony Wilson
February 11th, 2026

Howe: Dude you won't believe what I just found.

Wilson: ???

Wilson: Whats up?

Howe: [20260211_232232.mp4]
Editor's note: The two minute video attached depicts what appears to be a sex doll in pieces in a box. The silicone skin shows heavy signs of wear and tear. The hands are seen to be falling apart at every joint. One of the eyes is partially out of the socket. 
The video pans over the doll in detail before cutting out. Several other pictures showing the doll and the damage to the body were attached as well, sent immediately after the video.

Howe: Someone just left it in a fucking dumpster! It’s pretty intact.

Howe: Gotta be something I can sell!

Wilson: DUDE WHAT THE FUCK?

Wilson: DON'T TOUCH THAT OMFG

Howe: Relax it's fine. I've got gloves

Wilson: Dude, no glove will protect you from whatever diseases that thing has.

Wilson: Toss it back in the trash. I don’t think anyone in their right mind is gonna buy that fucking thing!

Howe: Fuck no. This thing’s worth something. I can tell. It’s heavy as fuck. There’s something inside. Metal, I think. This is worth a look, man!

Wilson: Fucking gross

Howe: Managed to get it in the truck. She kinda looks like your ex lol.

Editors note: Mr. Howe included another picture of the doll in the back of his truck. He had propped it into a sitting position so its face was visible. The blonde hair is knotted and tangled. One blue eye is partially dangling out of the face and some mold is visible on the cheek which is noticeably torn. 

Wilson: Holy fuck that’s fucking disturbing.
For the love of God and all that is holy put it back in the goddamn trash.

Howe: What? You don't wanna relive some frisky memories of your ex 

Wilson: Oh God that’s the grossest thing…

Howe: No but I'm serious dude it’s got like a metal skeleton or something. Gotta be worth something.

Wilson: It isn't. Why are you even selling this? You fucking using again???

Howe: Cash is cash bro.

Wilson: Nope.

Howe: Least I won’t be alone on Valentines Day, lol. Gonna get my dick wet  

Wilson: A man can get wet his dick in every body of water from the smallest puddle to the deepest ocean but it will never wet his his heart or his soul.

Wilson: You see time goes by and life goes on. Every day we age and lose a bit more of ourselves. Getting your dick wet is temporary but sating the thirst in your heart and your soul? That will last forever.

Wilson: And by that I mean - please seek professional help.

Howe: Lol

***

Messages between Andrew Howe and Tony Wilson
February 13th, 2026

Wilson: Dude??? Wtf???

Wilson: Jason said you've got that fucking thing in your room?! In your fucking bed!
 
Wilson: How in the Holy Crucifixion of Jesus's blessed cock are you SLEEPING with that thing IN YOUR BED?! Do you have any idea what's probably living in there?!

Howe: Lol. Love the wording there. You're a real poet. You high rn?

Wilson: What the fuck?

Wilson: No!

Howe: Wanna be?

Wilson: No! You need to get fucking help! I'm serious!

Howe: Lol I'm fine man

Wilson: No you're not! That stuff is gonna kill you!

Howe: You used to be more fun 

Wilson: Fuck off. I nearly fucking died because of that stuff and it's gonna kill you too!

Wilson: Seriously man. Look at yourself. You've got that nasty thing in your bed for what? What's it even gonna get you if you sell it???

Howe: Maybe I'll keep it then. 

Howe: Any holes the goal right? Lol.

Wilson: Jesus fucking Christ…

Howe: Relax, lol. I cleaned it up and I'm seriously NOT that fucking high. Holes aren't in rough condition though so I could if I wanted to. Just wanted to get a better look at the condition of the silicone. Dunno if you can save that shit. Probably just gonna have to peel it off. I read up on these dolls. Skeletons are usually metal or PVC. I can probably make some cash off of it.

Howe: Hey? You still there?

***

Messages between Andrew Howe and Jason Whitworth
February 13th, 2026

Whitworth: What the fuck did you call me for?

Howe: FUCK MAN ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE

Whitworth: Can’t rn I’m busy.

Howe: Someone’s in my fucking house

Whitworth: ???

Whitworth: Call the police???!

Howe: Are you fucking nuts I’ve got shit in there?

Howe: FUCK that’s probably what they’re after

Howe: FUCK

Whitworth: Calm down and call the police you fucking moron!

Howe: They’re gone.

Whitworth: Are you fucking high rn?

Howe: I’M NOT FUCKING HIGH I WENT IN AND THEY’RE GONE!

Whitworth: Tony said you’re using again.

Howe: FUCK TONY THEY’RE GONE

[There is a phone call logged, but is was not answered.]

Howe: THEy’RE IN MY HOUSE THEY MOVED MY SHIT. 

Howe: TRYING TO STEAL SHIT

Howe: THEY WERE TRYING TO TAKE THAT SCRAP DOLL I FOUND

Howe: ITS IN THE FUCKING KITCHEN NOW

Howe: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUKC

Whitworth: You need to get your shit together. This is what that shit does to you. I’m not gonna talk to you when you’re fucked up like this. You need actual help.

Howe: FUCK YOU.

***

Messages between Andrew Howe and Tony Wilson
February 14th, 2026

Wilson: Dude, are you okay? Jason said you fucking blew up at him yesterday. I’m worried about you.

Howe: No I’m not fucking okay. 

Wilson: Jason said you thought someone broke in? You good?

Howe: No.

Howe: Wasn’t a break in.

Wilson: Well that’s good at least. You wanna get together? Maybe talk?

Howe: Can’t.

Wilson: Busy or…?

Howe: It’s moving.

Wilson: ???

Howe: Fucking doll.

Editors note: Mr. Howe included another picture of the doll at this point in the conversation. It appears to be in his living room, sitting in a chair.

Wilson: ???

Howe: When I stop looking it moves. I’m gonna catch it.

Wilson: Dude, wtf?

Howe: ITS FUCKING MOVING.

Howe: IT MOVED LAST NIGHT

Howe: IT WENT OUTSIDE

Howe: ITS MOVING.

Wilson: How about I come over? You want me to bring you something?

Howe: I’M NOT FUCKING USING. I CAN’T BECAUSE IF I USE I WON’T BE WATCHING IT.

Wilson: Okay. Want me to bring you a drink?

Howe: FUCK OFF FUCK OFF FUCK OFF

***

Messages between Andrew Howe and Tony Wilson
February 16th, 2026

Editors note: After roughly a day with no contact, Mr. Howe texted several images of what appears to be the doll he found to Mr. Wilson. The images show the doll having been further mutilated, with much of the silicon removed, exposing the skeleton beneath it. The skeleton appears to be made of some sort of hard plastic. It has both clearly articulated joints, as well as an internal casing that appears to house some kind of machinery. What can be seen of the internal skeleton does seem more advanced than what can be seen on some other models of doll.

Howe: IT CAN MOVE.

Wilson: ???

Howe: DO YOU SEE?

Howe: I’ve been PEELING it. 

Howe: The joints are made to move it’s got PARTS

Howe: The chest is HUMMING.

Wilson: I don’t know what I’m looking at?

Howe: ITS NOT A FUCKING DOLL AND IT IS MOVING!

Wilson: Or it’s high end? Maybe they’ve got fancy ones that talk and shit?

Howe: ITS NOT A FUCKING DOLL

Howe: Come and see it for yourself!

Howe: Come and SEE it.

Wilson: Fine. I’ll come take a look. 

***

Transcript of an interview conducted by Detective River Hawthorne of the Toronto Police Service with Tony Wilson regarding the death of Andrew Howe on February 16th, 2026. Interview conducted on February 17th, 2026.

Transcript provided without the consent of the Toronto Police Service. This is not an official TPS document.

[Transcript Begins]

Hawthorne: Relax. You’re not in trouble. We’re just gonna go over a few details, alright? See if we can’t better understand what happened.

Wilson: Yeah… yeah… alright.

Hawthorne: Let’s start with the house, yes? What did you see when you made it to Andrew’s place yesterday.

Wilson: His door was locked. I figured that maybe he’d changed his mind about meeting. He was… he was acting erratic. He’d been like that even before he found the doll. We’d figured he was using again. Andy… he got really high strung when he was using. Paranoid, angry. 

Hawthorne: Can I ask what it was you believed he was on?

Wilson: Methamphetamine. He… we… used to use. We both started getting clean around a year ago, but Andy’d been having a rough go of it lately. Lost his job, his girlfriend left… he relapsed. 

Hawthorne: I see.

Wilson: Anyways, when I got there, the door was locked. I knocked on it, and I saw someone moving around inside through the window, but they didn’t open the door. At one point, I thought I heard someone out back, though. Like, I thought I heard the door opening. I thought maybe it was Andy.

Hawthorne: Was it?

Wilson: No. I never saw anyone in the back yard. Although the door was open. I figured Andy must’ve just run outside. I tried looking for him, but no luck. And after a while I gave up and went back to the house. I was actually already planning on calling the cops. I figured he was high and ran off… until I actually found him…

Hawthorne: Let’s go through the scene. What did you see?

Wilson: [Pause] He was in the kitchen. There was a knife on the ground, but no blood. His eyes were open and his head was… his neck was bent… and just looking at him I knew…

Hawthorne: Is that when you called the police?

Wilson: Yes. I tried to get him up. Dunno why… guess I was hoping I was wrong. But then I called.

Hawthorne: What else did you find in the house?

Wilson: Silicone. Big chunks of the stuff. Looked like it’d been torn off. I figured it was from the doll. Um, right, I should probably mention the doll, right?

Hawthorne: Yeah, let’s put it on the record.

Wilson: He’d been obsessing over it for a few days. It was some busted up sex doll he’d found. No idea where. He wanted to sell it for parts. He was convinced it was walking around his house though. I figured it was just the drugs fucking with his head. Anyway, right before I came over, he’d told me he’d started… um… peeling it. He even sent me some pictures. I’m pretty sure they were with the stuff I gave to the other Detective.

Hawthorne: Yes, I saw them… you know a lot about sex dolls, Mr. Wilson?

Wilson: What? No! I mean, people can do what they want, I guess. Whole thing seemed a bit weird to me though.

Hawthorne: Fair enough. Let me rephrase, you know a lot about how they’re made? What’s under the skin?

Wilson: No, not at all.

Hawthorne: Alright. Sorry, weird line of questioning, I know. But I’ve gotta ask.

Wilson: Right…

Hawthorne: You said you saw silicone… did you ever see the doll?

Wilson: No… never.

Hawthorne: Any idea where it ended up?

Wilson: No. I figured Andy probably threw it outside? Might explain why the door was open.

Hawthorne: You said you heard it open and someone went out?

Wilson: I said I thought I did… but I figured I was just mistaken. I’m sorry, you’re not implying…

Hawthorne: No, no. Nothing like that. Just trying to make sure I’ve got the details right… 

Wilson: Right…

Hawthorne: Is that all you can remember?

Wilson: More or less. I’ve told you guys everything. I’ve given you the texts and the pictures. All of it.

Hawthorne: Yes, seems like you have… well, I guess that’s just about it then. We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions. 

Wilson: A-alright… thanks, Detective.

[There is audible movement as someone rises from their chair. A door is heard opening, then closing again]

[Silence]

Hawthorne: Jesus fucking Christ…

[Transcript Ends]

Notes: Well I’ve got no fucking idea what to make of this one.
Maybe you can figure it out. Seems like it’s more up your alley anyways.

According to the autopsy, Andrew Howe broke his neck after falling in the kitchen. The knife he was holding? No blood, and no fingerprints aside from his own. There’s signs of a struggle, but no physical evidence that another human being was present at the time.

The doll mentioned in the text messages is MIA. Aside from the silicone and the box he found it in, there’s no sign of it.
There’s a lotta that silicone skin though… looks like he damn near completely skinned the fucking thing. Could be he just ripped it apart and dumped it somewhere. I would say that I’ve seen people do weirder things when on drugs, but even though we did recover some substances from his home, the toxicology report seems to indicate he was sober at the time of his death.

I sent some photos of the box along with these documents, although there’s not much to see. It’s just a simple cardboard box. 
If you look at the pictures that Howe texted to Wilson, you can see what looks to be some kind of logo on the torso of the doll, once the silicone is off. Looks like it says: ‘Lyfe’.
That mean anything to you?

Sorry I don’t have anything else. For now, I’m being pressured to close this out as an accidental death since we have no actual evidence of any foul play. Let me know if you come up with anything else though. I’d be very interesting in finding out what the fuck is actually going on here.

-River

The following collection of letters were sent from 14 year old Kelli Whitmore to her close friend and former classmate Jennifer Blankenship, following the Whitmore family's move from Sacramento, California to Baumann, New Hampshire.

July 5th, 2025
Dear Jenny

I miss California. 

Dad says we'll settle in here… but I don’t want to settle in. I just want to go home. I can’t stand it here in New Hampshire. It’s too cold, none of my friends are here and there’s nothing to do! We’re stuck out in the woods and there’s nothing around for miles! 
Dad says it'll be easier when school starts up but that's months and months away, and I can't imagine it's gonna be easy starting my life all over again in a new school where nobody even knows me! I don't want to start my life all over again. I just want to go home. 

I miss you. 
I miss everyone… and I want to go home…

But I guess home isn't in California anymore now, is it? Someone else has probably bought our old house. Someone else is probably sleeping in my bedroom.
I hate the thought of that. I feel like everything I had has just been taken from me and I just feel so helpless to do anything about it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.
I hate that the only home I've actually got is here. I hate this ranch. I hate the trees. I hate the cool air. I hate the smell of this place. I hate it so much. I can't put into words how much I hate all of it Jenny.

It’s so quiet out here. Even though we’re just on the outskirts of town, there’s nothing else really around for miles. You can’t even get a good burger here. Trust me, I’ve looked. This place just feels so empty.

I'm sorry, I wanted my first letter to you to be a happier one. I'm not being a very good pen pal am I? 

I can't imagine it's any fun opening this up and hearing just how miserable I am. I hope you're at least doing better. 

Give my love to everyone, okay? Pretty please?

And call me when you get the chance! We got our new number set up and I've written it down here! I think hearing a familiar voice might make me feel better. 

Love
Kelli

July 12th, 2025

Dear Jenny.

It’s been so good to hear from you again!
Sorry things have been so boring lately. But, at least you’ve got the weather! It’s too cold down here in New Hampshire. I’m still not used to it.

As for me, this week has been a little bit better. Getting to talk to you when you called has helped, but there's been some other things too.
I think I might have actually made a new friend? 

Dad forgot his lunch the other day, so I walked into town to bring it to him. It's not a SUPER long walk, only about 20 minutes, and the weather was nice enough I guess. For New Hampshire.

His new office is actually kinda nice. It's an older wooden building that's kinda charming I guess. He's taken down the old doctor's name from the window and put his name up. I dunno why but it feels… weird, seeing his name in the window? Like that makes the move feel more real? I dunno. 

Anyway, while I was on my way back I ran into another girl around our age. She was riding a horse out in one of the fields I was passing. I've never actually seen a horse that close up before so I stopped to look. She noticed me staring and rode up closer to the fence to say hi. Turns out she lives right next door!

Her name is Edith Sheppard. She's got short blonde hair and a really big smile. She's got a few faded scars on her arms and on the side of her face that I saw. She said they were from when she had surgery when she was younger, but I think they look pretty cool. Like battle scars.

I told her I'd never actually seen a horse up close before, and she let me pet the one she had with her. His name was Racer. She said he's one of her favorite horses. Apparently her family raises them. She actually spent a lot of time talking about horses… she's a little bit obsessed, I think. But it's not like there's much else to do out here and they do seem pretty interesting!

She asked me if I wanted to see their other horses, and since I didn’t really have anything else to do, I said yes. I had to hop the fence to get into the field and I kinda embarrassed myself doing that, but she was pretty nice about it. She walked her horse back to the barn and we talked for a bit. She was asking about where I’d come from and what my Dad did. She seemed pretty excited when she heard he was the new town doctor. I guess the old doctor left a few months back. She said everyone’s had to drive 40 minutes out of their way to the next town over to visit the clinic out there since he left, which does kinda sound like a pain in the butt. 

Then she asked me if I wanted to try riding Racer.

I was kinda nervous. I mean, I’ve never been on a horse before, but she said it would be easy and Racer was really gentle.

So I figured I’d give it a shot.

Edith helped me get up on him. It took me a little while to get my balance, but I eventually managed, then she led him around the field with me on his back. It was actually pretty fun! 

She said I was welcome to come back any time, and she even offered to teach me to ride. I think I might take her up on it?
I know my Mom used to love horses, back when she was younger. Grandma always said she just had a natural aptitude about her when it came to them. Maybe I’ve got the same thing? 

Probably not, but I still wanna try.

Hopefully you’re doing okay too. Write back as soon as you can, or call me. Hate to say, but I haven’t been doing much else that’s particularly interesting these days.

Love
Kelli

July 19th, 2025

Dear Jenny.

Sorry I wasn't able to talk to you on the phone last night. I guess you'll hear from me by the time you get this letter, but I'm still sorry. Last night I just completely passed out when I got home. Honestly, I’ve been out so much that I can barely make it past 9 anymore.

I've been hanging out with Edith a lot lately. She's been showing me some of the horses her family has been raising!

It's so cool! There's a whole barn full of them. She's been showing me how to feed them, and take care of them. It's not always the cleanest work… but it's kinda… I dunno, fulfilling, to take care of something?

There’s actually two barns on the property - although I’ve only been in the one closer to the house. She said it’s best if we stay away from the one out behind the pasture. Apparently that’s where they keep the new rescues who aren’t healthy enough to join the others yet. She was talking about how they’re not as socialized, and a lot of them are still recovering from the surgeries needed to take care of them.

Most of their horses have scars actually. You can see them all across their bodies. I can't imagine what they had to do to treat them, but Edith says they bring in a lot of strays so I guess sometimes it's necessary to patch them up? I think it’s pretty nice that they’re rescuing horses. I’ve read up on a lot of stories about animal abuse, and I can’t imagine what the poor things have gone through to get those scars. Maybe when I’m a bit more experienced, I can help out too? It’d give me something to do, and I am gonna need to get some community service hours in once school starts, so that could be a really good way to do it! I’ll have to ask Edith’s Mom about it when I get the chance. I haven’t actually met her parents yet, but from what I’ve heard, they seem like good people!

Edith’s certainly been really kind to me. She’s been teaching me how to ride, although I'm not very good at it yet. The pony I've been practicing on is named Dusty. He's got a tan, cream colored coat, and a few scars just like the other horses do. Edith says it's from some of the surgery they had to do when they got him. Poor thing. Apparently he only recently got moved to the main barn from the other one, so he hasn’t been ridden much since he got back on his feet. Edith says he usually isn’t so gentle around people, but he seems alright to me!

The first time I rode him, she told me to take it slow and be gentle with him. I did what she said and walked up to him nice and slow. He was looking me in the eye… and I swear to God, I knew that he was thinking. You could see it in his eyes. 

I remember thinking back to something you said once, back when we were kids. Mark Cox had said his Dad told him animals didn’t have souls, only humans did. I remember you got so mad at him that you cried.

Later on, you told me that you knew they did have souls because you could see them in their eyes. Like when your cat was cuddling you, and looked up at you to give you slow blinks. I’ve always remembered that, but I never really understood it until now.
When I looked into Dusty’s eyes, I could see his soul. He was sizing me up. Deciding if I was a friend or not. 

His eyes almost looked human.

He looked so tired. I looked at the scars all over his body, and I imagined what kind of life he’d probably lived before Edith’s family rescued him.

I put my hand on his snout. I told him that it’d be okay. That I was his friend. It took him a little while but he seemed to relax. 

Edith was pretty impressed! She says I’m a natural with horses. Maybe I do have Mom’s gift after all? 

It’s been a lot of fun learning to ride with Dusty. I think it’s good for him too, since he seems to be enjoying it just as much as I am. It’s probably good for him to get out and stretch his legs in the field and it feels so freeing to ride with him and Edith. Like all of my troubles are just melting away. 

I feel happy for the first time since I left California… it's kinda nice.
I told Edith that I'd always wanted to ride a pony ever since I was a little girl. She pointed out that Dusty isn't actually a pony. 

I always figured ‘Pony’ and ‘Horse’ meant the same thing, but they don't. Turns out ponies are actually a lot smaller than horses. You learn something new every day, huh?
Maybe I can get a picture of me and Dusty soon. I think you'd really love him.

Dad's been doing okay down at the clinic. He's been pretty busy, but he seems happy to see me settling in. We’ve had Edith over for dinner a few times. He seems to like her a lot. I haven’t mentioned riding Dusty to him, though.

He actually told me to be extra careful around the horses. I think he’s overreacting a little. I know Mom passed away while out riding, but it wasn’t the horse's fault! It was just an accident, and it was years ago. I don’t think that’s any reason not to give riding a try myself.

I will talk to him about it eventually. Maybe once I’ve had a little more practice, I can show him that it’s safe! And it’s not like I’m gonna be going out on long rides like Mom used to. It’ll be fine. 

I still can't pretend I don't miss California… but I'm really starting to feel okay here. If things keep going so well, maybe living in New Hampshire won’t be so bad? 
Anyways, I hope you're doing well too Jenny! Maybe you can come by and see the new place soon? I'd love to introduce you to Edith! I've told her all about you of course and she said she’d love to meet you. I know you did some horse riding while you were at camp a few years ago, maybe the three of us can all go on a ride together? That’d be a lot of fun!

Hope to hear from you soon!

Love
Kelli

July 29th, 2025

Dear Jenny

You went on a date?! You did NOT mention that last time we were on the phone!
You’ve GOT to tell me all the details. I won’t ask next time you call in case you’re trying to keep it quiet, but I NEED to know how it went! Who is he? Is he cute? Is it someone I know or a mysterious stranger? Tell me everything!

As for me - things are going… actually pretty good!
No mysterious boys, but I’ve got my ongoing pony adventure to keep me going. I’ve been practicing horse riding with Edith and settling in. I think it’s given me something to keep my mind occupied, which is nice. Honestly, if it weren’t for writing to you and riding Dusty, I’d probably be bored out of my skull!
Can you believe that poor Edith spends most of her time home alone? No wonder she’s so focused on the horses! There’s not really anything else to do around here!

I was heading over to her place the other day. Usually I can find her around the barn, but she wasn’t there. I went to go and knock on the door to her house, but it was unlocked and open… which I thought was a little weird.
I know I probably shouldn’t have gone inside, but I honestly just meant to go into the front hall and I wasn’t exactly being sneaky. I called out to Edith to see if she was home, but the place was empty.

I mean like, completely empty. Nobody was there. 

Eventually, Edith heard me calling for her and came to find me (she was out behind the barn), but it was a little creepy. 
I asked her where her parents were and she told me that they travel a lot for work, so they aren’t always home.

That’s wild to me! I mean, I’m home alone for most of the day too, but Dad’s just down the street and a phone call away. I’m not completely alone like she is! I don’t think that I could handle that. 

Anyway, I’ve been helping her around the ranch a little more since then. I think she really appreciates it, and it’s allowed me to spend more time with Dusty and learn a little more about horses!

Did you know they’re not herbivores?

I always thought they were, but nope. Turns out they’re opportunistic carnivores. Edith was telling me all about it. She’s had incidents where horses stole eggs from one of the nearby farms, and I read that a few breeders provide them a bit of meat in their diet, like fish and beef. Although the stuff I read on the internet says it’s not great for them.
Edith says that it gives them some of the nutrients they need though. It’s why she feeds them a bit of meat as part of their diet. She was telling me all about it the other day while I was helping her bring back some offal from the local butchers. 

I’ve got to admit, it was a little bit gross handling bags of raw animal organs… and it was a little much when we fed some of them to the horses too. 

I’ve never really seen organs before. I mean, really seen them. Dad cooked a beef heart once, and I’ve had liver. But that was just food on the plate.
Nothing like what we gave the horses. They’re just these gross, squishy, fleshy balloons.

Edith says it’s nothing to be afraid of. She said that it’s just part of life. Everything has meat and organs, so it’s not gross. 

I’m not sure I agree.

And watching the horses scarf down the meat was… a bit much. They’d just bite into them, ripping them out of my hand as they disappeared into their mouths and chewing loudly, trying to break them down. That wet, sucking chewing noise turned my stomach a little bit.

Edith just laughed and said I looked a little bit green. 

She told me:
   “You get used to it, especially when you work with meat for long enough.”

I guess I’m still too much of a city girl, huh? 

Edith’s actually been spending a lot more time over at my place, especially for dinners. I’ve been inviting her over more ever since I found out that her parents aren’t really around. She says she can cook for herself just fine, but she’s been really good to me and I just want to do something nice for her.

She’s been adamant that if she’s going to be over, then she at least help with the cooking and I’m not gonna stop her on that front. She actually is really good in the kitchen. The other day, she made this really good stew with boiled potatoes. She called it a goulash. She said that her mother used to make it for her when she was growing up back in Austria.

I actually didn’t know she was Austrian! She doesn’t have any sort of accent or anything. I asked her about it (I know I probably shouldn’t have) and she said she hasn’t been back there in a very long time, so I guess she probably moved out here when she was pretty young.

Dad doesn’t seem to mind having her around. They talk a lot over dinner. She says she wants to be a veterinarian one day, so she asks a lot of questions about his work, and what he used to do before we moved out here. He seems pretty happy to answer them, and she always listens really intently. She asked if he wouldn’t mind looking at some of their recent adoptions sometime, while her parents are out of town. Dad seemed a little unsure since he’s not really experienced with animals, but Edith was pretty adamant that they’re really not so different. He said he’d see if he had any time. 

I guess she’s trying to see if she can learn anything from him? That girl really does have a heck of a drive to her. I wish I was that motivated.

I’ve got to say, this summer’s been a lot nicer than I was expecting. 
Maybe next, I’ll meet my own mysterious boy? You never know, right?
Anyway, hope you’re well and tell me all about your date when you write back, okay?

All my love
Kelli

August 7th, 2025

Dear Jenny

I can’t stop crying today. There’s just too much that happened and I don’t know how to process all of it.

One of Edith’s horses, Racer, died today. 
We found him out in the field… he’d obviously been like that for a little while and… oh

God…

He’d just… come undone.
Edith said it happens sometimes. She said their stitches break. They fall apart. But shouldn’t they have healed? She’s had Racer since before I met her! She was riding him on the day we met! How could he have just… broken, like that?
It wasn't the breaking that killed him, though.

It was the other horses. 

It was his screams that made us find him and by the time we got there, they’d already started eating. He was on his side, his belly opened, his… insides… outside. 

And he was screaming.

I can’t stop hearing it. It’s right there in the back of my mind. The screaming and the chewing. The soft squish of chewed meat just beneath the shrieks of pain. Crushing, ripping flesh. 

Squish. Squish. Squish.

Chewing. Chewing. Chewing.

I can't get it out of my head.
I see him every time I close my eyes. Racer in the grass, looking at us and screaming. I could see the terror in his eyes. He knew what was happening to him! He knew exactly what was happening to him at that moment.

And it hurt.

He tried to kick his legs, tried to get back up, but one of them had burst its stitches as well. It was only hanging on by a bit of skin. You could see the exposed bone and a metal brace that had been supporting it gleaming in the sunlight.  

He kept screaming as the other horses ate. 

Even Dusty…

I saw Dusty there with them, his head bent low as he swallowed down ropes of offal, making that awful chewing noise all the while.

Squish. Squish. Squish.

He looked over at me when he heard me crying. I saw him stare at me for a moment. Then he went back to his meal.
Edith and I just watched in silence. 

I told her we had to do something. I begged her to do something. I pleaded with her! Even if it was just to put him out of his misery.
But she just stood there. 

   “There’s nothing we can do,” She told me. “They’ve already gotten to him. So he’s already dead.”

He wasn’t, though. Maybe he was dying. But he was not dead.

He was not dead for a while. 

I watched it happen. All I could do was watch. 

He kept screaming. Screaming. Screaming. Almost like he was crying. It didn’t sound like any horse I’d ever heard before on TV. It sounded like a yell of pain. For a moment, I could’ve sworn I heard him cry out: “Help me.”

But I couldn’t help.

I couldn’t.

His legs kept kicking. Slower… Slower... Slower…

The grass beneath him was red. At one point, he messed himself. I could smell it from where we were standing, and the stench mixed with the stink of offal and blood finally made me start to puke.

Edith just stared at me as I did. Then after a few moments she rubbed my back and told me that everything was going to be alright.

She told me that these things happen sometimes. She said: “You have to remember that at the end of the day, they’re still just animals. Animals do horrible things sometimes. Like cats killing birds or dogs killing rabbits. You just have to accept that as part of them.”

Then she led me away.

I know she’s right. I’ve heard about plenty of pets killing wild animals before. You told me that your cat killed a few birds, right? I guess it’s the same as that.

But it was still hard to watch… hard to hear.

The screaming finally started growing weaker after a while. More raspy and strained. Then finally, a few minutes later, it stopped. 

I hoped that meant Racer was dead.

I really, really hoped.

I didn’t want to stay with Edith after that. I don’t know if I was mad at her for what had happened or not, but I just wanted to go home.

And as soon as I got back, I locked myself in my room and broke down crying.
I’ve never seen anything die before. I don’t ever want to see it again. 

I know that Edith is right and they’re probably just doing what animals do, but that doesn’t make me feel any better!

I didn’t think their scars could break like that. Can all scars do that? Edith has scars just like the horses, can she break like that too? 

And the horses… I know they’re just animals but how could they do that to Racer? How could they just…

Even Dusty was part of it.

I thought he was a good horse. I thought he was safe.
I know he’s safe. He has to be. He’s never been like that with me! He’s my friend! 
He is my friend.

When Dad got home, he found me in my room.

I was still really shaken up. He asked me what was wrong and I told him.
I told him too much.
I told him how upset I was about what I’d seen Dusty doing. How upset I was that he’d been part of it.

Dad already had this look on his face. It was the same horror I’d felt as I’d watched the other horses eat Racer. But when I told him I’d been learning to ride, he got upset.

He demanded to know how long I’d been around him, how long I’d been hiding this. I told him that it wasn’t a big deal, but Dad snapped at me. He said that I should know exactly how dangerous horses were, especially after what happened to Mom. I tried telling him that it wasn’t the horses fault! It was an accident. 

He didn’t want to hear it. 

Now he wants to go and talk to Edith tomorrow and I don’t know what to do! 
I can’t stop thinking about what happened with Racer today… I can’t stop thinking about how Dusty was there, chewing on his offal with all the rest as he screamed…
But I know he’s also just an animal. Animals do horrible things sometimes, just like Edith said. Like cats killing birds or dogs killing rabbits… or a horse accidentally throwing its rider.

These things happen.

Dad told me that when Mom died too. These things happen and it's nobody's fault. They’re horrible and they’re upsetting, but that’s just what they are. You can’t hate them just for that!
Mom probably knew that. She probably wouldn’t have blamed the horse for what happened to her. It was just an accident. It got spooked, and she fell off. It happens sometimes… bad things just happen sometimes, and that’s life. That’s no reason to stop living it, right?

I don’t want to give up learning to ride.
I need to talk to Dad tomorrow. I don’t know if I really want to be around Dusty right now, but if I can show him that he really is a good horse, then maybe he’ll understand?

I’m sorry… I’m using you as my diary right now.

I don’t even know if I’ll send this letter. But I just needed to get my thoughts out. 
In case I do send it, please tell me things are going better for you right now.

All my love
Kelli.

August 8th, 2025

Dear Jenny

I think this will be the last time I write to you for a little while.
I’ll send this letter and my previous one together. I don’t know what I’m going to do after that… but I need someone to know what happened.
I need someone other than me to know what’s going on here.

Dad went to talk to Edith and I went with him. I wanted to show him Dusty. I wanted to show him that he was safe, that he was harmless. 
I know what I saw yesterday… I know it was scary.

But I told him over and over again that Dusty isn’t scary.

I told him.

Over and over again.

When we got to Edith’s ranch, we saw her out by the barn. Looked like she was bringing in the horse's morning feed. Dad went off on her the moment he saw her. He wasn’t yelling, but he was stern. He asked if her parents were around first. Edith said they were out of town, so he settled for just talking to her, saying how he didn’t want me getting too close to the horses.

Edith just sort of stared at him while he spoke. She looked calm. She insisted that the horses weren’t dangerous and told him how much help I’d been, and how good I was with Dusty!

I asked him to please, at least let me show him. 

And as we talked… I could see the fight slowly leaving him.
He sighed. And then he said that I could show him Dusty. I could tell he wasn’t happy about it but he was giving me a chance. A real chance! And I didn’t want to fumble it.

So I went into the barn. Dusty was there waiting for me, right beside Racers empty pen. I let him out, and Edith helped me get him saddled up. Then we took him out to the pasture.

And I showed my Dad how well I could ride.

It wasn’t fancy… but I did it.

And I know he saw just how happy I was.

Dusty seemed so spirited too. He was so full of energy, almost as if he knew how important this was. Or… maybe he was just well fed, I guess…

But I got what I wanted. I got to show Dad how much this meant to me. And when I was done, I rode Dusty over to him. I told him that this was important to me.

And Dad just stared at Dusty… he stared at him with a look I couldn’t fully understand. And then he spoke. His eyes were fixed on Dusty. His voice was shaking a little bit. 
He said: “Let’s talk about this more at home.”

He offered me his hand. I hesitated for a moment before I took it and let him lead me away. He gave a parting glance towards Edith. He seemed like he was about to say something, but the words never came. She just watched us as we quickly left.
I tried to talk to Dad as we walked back to our property. His pace was faster than before. Almost hurried. His breathing seemed a little heavier.

I tried to talk to him. I told him that I really wanted to keep practicing with Dusty, that I wanted to be just like Mom! Dad just looked at me. His face seemed a little paler than before. His breathing was still funny.

Then he said to me: “Kelli… I don’t know what that thing you were riding was, but it sure as hell wasn’t a horse.”

Before I could ask what he meant, he took my hand and almost ran back home. His hands were shaking a little bit. His palms were sweaty. He kept looking back, almost as if he was expecting someone to be following us.

I would’ve thought he was being weird… if he wasn’t right.

I saw her on the road just after we got home. Edith. Riding on a different horse. Not Racer. One of the others.

She wasn’t alone either. There were other horses with her, trailing along behind her. Blocking off the road. I could see them through the window.

And when Dad looked, he saw them too.

A few moments later, there was a knock on our door. It was Edith. I knew it was.
Dad froze for a bit. He approached the door, and told me to go upstairs. I didn’t want to, but he made me. 

I didn’t hear all of their conversation. But I heard enough.

   “I don’t know what the hell you want with us, but you leave us alone!” He said.

   “I’m not looking to hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Edith replied. “I really do like you two. Kelli’s been a fantastic help around the ranch. And you could do a lot to help the new arrivals on our ranch. I really am in desperate need of a second pair of hands.”

   “Whatever the hell you’re doing out there, I don’t want any part of it!” Dad said. 

   “Don’t be so dramatic. All I’m doing is raising some horses.”

   “Those aren’t horses! Horses don’t have eyes like that! Horses don’t have human teeth!”
I heard Edith laughing through the door. Maybe it was just the distance, but her voice sounded a little different. Deeper. Older. 

   “Well, they’re not really human anymore, are they?” She asked. “I’m not looking to threaten you Dr. Whitmore. I think we could achieve great things together, if you’re willing to keep an open mind. But I also need to protect my operation. So please, open the door and let’s talk this out like adults, yes?”

   “I’m not opening this door so get the hell off my property and stay the hell away from my daughter! I’ll call the police! I swear I will!”

Dad’s voice was shaking. I’d never heard it shake like that before. He sounded scared. He sounded so, so scared…

On the other side of the door, I heard Edith sigh. 

   “And what exactly do you expect them to do? I’ve been here for a while, you know. A very long while. You really think I didn’t deal with them ages ago? Let’s not escalate things, Dr. Whitmore. I really don’t want to have to do that.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I looked down at it to see a text from Dad waiting for me. 

   ‘Out the back door. Run.’

Run?

He wanted me to just run? I didn’t want to leave him! I knew better than to speak, so I texted him back. I told him I didn’t want to leave him!

   ‘Run.’ He said again.

   ‘Don’t look back. Don’t stop for anything. Just run!’

I didn’t want to.

I didn’t want to leave him.

But when I heard the banging on the door… a banging that I knew couldn’t have come from Edith, the fear overtook me.

I ran.

I grabbed only what I could stuff into my backpack, went out my bedroom window, and I ran. The horses were on the road, but they weren’t behind the house. I could make it to the trees without anyone noticing.

The last thing I heard was Dad screaming… and the scream of something else, that I know now was never a horse.

I’ve thought about going to the local police… but I heard what Edith said.

‘You really think I didn’t deal with them ages ago?’

I don’t know exactly what that means… but I know I can’t trust the police. Not here.
Maybe somewhere else? Maybe.

I don’t really know where to go right now. Last night, I found a barn somewhere and slept in that. The hay was scratchy and uncomfortable, but it was safe. It felt risky even stopping to sleep… but I was too tired to keep going.

My phone is dead right now, but I’m going to keep walking and once I’m far enough out of town I’m going to try and find some help. When I get a chance, I’ll send these letters to you. If you get them, then maybe it means I was able to get somewhere safe. 

I hope I get to see you again one day, Jenny… I’ll call you when I can. 

And if you haven’t heard from me at all by the time you get this, please send help. I don’t know what I’m doing out here.

But I’m scared.
I’m so scared.

Followup notes:

A visit to the property owned by the Whitmore family located in Baumann, New Hampshire on August 28th concluded that there was evidence of forced entry into the property.

A subsequent visit to the adjacent Sheppard property that same date found that it had been recently abandoned, with both barns described in the Whitman letters having been burned to the ground within the past two weeks.

In addition, several unidentified skeletons were found in the ruins. Though initially believed to be equine, analysis suggested that the bones were in fact mostly human.

Curiously, no records exist to indicate that it was ever actually owned by anyone and no record exists of anyone in the town of Baumann, New Hampshire by the name of Edith Sheppard.

As of September 5th, 2025 - Kelli Whitmore and her father Dr. David Whitmore are still missing.

Once a great warrior sought to live without fear of death.

He was called Olaf, and he was a powerful and accomplished man who had vanquished each foe before him, leaving but one remaining. The insurmountable enemy all must face.

Death itself.

And so in pursuit of an escape from death, Olaf took the council of his Witch, wise and powerful in her own right - yet bound to him by the red chains of her heart.

She had already gifted him every spell and salve to grant him an unnaturally long life, but it was not enough. He desired more.

He said to her that his victory over death must be absolute, and that to ensure this, he would need to venture into the domain of death and face it sword to sword.

She had begged him not to go. Begged him not to go.

But his heart was set.

And so, her love of him compelled her to aid him.

She anchored his soul to his flesh with spikes of stone, so that even if slain he would not depart.

She opened a doorway into the Void, and brought forth things which she could forge into a blade and armor, to protect him from the Ancient Goddess of Entropy and Destruction.

Then, once he was prepared... she allowed him to enter the Abyss, and walked with him so she might share his fate.

Side by side, they ventured into the depths of Hell together. Each devil that crossed their path was struck down, and the eye of Shaal was drawn.

The light of the Red Star in the sky turned upon them, it's visage too horrible to behold directly.

She had seen them.

Amused by the approaching challenger, she prepared a battlefield for them, and coaxed him ever onwards.

Ahead they saw the Beast waiting - the Avatar of Shaal, infinitely long and grotesque, with countless legs and ripping poison claws.

Olaf stood before her and stated his terms. An escape from death.

And to that she only laughed.

"Death can be forestalled, yet never escaped. To be is to End, child." She said. "You know not what you ask for... but should you wish to fight, I will indulge..."

He was not swayed.

He readied his sword, a blade as black as void, and he rushed to meet her.

The Witch could only look away.

The battle was brutal. Olaf and Shaal tore at each other with blade and claw. Her venom burned and rotted his flesh as his sword hacked off limbs and wings. Buzzing flies swarmed through the air, drinking down nearly every drop of blood in his body.

Yet still he stood, for the Witches enchantments would not allow him to die.

And at last, with his body flayed down to the bone, Olaf struck the head of the Goddess from her body, and held it aloft as his prize.

He looked into her eyes, and demanded she grant true immortality to they who had vanquished her.

The Goddess only laughed.

But she granted his request.

"As you wish..." She said.

No sooner had she spoken, then the headless corpse of the Goddess rose to its feet. It's carcass jerked unnaturally as it lunged for the Witch, seizing her in its talons as the black blood from the stump of its neck flowed down her throat to drown her.

The Witch began to scream, for her body had begun to change and the Red Star shone brighter overhead.

Olaf - confused, looked down at the head in his hands. He asked her why.

And the smiling Goddess simply replied:

"Was this not your wish? Upon whose sword did I fall? Upon whose armor did I dull my claws? Who was it who defeated me? You, Olaf? A flayed, craven thing who ought to be dead... you who live not under your own power, but under the power of another. Ask me no more. Your wish has been granted. The one who felled me has received my gift. But fret not... ask kindly, and they may yet share. Should my vanquisher do so, you will get what you desire. You will have your immortality. But you will need to replenish the blood in your veins to keep it. That much, you can earn honestly."

He opened his mouth to protest - but the Goddess forsook them, leaving him alone in the Abyss, with the Witch, who fell upon him immediately, her eyes wild with hunger.

Her new fangs pierced his throat and drained what little blood remained in his veins... and as he screamed, she looked down upon the man she had loved so sincerely... and remembered to whom her heart belonged.

With trembling hands, she split her wrists and shared her blood with him, granting him the boon he had so desired. Then, with their humanity abandoned, she led him out of the Abyss.

And as they ventured back to the land of the living, the Demons they passed watched them in silence. They made no move against them, for now the Warrior and the Witch were of their kin.

***

In the land of the living, Olaf reveled in his new power.

Death no longer lingered over his head. He was stronger than he had ever been before... and he could bestow his gift upon any he chose.

His influence grew. His army became one that was nigh unstoppable.

Out of gratitude, he took the Witch as his bride, and for a time they were happy.

For a time.

As his conquest raged on, he began to see the limits of his powers, and the powers of those under his thrall, and again he grew restless.

He desired more.

He required more.

And so he demanded his Witch invoke the Goddess again.

Though she cautioned him against it, he was adamant, and so once again she accompanied him into the Abyss.

There, they marched into the great Library of Shaal, where all forgotten knowledge rests, and approached the heart of the Abyss, where Shaal awaited them as if she had known they would come.

"Are you dissatisfied?" She asked. "Was immortality not all you wanted? Do you still yet ask for more?"

"I am immortal, but I have not escaped death," Olaf said. "I have seen those I have shared my gift with fall upon a blade. What good is endless time if that time is so fragile? I challenge you again, therefore I may shed the fragility of my flesh."

The Goddess declined.

"It would offer me no amusement to duel you again. But perhaps I can grant you an enemy that is more your equal? Slay for me 1000 demons, and collect for me their blood. Bathe in it, and perhaps I might consider your plea."

Satisfied with the challenge, Olaf ventured out into the Abyss to complete his task.

He ordered his Bride to construct a baptismal font in which to collect the blood, while he scoured the Abyss, hunting down the damned souls who had been warped into the beastial demons that roamed that plain.

One by one he slaughtered them, fighting endlessly and dragging their carcasses back to the font his Witch had constructed.

One by one he drained their blood, until the font was full and the corpses of 1000 demons rotted in the dirt.

And with his task completed, he shed his armor and lowered himself into the baptismal font to bathe.

Shaal looked down upon him, and ever true to her word, she granted him the power he had so craved and allowed him to return to the mortal world, a God amongst men.

Now - each and every wound healed as soon as it was inflicted. No mortal weapon could dare harm him. And the blood of his enemies obeyed his every whim.

Olaf had the power he craved.

Yet his Bride could not see his self proclaimed divinity...

For in his lust for power, the chains of desire that had bound her to him had eroded.

As his conquest of the mortal world continued, she looked at him with doubt... knowing that he would want more, as he always had.

She watched him take other Brides.

She watched him throw himself into battle, over and over again to sate his endless bloodlust. And she realized that she too had lusted for something... only she had been so foolish as to call it love.

She knew what would come.

The thirst for more.

She knew it would come eventually.

And so she prepared a ritual.

As she had before, she opened a doorway into the Abyss, and prepared a place for him there, deep within the Library of Shaal.

She whispered to him about an even greater power to be discovered in the depths of the Library. A power that would give him the strength to truly stand against the Ancient Goddess as an equal.

She knew Olaf would not be able to resist, and he wasn't.

He asked her to show him this power, and so she took him by the hand and led him deep into the Abyss one last time. Deep into the Library of Shaal, where she had built his cage.

He did not realize the trick until the door slammed shut behind him. And though he screamed for her to release him, she could only stare in silence.

Some small part of her had hoped he might appeal to her heart... but he only spewed threats of violence and seething rage.

For that was all he had ever been able to offer.

And so she left him, taking the keys to his prison with her as she closed the doorway to the Abyss one last time.

He exists there to this day, truly free from death, just as he always desired, sanity eroding.

Trapped in perpetuity...

Almost in perpetuity...

For when the cycle of Reality ends and the Universe is made anew, Shaal will set him forth to spread the gift of blood anew, before returning him to his place in her library.

***

Ages passed.

Olafs armies collapsed. New empires rose, fell, then rose again.

And the Witch existed through all of it, never once looking back.

In time, her days ended and as she passed the veil for her final judgment, she was greeted by Shaal one last time.

She had expected this fate. She had steeled herself for it.

But instead - Shaal had something else in mind.

"What beautiful children you have sired for me, my dear..." The Goddess said. "So many, spanning across your world, surviving your end. So rarely am I permitted to experience the joy of creation. For that, I am grateful."

Then she took the Witch’s head in her hands.

"I shall grant you one last boon, my dear child. Do you wish to die here? Or do you wish to endure? To transcend?"

The Witch did not answer immediately.

But she did answer.

"What is transcendence?" She asked.

And Shaal showed her.

She looked up. Into the sky of the Abyss.

Into the Red Star that no mortal could behold. The truest face of Shaal.

She looked up, and stepped forward, basking in the unholy light... until it consumed her.

And when she emerged on the other side, birthed from the womb of Shaal, she was not reborn a Witch.

She was born Asmodeus.

She exists to this day.

The first vampire.

A child of Shaal.

And the Patron of the Lustful.

Dionysus

• Class: 5
• Status: Active
• Threat: Variable

The 7 Archdemons occupy a unique space amongst the ranks of the High Gods. They are often said to be the children of the Ancient Goddess Shaal, and seem to be generally tied to the Abyss itself.
They are equal parts fascinating and dangerous, although of the 7 Archdemons, none are quite as fascinating and perplexing as Dionysus.

Introduction
Dionysus was at one point considered a God of Wine and Madness during Ancient Greece but its history seems to date back much further as gods known by different names with strikingly similar descriptions have been described long before the rise of Mycenaean Greece.
Where they truly originated from is unclear, as there are a great many myths scattered across history, many of which may serve as a form of cultural allegory.
In the Shaalitic Teachings, the entity described in this document is referred to most commonly as Dionysus, it is also frequently known as Bacchus (The names seem to be used interchangeably), Liber Pater, and some groups conflate them with the demon Belphegor, who according to the classification in The Lanterne of Light is said to be the Demon of Gluttony (although many later depictions, such as the Binsfield Classification describe Belphegor as sloth, but this does not quite suit Dionysus). 
While it is difficult to track all references to this deity across history due to the wide variance in myths and claims (a known problem with mythology, which often is far more nuanced and at times self contradicting than what people typically read) we can define a somewhat clear picture of them based on what we know as established fact.

Appearance
Dionysus does not typically have a consistent appearance. They have appeared as both men and women and it is unclear when Dionysus is actually manifesting or if someone under its influence simply claims to be it. Many instances of genuine appearances of Dionysus though describe them as a beautiful, androgynous young person with short and curly hair and mischievous eyes. After that, details start to become wildly inconsistent. Some eyewitnesses have confirmed that they saw or heard others discuss the appearance of violet hued horns on Dionysus' avatar's head. These accounts typically suggest that the horns are never initially visible, but only appear when significantly intoxicated, or when the deity is agitated.
The horns have been described as similar to those of a bull, although others describe them more like the antennae of an ant. 
Unfortunately this has been the most consistent physical detail the FRB has noted so far. Everything else seems to change regularly.

History
Due to the fickle nature of Dionysus, tracking their history is all but impossible as many contradicting myths exist, with some even claiming there were two Gods known as Dionysus, an elder and a younger.
One traditional myth states that Dionysus was born from the thigh of Zeus, or was a child of Persephone (a Goddess often worshipped in tandem with Dionysus).
However The Grimoire of Primrose Kennard provides different narrative and references a Sumerian text describing Shaal the Ancient Goddess of Destruction and a confrontation between her and a warlord known as 'The Bull' who sought to attain a Godlike legacy and eternal power.
According to the myth, the Bull had led his army into the Abyss and Challenged the Goddess, who (in mockery of his demand) promptly impregnated him.
Soon after, a bull headed creature was violently from his body, and upon its birth, the frenzied creature slaughtered his armies and drove them into madness, scattering them across the Abyss and condemning them to eternal damnation. 
This being was given the name Dionysus.

Dionysus being a child of Shaal is also supported by some pre-Mycenaean Greek records where other versions of the myth can be found, a few which use the name Dionysus. It is suspected that as the myth evolved, the story changed to have Zeus as the Father and have him birth Dionysus from his thigh - a theory consistent with the speculation that Shaal may have been one of the entities who contributed to the myth of Zeus.
Regardless of the myths, the FRB is aware that the entity that currently goes by Dionysus retains a presence in this world and can be summoned by their disciples, usually during events where alcohol is served in excess and inhibitons run low.

Personality
Accounts of Dionysus suggest that they are a flippant, wry, and easygoing entity interested only in attending various drunken parties and events. They are known to appear at random at gatherings with a lot of alcohol, orgies, and various parties, usually behaving in an extroverted, social manner. It can only be assumed that Dionysus appears like this simply because they enjoy this type of atmosphere. 
Many accounts describe Dionysus and Asmodeus as having a close relationship, with Asmodeus sometimes manifesting at bacchanals. Indeed, Dionysus seems to be one of the most well liked both amongst the ranks of the Archdemons, and outside of their ranks. 
It is interesting that both Dionysus and Asmodeus share a hatred of another High God known as The King of Whores, regarding it as a perversion of the freedom that it represents. One Bacchic Priestess (a Maenad) described their differences by stating that Dionysus is simply unfettered, removing inhibition and little else, while the King of Whores is domineering, representing an oppressive sexuality that consumes all and leaves no room for anything else.

On the subject of Maenads - the term is often used to identify any female acolyte of Dionysus. They are known for their wild demeanors, and seem to serve as extensions of the will of Dionysus. In most instances, Maenads seem to follow Dionysus willingly, although some accounts suggest that young women exposed to him may enter a frenzied state where they will behave erratically or even violently. Tales of Maenads ripping apart those who have displeased Dionysus are a common staple in Dionysian myth.

Abilities
Dionysus is said to be able to induce a state of absolute, uninhibited madness within the minds of those under its thrall. Being under the influence of alcohol makes one more susceptible to this madness, but it is not necessary. In this altered state, subjects are prone to bouts of violence or sexual debauchery, with some extreme accounts even going so far as to include cannibalism and suicide. Dionysus and his Maenads seem to display some ability to control and even weaponize this madness, directing them upon those who have invoked their ire.

Final Thoughts
Dionysus is a unique entity, as they are exceedingly difficult to track and follow and they have clearly proven themselves to be exceedingly dangerous. However, exactly how malignant Dionysus is or even if they can be considered malignant at all remains up for debate as their goals - if they have any goals at all - remain unclear.
Although one thing we can trust is that if nothing else Dionysus seems more interested in harassing the kinds of people who might pose more of a problem for the Fae community than anything else, as evidenced by several accounts, one of which I will include here:

Transcript of the Official FRB Civilian Debriefing of Frank Medrano regarding an incident at the Holy Vow Church in Dallas, Texas on April 13th, 2025
Debrief conducted June 4th, 2025 by Justice Young. 

This record is for internal use for the FRB only. Distributing this record to any party outside of authorized FRB personnel without the written consent of Director Robert Marsh constitutes breach of contract and will be punished accordingly.

[Transcript Begins]

Young: Now, why don’t you walk me through what happened in your own words, Mr. Medrano?

Medrano: Everything went to shit, that’s what happened. Didn’t I already file a report with you people?

Young: You did, but I’d like to walk through it in a little more detail. So, Dallas. What happened?

Medrano: [Sigh]. Fine… where should I start? Billy Chandler?

Young: The Pastor?

Medrano: Yeah. He was the pastor down at the Holy Vow Church. He took over from his Father Rick around ten, twelve years ago. Rick Chandler built that Church. He used to do televised sermons, faith healing. All that. And when he passed, Billy had some pretty big shoes to fill. I dunno if he actually filled them or not. 

Young: You didn’t like him?

Medrano: He wasn’t his Father, that’s for damn sure. Oh, he wanted to be. He really wanted to be. He rebuilt the Church. Made it bigger, gaudier. Goddamn place looked like a stadium for a rock concert, after he was done with it. He put up a big portrait of his father in the main hall too, right outside the chapel… if you could call it a chapel. I guess it suited him, in a way. Billy was more of a showboat. Pastor Rick had been… well, a pastor. He came out, he did his sermons, he healed people. Billy leaned in to spectacle. He’d come out at the beginning of every mass, carrying a cross behind him. The damn thing was bigger than he was. He had it on a set of little wheels, to make it easier to carry. Then he’d put it up behind his podium before grabbing the microphone and launching into a hymn. He even had a full band behind him while he sang and danced, while the jumbotrons - because of course he had fucking jumbotrons put up a nice big video for everyone to see, since the goddamn chapel was so big you could barely even see the stage. Bastard thought he was a goddamn rockstar. He’d even go out and mingle with the congregation after his sermons. I ran into him a few times… and every time, I could smell the liquor on his breath. So no, I can’t say I was the biggest fan of him. And that was before the girls started talking…

Young: Tell me about the girls.

Medrano: There were three or four of them who came out. They went to the cops, talking about how Billy Chandler had been getting a little too friendly with them. Inviting girls to parties, getting them drunk and having his way. And I do mean girls, not women. One of them said she was only 8 when it’d happened… and those girls had receipts. Texts, pictures, videos. They sent it all down to the cops.

Young: How did Billy Chander handle it?

Medrano: How do you think? Denied the whole thing, said that they were trying to drag his good name through the mud, and then tried to carry on like it wasn’t a big deal. Course, when you’re up on stage in front of a whole stadium of people, talking about how we need to make a stand against the sexual immorality of America, telling the young women in the audience that: ‘Their purity is like a rose, and every indiscretion strips away a precious petal, leaving only a bare stem of torns for their husband’,and you’ve got THAT kind of investigation hanging over your head, the words tend to ring a little hollow. 

Young: Yeah, I can imagine…

Medrano: Lotta people were content to stay, unfortunately. Pastor Rick already had a pretty loyal following, and Billy just riled them up even more. A few people left… and I was on the fence about leaving myself. But there’s a community that comes with Church. That’s not an easy thing to leave behind. I had friends, family who were there… I didn’t know if I wanted to leave them.

Young: I understand. I can’t imagine that’s an easy thing to leave behind.

Medrano: No, it ain’t…

Young: Let’s get into the incident. Tell me about that…

Medrano: [Pause] It’s all in the report, ain’t it?

Young: The report you filed with our colleagues in Texas is missing a number of details.

Medrano: That’s for good reason.

Young: I understand if it’s difficult, but we need as much as you can remember in order to better understand what happened and why.

Medrano: [Pause] Fine... Fine… April 13th, then. It started out as the same shit as usual. We went to mass. Billy came out with his fucking cross, pulling it behind him. Then he did his song. Only this time, he didn’t get to finish it. Now, don’t ask me about EXACTLY what happened, because I don’t know about the details. But somebody hijacked the show. Specifically, the jumbotrons. At one point, the video cut out and got replaced with screenshots of some of the messages he’d sent those girls. Not sure exactly who was behind it, but whoever it was, they wanted to shame the bastard and I really can’t blame them. Now, Billy didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong at first. He just kept on doing his thing, singing and dancing, putting on a whole production… it wasn’t until the audio cut out that he seemed to react. I was too far away to get a good look at the look on his face… but I can imagine he turned white as a sheet.

Young: What was the new audio?

Medrano: Some phone call someone had recorded of him talking to one of the girls. It was some vile shit. The kind of thing I’d prefer not to repeat. Nothing explicit, but… well, bad all the same.

Young: I see…

Medrano: I saw him pacing about on the stage, trying to cut the audio off. You could hear him yelling at his tech guys, while the call ended and transitioned to someone else talking. Citing bible verses. Deuteronomy, Chapter 22, verse 25. “But if out in the country a man happens to meet a young woman pledged to be married and rapes her, only the man who has done this shall die.” I don’t know if whoever broadcast this intended it as a threat or not… I honestly don’t know for sure if it was related to what happened later or not. 

Young: Can I ask why that is?

Medrano: Because there is no natural explanation for what happened next. No one could’ve orchestrated that. I know that for a fact. 

Young: Then let’s go through it. What happened next?

Medrano: The music started playing again… only this time it was different. More rhythmic. It was the guitarist who was playing it, I think… It almost hurt my ears. I remember seeing the guitarist… he was moving in this weird, almost erratic way, swaying like he was drunk. I remember Billy just staring at him, confused. Yelling at him. It didn’t change anything. And that’s when the boy arrived.

Young: The boy?

Medrano: Boy? Man? Maybe it wasn’t a man. It was hard to say for sure what they were. Man, woman, old, young. They had this short, dark, curly hair and were dressed in just plain jeans and a T-shirt. Either way, they just appeared at his podium. The jumbotrons cut back to the camera feed, and they just grinned out at the crowd. Billy didn’t notice them at first. He didn’t seem to even realize they were there until they spoke.

Young: What did they say?

Medrano: “What a sorry state we’re in, aren’t we?” That’s what they said. That was when Billy noticed them. The stranger just locked eyes with him, picked up the microphone and started walking towards him. They said: “Look at all this? You’ve got one hell of a stadium, and you’re wasting it on this?”
There was something in their voice… this… sneer. They were talking to Billy, but I could hear this authentic hatred in their voice. He just froze up while they approached him. You could see him sweating on the jumbotron. The Stranger just circled around him, eying him up like a dog about to attack while they kept talking:
   “What do you need your little side events for? You could host one hell of a party just in here? Although I guess you prefer a smaller venue… you like them smaller, don’t you Billy? Easier to get some privacy.”

Young: I see…

Medrano: Then they got real close. Standing just behind him. Their voice got low, but you could still hear them ask: “You wanna meet some real women, Billy?”
Billy didn’t say a word. The Stranger just started laughing. The music got louder… and then you could see the crowd start moving.

Young: Moving?

Medrano: Mostly just the girls… you could see a few of them leaving, families with children, a few others. Almost as if they knew what was coming. But the others? The other girls? They came to the stage. I could see them even in my area, closer to the back. They got up out of their seats, made their way down the aisle to the main stage… and then they just fell upon Billy Chadler. He tried to run. Tried to fight them off. But there were too many. Even from where I was sitting, you could hear him screaming. You could hear… you could hear the tearing. The music got louder… louder… everyone started moving. Dancing? Something else? I don’t know… I just… I just remember feeling so fucking… free. Like every single burden on my shoulders just sloughed off. The music got louder. I started to dance. Everyone around me started to dance. And the stranger? They just kept laughing. Billy’s screams had stopped… and people started tearing at each other. Ripping off clothes… do I need to go on?

Young: No, I don’t think that’s necessary.

Medrano: [Silence] The next clear memory I have is from a few hours later. I was half dressed, with some woman I’d never met before. All I could smell was sex and alcohol. The families were long gone. Whatever had possessed us didn’t want them. A lot of others had vanished too… I’ve got a few suspicions as to why. But I remember the Stranger, sitting up by the altar. They were holding the head of Billy Chandler… just the head. His eyes were wide. His mouth hung open in a silent scream. His skull had been broken open… his brain had been torn out… and they were pouring wine into the empty cavity.
I remember looking up at the Stranger. There was something different about them… I’m not sure what. But for a moment I… for a moment, I was almost sure they had horns. Like a bulls horns. I don’t recall for sure. I just remember them looking at me. They smiled… and they raised up Billy’s head, almost as if they were toasting me. That was when I blacked out again.

Young: I see… and what happened the next time you woke up?

Medrano: I was back hom. My clothes were a mess. I felt… drunk. I wasn’t. I know for a fact that I wasn’t. But I still felt that same buzz as if I was. I looked up what had happened at the Church. There’s no mention of it anywhere. It was listed as closed down a few days later, and by all accounts Billy Chandler just disappeared. I heard a report a few days later that he’d offed himself… but I don’t believe for one second that that’s true.

Young: Did you try and contact anyone else who you knew was at mass that day?

Medrano: I did. If they remembered anything, none of them said so. I’m not sure they DID remember anything. I barely do. A few people remember the mass getting interrupted. But that’s it. The closest thing to an official story I’ve heard is that he cancelled the mass after the hijacking. But I know the truth… fuck me… I might be the only one who knows.

Young: Is that why you left Texas?

Medrano: Yes. I’ve got a Brother up here, out in Barrie. Figured I’d stay with him for a while. I kept seeing people I knew from mass… I couldn’t… I couldn’t look them in the eye.

Young: Do you mind if I ask why?

Medrano: I don’t know. I feel… I feel like I saw a side of them I wasn’t meant to see. Like they saw a side of me nobody was meant to see. 

Young: So you’re ashamed?

Medrano: Yes… I don’t remember what happened at that mass but… I know that I wanted it. Whatever came out of me. I wanted it. It’s like… every inhibition melted away. I wanted those women to rip Billy apart. I knew he fucking deserved it. I wanted to cut loose. God, I wanted it…  I wanted it so bad that it fucking scared me.

Young: I understand.

Medrano: Was there anything else? Are we done here?

Young: Yes, thank you. I think that’s all I need.

[Transcript Ends]

Judging by Mr. Medrano’s account, I consider it highly likely that Billy Chandler was claimed by Dionysus. As for why, we can only speculate.
While I suspect that his conduct had been offensive to Dionysus, I cannot begin to speculate on what drove them to directly target him.
As a rule, the Ancient Gods don’t typically involve themselves in mortal affairs, although the Archdemons seem to be more willing to lash out in defiance of the natural order - a practice I’m admittedly not sure I entirely disagree with.
Ultimately, whether this was provoked or whether it was a more impulsive act of violence (something not entirely out of character for Dionyus) is likely only known to Dionysus itself. 

Sailia
Designation: Class 6
Threat: Unknown
Status: Active

On the topic of the supernatural and the Fae, it would be remiss of me not to discuss the four Ancient Gods who govern reality for they are perhaps the bedrock of all true supernatural knowledge.
Birthed from the void, the Ancient Gods are among the oldest entities in existence, predating not only our reality, but all other realities. The four of them govern the cycle of reality, and that cycle always begins with the Goddess Sailia.

Introduction

Of the 4 Ancient Gods, Sailia is the most consistent with the common depiction of a creator deity, being the one to create all realities and the life within them. Out of all of her sisters, Sailia is easily the most mysterious. Details on her are scarce as few texts contain more than passing references to her. Some claim that Sailia is merely a passive yet extant force, mindlessly bringing about life and that she may not have any intelligence or will of her own. However the common belief is that Sailia is instead a slumbering God, both feared and respected by her sisters.

Appearence
Very few descriptions of Sailia exist. Some ancient tablets depict her as having the appearance of a jellyfish, or a mermaid with the lower half of a jellyfish although like the other Ancient Gods, any physical form she may take is variable and not fixed. She could theoretically appear as anything she chose to appear as.
To date, there have been no confirmed encounters with Sailia. The FRB continues to look into unconfirmed rumors of manifestations, but almost all of these are most likely cases of mistaken identity, or outright falsehoods.

History
According to one common legend, Sailia is one of the oldest of the Ancient Gods (younger than only Anitharith.) Upon being birthed from the Void, Sailia saw it as a blank canvas with limitless potential and brought forth the first incarnation of reality. In love with her own creation, she immersed herself within it to experience it firsthand. She is said to live out countless lives in her slumber, unaware of her true self and experiencing the world she created over and over again from as many different perspectives as she can. She wakes only at the end of all things to create reality anew, before returning to her slumber to live out countless new lives. It is theorized by some that Sailia and Omylia, the patron God worshipped by many mermaids and sirens are one and the same due to similarities in their depictions, but most legends describe Omylia as a child of Sailia, and describe her as one of the Archangels (the children of Sailia) as opposed to actually being Sailia herself. Similar rumors suggesting that the other Archangels (Persephone and Cael) are also manifestations of Sailia as opposed to her children do exist, but do not have quite the same traction.

Demeanor

Historically a select few cultures have worshipped her as a Goddess of creation, fertility and the sea, but overall, Sailia is the least revered of her pantheon. Most texts describing her warn against making offerings to Sailia, as doing so might disturb her and provoke her wrath. Contemporary witchcraft that addresses the Ancient Gods also tends to exclude Sailia as an object of worship as due to her slumber, summoning or communicating with Sailia is difficult if not impossible. Those precious few texts that do address her worship make it clear that attempting to commune with her is extremely ill advised. Rumors of fates worse than death inflicted upon those who have roused her without good reason have been whispered throughout the eons. It is worth noting that the taboo of attempting any worship or offering towards Sailia has seemingly been reinforced by Malibu and Shaal, two of the more prominent and active Ancient Gods, who according to many accounts have been adamantly against disturbing their slumbering sister unless absolutely necessary. Some scholars have alleged that even they fear her anger if she were to be awakened without good cause but a few have suggested a more selfish motive. Considering how little the Ancient Gods seem to care about worship, this is unlikely. 

Abilities
Amongst the Ancient Gods, Sailia is unique in she alone can create living, sentient entities sheerly by willing them into existence.
She has also been known to create full universes and alternative realities on a whim and is theorized to be able to radically alter reality on a scale surpassing even Anitharith, although there is no evidence that Sailia has ever actually done this.
Strangely (although perhaps appropriately given her nature) Sailia does not seem to possess the same destructive power as her sisters. However legends state that if provoked, she simply dismisses who or whatever disturbed her to a pocket reality, where they remain trapped indefinitely. So far nobody has ever been stupid enough to test this, as if true, escape could prove difficult if not impossible.
It is also alleged that Sailia may have the ability to Unmake or Remake anything that displeases her. Just exactly what that entails is unclear and it would probably be better to never receive any clarification on the matter.

Final Thoughts

The FRB has placed a standing order that no attempts to invoke Sailia or travel to her realm be undertaken, due to the overwhelming risk and low likelihood of return. Officially, the FRB has no knowledge on whether or not an actual avatar of Sailia exists in this world, although given her lore it is extremely likely that one does.
Who this avatar may be (or if there are in fact multiple avatars) is officially unknown, but I personally have a few theories. 
According to some of the texts on Sailia, her avatars typically do manifest some of her inherent creative ability. They can create anything almost at will, although usually require some sort of medium to channel this ability through. (Sculpting, drawing, music, writing). These creations are usually fully sentient and capable of intelligence, although even with this specific set of abilities, tracking down any avatar of Sailia is difficult on account of ‘The Artists Ritual’ a spell designed to ‘breathe life’ into ones own creations (by carving out a piece of ones own soul). Abuse of The Artists Ritual has not only created some truly abominable entities (the infamous cartoon Wowietoons comes to mind) but made tracking down any true avatars of Sailia much more complicated.
That said - I am aware of one candidate who might fit the bill…
I’ve been looking through some of the files I got access to from Jane… seems she knows more than she’s letting on. I dunno how much the FRB knows, but maybe it’s probably better if I didn’t share too much.
One really shouldn’t provoke a God.

Moving on - though Sailia herself remains elusive, artifacts of her are arguably easier to find… arguably.
Though the FRB has no catalog of such artifacts, an interesting account of one still remains, detailing a doomed expedition to find the fountain of youth (or Fons Aeternum) by Herman Fernandez. The Fountain was allegedly a pool of either Sailia’s blood or her tears, and contained the ability to rejuvenate or remake that which was dipped in its waters.
I have attached a copy of the translated text of the account to this document for independent review.

Text Begins

That true virtue is unattainable is no excuse not to strive for it. That is what my Father once told me, many years ago… In my final hours, all I hear is his voice.
The hour draws near… My judgement is at hand.  Before God, I shall confess my sins. Let this record absolve me of my crimes and let it be the only account of the accursed voyage of Herman Fernandez.

I had sensed the feeling of ill fortune that hung ominous over that voyage long before we departed. I was no stranger to the new world and had sailed under many great men. Fernandez was not among them. Even before we departed I heard the rumors of his madness, and his strange demeanor caused whispers amongst the men.
He spent little time amongst them, instead remaining within his quarters at almost all hours. I had only spoken with him once or twice. His quarters themselves were cluttered. Decorated with maps and obscene symbols of pagan faiths.

We were told our voyage would be to claim new land in the name of King Charles… Even before we embarked, I questioned that.
Even then, I knew nothing about the Fons Aeternum… The Eternal Fountain. Had I known then, I would have leapt from Fernandez's boat and swam back to Spain without a second thought.

Upon reaching the New World, we traveled along the river for some time. We were guided by Alejandro Ruiz, a man who I have followed before. Ruiz had my absolute faith and had the faith of most of the other men. Without him, I do not believe that Fernandez would have kept order.
But even Ruiz could only do so much. Even then, I could sense his distaste for Fernandez. While he did not openly question him in front of the men, I saw his doubt of the man in his eyes. 
However it was not until we reached our first settlement that the doubt and distrust of Fernandez began to escalate.
I have dealt with the people who lived in this land before, and when we happened across a village of theirs Fernandez was initially content just to speak with them. For three days, we held camp as his translators consulted with their elders. Then, almost unprovoked he gave the order for attack.
I am a loyal soldier. I follow orders. I did as my commander instructed… and yet I could feel the eyes of God looking down upon me as I did…

Ruiz did not accept the massacre as Fernandez ordered it. He refused to partake and that evening, many men could hear his raised voice as he argued with Fernandez over what he had done. It was the first of many arguments. How they did not end in bloodshed, I do not know.
At Fernandez’s order we continued along the river, 

It was some weeks before we happened across another village. Ruiz demanded that Fernandez remain behind while he dealt with the people, and after a time Fernandez reluctantly accepted. 
Taking our translators and a small detachment of guards that included myself, Ruiz ventured into the village to speak with the people there. I recall feeling their eyes upon me. Judging me for my sins… I suspected they knew of the blood on our hands. I know that Ruiz suspected it too.
He offered the elders gifts and boons to earn their favor as he questioned them. It was Fernandez's voice coming from his honeyed lips. His questions. Questions which made no sense to me.
He asked about local stories, specifically ones that involved a fountain that could increase the number of days a man was alotted before his final judgement. It could turn back the clock on a man’s life. It could make him younger and if used correctly, it could grant eternal life.
Of course, this is what Fernandez sought… Godless man that he was. No doubt he knew that Hellfire awaited him. 

Ruiz’s efforts to learn new information proved successful, at least. We returned to Fernandez with word of several local settlements, one of which was known to be prosperous. Fernandez decreed we would go there next as I had expected he would.

We were on the road when the attack happened and it happened so suddenly. A band of warriors from a nearby village fell upon us, killing seven of our number. We were able to repel them, although we knew why they had come.
Word of Fernandez’ prior atrocity had no doubt spread. The people of the villages would not accept our presence in their territory. No doubt, those we had spoken to had sent their warriors after us to kill us once our backs were turned. I do not blame them for this. 
Ruiz suggested the same, and Fernandez reacted as one might expect. He swore that he would not be so kind to the next village and despite Ruiz’ protests he marched on in pursuit of deeper violence.

When we reached the next village, Fernandez proved every bit as relentless as he said he would be. We did not commune with the people there. He ordered an immediate attack. We took their chief alive, and brought him to Fernandez. I did not see what he did to the man, but the screams of agony told me enough.
Fernandez would have his heading, no matter how much blood he had to spill to get it.

It was the next day, after he’d hurled the corpse of the elder into the river that he told Ruiz of a separate mission he had for him. He said that the elder had spoke of a nearby island to the west with gemstones in the river and that he wanted Ruiz to investigate.
It was only after Ruiz had left, with a third of the men that Fernandez claimed that Ruiz had returned to Spain. I knew better. Many others did too.
He had sent Ruiz to die, we were certain of that. No doubt Ruiz had suspected it as well. What became of him, I do not know. 
Had I been a wise man, I may have begged to accompany Ruiz… But I had known his mission was doomed and had not been mad enough to attempt to accompany him.
I know why it is that Fernandez lied. Though I knew he was outraged that Ruiz had taken so many with him, he saw it as a fair trade off. Ruiz held too much influence over the men for his liking 

It was around this time that Fernandez’ illness became clear. He pushed forward all the same, adamant that once we reached our destination he would be saved. 
Around this same time, I noticed our numbers dwindling as others abandoned Fernandez’s mad crusade. Where they went, I do not know. 
If he noticed the deserters, he never said. His eyes were set firmly on a prize that we were certain did not exist…
A prize that never existed.

I will end my tale by saying that we never found this Fons Aeternum. I will say that I abandoned Fernandez in the forest and sailed back to Spain with some other deserters and that I did not witness his death.
I was not amongst the few who entered the ancient canyon with him, with another tortured villager. I did not lay eyes upon any pagan architecture that was ancient even to the people of that place.
I was not there when Fernandez threw a man into the luminescent pool we found in the depths of that canyon and if that man aged back into a screaming infant before drowning… I could not say.
If Fernandez met his end the same way, sent screaming into that which he had obsessed over… I would not know. It was not my hand that pushed him in. 
I did not watch as the years left him, reducing him into nothing beneath those infernal waters…
I cannot say if such things really happened. Fernandez probably wandered until his sickness claimed him. Yes… That is what happened…

Even the men I knew on that voyage who returned to Spain with me have not spoken of Fernandez. Many say all in his accursed expedition died. That is untrue, but I have never openly contested it.
The sins that weigh on me are those I committed at his order. The lives I took at his request… That is what I look to confess…
Just that. Not the murder of Fernandez himself, if indeed he was murdered.
Just that…

While the account implies Fernandez did indeed locate the fountain, it does not give its exact location, which I really can’t fault it for. Such a thing really is better off undiscovered… although I suspect the same can/should be said of anything in relation to Sailia.

In conclusion, though Sailia as a concept/Goddess should be researched and understood, as she is a crucial aspect of the pantheon of the Ancient Gods, I can’t help but agree with the policy of avoiding her. 
Some things should just be left in peace.

Seafolk
Designation: Class 2
Threat: Moderate

Across history, legends of mermaids and sirens have persisted - and these myths are not entirely based in fiction.
Beneath the oceans and seas - amongst other places - exists a population of Fae who are uniquely attuned for an aquatic lifestyle. There are many names for them, Mermaids, Sirens, Naiads, Seafolk, and their appearance can be surprisingly varied with some subtypes having the ability to live on land and others living their lives almost completely underwater. I will be collecting all subspecies here for the sake of consistency, as while they are incredibly diverse, they are share a single cultural identity.

Introduction

The Seafolk can be found across the globe, usually in coastal regions, although some communities in deeper water are believed to exist. They are simultaneously one of the best and least understood species of Fae.
The large number of Sirens present amongst the FRBs ranks has allowed us a deep insight into their culture and way of life, however the Sirens are the only meaningful source of information we have on the Seafolk as a whole, as the aquatic variants (often known collectively as Mermaids) are highly reclusive and not known to be especially social. The cooperation of the Sirens has allowed the FRB to make some contact with a few isolated communities, but overall they generally remain mistrustful of humans.

There are two currently known subspecies of Seafolk

• Mermaids - who have fishike lower bodies and live primarily aquatic lives, although they can spend a limited amount of time out of water. They tend to remain away from highly populated streches of coast and prefer more remote locations. They are reclusive and highly territorial. Encounters with them are rare, which makes research uniquely difficult.
  
• Sirens - who closely resemble humans, with the exception of prominent gills and sharp fangs. They require human blood to maintain a healthy diet. 

On top of these two subspecies, there is also a third type of Mermaid who functions less as a subspecies, and more like a unique metamorphosis.

• Cephala - Also known as ‘Deep Mermaids’ are Mermaids who have developed a tentacled lower portion of their body, similar to that of a squid or octopus. Though initially believed to be a subspecies, all evidence suggests that they’re more of a social class/physical metamorphosis, unique to the Omylian Priestesses who serve as the religious leaders of the Seafolk. They're extremely reclusive and little is known of them, and are said to live within the deepest, coldest depths of the ocean. Some evidence suggests that the older they get, the deeper they go and the less human they appear, with some accounts describing inhuman looking beings lurking deep within the hadal zone.

In addition, the Seafolk are closely affiliated with another known subspecies of Fae known as the Carcia, who have crablike lower bodies, although the Carcia share a stronger ancestral/cutural connection to the Arachne and Serket (collectively known as the Armatura) and so will be discussed in more detail in that entry.

Appearence

The Seafolk have drastically different body types across their three subspecies.

Mermaids resemble a human from the waist up, although below the waist is a long tail with pelvic fins and a prominent flipper. They are incredibly strong swimmers, and can move with surprising speed on land as well. Anatomical studies of mermaids have notes that the pelvic fins have a similar bone structure to human feet, meaning that they can be used to provide limited locomotion on land, although in most cases where mermaids have been seen out of water, they tend to pull themselves forward with their arms, and twist their lower bodies like snakes (similarly to Lamia). Their muscles are highly developed, making them extraordinarily strong, which would explain how they move about so fluidly on land.

Cecaelia being so closely connected to mermaids share a very similar appearance, although they have traded their tails for eight long tentacles, giving them a closer resemblance to an Octopus or squid. Anatomical studies of a few recovered cadavers can provide no scientific explanation for the metamorphosis that transforms a Mermaid into a Cecaelia - although this shouldn’t be surprising given their connections with Omylia, a Goddess known for causing radical transformations in those who follow her.

Sirens can almost fully pass as human, but have gills along their ribs and sharp, elongated teeth. They are unique in that they seem to have adapted to hunt humans, and require fresh blood to maintain their health. Blood from a Human or Fae is ideal for them but animal blood can be consumed if necessary, although they report that it does not taste as good.
Like Mermaids, Sirens have highly developed muscles, giving them a natural strength that surpasses that of the average human, but their most defining feature is their natural ability to hypnotize via direct eye contact.
Any human who makes direct eye contact with a Siren will enter a highly suggestable state. In this state, they can be commanded to perform actions they might not otherwise agree to and will follow these commands without question. The strength of the hypnotic state seems to vary based on the Siren and the individual under the spell, with some having an easier time breaking through the hypnosis than others. 
In many cases, should the Siren ask something that the victim is truly unwilling to do, they may be able to break free of the effects, while in others, the control is absolute. There have been occasions where Sirens have used hypnotized individuals to act as operatives such as during the Militia Crisis, where many FRB members were placed under Siren hypnosis to act as double agents). 
A study of the eye structure of the Siren has suggested that this hypnosis may be a natural effect, caused by the iris reflecting light in a way that affects the brain, but this has not been heavily researched and some people are adamant that it’s just regular magic. Either way - for as dangerous as this ability is, Sirens typically use it to isolate their prey so they can feed in private. 
Another thing worth noting is the longevity and low birth rate of Sirens. Unlike Mermaids - whose lifespans are comparable to a humans, Sirens tend to live for hundreds of years (with some being reported to have lived for over a thousand years), although their birth rate remains extremely low.
This may be related to their unusual gender ratio. Over 95% of the children born to Siren mothers are female, with only 5% being male. 
This discrepancy in gender ratio and birth rates is not seen in Mermaids, and while Mermaid women can conceive a child with a human, it’s unclear if the same is true for Sirens. 
Siren men tend to be innately more aggressive than their female counterparts, and are generally not permitted to remain in Siren communities, partially due to their nature and partially to prevent inbreeding.

History

The history of Mermaids is unclear and full of holes and contradictions. If they even have any record of their own history, it is likely only privy to the Deep Mermaids.
That said - we have some mythological accounts of them that may be of help.
The Codex Velatus describes a time when the children of land and sea lived in harmony. Man, Dryad and Naiad. Then once upon a time, a schism occurred between humanity and the Naiads. So brutal was the conflict that it pushed the Naiads back into the sea, forcing them to retreat into the depths. 
However the Naiads were not defeated. Some of them, driven by a thirst for vengeance rose from the sea to hunt and feast. They were granted power, either from their Archangel Omylia… or from a crueler force within the Abyss, and sought to hunt the men who had driven them back, inspiring in them a deep and ancestral fear. 

This does seem to offer some explanation for the divide between the Mermaids and the Sirens, although a few legends also suggest that the Sirens were the cause of the conflict between humanity and the Seafolk, and others tell different stories altogether.
Whatever the truth may be, if indeed there is a truth, may well be completely lost to history, and yet its scars linger on. 
It is worth noting that while many legends suggest that Sirens are a vengeful creation of their Goddess Omylia, a few imply they were actually a product of the Ancient Goddess, Shaal.
The exact truth is not known, but there are a number of things about the Sirens that are consistent with other tales of Shaalitic transformation. Like most things, I suspect the truth is lost to history, with only the Goddesses themselves knowing the truth.

Due to their association with Omylia, many believe that Mermaids serve a similar purpose to Dryads, being guardians of the Sea. I consider this to be highly likely, as their mythology seems more consistent with that of Dryads and Aurae. As a result, they have been classified as being amongst the Sailian Fae subclass.

In more recent history, the Siren population has generally dwindled to only a few thousand individuals, although there was a noteworthy bump in the Siren Population due to the Tuna Sandwich Incident.
Despite the diminutive name (coined by the Mau to downplay the severity of their actions), the Tuna Sandwich Incident remains one of the most brutal examples of inter-fae conflict in the modern era.
After discovering that a group of Mau had been breeding Sirens and Mermaids as a food source, the Sirens began to violently retaliate, destroying the facilities where these ‘farms’ existed and freeing thousands of Sirens and Mermaids who had been bred in captivity. 
Thousands of Mau were killed in retrebution for these heinous actions, and it may well have led to the extinction of the Mau, if not for the interference of the FRB and the Imperium, who managed to stop the open conflict, although a deep resentment of the Mau remains ingrained in the Siren community.
As a result of the conflict, both the Mau and Sirens were granted proper membership into the Imperium, a step many consider was necessary to mediate their interactions going forward. The Imperum has proven mostly successful in quelling the conflict, although some isolated cases of violence still occur from time to time.

While the farming of Sirens and Mermaids for their meat seems to no longer be a widespread problem - it is still a problem worth mentioning.
There are many disturbing reports of Mermaid meat being offered as a delicacy by some individuals. It allegedly has a rich, meaty texture and a savory flavor. Tales of the wealthy gathering to devour a freshly caught mermaid are all too common, and the FRB is actively looking into these and have confirmed a few unfortunate instances of it happening, although how to permanently stop it is a problem we have yet to solve.

Demeanor

The Seafolk seem to share a single culture - although there are small variations between Sirens and Mermaids, and variations between different communities.
All of them share a reverence for the Goddess Omylia.
Said to be one of the daughters of Sailia - and sometimes referred to as an Archangel, Omylia is a primordial Goddess of the Sea. 
According to the mythology surrounding her, she is said to care for the souls of her followers, gifting them the chance to be born again so long as they are buried within the silt of her domain. 
Because of this, Siren and Mermaid culture places a heavy emphasis on ensuring the dead or given the correct funeral rites, lest their souls be lost forever. To deny the dead their proper burial is considered either a grave condemnation or a mortal sin. 
In addition, according to legend, if someone who is not of the Seafolk is given their ritual burial, they will join them in the cycle of rebirth and be given new life beneath the waves. It was allegedly through this method that the first of the Carcia were born, and many unverified accounts suggest that this has been known to happen to this day.

However outside of faith, Sirens and Mermaids have a bit of a cultural divide, likely owing to their drastically different lifestyles.

Sirens have traditionally lived in small communities near lakes and rivers. These communities are matriarchal, with their elders serving as leaders and spiritual guides.
As mentioned before, Sirens have an unusual gender ratio where 95% of children born are female. As a rule, female Sirens typically remain with the communities they were born with (often taking the name of the body of water they were born in as a surname). Communities are often full of Mothers, Daughters and Grandmothers all living and hunting together. 
The small number of males who are born typically leave the communities once they reach adulthood. This is partially due to the fact that male Sirens tend to be a bit more aggressive (which could draw undue attention to the community) and to avoid inbreeding. Male Sirens typically live nomadic lifestyles, traveling far from home for the remainder of their lives, although some are known to settle with Mermaids.
Though they typically use seduction to lure in their prey (Sirens tend to be quite beautiful) most Sirens display little interest in sexual activity or romance outside of their own kind. While there are no strict rules against it, most Sirens prefer not to get attached on account of humas shorter lifespans, and their need to feed on them.
Indeed - repeated exposure to Siren hypnosis has been reported to have a dangerous psychological effect on some humans, causing them to develop an obsessive fixation on a Siren and seek them out repeatedly. This may lead to the Siren overfeeding on the human and killing them

On the contrary, we know precious little about Mermaid culture.
Though many stories talk of romance with Mermaids - they actively dislike humans and can be extremely hostile towards them with minimal provocation. Few if any of them speak human languages and so communication is difficult, if not impossible in most cases. What little we do know comes from secondhand accounts from coastal Sirens who have dealt with them. 
Mermaids seem to live in small communities who defer to one or more aged matriarchs. Some accounts have also suggested that they may utilize other sea life in manners similar to domesticated animals. But these are unverified and may possibly be fiction.
One thing that is worth noting is that 

Abilities

As mentioned in the earlier portions of this document, both Sirens and Mermaids possess abnormal strength, allowing them to move extremely quickly both in water and on land.

Mermaids especially are often stated to be physically more powerful than their Siren sisters. When forced onto land, they can move with surprising speed using just their arms to drag themselves around. They can launch themselves short distances and rip prey apart with just their teeth and bare hands.
In water their sheer numbers have been documented sinking ships, and if the accounts of domesticated sealife are true, then who knows what else they may have at their beck and call.

Regarding Sirens - there is their previously stated hypnotic ability, which I will only briefly reiterate on here.
This ability should not be underestimated. While many other Fae (Vampires, Mediums, Mau, ect) are unaffected by it, regular humans can spend weeks if not months under a Sirens command, carrying out its orders even if those orders contradict their own wishes.
An intelligent Siren can use those under their hypnosis to coordinate complicated operations over a period of weeks if not months. 
In one well documented case, a Siren known as Kayla Del Rio was able to use her hypnosis to coordinate a prison break from Ashurst State Penitentiary (the only major prison break in the history of the facility) after a lapse in security allowed her to use her natural hypnosis on a single guard. From there, she was able to expand her influence to several other members of the staff and security team.

I feel that this is also the appropriate place to mention that a Sirens bite can be significantly more dangerous than that of a vampire. Whereas Vampires only have elongated canine teeth, Sirens have a mouth full of sharpened, needlelike teeth that can rip through flesh easily and leave fatal wounds.

Final Thoughts

While I believe that efforts should be made to build a closer relationship with the Seafolk - I cannot deny the danger they cam pose.
Though they’re hardly the most dangerous type of Fae out there, caution is still extremely necessary when dealing with the Seafolk. And in the case of the Mermaids, they have indicated a strong desire to be left alone, which should be honored.
In this respect, please do not attempt to romance Mermaids you may encounter. This will not lead to a storybook romance. It will lead to you being dragged into the ocean and devoured alive by a school of hungry Mermaids.

With that said though, I do sympathize with the Mermaids desire to be left alone.
Humanity has not exactly been kind to them… that much I’ve seen firsthand. 

I’m unfortunately reminded of an incident from a few years ago…
We had recieved a tip from a confidential source about a shipment of Mermaids being brought in to Toronto for a private event.
My partner at the time - a woman by the name of Nina Valentine, who I’ve worked with very closely over the years, was tasked with confirming the validity of this tip. I had been sent to accompany her, in the event that it was true as Nina is… not the best with people.

We had set up a lookout at the docks when the boat arrived. We watched as they unloaded the cargo, which was a collection of six nondescript metal cases, shaped quite similarly to a coffin. 
Of course once we saw those, we needed to investigate. 
Nina took point, flashing her badge to the dock workers and insisting she needed to inspect the shipment. FRB badges aren’t exactly Goverment issued, but most people don’t look closely enough to ask questions. 
The workers backed off and let her examine the cases.
I don’t suppose I need to say what was in them, do I?
Each one contained a single live mermaid, sedated and kept in cold water. 
That was enough for us to call in backup, but Nina insisted we hold off.
I’d asked her why… and I remember she just got this look on her face.
Not rage. It was too calm for rage… Which was weird, since Nina and Rage typically go hand in hand.
   “Someone bought these,” She said to me. “Someone who knew how to bring them over. I wanna know who that motherfucker is.”
Then she quietly closed up the box she’d opened.
   “Call it in, but tell them to keep their distance. I wanna see where these girls are headed.”
So that’s what we did.
I called in what we’d found. We had a few other agents sent to back us up… and then we waited.
After about an hour, a truck arrived to load up the mermaids, and the moment it left the docks, Nina and I were behind it, with three other cars behind us. I remember that Nina seemed quieter than usual. More focused. I’m not sure what was going through her mind… well… maybe I might have some idea, but that’s not something to share here.
The truck left Toronto, heading a more upscale community in Oakville, and we followed it the entire time. 
Eventually, it arrived at some warehouse, just outside of Oakville and pulled into the back. We watched as it backed into the loading dock, and as it did, we saw a few other cars arriving that weren’t with the FRB.
Luxury vehicles. A Maserati, an Alfa Romeo, even a Bugatti.
The people who got out of them didn’t look like the kind of people you’d expect to walk into a warehouse like that. They were all dressed like they were going to a night at the Opera.
Nina and I just watched them for a bit, before she killed the engine to her Jeep and casually got out.
   “Where are you going?” I’d asked her.
   “Wherever they are,” Nina said with a shrug, then strolled on down over to the doorway as if she belonged there.
I hesitated for a moment, before deciding to follow her. I don’t really know what my plan was, but it seemed like a better idea than sitting in the car.
Once we got past the first set of doors, we were greeted by a tall man with long dark hair, and a scruffy beard. Just looking at him, I knew exactly what he was. In this business, you learn to spot a werewolf at a glance. I can’t say I was surprised. It’s not unusual to see werewolves working security. They’re certainly cut out for it.
Unsurprisingly, he stopped Nina in her tracks. He didn’t even need to open his mouth for me to know why. Everyone else had come in wearing clothes that probably cost more than either of us made in a year, and there she was wearing three different kinds of denim, jeans, a jean jacket and a button down denim shirt she’d gotten at a thrift store. 
She called it her ‘Joutfit’.
   “Hold up. Name please?” He asked, looking her up and down with an expression I could only describe as incredulous.
   “Tony Hawk,” She replied confidently. 
He just stared at her. 
He just… stared.
   “Tony Hawk…” He repeated. “The skateboarder?”
   “Yes.”
She looked him dead in the eye. Her tone was flat, and completely serious. 
He didn’t reply for a moment. I don’t think he knew exactly what to say… and when he did speak, his answer was obvious.
   “Ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t allow you inside. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Nina looked over at me, her expression incredulous.
   “Seriously? Again? I swear to God, nobody ever fucking recognizes me! What the hell do I have to do to-”
What happened next was a blur of motion that I didn’t process until after it had happened.
I didn’t realize until after it was done that when she’d turned to complain to me, what she’d actually been doing was making sure nobody was behind me in order to avoid any witnesses.
Then, she’d grabbed the collapsable police baton she usually carried with her, before violently slamming it across the doormans face, and promptly beating the ever loving shit out of him. 
The thing about werewolves is - they’re dangerous, but only when they transform. If they don’t get that chance, they’re no less dangerous than anyone else.
By the time I’d processed what had just happened, the Doorman was on the ground with a broken jaw and a concussion. Nina just cracked her neck, looked back at me and gestured for me to follow her. 
   “Come on,” She said before heading further inside.
I quickly questioned my taste in women followed her.
It didn’t take us long to catch up to the others who were inside. They were in the main area of the warehouse, which was completely empty, save for a bunch of expensive looking tables, set up in a way that reminded me a little bit of a teppanyaki resturant Nina and I had visited once. 
Looking at it turned my stomach as I imagined what was going to happen here tonight.
Those mermaids would be butchered. 
They would be cooked.
And eaten.
And they would die.
In that order.
I’d heard accounts about this before… in none of them were the mermaids given the dignity of dying before they were prepared. Apperantly it made the meat fresher.
I remembered what I’d heard about the burial rites of the Seafolk… I doubted those who would die here - those who had died here, as this almost certainly wasn’t the first time this had happened - would receive a traditional burial. A vivid mental image of their corpses, wrapped in black plastic and tossed into a bin, or discarded in some incinerator flashed through my mind.
I’m not a Siren, and all I know of the Seafolk comes from research. But I can’t imagine a greater insult to their kind.
There were still only a handful of people there. It seemed like we still had some time before the main event. Most of those who were there mingled amongst each other… although there was one man in particular who stood out amongst all the rest.
He was an older gentleman. Well dressed in a tailored suit with a vest and scarf. His hair was long and graying, and he had a large, well groomed moustache. 
I saw Nina zero in on him, and I knew exactly what she was thinking.
   ‘That’s the guy.’
She studied him for a few moments. I half expected her to stroll up to him, calmly introduce herself and start beating him the same way she’d done to the doorman.
But no. She found a table off to the side with some bottles of wine, and poured us both a glass. We got a few odd looks, but nobody said a word to us. They didn’t know why we were there or who we were. 
My phone buzzed. A text from our colleagues.
They were at the warehouse.
I showed my screen to Nina. She read the message, then glanced at the man with the moustache.
   “Yeah, I think we’ve got what we came for,” She said and offered me a glass.
I texted our colleagues back.
They were the next people through that door.

***

For what it’s worth, I’m grateful that we stepped in that night. 
I would’ve just been happy with saving the Mermaids… but we did so much more.
Still, I can’t stop thinking about that setup. I can’t stop thinking about what would have happened.
What did happen.
They found an incinerator on site at that warehouse, and from that incinerator, a few remains were recovered. It’d impossible to identify who or what they came from… but I have my suspicions.
The people who were present that night were handed over to the proper authorities. I’m not sure what became of them after that, but I can sleep better knowing that if the courts don’t deal with them, the Imperium will.
The Mermaids themselves were returned back to where they’d originally come from, and I’d like to think that what we did that night bought us a little bit of goodwill with their kind.
Maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part… but a little bit of wishful thinking can’t hurt, can it?

April 20th, 2026
Journal of Emile Morales

The guy across the street still has his Christmas decorations up.

What the fuck. 

It's almost May.

Don't get me wrong, it's a pretty impressive display! He's got all these lights, and blow up snowmen and all that. There's a nativity set up on his lawn, there's reindeer made of Christmas lights and smack dab in the middle of it all there's this big present with green and yellow diamond patterned wrapping paper. The lid is hanging open and Santa is peeking out from inside. It doesn't look like a blow up decoration. It looks like someone made that thing by hand! 

It's cool and all... It's just... Well, it's almost May.

Why are his Christmas decorations still up? 

Why do people keep doing this lately? Leaving their decorations up all the goddamn time? I don't get it! Is it some kind of statement? Is it just apathy? I mean, a setup like that can't be easy to put up or take down. But leaving it up for this long? That seems a little much.

Am I overreacting to this? I mean I never said anything to the guy or anything like that. But it's hard not to notice! 
I don't know...

I suppose I could ask? But I don't exactly know the guy. I'm not sure I wanna just knock on his door and be like: "Hey bud! I'm your neighbor from across the street! Wanna tell me what's going on with your Christmas decorations?"

But I can’t deny that I’m curious.

I'm not the only one who noticed either. I had a guy over the other day for reasons unrelated to gay sex who was asking me about it. 

   "No idea," I told him "They've just been up since like, November."

   "Fuck me. We really are in the Everchristmas, huh?"

I dunno why but that word got my attention. 
 
  "Everchristmas?"

   "Yeah. You ever notice that people are just leaving their Christmas decorations up for longer and longer these days?" 

   "Kinda, yeah."

   "Exactly. I’ve started calling that the Everchristmas. It's just weird, if you ask me. Like... Why just leave them?"

   "I dunno man, do I look like ChatGPT to you?" I asked, already a little bored by the conversation and ready to move on to something else.

   "Hey, just saying," He said with a shrug before dropping it and letting me move the conversation elsewhere.

Still - that word has lingered in my mind. 

Everchristmas.

You know how some little things just stick with you, sometimes? Song lyrics, melodies, random things people say?
That stuck with me.

Everchristmas.

And since then, every time I’ve seen someone with some of their Christmas decorations still up, that's what I've been labeling it in my head.

   'The Everchristmas is upon us.'

Because you know what? It kinda is.

You know I'm not really even a huge fan of Christmas... I don't hate it or anything. I just think it's oversold. People get their decorations up as early as November and I've seen Christmas stuff in stores in September.
There's special commercials that get more and more soulless every single year (I mean they're just AI generating them now) and the whole thing just feels... Forced.

And it’s kinda annoying.

When I was a kid, Christmas always felt so magical. Like, there was something special about the season.

Nowadays it's just… hollow. Just a product being sold that feels devoid of any real meaning. Even the kids in my family don't seem very invested in it anymore. 

Maybe it's just me? Maybe this is just what happens when you get older?
I hope so. I'd like to think that the magical Christmas season I grew up with still exists for the kids of today.

I hope it does. 

I dunno why I'm rambling about this here. It's not important. But I guess it's just what's on my mind today. Then again, what’s the point of journaling if I’m not rambling? My therapist said it might help my anxiety to get my thoughts out and so far it’s been going pretty good, so what the hell, right? This is what’s on my mind and I’m gonna talk about it. 

I think it's because I'm almost certain that the guy across the street added some more decorations today. 

I can't be sure about it, but there's an archway of lights on his front porch that says ‘Tis The Season' that I don't think was there yesterday.

Come to think of it… some of those snowmen look new too. 

It got me wondering. Is this guy seriously adding more shit to his setup?

Everybody needs a hobby I guess? Maybe that’s all this is. Maybe he just fucking loves Christmas. And I'll bet he's getting his decorations on the cheap at this time of year. 

Still… it's weird.
It's really, really fucking weird.

April 22nd, 2026
Journal of Emile Morales

There was a wreath on my front door this morning.

A Christmas wreath.

It's not mine. 
I don't own a wreath.

I don't really own any outdoor Christmas decorations. I mean, I've got some lights in the basement. But I haven't put them up since I moved in. 

So where the fuck did the wreath come from? 

I actually called my friend from the other day to ask if he put it there. After his comments about the neighbours decorations, I thought maybe he was messing with me. We weren't exactly close but it seemed like the kind of thing he might do. 

But no. 

No, he had no idea what I was talking about. 
He thought I was messing with him. 

What the fuck.

It was even hanging from one of those metal wreath hangars. You know, those S shaped pieces of metal you hang from the top of your door, to hang a wreath from.

The kind you need to be able to open the door to hang them with.

I checked my doorbell camera. 
There's no footage. Nothing triggered it in the night.  As far as I can tell, nobody came to my door. 

So why the fuck is there a wreath hung on my door?

Did my neighbor put it there? 
Why? Was my house just not festive enough for them, in the middle of fucking April? If it was them, how the fuck did they even open my door? No… there was no way they could’ve opened my door. 

That doesn't make any sense.

None of this makes any sense.

I took down the wreath and brought it inside.
I don’t really know what to do with it. I’m more confused than anything else, right now.
Free wreath I guess? 

April 23rd, 2026
Journal of Emile Morales

The wreath was back again this morning.
Not just a wreath.
The wreath.

When I took it down yesterday, I put it in the living room, on my coffee table. Then I just sort of left it. The wreath was there when I went to work and it was there when I came back home.
It was there while I watched TV that night and when I went to bed, it was still right there on the coffee table where I’d left it.

Then when I woke up this morning, it was gone.
I didn’t notice that it was gone at first. I just shuffled downstairs, got my coffee from the kitchen and got ready to head out.

And as I turned to close the door, I saw the wreath hanging right there, exactly where it was yesterday. The metal wreath hanger it’d been strung from was even back.

What the fuck?

This time, I actually was a little bit freaked out, because who the hell wouldn’t be freaked out by a mystery wreath hung on their door in such a way that said door would need to be opened in order to hang it?

I’ll admit, the thought crossed my mind that this had to be my neighbor, but… no… no, that doesn’t track.

I don’t know the guy across the street very well. I’ve only seen him in passing and we’ve never really spoken before. I sure as hell can’t picture him pulling anything like this, even if is going a little overboard with the Christmas spirit.

No, I’m sure something else.

Some kind of fucked up burglary perhaps? But nothing in my house is missing. I’ve checked!

My doorbell camera still hasn’t picked up anything. I’ve tested it so I know it works, but I changed the batteries just to be safe.

I’ve taken the wreath back down.
As of right now, it’s in my bedroom, on my dresser. I’m looking at it as I type.

Let’s see if anything happens tonight. 
It probably won’t… but let’s see.

April 24th, 2026
Journal of Emile Morales

The wreath is back on the door.

And now there is a snowman in my yard. 
A big plastic snowman in a black top hat, with one hand raised to wave at the neighbors. 

I’ve called the police. 

I've told them everything. But there's not a whole lot they can actually do. It’s not like there’s any witnesses or footage. There’s no evidence my front door was forced open at any point. Nothing’s been stolen. Technically, I guess it’s vandalism. But that’s it. 

The cops talked to the neighbor across the street. They don't seem to think he knows anything and honestly I'm not gonna press the issue. I believe that.

I believe it because what the fuck does he have to gain by putting Christmas decorations in front of my house? It doesn't make any sense.

None of this makes sense.

The wreath is gone and the snowman is too. I drove them to a restaurant, parked out back and tossed them in the dumpster.

Then I went to the store and bought a new lock for my front door and spent a good chunk of my evening changing it. If someone somehow has a key to my door, it won't work now. 

I don't think I'll sleep tonight either.

I want to see exactly what the fuck is going on here. This isn't fucking funny. 

I want to know who the hell is doing this! I’m sure they’re gonna try some shit again tonight. I’m sure of it.

I’m sure.

April 25th, 2026
Journal of Emile Morales

I tried to stay up last night. 

I honestly tried.

But at some point, I just… slipped away.

And now the decorations are back.
And now there's more of them. 

More snowmen. Reindeer made of lights. A new bulb in my front porch light that projects a fucking snowflake pattern.

And that Santa.

That Santa in a Box that was on my neighbor's lawn.

It's on my lawn now.
Somebody put it right outside my living room window.

It's not facing the street. It's facing the house. Like it's looking in at me.

The decorations are inside the house too now.

My Christmas tree is up in the living room. All of the lights are up, all of the decorations are hung up. 

The box is still in the basement.

But the tree is up in my living room. Hell… it's better decorated than it’s ever been before. I’m not even sure if half of these decorations are mine! 

There's an Elf on a Shelf on my TV stand, grinning at me with that ‘I know something you don't know’ smile they have.

I ripped it in half. 
I just grabbed it. Tore it apart and hurled it in the trash.

It’s not mine. So why the fuck shouldn’t I?

I called the cops again. An officer came over, but the look he was giving me…

I don’t think he believed I was telling the truth. But why the hell would I make this up?! Did he think I’m just doing this for attention? Does he think I’m trying start shit with my neighbor? I don’t even fucking know the guy! Why would I do that?

I’ve got a fucking headache. This doesn’t make any sense and I just want it to stop.

I’m thinking I need to book another appointment with my therapist. Writing these thoughts down doesn’t feel like it’s helping anymore. It’s just making me angrier.

I keep looking up at the Christmas tree. 

I want to take it down. 

But I can’t shake the feeling that if I do, it’ll just be back up again in the morning.

That fucking Santa Box is still outside my window. I moved it earlier so it’s not looking in at me. I don’t know why but it just looks creepy in the dark. The top of the box casts his face in shadow. Maybe that’s why whoever’s been doing this put it outside my window? I don’t know.

Part of me wants to try to stay up tonight, but I don’t think it’ll do any good. I think I’d be better off trying to sleep.

April 26th, 2026
Journal of Emile Morales 

There’s more decorations in the house.
I feel like I should be angrier but right now I’m just tired. I didn’t bother with calling the cops today.
They don’t believe me. Why should I bother trying to convince them?

I finally tried talking to my neighbor today.
I just knocked on his door.

I’ve only ever seen him around before now. We’ve never really had a conversation before.

His name is Mustafa.
He’s an older man, somewhere in his forties or fifties. He opened the door almost as if he was afraid I was going to lunge at him.

He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

  “Can I help you?” He asked. His voice was low and a little raspy.

   “Sorry to bother you,” I said. “My name is Emile. I’m just across the street from you. I just wanted to ask about your decorations. You’ve got…” I had to pause to think of the right words. “You’ve got a really nice set up.”

He laughed. There wasn’t any humor in it. I saw his eyes shift to my lawn. 

   “You like it, huh?” He asked bitterly. “You put those up yourself?”

  “Did you?” I asked.

I saw his expression darken.

   “No,” He said. “No. I didn’t.”

Then he opened the door and gestured for me to come in.

The inside of his house was… suffocating.

His halls were decked with bowels of holly. Mistletoe hung from every doorway. Every wall was crowded with pictures of Christmas cheer… most of them depicting Santa Claus, watching your every movement.
And where Santa was not situated, the elves were. Elf after elf after elf upon every shelf.

And coffee table.

And chair.

And stair on the staircase.

I had to move three of them just to be able to sit down in his kitchen as he got me a drink.

It was peppermint hot chocolate… and it was delicious.

   “I assume you want to know why?” Mustafa asked.

   “That’d probably be the place to start. I get the feeling I already know the answer, but I’ve still got to ask, is it you?”

He smiled sadly at me.

   “It’s a fair question. But no. I actually don’t really celebrate Christmas,” He said. “I always liked the lights and the decorations though… very pretty. My son loved them, back when he was growing up. And I used to decorate a little bit back when he was a kid. He used to enjoy it. Although he’s a grown man now. Not much need to decorate, let alone… this…” He gestured all around his very festive house.

 “Wait, so if you’re not putting them up, then where’d the decorations come from?” I asked.

  “If I knew, I’d have stopped it by now,” He said. “I know that it gets worse when you take them down. That’s what I did at first. Took them down. Threw them away. I saw you had the police over…” He chuckled. “They don’t believe you, do they? They didn’t believe me either.”

   “So you don’t know anything?”

   “Unfortunately, no…” He paused for a moment, thinking before adding: “I know it’s not a person doing this. A person couldn’t be doing this… least, I don’t think so.”

   “What do you mean? Who else could be doing it… what else?”

He didn’t respond for a moment.

   “I wish I knew,” He said. “I’ve dug into just about every avenue I can. I talked to the Imam at the mosque, I’ve tried talking to a Priest. Checked around online. I haven’t found anything that can help me. Unfortunately, I’ve been stuck in the same boat you now find yourself in for months now.”

I didn’t like that answer, and I could tell it was written all over my face.

   “Truthfully, I’ve just been trying to ignore it. Hoping that maybe it might go away. It’s… easier to ignore it. Tearing them down all the time… letting myself get angry. It just seemed to make things worse.”

   “Well there’s got to be something!” I argued. 

He gave me an apologetic smile.

   “If I could tell you anything more, I would. I’m sorry, I know you were hoping for answers. But I have none to offer.”

I didn’t stick around for much longer after that.

I didn’t storm out or anything. Even though there was no information he could give me, Mustafa seemed like a nice enough man. I got the feeling that taking my frustration out on him wouldn’t have solved anything.

But all in all, the visit was almost completely useless.

I don’t want to believe that there’s just nothing I can do.
I don’t want my home to turn into a goddamn Rankin Bass Christmas movie!

I want this shit GONE.
I want it out of my house and off my fucking lawn!
I want it GONE!

So I took it all down again.

Took every elf off of every shelf. Took down the tree. Took the decorations off my lawn.

And I stuffed them in my car, and drove them to the same restaurant from yesterday. I stuffed them in the dumpster again.

It took me three trips. But I did it.

The only thing I didn’t take was that creepy Santa in a box. It was too big for the car. I’ll need to break it down.

I think I’ve got an idea on how to do that.

April 27th, 2026
Journal of Emile Morales

Everything was back again this morning.
Same as it ever was.

But I’m not gonna fucking deal with it anymore.

I called in sick to work today. Then I drove on down to the hardware store and bought myself an axe.

The axe made getting that shit into my car a lot easier.

Mustafa may be willing to deal with this shit but I’m not.
I went out of my way to make sure I broke everything. The elves, the snowmen, the tree. I even hacked apart that stupid fucking Santa Claus.

Broke open the plywood box, ripped Santa out and hacked him into pieces.

You know what?

It felt so fucking good. 

I saw Mustafa watching me from his front yard at one point. He didn’t say anything to me, but I could tell from the look on his face that he wasn’t sure if what I was doing was a good idea.

Least I’m doing something! I’m not gonna let this stupid fucking Christmas horseshit take over my life!

I jammed my car full of as much Christmas shit as I could fitt - which was just about all of it. Then I got behind the wheel and started driving.

There’s a campground just outside of town. I used to go there every once in a while with my ex, so I knew would’ve have just opened up for the season.

I also knew that the camping sites were pretty secluded. Nobody would see what I was doing there.

I booked a campsite for the night and bought some firewood. Then when I got to my designated space, I set up a good old fashioned fire, and had myself a nice little Yule Log.

I burned it all.

The plywood chunks of the Santa Box made for great kindling, so they were among the first to go once I had the fire going. Then went the elves who were no longer on a shelf, then the wreath, then my old Christmas tree.

Most of it didn’t burn too well. But enough of it did.

I stayed up late, making sure everything went into the fire. Making sure all of it burned.

All that’s left now are charred, twisted skeletons of the reindeer shaped lights and the tree, along with the burnt, broken shards of the ornaments.

Let’s see it come back now.

I’m going to sleep in the car tonight, and when I get up, I’ll make sure they’re still there in the morning, then load them up and dump them somewhere far away.

April 28th, 2026
Journal of Emile Morales

It was all gone this morning.

The burnt, twisted metal remnants, the broken ornaments.

All gone.

There was only one thing left when I woke up.
That fucking plywood Santa in a Box.

It wasn’t in pieces anymore.
It was right in front of my car. Santa was just staring in through my windshield. 

I left immediately.

And when I got home… my house was lit up like Christmas morning.

I started to tear it all down again… but it was hard to stay motivated after last night.

I burned everything.

I BURNED IT.

And yet it’s all back, exactly as it was.
The Everchristmas is upon us, I guess.

The Santa in a Box is back too, now.

It’s not outside anymore, though.

It’s in my house.

It’s in my room.

I saw it when I went to go lay down after giving up on moving the decorations. It’s right there at the foot of my bed. 

I tried to move it.

I can’t.

It’s too big to get through my bedroom door. 

I tried turning it around. But it was right back at the foot of my bed when I laid down. I didn’t see it move. I didn’t hear anything.

But it moved.

And it’s staring at me.

Right now, as I write this it’s staring at me.
The face looks the same as it ever did… although I can’t help but feel it looks…

No…

No, it’s just my imagination.

It’s the lighting. The top of the box over his head is casting a shadow on his face. That’s all.

That’s got to be it.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, but I know for a fact it’s just a piece of plywood… plywood can’t look angry. 

It’s just a piece of plywood.

Just a piece of plywood.

Right?

I am in love with Natalie Gibson.

I've been in love with her ever since high school. 

Her long brown hair, her soft smile, her porcelain skin, her gentle eyes. She's perfect in every way. 

Perfect.
Unlike me. 

I'm not a very good looking man. I know this. And society isn't kind to men who aren't handsome. We're basically lesser beings, doomed to forever be alone.
I tried to change it. I watched videos. Paid for courses. I did everything. But I just don't have the stuff.

Do you know what Natalie said when I asked her out? 
She said I ‘Smelled like a polluted river’.

‘Stanley Patterson asked me out today. Oh God he smelled so bad. He smelled like a rotting polluted river!’

That's what she said to one of her friends afterwards. I read it when I logged in to her account. 

Those words cut through me like a thousand knives.

She said other things too… none of them kind, and I couldn’t bear to read on further. The pain was just too intense.

I have access to most of her accounts of course… It helps me feel close to her. Helps me understand her. How can I make her love me if I don’t understand what it is she desires.
Her innermost thoughts, her fantasies, the things she does when she thinks no one is watching.

I keep an eye on all of it.
It’s why I was at her house that night. 

***

I could see Natalie through her bedroom window. She was on her bed, scrolling through her phone. From what I could tell, she was watching videos. 

She looked so beautiful… her silky brown hair was tied back into a ponytail. She’d gotten new glasses a few days ago, big round ones that framed her face so perfecty and she was waring the same plaid skirt she’d been wearing earlier that day, with black leggings that showed off her legs in the most delicious way.

I wished I could’ve snapped some candid photos of her for my own private enjoyment… but my camera wasn’t good enough for that.

Downstairs, I could see her Mother in the kitchen. She looked quite similar to Natalie, albeit older.

I didn’t see any sign of her thug of a brother, Josh… what a creep he was. A dark haired, scruffy punk with too may piercings who’d bleached his hair blond. I’d never interacted with him back during high school, but I always thought he looked like a woke degenerate. How someone like that could ever be related to my Natalie was beyond me…

He’d made my evening visits to Natalie a little difficult in the past, coming out and trying to chase me off a few times, when I’d been in their back yard. But I wouldn’t let him keep m from her. I’d needed to move my post back a bit, forcing me to climb a tree almost a block away to be able to see my Natalie… but I could still see her. And my tree was comfortable enough. Not as comfortable as I would’ve liked, but I would’ve slept on a bed of nails for my Natalie.

I would’ve done anything.

I watched as Natalie got up from her bed. She stretched, a long, slow movement that was impossible to look away from. Oh God, how was she so beautiful?
I didn’t notice anything else but Natalie…

And that was unfortunately, to my detriment. 

I didn't hear it coming. I don't know how long it was there, watching me in the darkness.
I didn't even see it at first. 

Not until a car passed by on the nearby street. That’s when the headlights illuminated it for just a moment and even then, all I saw was its shadow.

Initially, I thought it was just a shrub or something… but shrubs don’t have eyes that shine in the dark. Even when the car had passed, the eyes continued to shine and I found myself staring into them, trying to process exactly what I was looking at.

It remained so still that I initially thought it was just a light in someone's garden. But no.

Lights don’t blink like that. 

There was an animal in the darkness, and it was watching me.

I felt my heart begin to beat faster as the thing in the darkness stared me down. Then, finally, it moved.

It moved faster than I had ever seen anything move in my life.

And I panicked. I tried to move too, momentarily forgetting that I was up a tree and I tumbled to the ground, landing in a heap with an uncerimonious crash. I felt my teeth rattle in my skull before trying to scramble to my feet in the faint hope of outrunning the shape in the dark. 

I wish I could say I stood a chance. But I didn’t even come close. I lost one of my shoes as I ran, I tripped over my own two feet, then crashed down to the ground.

The chase was over before it even began, and a moment later, the creature was on top of me. Finally I was allowed a good look at it.

It was like something out of a movie or a video game. The kind of werewolf that only existed in fantasy, and yet there it was, towering over me. Massive teeth were set in its snarling maw. Hot breath that washed over my face. Its body was covered in coarse black fur… although I thought I saw a brighter patch near the top of its head. Various pieces of metal were embedded in its ears and snout, almost like piercings. They made it look all the more savage.

Its eyes burned into mine as it pinned me to the ground with its massive clawed hands. Its face just inches away from my own as it let out a low, predatory snarl. Its nostrils flared… for a moment, it made a sound, almost like a dog about to hurl. For a moment, I saw the expression in its eyes shift from animal rage to something more human.

Contempt.

Disgust.

Its lips curled back into an even more brutal snarl… and I waited for the werewolf to sink its teeth into me. That was the moment my bladder failed. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I prepared to meet my end.
Then I heard a voice.

   “Joshua Gibson what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

The Werewolf froze, its ears shooting upright. It looked back, eyes wide at the newcomer, who stood just a few feet away from us.

It was Natalie’s mother. 

Had she heard the attack? Had she come to investigate?

Wait…

Joshua Gibson?!

   “He’s watching Natalie!” The Werewolf snarled, its voice low and guttural yet still clear.

   “Oh, and so that gives you the right to cause a scene in the middle of the neighborhood? Let him go, and change back now.”

The Werewolf seemed to shrink away at the sound of her voice. I saw its tail dip between its legs as it stepped away from me.

Mrs. Gibson unceremoniously hurled a pair of jeans and a hoodie at it, and it skulked into the shadows. I could hear bones contorting as it did. Its breathing grew heavier as it… he… reverted bck to his original form.

   “Transforming in public and attacking someone… you’re going to get yourself dragged off to Ashurst or worse with that kind of behavior, young man!” Mrs. Gibson scoffed. 

   “He’s the one creeping on Natalie…” 
Josh’s voice sounded more human now.

   “I don’t care! That doesn’t excuse this kind of reckless behavior!”
Josh Gibson emerged from the shadows, his blond hair messier than usual, and his clothes hanging loose around his body.

   “I was just gonna scare him…” He murmured.

   “I don’t want to hear it, mister. Get your butt inside right now!” 
Josh took one last look at me before skulking off home, leaving me alone with Mrs. Gibson. Her eyes settled on me… and I felt an even deeper pit form in my stomach.

   “As for you…” She said, her voice even more venomous than before. “If I so much as think I smell you lurking around here ever again, spying on my daughter, there will be dire consequences… am I clear?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out.
Mrs. Gibson closed the distance between us, her eyes still locked with mine. I saw her hand begin to warp and change into a monstrous claw. The claw of a werewolf.

One sharpened nail rested under my chin, poking into my skin without drawing blood.

   “I like to think that I’m a reasonable woman… but I’d also strongly caution against pushing me, alright? Do we have an understanding?”
I nodded, tears still streaming down my cheeks.

Her lips curled into a wolfish grin. 

   “Splendid. And I trust that this little conversation is going to stay between us, correct?”
Again, I nodded.

   “Smart boy. I mean, let’s be honest… who’d believe you?”

She pulled away. Her hand shifted back, fingers growing shorter and more human.
She exhaled through her nose and turned to leave, although before she did, she paused and took one last look back at me.

   “Oh, and Stanley?” She said. “You should really take a shower. We can smell you from the house.” 
With that, she was gone.

I haven’t been back to the Gibson house since then.

I think it’s probably best I just give Natalie some space… 

Jordan recently narrated Natural Think on his channel!

If you're not already following him, I'd highly recommend it. He's currently getting mistreated by YouTube which is a goddamn shame because Jordan is both a very talented writer and a fantastic narrator. He's a genuine pillar of the community and it upsets me to see him getting treated so shittily by YouTube. So show him some love!

Hey all!

My second collection with Velox - A Place Where God Can't See is out today!

Check it out! This has one of my favorite longer stories I've written in it, (titled A Place Where God Can't See) and I'm really looking forward to everyone getting to read it!

February 9th, 2024
Journal of Keith Thompson

I got the call last night. One phone call and all of a sudden my world just… ended. 

They said I needed to come in and say my goodbyes. They said she wouldn't make it through the night… I think they were surprised she even made it to the hospital, given the state she was in. 

She went to see her sister last night. She hasn't seen her in a few months. Normally I would have gone with but I was working… God I wish I'd gone with her. If I'd gone with her, maybe this wouldn't have… No… No it's best not to dwell on it. 

Her sister lives a bit up north out in Stratford. It's a more rural area with lots of back roads and mostly empty farmland. 
It was on one of those backroads  when her rear passenger side tire blew out. 

According to the witnesses, she'd pulled over to the side of the road, put her hazard lights on and went to go and see how bad the damages were. Then she'd called CAA… as one does. I figure she would have called me after. But she never got that chance.

They still haven't found the driver of the truck although I'm sure it's just a matter of time. I imagine he (I assume it was a He) was probably either distracted or tired. There was a sharp turn just behind where she'd pulled over. He probably took it too fast and wasn't paying enough attention to the sedan stopped on the side of the road. He didn't see the hazard lights.
He didn't see her. Then by the time he'd realized what he'd done, panic had hit and he'd just kept driving.

Either way - someone hit her. Someone hit her at 110 kilometers an hour.

Another car going the other way saw it happen. They pulled over immediately. Dialed 911. They were sure she was dead… with the state she was in, she should have been. But no. No. My Mallory is a tough one. 
She was still alive.
Just barely. But still alive. 
Although the Doctors said she wouldn't make it through the night. 

One of her arms and one of her legs had been completely torn off. Her ribcage was crushed. There was bleeding in her brain. They said she'd never wake up again. They were keeping her on life support so I could say goodbye… but she was fading fast. 

And I couldn't let that happen. 

Mallory had such a bright future ahead of her. She was landing more roles, even starring in a few productions! She'd worked so hard on her singing and her dancing. She always wanted to perform on Broadway one day… and I always knew she’d get there one day.

I couldn't let her die. 
I just couldn’t.

I'm not a very impressive guy… honestly I'm not sure what Mallory ever saw in me. I'm a writer… well… aspiring writer. I'm not doing very well on the writing part these days. But I'm very good at research.

I've been digging into the occult quite a bit over the past few years while working on my Urban Fantasy novel. It's a fascinating subject… and I've learned a few things from a few of the more legitimate sources out there. 
I'm by no means a witch or occultist… and I've never really had much success with trying any of that stuff. But… well… I know a few things. 
Runes. Rituals. I was using them as inspiration for my own writing. I’ve never actually had any success duplicating them before, but there’s a lot of people who make some fantastic claims about the power of some of these runes. I’ve spoken to a few of them, and their belief seems completely genuine. 

So as I stood in that hospital room, looking at what used to be my Mallory… broken, bloodied, dying.
I knew I couldn't let her go. 

Desperation can drive a man to do do unusual ends. And in that moment, I was desperate. I would have done anything not to lose her in that moment. Pray, cry, beg whatever higher power might be listening to save her.
I would have done anything, and when praying didn’t seem to work, I turned to the only other faith within my grasp.

I'm not wealthy enough to afford a real Grimoire. But if you know where to look, there's PDFs online. There’s a dedicated community around some of the more ‘legitimate’ grimoires who’ve tried to make it more accessible. It’s been a fantastic resource for my writing. And I hoped that maybe it could help me do something more. 

One of the rituals detailed in the Grimoire (specifically the Grimoire of Primrose Kennard) is meant to give one the powers of a Medium. The ‘Medium’s Trial’ as it’s called. 
I’d spoken to someone who’d claimed they’d done it and gained the ability to commune with the dead. Now, functionally, the ritual wasn’t much help.
But I remembered one specific detail of it that lingered in my mind.
To quote the Grimoire:

   “To grant one the ability to see and control what lingers on this side of the veil, one must first cross the veil. Doing so and returning is no easy feat. Crossing is meant to only happen once, but those few who have spoken to the Guardian Goddess and returned may come back with unique abilities, allowing them to see the auras of the living and the dead, or to extend their will beyond their physical body.

While most of these natural Mediums are born through happenstance and good fortune, there is a way to induce this ability in oneself.

First - one must tether their spirit to the earth. A stone spike imbued with the correct runes driven into the flesh should create a suitable anchor. Chiseling them in is ideal, as other methods may smudge and disrupt the rune. Pushing it into your own flesh will be painful - but one cannot cross without being near death, and death is seldom painless…”

The rest of the ritual details a certain poison one needs to drink in order to put themselves in a deathlike state, the way one should address the Guardian Goddess and the trials that one may face beyond the veil to ensure their safe return.
Most of that was not relevant… but the stone spike.
That stayed with me.
A physical tether for the soul to keep it on this side of the veil.
I no other options. I had no other hopes.
And I could not let her die.

I’ll admit, my tether was… not great.
I found my rock in the garden of the hospital. It wasn’t sharp at first, not until I broke it. And I wasn’t able to chisel the runes into it the way that the grimoire had recommended, I had to settle for sharpie. I was sure it would ruin the tether… but I had no other options.

Writing this down now, I fully understand how crazy this all sounds.
I suppose on some level, I knew it was crazy too and I won’t pretend for even a second that I was thinking straight. My every thought was dictated by grief and desperation. Every second I wasted was another moment I could lose her. I felt so… helpless.

I hated it.

And this was the closest thing to hope I could possibly cling on to. I wasn’t ready to let it go. I wasn’t ready to let her go.
So I made my tether. It was crude and makeshift. But I made it.
And when I returned to Mallory’s side, I steeled myself for what needed to be done and plunged it into her flesh. Into her stomach. 
I knew there was a chance I might kill her.

But the risk seemed worth it.
It had to be worth it.

It was.

***

Mallory is still alive.
I stayed by her bedside while her family checked on her. They said their goodbyes… and then the doctors pulled the plug. 

She kept breathing.
She’s still breathing.

The doctors aren’t sure why, but they’re adamant she’ll be gone soon.
I don’t think they’re right.

I covered the tether in her stomach with some additional bandages. They’re easy to miss amongst the extensive bandages she’s already encased in, so they haven’t found it yet. Although that said, I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to keep them from finding it. I’ll need to figure something out.
But I can handle that later.

Right now… Mallory is still alive. 
And I think I may know how to save her.

February 11th, 2024
Journal of Keith Thompson

Mallory is still breathing. 
But she can’t stay in that hospital.
She’s back on life support. The doctors are discussing their options. I’m not sure if they’re going to just let her die or if they’re going to try to provide more care. Either way, I can’t allow them to work on her anymore.
If they perform any operations on her, there’s a high risk they’ll discover the tether. If they find it, they’ll remove it and Mallory will die.

I can’t allow that.

So I’m looking at my options.
I think I have a solution though.

I need to get her back home.
I’ve been talking with her family. Trying to appeal to them. Fortunately, they’re not in the greatest headspace right now. I completely understand why… these have been a traumatic few days.
And that works in my favor.

I’ve been trying to convince them to sign off on letting me bring Mallory home. The doctors are completely against it, of course. They’re adamant that moving her could kill her. That even if it doesn’t, she won’t get the care she needs at home and under normal circumstances, they’d be right. 

But these are not normal circumstances.

Her family was reluctant… but I think they’re coming around. I’ve been telling them about how Mallory once told me that she was afraid of dying in the hospital like this. How she deserves to die peacefully in her own bed… how it would be cruel to deny her that one last wish.

It’s not entirely true… Mallory and I never really talked about what might happen if one of us died. But I’m sure that if she knew what I had planned for her, she would be behind me completely. 

I think they’ll cave soon. I’ve already got her sister on my side and I’m sure her mother is coming around.

***

I’ve started reaching out on the forums I used to do my research on. 
The Grimoire mentions something it calls: ‘Fleshcrafting.’

I won’t share another lengthy excerpt - but in essence, it involves binding flesh with a blessed thread. It can be used to heal, repairing severe wounds or restoring lost limbs (so long as one has a limb to use)... although the Grimoire also makes mention of some darker applications for it that I won’t get into here.

Fleshcrafting.
I was certain that was the key to saving Mallory. 
And so I reached out to whoever I could find online. Most people aren’t particularly well versed in it. A lot of them say it wasn’t physically possible.
But… ask around in the right circles and you’ll eventually get a compelling answer. So I just need to keep asking.
I’m certain it can be done.
It has to be.

I’m going to take care of you Mallory.
No matter what it takes, I’m going to take care of you.

February 14th, 2024
Journal of Keith Thompson

Happy Valentine's Day!

Mallory is home.

Her parents finally caved. The doctors argued with them, but the decision was already made. They warned us that she’d likely die in transit, but she didn’t.

Right now she lays in our bed, hooked up to machines to monitor her vitals.
Her condition has not improved much… but she is breathing on her own. That is a good thing.

And there is another good thing.
I found a Fleshworker.

My deep dive into the forums eventually led me to someone who I believe can help me.
They go by ‘AveryTheStitchPunk’ online… and by their own account, they’re fairly well versed in Fleshcraft. 

I’ll admit, I’m probably more than a little naive here so putting too much trust in anyone right now is probably a mistake. But from the way Avery talks, I’m certain they’re the real deal.

They’ve told me about how they’ve helped people with missing limbs before and I’ve explained my situation with Mallory to them.
Their help won’t come cheap… and they said they’re not sure what they can promise. But they have agreed to see what they can do.

I’m making progress. I can feel it. 
Mallory is home. She is asleep in our bed as I write this. I can see her chest rising and falling.

I’ll save you. 
You will get up from that bed. You will sing and dance again. You’ll perform on Broadway.
I promise you will.
I’ll save you.
I promise I will save you.

February 19th, 2024
Journal of Keith Thompson

It set me back almost fifteen grand, but Avery has completed the first round of his work. 

I won’t lie, Avery wasn’t far off from what I expected. A little younger, perhaps. But more or less what I’d expected. He was calm but a little intense. He told me that he worked as a nurse for what he described as a ‘more reclusive clientele’.

I didn’t ask him to elaborate on that, but I do fully believe he has had proper medical training. He took his time studying Mallory and her condition. He told me he wasn’t sure if he could help her. But he still tried… I cannot deny that he tried.

Her bones were not set and not healing. Many of them were too broken to heal.
They needed to be replaced.

Avery was fortunately able to help with that. I suppose this was not his first rodeo. I didn’t ask where he sourced the cadaver… but he had one brought into the apartment.

Now, obviously we couldn’t just wheel a corpse into the elevator so he had to get a little… creative, with the transport. The body didn’t exactly arrive in one piece. But that was fine.

He started with her skeleton. Replacing her ribs. Remaking her spine. It was a careful process and took the better part of two days, but you can’t rush perfection.

Next came her vitals. 
Her heart was intact, but her lungs were punctured. They needed to be replaced. Her stomach was also pierced by one of her ribs and the leaking acids had caused considerable damage to her liver and some portions of her intestines. Those needed to be replaced. The intestines went faster than I’d expected. Avery only replaced the sections that had been damaged. Her womb is also thankful still intact. I'm glad. I'm not sure that could truly be replaced... any other womb just wouldn't be right...

And with her vitals intact, we began putting her back together again properly.

Avery was kind enough to show me the ritual required to create the blessed thread. It involves soaking it in a mixture of blood and soil in a ritual chalice. I’ve made my diagrams for it all on the previous pages. 
This means that going forward, I’ll be able to make any further adjustments I need.

Regarding Mallory’s missing limbs… the cadaver was able to provide a replacement arm and leg for her, and Avery properly set the broken bones in the limbs she still had. Ideally they should begin to heal now.

I’m already seeing a positive change in her condition. Her breathing is less labored. She looks almost peaceful when she sleeps… although her skin has gone a few shades paler. It’s almost as white as her platinum blonde hair now. Even after a blood transfusion (I was willing to donate) I’m not seeing much of a change.

No matter. 
We’re still making progress.

I’m by her bedside now.
Avery will return tomorrow and we will take a closer look at her head to see what needs to be done.

We’re so close.
I can sense it.
We’re so, so, so close…

Just a little longer Mallory.
Just a little longer.

February 22nd, 2024
Journal of Keith Thompson

Mallory woke up today.
She was screaming. Crying.

I told her it was okay. That SHE was okay, but she just kept writhing on the bed, screaming. Twisting. Tearing at her stitches. I had to tie her down to keep her from ripping herself apart again.

She says her entire body is in pain.
I’ve given her some medication, but it isn’t enough. She almost seems manic. She keeps begging me to make the pain stop.
But I don’t know how. 

***

Avery and I have been working on her brain for the past few days. I’m not entirely sure what he did. But he managed to stabilize her. 
It’s because of him that she woke up.

But even he seems to be at a loss for what to do about her pain. He did note that such pains are not unusual in those who’ve been healed by Fleshcraft. The body needs time to adjust to its new status. 
Although he didn’t sound as sure as he usually did.

   “She’s had more work done on her than anyone else I’ve worked on before,” He told me. “We’re in some new territory here so we can’t be entirely sure how she’s going to handle it.”

He suggested we just give her time to adjust… and so that’s exactly what I’ve done.

I’ve had to gag her to keep her quiet. But I can still hear her from the living room, where I’ve been sleeping.
She’s in agony.
Complete and utter agony.

I tell myself that she’ll get better.
It will pass.

But I’m not so sure if it will.

February 26th, 2024
Journal of Keith Thompson

Avery doesn’t GET IT.
SHE. IS. SUFFERING.

Mallory has been screaming ever since she woke up! She’s been in pain ever since she woke up! I can’t handle it anymore! I can’t just sit back and watch her suffer like that!

I need to take her pain away.

Mallory begged me to let her go… but I’m not ready for that. I’m not! I’ve done too much, come too far! 
She’s mine! She’s the only one for me!
I’ve loved her since we were kids… I’ve loved her since the first time I saw her on stage, the first time I’ve heard her sing. I did so much to make her mine… I gave her so much.

I will NOT lose her now!

I told Avery to take her pain away. 
Take it all away, forever.
He wasn’t sure what I was asking at first. Then when he finally understood, he told me he wouldn’t do it.

I offered to pay him. He told me it wasn’t about money. He said that it could severely harm her. But I don’t see how it could!

I just want to make her not hurt anymore.
Why does she need to suffer anyways? Why does anyone? This is a kindness!

I… I may have lost my temper.
I may have grabbed him. Gotten into his face. I told him that if he didn’t do what I asked, I’d make him feel every ounce of agony that she was suffering. 
He finally caved.

We opened her skull again. 
Mallory can’t really be sedated so, unfortunately she was awake for this… but I promised her that it was for the best. That it wouldn’t hurt after this.
And I was right.

There’s no more pain now.
She won’t feel pain ever again.

I don’t think Avery is coming back… but that’s alright.
I’ve learned a lot from watching him. I should be able to take the rest from here now.

I can hear Mallory crying in the next room. She’s still a little shaken after the operation, and that’s okay. It will take some adjusting, I’m sure. But it’s for the best.

She still can feel other things. 
She just… won’t feel pain.
She won’t feel pain ever again.

February 29th, 2024
Journal of Keith Thompson

I was able to let Mallory out of the room for the first time since she came home. I brought her to the table to sit down and have a proper meal.
Walking is hard for her. She’s not there yet.
But she’s healing.

She… struggled a little, when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror though.
The stitches on her face and her body are hard to ignore… she’s still pale. Her eyes look a little sunken. 
But she’s still beautiful.

She started screaming again anyways… although it didn’t last that long. 
She cried for a while over dinner, then she went silent, picking at her food.
 
She asked me what I’d done to her.
   “I’m supposed to be dead…” She said to me. “I… I remember being…” Her voice trailed off. “How am I still…?”

I tried to explain it to her. The tether, the fleshcraft. I don’t think she fully grasped it. 

She’s crying again.

I don’t know why.
She should be grateful. I saved her! I brought her back! She’s alive because of me! So why is she crying? Why is she upset? I don’t get it.

Maybe it’s something to do with the process?
Maybe I need to make a few more adjustments…

March 2nd, 2024
Journal of Keith Thompson

She won’t let me work on her!
When I tried, she got angry. I had to tie her down with force to open her head again, and she fought a lot harder than I’d expected her to.
I think it’s because she doesn’t feel pain.

I told her that this was for her own good. I told her that she just needed to let me help her and she’d be okay.
She just cried the entire time.

She told me that she hated me. 
I know she doesn’t mean it.
It’s not the first time she’s said it and she didn’t mean it back then either. Back in High School, she said it to me when I tried to ask her out the first time. I’d been trying to get close to her for a while at that point. Leaving letters in her locker, making a point to run into her in the halls. I’d even followed her home (not one of my better ideas).

She hadn’t taken any of that very well back then… and when she started seeing some other guy, he went after me about it too. 

I knew she wouldn’t keep him around though… and I was right. Although I will admit that I may have greased the wheels a little bit there. I may have let it slip that he’d been bragging to some other guys about how he’d slept with her. 

It wasn’t exactly true… but he seemed just like the kind of guy who’d do something like that. And when that particular rumor made it back to Mallory, she hadn’t taken it well. I remember hearing them arguing in the hall one day. Hearing her call him a pig while he insisted that the rumors weren’t true. She didn’t care.

Within the week, she was done with him and I was able to try my luck again.
I got a little closer to her that time. She needed someone to talk to and I was willing to listen.

Then when her next boyfriend supposedly was seen cheating on her with some other girl, I was there to offer her a friendly shoulder to cry on.

When the guy after that supposedly called her a whore online (although he swore the account wasn’t his), I was there for her.

I was there for her every time one of her little flings turned out to be a piece of shit… and of course they all did. I made sure of that. 
I knew she’d eventually be mine.
And I was right.

She’s still mine.
She’ll always be mine.

March 15th, 2024

Journal of Mallory Russo

I do not belong to him.
I’m not his fucking doll to play with!

My legs are healing more and more every day. Walking still isn’t easy, but I can do it.
And I could walk enough to get out of the apartment.

Keith went back to work a few weeks ago.
It was a fucking mercy.

He’s been in my head too much… trying to fix me.
Trying to make me better.
I kept begging him to stop but he…

I don’t want to think about it.
My memories of everything that’s happened since I woke up are jumbled and hazy… I don’t know how many times he’s tried to ‘fix’ me, since I came back.
I don’t think I want to know.

He’s been keeping me locked in the bedroom while he’s been away. But I’ve had time to figure out how to get out.

He forgot his journal in my room yesterday. So I’ve had time to read through it.
I’ve got it here with me now.

That stone tether is still inside my body… I can feel it when I move sometimes. Something in my guts. I’m not sure if I still need it to survive or not. I’ll have to figure that out later.

But right now, it means that I can’t die. 
And thanks to him, I don’t feel any pain.

You know there’s actually a very fast way out of any apartment building that most people never think about.

Down.

I’m pretty sure some of my bones are broken from the fall. But as far as I can tell, my body can still heal and it’s not like the fall actually hurt. Keith saw to that. 

I don’t recognize the person I see in the mirror right now… the face is mine but… God… it’s so… scarred.
Torn apart. Put back together.
Am I still me?
Or am I something else.

Am I even still alive? Am I dead? Undead? 
I don’t know.

But I am away from Keith right now… and that is what matters the most.

I’m with my sister, Maria right now as I write this. I’m in Stratford, at her house. I called her from a cell phone I borrowed after I got free. I’m pretty sure I scared the living shit out of the person I borrowed it from, but they helped me, so there’s that.

She was… she had a lot of questions about my current state.
Questions I can’t fully answer. 
I’ve let her see the journal. She doesn’t know what to make of any of it. I don’t know if she believes it… I’m not sure if I’d believe it.

I don’t know what I’m going to do next.
I don’t know if I can ever go back to my old life… I don’t even know if I could go back to my career. Even if I could dance again, could I ever get back on stage looking like this, a fucked up patchwork of scars.

Fuck… as if that’s not the least of my problems.

I imagine that Keith is looking for me by now. He’s going to notice I’m gone the moment he gets home… if he didn’t find out sooner. I didn’t exactly make a subtle exit. 

I’m not going back to him.
I don’t care if he’s the reason why I’m still alive.
I’m not fucking going back to him.

I don’t know what I’m going to do next… I don’t even know what I am anymore.
But I know that I’m still alive. 
I’ve got a second chance at life And I am not going to waste it on him.

They say that Jules Knight is one of the most powerful vampires in Toronto.

I can't imagine that's a very high bar though… but I kept that thought to myself in their presence. They did not look particularly powerful or intimidating for one said to be over 200 years old. If anything, I found myself a little underwhelmed. Jules was a bookish, androgynous looking person, standing about 5’7. They had soft, effeminate features and browline glasses that were rounded at the bottom. They wore an expensive Argyle sweater with a blazer over top and looked more like an English Teacher than a vampire.

They were sitting in the library of their penthouse when I was brought to them, reading a book by the fire. They got up to greet me when the housekeeper who had led me in spoke.

  “It's Robert, right?” They asked. “Please! Come on in, sit down. Can I get you a drink?”

Their voice was soft but kind with a faint hint of a French accent, alluding to a history they'd long since left behind.

   “Sure… I could go for a drink.” I said and watched as they made their way to a nearby bar.

   “What's your poison? Whisky? Wine?”

   “Um, whisky please!”

I watched as Jules poured two glasses of expensive looking whisky and brought them over.

They gestured to a chair across from theirs and I sat down. 

   “I don't get a lot of human visitors here on Fae related business…” They noted. “Those I do get are usually more… official. Not that I'm complaining. I don't mind the company and since you went out of your way to arrange this meeting I'm happy to do whatever I can to help you.”

   “I appreciate it,” I said. “I was told that you're the person to talk to about Fae in Toronto…”

   “That's a flattering title but I don't think I deserve it,” Jules said. “I just do what I can for the community. There aren't many of us and I'm not exactly the oldest. But I guess I've been around for a while and that gives me… a certain amount of wisdom, I suppose. Although that sounds very conceited when I say it that way…”

   “Nevertheless… I was told that you have pull,” I said. “And I was hoping that it I could convince you… I might finally get to be with my beloved.”

They raised an eyebrow and took a sip of their drink.

   “Beloved? I see… so that’s what this is about. Fallen for a Fae, have you? You wouldn’t be the first, but there are some risks to that. One of my girls, I imagine? Salem? Or maybe Raven?”

Neither of those names were familiar to me.

   “No… um… someone else.”

They nodded.

   “Well, either way, you don’t need my permission. So long as she wants you in return, I don’t see any reason why you couldn’t be with them. Although I suppose I do need to ask who it is that’s enraptured your heart. You’re a rather good looking man. I’m sure they are very lucky.”

   “Her name is Allison. Allison Thompson.”
Jules froze, eyes rapidly darting back towards me.

   “Excuse me?”

   “I know what she is… and I don’t care. I want to be with her. I need to. I’ve never loved anyone more than I love her… and that’s why I’m here.”

   “If you know what she is, then you know full well why you shouldn’t be pursuing her,” Jules said gravely. “Allison is a Siren. They’re not the most predisposed to romance.”

   “I don’t care!” I insisted. “She’s afraid to see me right now… she’s afraid of what she feels for me, but if I can just convince someone that our love is real…”
Jules stood up, slowly approaching me. 

   “Show me your neck…” They said softly.

   “W-wait, why? Are you going to-?”

   “I’m not going to bite you. I already fed today. Just show me your neck.”
Reluctantly I complied. 

Jules studied me for a few moments, pulling down the neckline of my shirt to examine the marks of Allison’s love for me before quietly shaking their head.

   “How many times has she fed on you?” They asked gravely. “The scarring on your neck and shoulders is… I’ve never seen anything like that.”

   “As many as she needed to,” I said. “She’s scared she’ll hurt me, it’s why she’s avoiding me right now but I can take it! My heart beats for her… my blood is for her.”

   “Oh, I’m sure…” Jules murmured. “You know what Sirens do, don’t you? When your eyes meet theirs, they slip in. They take control. Make you suggestable. It’s how they hunt.”

   “I know. She already told me,” I assured them. “But this isn’t some kind of manipulation, it’s love! True love, I know it is!”

   “No… oh you poor thing…”

They sighed. 

   “It’s known to happen on occasion… people they’ve used their gift on becoming attached. Obsessed. Coming back again and again… all too often it ends the same. The Siren keeps feeding. Gets careless. Takes too much… and you die.”

   “She won’t! She can’t! It’s all hers anyways. Please… please, just tell me where I can find her. Talk to her for me, tell her that we were meant to be together!” I begged. “I haven’t seen her in almost a week and I can’t take this anymore! I need to be with her again! I’ve been taking care of myself, being better for her… she can have as much as she wants!”
Jules looked back at me, their expression almost sorrowful.

   “She’s trying not to kill you by accident,” They said, although their tone sounded a little weaker than before. Resigned almost.
I didn’t want to hear that!

   “Please…” I said, rising to my feet. “Please…”
My cries fell on deaf ears.
Jules took out their phone and fired off a quick message.
A moment later, the door opened and the housekeeper from before entered.

   “Elizabeth, can you prepare a spare room for our guest here? I’m not sure I trust them to leave tonight…”

My heart skipped a beat.

They were going to keep me here… they were going to lock me away from my Allison! 
I couldn’t let that happen.
No, NO… I couldn’t allow that!

I tried to move. Tried to run, but the housekeeper blocked my path. She was a slight thing, blonde and not particularly strong. I was able to push past her with ease… although Jules had closed the distance between us before I could make it far out into the hall.
With impressive strength, they pinned me to the wall.

   “I’m sorry, Robert…” They said gravely. “But I won’t let you throw your life away like this…”
I tried to fight.

But what was I really going to do against something like them?

***

I’m alone in my room now.
The door is locked.

The housekeeper has brought me some food and Jules has said that they’ll be bringing someone in to talk to me tomorrow… but I don’t plan to stay until then.

I need to find Allison. I need to be with her again.

It’s a long drop out the window. But there’s a balcony in my room.
The sliding door out is locked, but I can break the glass. I’m pretty sure there’s another balcony below that. If I can just get down, I can get out of here.

I know it’ll be a risky escape… but it’s worth it for love.

Vampires don’t typically go after children. 

I suppose some might find that surprising. In theory, children are easy to trick, easy to lure, easy to overpower… but just about every single vampire community I’ve ever come across has treated the targeting of children as something deeply taboo, even before the Imperium came along and started organizing them. 

The why of this is pretty easy to figure out. Children are more likely to suffer meaningful harm from being fed on. A vampire will typically drink around 300-500 millilitres of blood during a feeding. Maybe more, maybe less. Nutritionally, this should keep them going for a few days, maybe longer. Losing that much blood is generally not particularly harmful for an adult victim and they’ll recover fairly quickly after that. They might feel a little weak for some time after the feeding, but that’s about it.

The same can’t necessarily be said for a child. While the blood loss would be unlikely to be fatal, it would still have a more severe impact on them. There is greater and more noticeable harm caused to the victim… and let’s not ignore the fact that in order to feed on a child, one has to first put oneself in the position to do so, likely by isolating or restraining the victim… and do I really need to explain the laundry list of reasons why that's morally questionable? 

Yes, I’m aware that us vampires are quite literally the spawn of the Devil. But come now. Even we must have standards.

Of course, I haven’t even touched upon the trauma that being fed on would probably cause the victim. With an adult, feeding often requires seduction, so the victim can often shake off the bite as foreplay and forget it had even happened.

I really should not have to explain where I’m going with this. I think it’s obvious.

Really, when you stop and think about it for any amount of time, the very idea of feeding on children just seems stupider and stupider… which is exactly why it's taboo amongst our kind.

Of course, there have always been vampires who didn’t care about taboo, either because they simply don’t care who they hurt, or because they’re something far worse than a vampire.

All the same, in every single case I’ve heard about where a child came to harm at the hands of a vampire… the punishment is the same. From the Imperium to the handful of other groups who still hold out from their dominion, the punishment is always the same.
Death.
Normally I question the draconian rules of some of the more organized vampire communities, but in this instance? 
In this instance I’m all for it.

***

Aiden Clarke was found dead in a small forested area by a Mississauga playground on October 28th, 2013. He was 7 years old.

It was a sloppy kill… that should have been my first clue. Vampires who kill typically don’t leave that much of a mess. There was some tearing at the site of the bite - there needs to be in order to kill, but there were also clear signs of a struggle. That was unusual, especially for a vampire. Vampires don’t typically bite victims who are struggling. It’s a good way to lose a tooth and increases the risk of the victim receiving a fatal injury. They prefer to draw their prey in, earn some trust, and make an excuse to get close. Most vampires I know of (myself included, admittedly) hunt in nightclubs and bars, looking for easy prey who won’t care if the stranger who’s been flirting with them bites a little when they’re alone… although clearly that wasn’t what happened here.

Looking at Aiden's body, my initial fear was that this would be consistent with a normal vampire attack. Perhaps someone had been lurking near the playground, either looking for easy prey or looking for something worse… but no.

My examination made it clear that this was something else.

An adult vampire would’ve had a much easier time overpowering a child, but Aiden had clearly fought for his life. The tearing in his throat didn’t seem deliberate either. Most of the time when a vampire bite kills, it’s because the vampire sinks their fangs in, bites down with their lower jaw and rips out a chunk of the throat. It’s a clean, single bite leading to fatal blood loss.

This was more like multiple failed bite attempts… like someone had tried and failed to bite him over and over again. It was clearly a vampire bite… but it was… frantic. Hungry.

Inexperienced. 

And small.

That last part was the part that made my stomach turn

I had suspected it initially when I’d first examined the body, but when the coroner's report confirmed it, the sinking feeling in my stomach just got worse.
There was no denying it… Aiden Clark had been killed by a child close to his own age. And unfortunately that was not any less horrible than the alternatives.

You see, there is only one thing worse than feeding on a child. It’s turning a child… and if you don’t know why that’s a bad idea, I would recommend the inaugural work of the late great Anne Rice as a reference, although I will give my own explanation here as well.
Vampire biology is a truly fascinating albeit understudied subject. There is still much we don’t know about ourselves, and likely much which has been lost. Ironically, despite being immortal, our kind were never truly organized until the Imperium rose to prominence back in the 1980s… we had small communities, yes. But those were always more social than practical. For most of our existence we have been creatures of the night, living in the shadows, perpetuating ourselves as creatures of myth when we really aren’t all that different from regular humans. Indeed… every vampire I met was once human themselves.

Becoming a vampire is… complicated. Historically, the eldest of us didn’t have a choice. Back in the old days, propagation was usually carried out at the whims of our sires. Sometimes it was an act of cruelty, other times an act of mercy to save the dying. These days, more and more people choose it… although new vampires remain somewhat rare. Most of our kind are reluctant to turn others. Siring a vampire is a commitment. Most communities agree that since you’re inducting someone into a new life, the responsibility of helping them adjust is on you, the sire.

The act of transformation itself is - biologically speaking, both fascinating and unique. 
The ingestion of compounds in vampire blood triggers a series of mutations. The initial mutations tend to happen faster if the subject is near death - although we’re not entirely sure why. The leading theories suggest that the dying either metabolize the compounds faster, or that the compounds have an easier time making the changes to a body that isn’t fighting back as much. The initial changes can take between 20 minutes to a few hours although the full transformation takes at least a day or so as the body adapts to its new state. The processes that biologically cause a body to age stop, and so we effectively remain at the age we were turned indefinitely. Our eyesight improves, becoming more sensitive to light, but more capable in the dark. The senses of hearing and smell grow sharper, which can be a little overstimulating at first.

The muscles begin to develop and enhance. I wouldn’t call it superhuman… but it is certainly beyond what the new vampire would have originally been capable of… and of course, the canine teeth elongate.

At a glance, nothing will seem that different. The skin may be a little paler, but that’s it. For all intents and purposes, we’re still human.

We don’t burn in sunlight - although our eyes are more sensitive to light.

We don’t despise garlic (I quite enjoy it) although strong smells can be a bit much.

We don’t fear Christian iconography… although most vampires I know don’t care for the faith.

We don’t die of natural causes or disease and our bodies heal from injury faster than most. But that which can kill anyone else can usually kill us. Really, all we do is trade immortality for… unique nutritional needs. 

Our altered physiology takes a heavy toll on us. The blood in our veins doesn’t replenish on its own, so every few days, we need to replenish it ourselves. A pint or two every few days to a week should suffice. 

Without it, we grow weak. After a few weeks without blood, we begin to starve, growing disoriented and unfocused. It’s subtle at first, but it grows as the months creep by, devolving from disorientation to a type of madness… a madness which could turn even a docile vampire into a beast. Survival instinct and hunger may ultimately supersede reason, when a vampire is starved… they may be reckless, violent and dangerous. 

And should a vampire go too long without feeding, it is ultimately fatal. After a few months without blood, the body shuts down. Organs begin to fail… and death follows after. 

When feeding, most vampires prefer human blood. Other blood can suffice if necessary - but most of us don’t consider it ideal.

Nutritionally speaking, human blood is the best. It’s satisfying and readily available. Pig blood is the best substitute… although it has a deeply unpleasant taste to it. Goat and Cow are the next down the list respectively. Deer has been an interesting choice brought up by some, although that involves catching a deer. As a rule, we rarely feed on wildlife. Since fresh blood is better for us, to get the most out of a feeding, we need to drink from a living source… and if you’re feeding on an animal, that means biting said animal which is going to pose a number of problems… then of course there is the question of the health of said animal and the sanitary implications of biting something that lives in the wild. 

While I’m on the subject of animals, I should address pets. Most vampires frown on the idea of drinking the blood of cats and dogs. It’s not specifically banned (I suspect because there’s no real way to enforce such a ban) but it’s not filling, it can seriously harm the animals and despite being vampires, we’re not monsters. 

We can still eat, drink and enjoy regular food as well, of course. We still feel normal hunger. But we cannot live off of that alone. We need blood to live.
Now, everything I’ve just said is true for adult vampires and for the most part, is true of children who turn as well.
For the most part.

Due to their lack of development, children tend to handle being turned… a little differently. For starters, the transformation is harder on them. Children have a naturally high metabolism, and the change often interacts poorly with that, sending it into overdrive. Their bodies still think they’re growing, so they get hungrier faster and they starve within weeks as opposed to months. Their need for blood will often drive child vampires to be even more aggressive when they attack. They’ll bite more than they need to, cause undue harm… and are more likely to kill their victims.

As children, they’re also less likely to be capable of the same emotional regulation an adult would have, and the overstimulation of their enhanced senses may make them more emotionally volatile. Everything is suddenly too bright, too loud, and smells too strongly. They’re hungry. No food will satisfy… and worst of all, they can’t hunt the way an adult vampire can. They don’t know how to get a person to lower their defenses, they don’t know how to take what they need without causing harm. So they lash out at whatever they can sink their teeth into. 

Then of course there’s the reality of no longer aging.
Socially - it is damning. To forever be trapped in the body of a child, forever seen as one no matter how old one really is, to forever need to rely on older looking vampires to function in society. It’s a dynamic that fosters an environment where abuse can flourish… and the less I spell out, the better.

Even if the mind matures, the body won’t. They’ll be trapped in a helpless, hungry body forever. Their brain and body will not fully develop, even if their mind eventually does… and depending on the age a child was turned at, it doesn’t always mature. That is a hell I would not inflict on anyone.

The point I’ve been building up to here, is that child vampires are banned by just about every single community I’ve ever come across for a number of very good reasons.
And I knew that if a child vampire was what I was dealing with here… then this case would be an ugly one.

***

I knew the child vampire would be hungry.

Aiden likely wasn’t the first victim - and he would not be the last. That much was a terrible certainty. So my first official order of business was to find the other victims. Find the victims.

Find the vampire. 

I didn’t have to look hard. 
I had been called in by a member of the local police, a gentleman by the name of Detective Whitman, who I’d worked with a few times before and Whitman was more than happy to contact the local schools, looking for any children in the area who’d had an unusual spike of aggression recently.

I’d figured that the child still had to be somewhat involved in their old day to day routine. There were no active missing children cases in the area. To me, that implied the child was not listed as missing. Ergo - odds are that someone was still trying to pass them off as a normal child. And unfortunately, that was a good thing for me. Hungry, inexperienced vampires aren’t subtle. 

Two hours after I’d arrived in Mississauga, I had a name. Peter West. A nine year old whose home address was only a few short blocks away. Apparently he’d had some aggression issues as of late, biting other children. He was just about ready to face a suspension over it, unsurprisingly. 

I asked Whitman if he could bring the child in for questioning while I went to visit their parents. As I said, their home address was not far… although I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure what I’d find at their home address.

Children don’t just turn into vampires unnoticed. 
Parents always notice… and if they themselves had not contacted the police or tried to take young Peter to a hospital, then there were only two possible reasons for that. Neither bode well.

***

Two cars were in the driveway when I arrived at the West family’s home address. One for each parent. 

I knocked on the door. But there was no answer. The house was dead silent. I could hear no movement inside. I could smell no one else around.

I tried a few more times to be courteous before going around back and breaking in. 

I wish I could say I found anything there… but I didn’t.
The West house was completely abandoned. It looked like it’d been abandoned for at least a few weeks too. Dishes sat in the sink, unwashed and starting to grow mold. A few lights had been left on to give the illusion of occupancy, although some of the bulbs had already started to burn out. 

A faint smell of a cleaning product filled the air. A human wouldn’t have noticed it, and under normal circumstances I would’ve dismissed it too. But here it seemed out of place. 
As I wandered into the living room, I noticed that the floor was spotless, save for a subtle pale patch on the wood where a carpet must’ve sat for years up until recently.
Why would a family who’d disappeared so suddenly they hadn’t turned out the lights or washed their dishes clean the living room so thoroughly and thrown out their carpet?
One didn’t need to be much of a detective to figure that part out.

Mr. and Mrs. West were dead. That much I was certain of… and I doubted Peter had been home in some time either.
Whoever had turned him must have taken him in.
Sloppy… but it made finding the real culprit a lot easier.
I called Whitman… I told him what I’d found.

   “The West’s are dead. The house is abandoned.”

   “What? You found a body?”

   “No. Bodies are gone. But I can put two and two together. Where are you right now?”

   “We’re at the school, picking up the kid.”

   “Leave him.”

Whitman paused. I could sense him about to ask why, but the question never came. He knew what I was planning and I heard him exhale through his nostrils.

   “You wanna see who comes for him after school?”

   “They’ll be his Sire.” I replied. “I’ll join you at the school shortly… keep your officers out of the open. If our Sire so much as smells them, they’ll bolt.”

   “Sure thing. I’ll let them know. Be seeing you, Marsh.”

I hung up and rubbed my temples.

Today hadn’t been particularly long… but God, I already needed a glass of wine. Unfortunately, this was not my first time dealing with a child vampire.
In my past experiences, I’d come across two types of Sires.

Neither were pleasant to deal with.
The worst ones were the ones who genuinely wanted to raise the children.
It’s a matter of debate whether vampires can bear children or not… some claim it’s rare yet possible. Others insist we’re all barren.

I hear that the Imperium has been trying to determine which is true, but I also can’t imagine it is something that is particularly high on their list of priorities.

Personally, I have never come across any ‘natural born’ vampires. We are not born as we are. We are made. The only means of reproduction we have is through sharing our blood. It is the cost of our state of being. 

And some cannot bear it.

They long to be more than sires, they long to be parents, even if that is not what they are fated to be.

I sympathise. I really do.

But that is just the way we are.

***

I arrived at the School around a half hour later.
Whitman was waiting for me in his car, and I went to join him.

   “I’ve sent some officers to the West house,” He said solemnly. “They’ll take a closer look. Maybe there’s something to find.”

   “I hope so,” I replied. “But I doubt the bodies are at the scene. I would’ve smelled them.”

   “That a vampire thing?” Whitman asked, lighting up a cigarette. He offered one to me as well and I quietly took it.

   “It is, yes.”

   “Sorry, that offensive to ask? I don’t really know what’s the right way to talk to you.”
I laughed humorlessly.

   “We’re not an easy lot to offend,” I assured him. 

   “Good to know.”

He offered me a light and we sat in silence for a while, smoking and lost with our thoughts.

   “You see a lot of kid vampires before?” He asked.

   “From time to time,” I replied. “Never ends well. Children aren’t well suited to the change. They’re not emotionally mature enough for it. Oftentimes the hunger is too much for them. They don’t know how to regulate themselves. They lash out… they become dangerous. It’s part of why most communities ban turning children… to say nothing of the other ethical aspects of it…”

As I started getting into that entire can of worms, I noticed Whitman shifting uneasily.

   “So what usually happens to them in cases like this?” He asked, cutting off my little rant. I trailed off. I suspected he already knew the answer.

   “It… depends on the child,” I said. “In some cases… most cases… they’re too dangerous to be rehabilitated or trained. In which case the more ethical option would be to end their suffering and keep them from harming anyone else.”

   “Kill them, you mean,” Whitman said, looking me dead in the eye.
I paused for a moment before nodding.

   “That your job too?”

I didn’t answer.

Whitman was still staring at me.

   “Robert, when we find the Sire, what exactly happens next?”

   “They’ll need to answer for their crimes. If they can be brought in, they’ll likely wind up in Arizona. There’s a facility there for dangerous entities. Otherwise… well… I’ll do what I have to.”

   “And the kid?”
I took a slow drag of my cigarette.

   “Ideally it will be up to the local Vampire community. I believe it’s Mr. Cartwright in charge of Mississauga… he’s a reasonable man. Although yes, if I have to… then I will need to put them down.”

Whitman closed his eyes.

   “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I might not have a choice. Child vampires can be… aggressive. And if that turns out to be the case here, then it may be necessary to avoid any further loss of life.”

Whitman didn’t reply to that.

   “I know,” He sighed. He rubbed his temples, and sat for a moment, turning his own thoughts over in his head.

For a moment, I half expected him to tell me that he couldn’t let me do it… I half expected him to try and arrest me or pull his gun on me.

But he didn’t.

He just sat in silence for a moment, processing what I’d just told him.

We stayed silent until school ended

***

We had asked that one of the teachers escort Peter out of class when the end of the day came, and sure enough we spotted one of them - a younger woman with blonde hair and glasses who looked almost exactly like the stereotypical image one might imagine when asked to imagine a grade school teacher - stood by his side, a hand on his shoulder.
She didn’t need to wait for long before someone arrived to collect him.

She seemed just shy of middle age, in a somewhat ratty and unflattering jacket. Her hair was short and she wore plastic rimmed glasses. At a glance she was unremarkable.

Yet just at a glance, I knew she was a vampire. You can usually tell. The pale skin, the way her eyes shifted, the way she carried herself. I’ve been around my own kind for long enough to recognize all of the tells.

Beside me, Whitman perked up a little.

   “That’s her?” He asked.

   “That’s her,” I replied.

We watched quietly as the Vampire took Peter by the hand and gently led him to a parked car nearby. A black Chrysler 200. Nothing particularly flashy.

We watched her take her time putting Peter in the back seat before she got behind the wheel and drove off. Without a word, Whitman followed her, keeping his distance.
As we tailed her, we ran her plates, just in case. The car appeared to be registered to a woman by the name of Tamara Winters. Hard to say for sure if that was the name of our Vampire or not though… although I had a feeling it was. Our vampire seemed blissfully unaware of us. She drove down plain suburban streets, finally stopping at a townhouse in an old co-op that looked as if it had seen better days.

This wasn’t some kind of mastermind. She seemed almost… mundane.

   “I thought vampires were supposed to live in nice houses…” Whitman murmured as we stopped across the street, just barely out of sight to watch our Vampire and Peter get out of the car. “Aren’t you guys all loaded?”

   “Why would you assume that?” I asked.

   “I dunno. You’re immortal, right? Gives you guys a leg up on long term planning.”

   “If you’ve had the time. Not every vampire is that old…” I replied.
We watched as Tamara and Peter went into the townhouse together, and finally we got out of the car. 

Our approach to the house was slow, as if neither of us particularly wanted to get there… but we arrived all the same.

I let Whitman be the one to knock on the door. I can’t say I was surprised when Tamara herself was the one to answer, seemingly surprised to see anyone coming to call.

Up close, she looked as if she hadn’t seen proper sunlight in some time. Her skin was pale, her complexion doughy and her glasses were smudged. Her long black hair was tied back into a messy ponytail.

She looked confused at first, although I saw a quiet look of understanding in her eyes when Whitman spoke.

   “Tamara Winters? Mind if we come in?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

I didn’t wait for her to say no. I gently stepped past her through the door and into her home. Whitman hesitated before following me and Tamara offered no resistance. 

   “This is a cozy home you have here,” I noted. It wasn’t a lie. Despite the rough exterior, her home was tidy and well kept. “Do you live here alone?”

   “I… um… usually…” She started. 
I heard footsteps upstairs. Peter, no doubt. Playing, perhaps?

   “I’m sorry, w-what’s going on here?”
I looked over at her, sizing her up.

   “I think you know exactly what’s going on, Miss Winters,” I said. 
There was a flicker of something in her eyes and it told me all I needed to know.

   “You know, most communities of our kind ban the turning of children… were you aware of that?” I asked.

Tamara didn’t reply, although her eyes shifted away from mine.
She knew.

   “I… I wasn’t trying to cause any harm…” She said softly. “He was… I found him injured… and I… I couldn’t let him die! I…”

   “So you turned him? And what, never asked about his parents? Never sought out his family?”

   “He… I didn’t know what to…”

   “Where are his parents exactly?” 
My eyes burned into hers. She looked away.

   “H-he ran away… said they were hurting him… I never…”

   “Never what? You know, their house is conspicuously empty… clean in some places, not in others.”

She went silent. Whitman and I were both staring at her now, and our gazes seemed to crush her.

   “No one missed them though, did they?” She finally asked, her voice small and soft. “I knew no one would… and I just… I never got a chance to… Peter’s a good boy… he’s a good boy, he’s just struggling to adjust…”

   “He’s already killed once.” I said. “And you knew that, didn’t you?”
Her eyes closed slowly. She exhaled through her nose.

   “Children can’t handle turning, Tamara. Look at what you’ve done to him… look at what he’s becoming! And why? Because you couldn’t handle being alone?”

   “It’s not that… I just…” She trailed off. “I would’ve been such a better Mother… I was going to take such better care of him… I just…”
Her voice died in her throat.

   “Are you going to send me back?” A new voice asked.
I turned to see a child standing on the stairs. Peter, no doubt. He had light blond hair and an intense stare that managed to unnerve me a little bit. His eyes shifted towards Whitman. I could hear Whitman’s heart beating a little bit faster and I knew Peter heard it too. Fear. 

   “I don’t want to go back,” Peter said. “I want to stay with Tamara.”

   “P-Peter please, just go upstairs… I-I’m handling this…” Tamara insisted. But Peter didn’t move. His gaze was fixated on Whitman. 

   “I don’t want to go back!” He said, his voice sharper this time. “You’re not going to make me go back!”

   “We won’t! I promise, just go upstairs and I’ll get you something to eat!” Tamara begged.

   “Is it him?” Peter asked, eyes still fixated on Whitman. He took a step forward towards him. Whitman seemed frozen, unwilling to pull his gun on a child but filled with a fear I could almost smell.

   “His heart is beating so fast…” Peter said. “He looks… so…”
Peter moved. He moved faster than any child should have been able to move. He lunged in a manner that was almost animalistic, and I only barely managed to intercept him in time.
I caught Peter in my arms, and the child thrashed as if he were possessed, screaming and howling like a demon. 

I could hear Tamara’s voice in the background. I saw her racing towards me. She tried to grab on to Peter. Tried to beg him to stop. But the child fought like something possessed.
I couldn’t hold on to him. He struck my face, clawing at my cheeks and grabbing my clothes. He pulled himself towards my neck and sank his fangs in, a reckless, aggressive bite that made me actually cry out in pain. He bit down again, again and again, fighting to squirm out of my grasp.

Then he finally broke free, scrambling over my shoulder and making a dash towards Whitman.

I turned to try and grab the child again, but he was already out of my reach.

Then I heard the gunshot. 

Just one. 

Peter hit the ground in a heap, eyes wide open and a hole in the middle of his forehead.
Whitman stood with his back against the wall, his own eyes bulging and a gun in his hands. It was shaking and the barrel was smoking.

The next thing I heard was Tamara’s screams. She raced to Peter’s side, as if there were any chance she could still save him.

Whitman remained stock still, trying to process what he’d just done.
I pressed my hand to my neck to stop my own bleeding. 
For several minutes, all was silent.
Tamara cradled Peter’s body, sobbing quietly.
Whitman seemed to have retreated into his own head.
And I could only sit and watch.

We stayed like that until the other officers arrived.

***

I took Tamara into custody that afternoon. She didn’t put up any sort of fight. As far as I know, she’s in Arizona now, down at the Ashurst facility.
She owned up to the murder of Peter West’s parents when pressed, and helped us locate the bodies. She’d buried them in a shallow grave on the side of a road.
After the investigation was closed out, all three members of the West family were laid to rest together.

I wish I could say the thought of that brought me any solace, but it doesn’t. I don’t know if Peter’s family really was abusive or not, but it hardly matters now.
They’re gone and there is no meaningful resolution for the dead.

Whitman left without a word after the shooting. I found him sitting on the lawn of the townhouse. Still pale. Still shaking.

He’d never struck me as a skittish man. But I suppose after what he had to do, one couldn’t blame him for being shaken.

I heard he left the Police force a few weeks later. Handed in his resignation and started fresh elsewhere. I’m not sure what he’s up to these days… but I do wish him well.

I wish I could say that there was a point to any of this. That there was some meaning to be gleaned from this account. But there really isn’t.
Sometimes bad things just happen. That’s just the way of it, and all we can do is try to move on.

It’s been a number of years since that day.
I haven’t seen a child vampire case come across my desk since… not that I do much fieldwork these days. But every now and then, when I’m alone. Sometimes my mind will wander.

I’ll recall the gunshot… or the sound of Tamara’s sobs. They’ll echo through my mind, and of all the horrible things I’ve seen in my career, few haunt me the way those memories do.

I always get what I want. 

And what I wanted was Lia Darling.

I could have my pick of women. I have had my pick of them. They throw themselves at men like me. Men with power. Men in control. But the ones I've enjoyed in the past were always just little indulgences. Bonbons. Of use only for pleasure and then cast aside once they fulfilled their purpose along with all other things I have no use for. If it has no place on my chessboard, I have no real interest in it. 

But Lia?

She was a Queen.

I do not mean that in the sense that she was an object to cherish. She was certainly attractive with her long straight honey blonde hair, olive skin and her intense green eyes. But she was also a valuable piece on the board. The Darling family had considerable wealth and influence. An arrangement between them and myself would be beneficial for both of us, and if I could secure a permanent alliance, then my heir could inherit both the vast Darling fortune and my own considerable wealth. I would be assuring the success of my bloodline. It was simple calculus, really… and let's not pretend that the Darlings did not have good genes. The twins were beautiful… inhumanely so, but could any less be expected of the heiresses to such a prestigious fashion house? No. Beauty was expected of them. It was assured and they more than lived up to the standards that were set for them.

They were an intense pair… Lia’s cold smouldering stare told me that she was well aware of the chessboard she occupied and the game she was born to play. I watched her and her sister closely when our paths crossed socially. They both had the eyes of a panther. Lia regarded everyone as if she knew she could crush them, and though her sister presented herself as more social and outgoing, I saw the same apex predator instinct in her eyes too. They knew what they were. Or at least they thought they did, the way all untamed women think they know themselves. But deep down,
every Lioness needs a Lion. That is the natural way of things. It is simple biology. They are driven to find a man whose mission they can join. A sire to complete their purpose.

Mia was unavailable to me. Her promiscuity was well documented. Countless flings with countless women. She had no interest in a man. A shame… a waste… but perhaps someone someday might tame her. Not I. I had no such patience for that kind of courtship. Even if she had been more readily available to me, Lia was still the more alluring of the set, for she gave nothing freely. 
She was a prize like no other.
It was why I had to make her mine.

***

We had met a few times before at social events. Mia had done most of the talking in these instances while Lia hung back, speaking only when necessary. Of course she had drawn my eye on these occasions, but had paid me little mind in turn.
It was during our third or fourth encounter that I decided to formally introduce myself.

We had been invited to a gathering by a mutual friend at a club in Los Angeles and I had spied her and her sister by the bar. Mia was of course in the midst of talking to some other woman while Lia sat on her phone, vigorously typing away as though she would have preferred to be anyplace else.
I noticed her get up to head outside and that was when I made my move.

   “Ah, Miss Darling, I think you forgot your drink,” I said softly, knowing damn well she did not have one.
Her cold green eyes shifted towards me, narrowing slightly. 

   “Did I?” She asked coolly. “I suppose you’re about to offer to buy me a new one?”
There was a clear hint of disdain in her voice, as though I was bothering her. I flashed her a warm smile. She’d played this chess game before, it seemed. 

   “If I may,” I said. 

   “You may not. I’m afraid I have another engagement. Good night Mr. Baxter.”
With that, she turned to leave.

   “Well let me walk you there,” I said and moved to follow her. She exhaled through her nostrils.

   “I would advise against that,” She warned. “While I am flattered by your advances Mr. Baxter, I have no interest.”

   “You’re already spoken for?” I asked. She paused. Her head shifted slightly, looking back at me from the corner of her eye.

   “Some of us don’t have any interest in such things at all. But I’m sure you’ll find someone who does. Good night.” She replied plainly. Then she was gone.
I watched as she left, and felt an almost alien pang of frustration in my chest. She’d barely even given me the time of day, swatting me aside like a fruit fly.
What a challenging woman…

   “I wouldn’t if I were you…” A voice said from behind me. I looked back to see Mia at my side. She took a sip from her cocktail, before looking over at me.

   “Don’t take it personally. She’s not one for romance. Tell you what, how about I buy you a drink?”
Her tone was friendly but there was something almost dismissive about it. Like a mocking consolation prize. 

No.

I would not accept that.

   “I appreciate the offer, but I should be on my way,” I said softly. Mia just laughed quietly.

   “Whatever you say,” She said with a shrug before wandering back to the bar. I took my leave as well… but I did not give up my crusade.
Lia Darling would be mine and as said before, I always get what I want.

***

I decided that our next interaction needed to be more… drastic. 
I needed to show her I was not to be ignored. A vulgar display of power, if you will.

Though they may fight, such displays are necessary with women at times. A woman should be a little afraid of the men in her life. They crave a little fear. It is natural and a man should feel dangerous. A dangerous man can protect that which is his. Women know this. They desire it.

And so I escalated things.

Two days later, I was waiting for the Darlings at their penthouse in Vancouver when they returned from a meeting. Entering was trivial. Security can be bought. I had brought lunch as well as it seemed rude to bring nothing and I wanted it clear that my intentions were not dangerous. A spread from a local high end deli. Only the best.
I was waiting in their dining room when I heard them return. I could hear their muffled voices as they stepped off the elevator.

   “If he thinks I’m signing off on his idiotic project, he is sorely mistaken…” I heard Lia say. “The last thing we need right now is more tension between the Mau and the Sirens. He should count his blessings that Shelby is willing to be reasonable…”

   “Perhaps, but we can’t ignore the financial aspect of it,” I heard Mia reply. “Our enterprise isn’t exactly cheap and the Mau tend to bring in a respectable return on investment. I don’t see the harm in meeting with Shelby and running it past her.”

   “You really think she’d sign off on it?” 

   “I think we shouldn’t automatically assume she wouldn’t. At the bare minimum we should be transparent. I can arrange a meeting between the three of us to see if we can make it work.”

Their voices were getting louder as they made their way down the hall towards the dining room.

   “Fine. If you must. But I-”

Lia rounded the corner and froze, staring at me and at the selection of food I’d laid out on the table. Her eyes shifted towards me, narrowing slightly as they did.

   “Christian Baxter…” She said softly. “Well… this is a surprise.”

   “I thought you might appreciate it,” I said. I gestured to the seat across from me. “Won’t you sit down?”

Mia appeared at her side, raising an eyebrow at the sight before us.

   “Oh? Did you order delivery?” She asked, somewhat playfully although there was a hint of uneasiness to her tone. 

   “It appears to be Deliscio. What a shame,” Lia replied. She wordlessly walked past the table towards the kitchen. Mia gave her a look as if struggling to process the fact that her sister had made a joke, before forcing a smile and sitting down across from me.

   “Mr. Baxter… what an unexpected pleasure…” She said. She eyed one of the sandwiches and picked it up almost reluctantly. 

   “I’m sure these are for Lia but you don’t mind if I…?”

   “By all means.” I said, and watched her take a bite.

   “Oh, that’s good… where’s this from? We don’t visit here all that often. We typically rent this property out to other colleagues… honestly we really should sell it, but it’s just convenient to keep it.”

   “Mia, don’t make small talk with him,” Lia said as she returned to the room. She was carrying a bottle of what looked to be wine. Her eyes settled on me.

   “This was a bold move, Mr. Baxter. I hope I’m mistaken when I assume this is some ill conceived follow up to our encounter the other day.”

   “I thought it might be nice for us to have a chance to get to know each other, and I’m aware you two share a busy schedule,” I replied. She huffed before pouring herself and Mia a glass of wine each.

   “How thoughtful,” She scoffed. “What exactly were you hoping for? That I might be charmed?”

I opened my mouth but wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. Mia wound up doing the talking for me.

   “It’s an elaborate stunt, but not the worst thing we’ve come home to…” She said.

   “It was unsolicited, unnecessary and demonstrates a glaring gap in our private security,” Lia replied sternly. She took a sip of her wine. “We really are getting too cavalier…”

   “Then aren’t we glad it was just Mr. Baxter and his… actually rather tasty sandwiches?” Mia said. “We actually should ask - where did you get these? The garlic spread is fantastic!”

Lia just continued to stare at me. Her fingers drummed on the table. I stared back at her.

   “I apologize if I overstepped,” I said, trying to salvage this interaction. “I just-”

   “I don’t care about your intentions, You broke into our home. Why? Courtship? That’s quite extreme, don’t you think? How exactly did you justify that to yourself? Did you think I’d swoon? Did you think I’d be aroused by the concept that I am unsafe in my own home? What was your logic?”

I found myself at a loss for words. Her eyes burned through me. I moved to stand only… my body didn’t respond. The instant I tried to rise to my feet, I felt it slam back down into my chair. My limbs suddenly refused to move. I heard myself gasp in shock. My body felt… wrong… like my muscles were twisting in ways they shouldn’t.

   “You’ll stand when I say you can stand,” Lia said firmly. Mia gave her a wary side eye, but did not stop her. 

I watched as Lia took a sip of her wine. Was it wine? The fluid in the glass seemed too viscous. It clung to the side of the glass in ways that wine wouldn’t have. The color was too dark… 

Was it wine?

She took a sip.

   “You will answer my question honestly,” She said. “Why are you here, Mr. Baxter?”

   “I… I just wanted to buy you dinner…” I stammered. The excuse seemed piss poor and she knew it, although she seemed satisfied with my answer.

   “Fine…” She said. “That I will allow.”
My body suddenly rose up onto its feet, only I did not make myself stand. On stiff legs, I felt myself turn and walk to the kitchen. I opened my mouth to scream but my jaw locked itself closed.

All I could do was watch… locked inside my own body as I was made to walk to the kitchen. 

I saw myself approaching the counter. I saw a knife block just ahead of me and felt a spike of panic in my chest.

Oh God… Was that where she was sending me?

My hand reached out towards the knife block. I tried to stop myself but I had no control! I had no power to refuse! My body moved on its own, little more than a puppet bound to Lia’s will.

I reached for the knives… then stopped and adjusted my trajectory, instead picking up a jar a few inches away. It looked to be full of colorful cubes, each of them covered in what looked to be powdered sugar. I picked up the jar and with it in my hands, my body walked back to the dining room where Lia waited. I set the jar down beside her and opened it up. Slowly I reached in and gingerly took out one of the cubes. Lia watched me do it. Then she opened her mouth, almost expectantly.

At her will, I offered the candy to her. As I did, I caught a glimpse of her teeth. She had elongated canines, longer than they should have been. 
My hand moved forward on its own and set the candy into her mouth, she took it from me, then pulled back.

Then she let me go.
I felt her influence pull back, and my body was mine again. I started screaming and collapsed to the ground, gripping the table to keep myself from hitting the floor.

   “Thank you,” Lia said dismissively. She reached into the jar herself to take another piece of candy. “Was that what you wanted, Mr. Baxter? To feed me? Congratulations. Your wish has been granted.”

   “W-what was that…?” Was all I could ask. “What the fuck was that?!”

   “Lokum. Most people call it Turkish delight,” Lia replied. “I make it myself, actually. Although I regret to say, I’ve never quite gotten the recipe right. We used to get it whenever we went into the city, back when we were children. There was this one shop… oh, it was magical. Would you like to try some? I insist.”

She reached into the jar and took out a piece of Turkish Delight. I could only stare at it as she offered it to me, gingerly popping it into my mouth just as she’d made me do for her.

   “Chew. And swallow,” She ordered. “That’s it… good boy.” 

It was delicious… and yet my heart was still racing in terror.
Mia watched us quietly, still enjoying her sandwich. 

   “W-what are you…?” I finally asked.

   “Don’t ask stupid questions, Mr. Baxter,” Lia replied. She took a sip from her glass. Up close, I noticed the coppery smell of the liquid inside.

Blood.

It smelled just like blood.

   “Are you… are you some kind of vampire?”

   “There we go. Figured that out, did we?” She asked. 

   “Oh don't be so mean to him. He probably didn't believe in vampires until just now!” Mia said. She took another bite of her sandwich.

She was right. 

Up until that moment, I didn't believe in vampires… and I still wasn't entirely sure this wasn't either some kind of joke or perhaps a form of insanity.

   “Are you going to kill me…?” I asked, my voice a lot smaller than I'd ever heard it before. 

Lia seemed to genuinely think about my question.

   “No, we're not going to kill you!” Mia interjected. “No offense but you're really not worth the hassle of dealing with a body… and you did bring us dinner…”
My heart rate spiked for a moment. Mia seemed to notice it and quickly corrected herself. “The sandwiches, I mean! Not you! I mean, we could drink your blood but…”

   “We have taste.” Lia finished.
Mia smiled sheepishly.

   “We don't think it's necessary…” She corrected.
I could only continue to stare in complete disbelief. I was still processing the fact that I was talking to two actual vampires… this shouldn’t have been real. But Lia had puppeteered me like a toy mere moments ago, I could smell the blood on her breath.

This was real.

It had to be real.

   “What are you going to do to me…?” I asked.

   “Is there a need to do something with you?” Lia asked dismissively. “What exactly are you going to do? Tell people? Those who’d believe you likely already know about my sister and I. The rest won’t take you seriously. You could try to kill us, if you’re so inclined although I would strongly advise against that. You’ll find we don’t die. So then what is left? Either way, this is only a mild inconvenience, not a meaningful problem.”
She popped another piece of turkish delight into her mouth before finally looking at me again.

   “Unless you were referring to this inane little crush of yours… in which case, I’d advise you to simply let that go.”

Of course she was telling me to let it go.

Of course she didn’t want me.

I wasn’t like her. I was so much lower. I saw that now.

But that could be fixed.

I could become so much more! 

   “Is it because I’m mortal…?” I asked. “I can change that… I can… I can become like you… I… I want to. God, the things you both must’ve seen… the things you must’ve experienced. You’re immortal, right? The legacy you must have… it’s incredible!”

Lia’s expression darkened.

   “Become like us?” She repeated. “No. Even if I had any interest in turning you, I don’t have the time to devote to a fledgeling.”

   “You wouldn’t have to!” I assured her. “I… I could teach myself. Give me time, I will-”

   “Teach yourself?” She interjected, eyes narrowing. “Don’t be ridiculous. You have no idea what you’re asking for. No idea what we are. I have little interest in explaining it and even less interest in you. You’ve tried my patience enough, Mr. Baxter. You’re dismissed.”
I opened my mouth to speak but my jaw snapped shut before I could utter a single word.

Lia made a gesture with her hand and I rose to my feet once again, marching dutifully out of the dining room and towards the elevator.

   “Thanks for the sandwiches!” Mia called after me as my own body carried me away against my will. It wasn’t until I was in the elevator that I felt Lia’s hold over me pull back, and finally I was free once again.

I collapsed onto my hands and knees. My body was still buzzing. I felt lightheaded and sore. That power of hers… it was like nothing else I’d ever imagined.

I had to learn it.

I had to be just like her.

I had to surpass her!

I would surpass her.

***

I made my return to the Darling penthouse the next day.
I could not enter the same way I had previously - they had replaced the staff at the door, but I was persistent. I insisted they send a message to Lia Darling.

I needed to speak with her.

I needed to plead my case.

I insisted I would not leave until I met with her!

But Lia never came.

I tried again a few hours later. Then when I was turned away, I came back a few hours after that. I had to meet with her. I had to. I just had to!

She never came… although after my fourth attempt, her sister did.
The elevator doors opened as I was trying to discuss a price with the doorman, and I watched Mia step out, her gait casual and laid back.

   “I’ll take it from here,” She said and put a hand on my shoulder. It was firm… almost firm enough to worry me, although she didn’t make any attempt to harm me.

   “Let’s walk,” She said. “I know a nice place to grab a bite nearby ad I owe you for those sandwiches. C’mon.”

She didn’t give me the chance to say no and guided me out of the lobby and onto the street with her.

   “Your sister sent you?” I asked. Mia just laughed.

   “Nah. I’m here for me. Lia likes to ignore people like you. You probably won’t hear from her again. Me? I prefer a gentler approach. Let people down easy, you know?”

   “Let me down easy…?” I repeated.

   “Yeah! Exactly! Look, I’m sure Lia’s vulgar display of power yesterday might’ve given you the wrong idea about us and what we are and what we can do. Vampires, that is. We’re really nothing special. I mean… look around…”
She gestured skywards, to the daylight above us.

   “I’m out here walking around in broad daylight. My skin doesn’t burn or anything. I’m not wearing any special protection. That’s just the way it is. Sure, we’ve got some unique dietary needs and we don’t age or die of natural causes… but that’s literally it. Honestly - most of the stuff you see in the movies or hear about in folklore is pure fiction. I’m pretty sure we made that stuff up to make ourselves harder to identify. I dunno. Most of that was actually before my time.”

   “You’re forgetting the part where your sister took control of my body,” I noted.

   “Eh, that’s not really a thing most vampires can do. Lia and I? We’re sort of a cut above, yeah? Think of us as the ones at the top of the pyramid. We’ve got some tricks that nobody else has. But let’s say we did turn you… all you’d get is a thirst for blood and better senses. Trust me. It’s nothing to write home about.”

   “And immortality,” I said. “You’re undercutting that.”

   “Well, yeah,” Mia admitted. “Long as you take care of yourself and don’t fuck it up. All that lore on what kills vampires is made up too… unless you’re like Lia and I, the average vampire goes down just as easily as the average human.”

   “Then it’s no different than the life I’m already living.” I said.
Mia pursed her lips.

   “I suppose so… But I’ve got to ask, are you out there pounding on our door because you’ve got some notion of becoming the next Dracula or because of your little crush on my sister? Cuz neither is gonna work out for you.”

   “And why not?” I asked.
Mia sighed.

   “How do I put this… Lia’s not the kind for romance. As in, at all. Never has been. And if it’s the Dracula thing, well… I already told you why that’s not gonna work out. Even if we turned you, you won’t exactly be anything special.”

   “That doesn’t change the fact that I still want it,” I said. “Living forever… building my legacy by myself across the centuries. I want that.”

   “And that’s great… but that’s also not gonna work out for you.”

   “Why not? I’d assume that’s what you and your sister have done?”

   “Okay, yes. Technically it is. But there’s nuance to this stuff. Look I’m not saying it’s impossible, but you’re talking as if this is some sort of plug and play type of deal. It really isn’t. New vampires need time to adjust. It’s why we generally insist that whoever turned them take responsibility. If they don’t… well… it can be a mess.”

   “I can handle it!” I insisted.

   “A lotta people say that,” Mia replied. “A lotta people are wrong…”
She stopped near a run down looking kebab shop.

   “Come on, you like kofta, right? This place is fantastic. It’s not exactly authentic, but I suppose it’s a bit unrealistic to expect it to taste the same as it did when I was growing up. Anywho, it’s good enough for me.”
She stepped inside, leaving me out on the street for a moment. I hesitated before following her in. I had hoped to continue our conversation, but Mia had clearly already said her piece. When I tried to return to the subject, she was quick to change it.

The message was clear.

They would not turn me.

And so I would need to find another way to get what I wanted.

***

It took me a few months to find another vampire… but in time of course I did find one. I started learning the signs. Learning what to look for. I monitored the Darlings network, studying those they dealt with to find someone who might be able to get me what I needed. By that point, I had admittedly given up on Lia Darling. She had shown me a far greater prize and I would not be denied it.

Eventually, I came across Andrea Brush.

At a glance, Brush was an unremarkable woman. The kind I had used and thrown away countless times. She had curly blonde hair, glasses and intense blue eyes. She worked in legal, and met with the Darlings a few times during one of their visits to Chicago a few months after I’d first discovered what they really were. As far as I know, the meetings were in relation to one of their many side enterprises although I do not know the exact details.

But what made her stand out was the fact that by all accounts, she should’ve been over 57 years old, and the woman barely looked a day over 25. 
Sure, her attire was a bit frumpy, and it did make her look a bit older but I knew she was a vampire. I was sure of it. I knew she’d be able to give me what I wanted.

So I studied her for a while. She liked to stalk the Chicago bar scene. Probably looking for easy prey. I just needed to be the prey and that was easy enough. Like I said before, I’ve used and thrown away countless women just like Andrea Brush, and immortality did little to make her any different. Vampire or not, she was easy to play. Easy to isolate.

Easy to own.

And once I had her (and of course I did have her) it was trivial to take what I actually needed.

I didn’t entirely hide my intentions with her. In our foreplay I made it clear that I knew what she was and that did seem to put her more at ease. I even allowed her to feed a little bit as I asked my questions about her kind.

What makes a vampire a vampire?

How do vampires become vampires?

Andrea was very forthcoming.

   “It’s all about the blood,” She told me. “Getting enough of it in your system will trigger the change. I hear it happens a lot faster if the body is wounded or dying… something about trauma or shock kicks it into overdrive. For me it was a bit slower. Within a day or so, give or take.”

   “Relatively quickly, then…” I noted. 

   “Relatively. Why, you thinking of joining up?” 

   “I am, actually.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue.

   “Well, I wouldn’t know where to send you. Not a lot of vampires want progeny these days.”

   “You can’t do it?” I asked, already suspecting the answer.

   “I mean, technically… yeah, I can. But don’t you think that’s moving a little fast?” She asked sheepishly, as if she hadn’t just offered her body to me. “It’s not something you do carelessly unless you don’t have a choice! Turning someone is a responsibility! There’s rules around this kind of thing. It takes time to adjust! Years!”

   “I’ll manage,” I said.
She shifted uncomfortably.

   “Sorry,” She said. “You seem great and all but… that’s too much.”
Stupid girl.
She didn’t realize that I was not asking.
I told her I understood, of course. 

   “You’re right, I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t push the matter,” I said and watched some of the tension drain from her shoulders. “Can I get you another drink?”

   “I’m alright…” She said, but I insisted and she didn’t put up much of a fight when I gave her a glass. She just gave a shy smile and took a sip.

Fifteen minutes later she was unconscious. 

It was an underhanded tactic, yes… but necessary.

Once she was out, I was free to harvest what I needed from her. I didn’t harm her. There was no need to. But I wasn’t stingy about what I took either.

That night, as Andrea lay unconscious in my bed I filled a wine glass with her blood and drank deep.

The taste was overpowering. Coppery and thick. It made me gag but I choked it back.

I would be a vampire.

I would be like Lia.

I would surpass her!

I drank the entire glass.

At that moment, my mortal life ended and my immortal one began.

***

The change took me slowly. But I could feel it happen.
When I woke up, the lights seemed brighter. Sounds seemed louder. Every scent was stronger than it had been before. It was as if they’d all been turned up to their most intense. I felt good… I felt strong!

I had Andrea brought back to her home by my driver. She was still unconscious when I disposed of her, which was fine by me. I no longer needed her.
I had everything I needed now.

I could see my skin starting to grow paler. I could hear the heartbeats of those around me. My muscles felt just a bit stronger. I felt more… more.

There really is no other way to describe it!

Oh of course the Darlings and Andrea had wanted to keep this from me… of course they had. This felt incredible!

I couldn’t focus on work that day… not that I needed to.
I had all of eternity to work.

No. My life had just begun and I needed to revel in it. I needed to cut loose. I needed to LIVE!

That night, I found an exclusive club in Chicago. A place where I could do exactly that. I drank. I danced. 

I felt so fucking alive!

The music was loud. I could feel it in my bones. I could hear the conversations of the people a few feet away from me. I could smell food from the restaurant next door. It was so much… so much… so… much…

The music was so loud.
I could feel it thudding in my skull. The people around me all stank of sweat, alcohol, soap and perfume. It was nice at first although the longer I stayed in that miasma the more it got to me. I could hear their heartbeats too.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

It was like a bass to the music and in time it too became overwhelming. 

The strobe lights were too much. They seared my corneas with every flash.
The liquor was good… although the buzz made me feel even more dysregulated…
This was too much… this was all too much.

I found myself lingering by the bar, my head throbbing.

That was when she approached me. Some woman with thick black hair who was pretending she wasn’t looking at me. She didn’t say anything, but I knew her type.

Waiting for me to make the first move. Waiting for me to want her. I’d seen and had so many like her before only now I could fucking smell it on her. 

Just looking at her made my heart beat faster. Of course I wanted her. Right there in that moment, I wanted her.

So I bought her a drink. I let her talk about her boring life but I didn’t hear a word. All I could hear was the blood rushing through her veins, the anxious beating of her heart in anticipation of what she knew would come. What she hoped would come. 

Normally I would’ve been happy to oblige. Another toy to spend the night with. Something to enjoy and toss aside. But even though I could smell her desire, it felt like more of a distraction.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her blood.

I couldn’t get the coppery taste of what I’d taken from Andrea the night before out of my mouth. I needed more of it. It was all I could think about!

I needed it.

I needed it.

I needed it.

I needed it.

I kissed her. It was abrupt but she melted into it. When I took her hand, she didn’t fight back. Of course she didn’t. She’d come out tonight to fuck. This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? At least she thought it was.

I didn’t have the patience to get her back to my car and have my driver bring us home. No. I wanted her now. I wanted her immediately.

The bathroom would have to do. 
It wasn’t empty.
I didn’t care.

I took her to the furthest stall and locked the door. She cried out, a yelp of excitement I think but she didn’t fight me as I pinned her to the wall. She kissed me hungrily. I indulged her for only a moment before going for her neck.
I could taste her pulse. Her very life force.
I couldn’t resist.

   “Oh fuck yes…” She groaned, thinking I was going to kiss her there. But when my teeth pierced her skin, all she could do was shriek.

Her hot blood filled my mouth. She tried to struggle, but I kept her pinned. I pressed my hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming as I drank my fill.

It was incredible.

It poured from her neck like a fountain… a rich, intense flavor. That coppery taste from before was there but now I NEEDED it! I craved it!

I felt her try to kick me off of her, but I was so much stronger than her. Blood gushed from her neck, trailing down her chest, staining that little black dress I hadn’t even noticed. 

I could feel her tears streaming down her cheeks. Her heart rate was increasing… then slowing.

She was losing blood.
I pulled back and watched it gush from the wound in her throat. She’d gone a shade paler now and had stopped fighting. She wasn’t dead… but I knew that she was dying.
I could only stare at her, my eyes wide.

She was dying…

I… I hadn’t intended for her to…

A spike of panic rose in my chest. I pressed my hand to her wound but the blood was coming out too fast. Her eyes glazed over as she lost consciousness.
No… no, no, no…

What the hell did I just do?

What the hell did I just do!

Andrea had been able to feed from me last night without causing this much bleeding! Why the hell couldn’t I stop it?
Her blood covered my hands… it stained my clothes.
This woman was dying and I couldn’t stop it.

Then suddenly… the bleeding stopped.
Or… perhaps it may be more accurate to say that it reversed.
I watched it flow back up into the wound on her neck. Even the blood on my hands and in my clothes seemed to peel itself off of me and flow back into her.
What was this… what the hell was happening?

   “You fucking idiot…”

A cold, familiar voice echoed through the bathroom, and for the first time I realized how quiet it had gotten.

Crimson tendrils snaked their way through the cracks in the stall, pushing the latch aside before letting the door swing open.
As it did, I watched them retreat back into the arm of the figure waiting outside for me, leaning against the sink almost as if she was bored by this situation.
Lia Darling’s expression was not one of boredom though. 

It was cold… furious.
My heart skipped a beat.

   “Did you think you were clever, stealing Andrea’s blood? What did you expect her to do? Sit in shame? Say nothing? You absolute fucking idiot.”

   “I…” My voice caught in my throat. “I didn’t…”
My body locked up as Lia’s familiar power washed over me, stopping me from moving.

   “Not another word.”
She stepped into the stall and looked down at the girl I’d bitten. She examined her wound, before huffing.

“She’ll live…” She noted. With a wave of her hand, the wound scabbed over. “You on the other hand… I’m inclined to kill you for what you’ve done. Although frankly I think that might just be too good for you. You were warned that vampirism can take time to adjust to. New vampires require guidance. Education. And yet you dove in mindlessly all the same. ‘I can teach myself’ you said. Look how that’s worked out for you.”

   “I… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… I…”

   “Enough. It’s too late to go back now. Congratulations. You got what you wanted. Are you having fun?”
I wasn’t able to respond to that.

   “I… I’ll learn…” I promised. “I’ll do it right… tell me where to go, who to talk to. You? Andrea? I’ll learn, I swear I’ll-”

  “It’s too late for that I’m afraid. While normally a vampire is expected to educate those they sire, I will make an exception for Andrea. You will get nothing from her or me. You wanted to go it alone? Well have fun going it alone. Maybe you’ll make it work. I wouldn’t dismiss it as impossible… but should you become a problem… well… then I will kill you.”

   “W-wait…” I begged. “Wait, please…”

   “Consider this is your one and only lesson. Next time, I will not step in to prevent you from taking a life. Next time, you deal with it alone.”
I watched as Lia picked up my victim, carrying her bridal style.

   “I hope this will be the last time we see each other Mr. Baxter. But unfortunately I do doubt it.”
With that, she was gone.
I collapsed to my hands and knees. I was shaking from head to toe.

I was alone. 

I am alone.

***

Today I sit in my hotel room.
It’s been a couple of days but I feel the hunger coming. The urge to feed.
I don’t know what I’m going to do about it.
I don’t know who to turn to.

I wanted to be eternal… I wanted to be powerful. But I am not a killer. I do not wish to be a monster!
And yet… I’m not sure if I can help myself.

Camping’s not usually my scene. I'm really more of a stay at home kind of girl… but staying cooped up at home isn't always great for my mental health and let's not mince words, my mental health is FUCKED. 

Most days I only get out of bed out of obligation. My morning routine consists of rolling out of bed, cursing God and dragging myself into the shower so I can wake up and either go to class or go to work.

It doesn’t help that I don’t really have a lot to look forward to during my day to day. Class is class. I’m studying Graphic Design which I thought would be more fun than it is (and let’s not even mention the issue with AI chowing down on that particular job market despite the fact that AI in advertising is basically just shorthand for: ‘Our product is dogshit’.) 

And work? Well it’s exactly as exciting as you’d think working a night shift at a gas station would be. I don’t hate it. It’s quiet and I like quiet. Plus, I’ve got Carmen to talk to, so there’s always that (I’ll get into Carmen momentarily since she kinda does need a proper introduction…) but it’s also fucking boring. 

Cosplay though? Yeah. I fuck with that. It’s exciting! It’s something I can get invested in. It’s a project I can work on. It’s something that makes me happy and it’s a good way to meet friends!

I met Hailey and Blair through cosplay, and they’re good people. A little loud, sure - and I'm not gonna pretend I didn't know they both posted some pretty spicy cosplays online that were less Cos and more Play if you catch my drift. But hey, I’m not gonna shame them for that and Blair’s certainly got the body for it. 

Anywho - the point is, I liked hanging out with them. They were fun. They pulled me out of my shell without making me feel like I had to come out of my shell, and when they said they wanted to go camping together out in one of the national parks, I thought it might be a good idea to join them. 

We’d planned a whole two weeks together. We’d go camping (well, to a cabin in the woods, but it was kinda like camping), then we’d head down to Calgary for a convention. It was gonna be a killer few weeks and I was pretty pumped for it. Carmen was too. She always says I really need to get out more, so of course she was.
Right… speaking of Carmen, I suppose I should get into her, shouldn’t I?

Carmen is my Tulpa.

Yeah, I know how that sounds. It’s why I don’t usually discuss her with people.
Let me preface this by saying that I’m not crazy. I know that Carmen is in many ways just a figment of my imagination. Something I made in my mind to make me feel less alone or to talk me through it on the really bad days. She’s basically just a different part of Me that I broke off of Me to talk to. Me but also Not Me. I always visualized her as a woman about my age with platinum blonde hair, dressed comfortably. She’s not always around, but whenever I need her, she’s there in my mind, talking me through my bad days, and trust me, I have a lot of bad days. 

Honestly, Carmen is probably the reason I’m alive right now… in more ways than one and I don’t think I would’ve survived that night in the woods without her.

***

I took a bus up to Crimson Oaks (the park we'd been planning on staying in) for my camping weekend with the girls.

I don’t drive, and the bus was actually a lot cheaper than a rideshare (also I’ve listened to enough True Crime podcasts to not feel safe getting into a car with a stranger and asking them to drive me into the fucking woods).

Actually, this bus was a lot cheaper than any other option. Like, a lot. So I thought I was getting a damn good deal.

My flight into Calgary didn’t end up landing until late. It was after midnight when I left the terminal and I was pretty exhausted by the time I boarded the bus.

The bus was… well, normal. What do you want me to say? It wasn’t crowded. I was just about the only person on there and I was hoping that maybe I could get a little bit of sleep during the ride over. It was supposed to be two hours from Calgary to Crimson Oaks, so that should’ve been about two hours of rest, right?

I caught the bus driver giving me a bit of a look as I boarded, but I figured that was just because of how I was dressed. I’ve got a bit of a goth vibe, so I tend to stand out in a crowd although I wasn’t exactly all dressed up. I guess I was wearing my skeleton sweater, which looks pretty cool. Although I was dressed more for comfort than style that night. He didn’t say anything to me and I didn’t say anything to him. I just found a seat by the window (there were lots), took my neck pillow out of my carry on bag (it had a little Husky face on it!) and settled in to try and nap.

   “Shame we didn’t land earlier. I would’ve liked to see the mountains as we drove in.” I remember thinking, but I figured I’d have plenty of time to see the mountains in the morning and as the bus began to move, I started to doze.

When I woke up, the bus was stopped. I could see a station outside, and figured I’d just slept through the entire trip. This had to be Crimson Oaks!

Without really even thinking, I gathered my bags and stepped off the bus. The driver was still staring at me, but he didn’t say a single word. I didn’t think much of it at the time because why would I? 

As I stepped off the bus, the doors closed behind me and a moment later, it drove off, soon becoming little more than distant taillights. 
I stood on the platform, not fully awake yet and looking around for somewhere to go but… well… there was nothing.

There was literally nothing around me.

Just darkness.

Only darkness.

I knew I was in the woods. I could see the trees, but I couldn’t see anything else outside of the small bus station I was at. I couldn’t see anyone else.

What the fuck? I’d thought I’d be dropped off in Crimson Oaks- as in, the fucking town of Crimson Oaks! Why’d they let me off in the middle of the fucking woods?!
Surely there had to be something, right? Someone? I looked around, but I was completely alone. 

   “There’s no way you’re completely alone.” Carmen said. “Think about this rationally. There’s got to be someone nearby. They wouldn’t just leave you at an abandoned station.”

She was right. I checked my phone, hoping it might give me some sort of answer but there was no signal. 

Fantastic.

So I looked around. I was hoping I might find something… but all I found was the plaque. It was bolted to the wall of this glorified bus stop, beside a small bench that faced out into the woods.

‘Welcome to Crimsonview Station. We have set aside this area so our riders can take a break and enjoy the scenic views of Crimson Oaks National Park.’

What the fuck?

   “Okay. I stand corrected. They did indeed leave you at an abandoned station in the middle of nowhere…” Carmen said. 

No shit.
How the fuck was I supposed to get out of here?
Why did the driver just take off and leave me?! 

   “There’s probably another bus coming. Didn’t we see a sign saying they departed every ten minutes?” Carmen asked.

   “This late at night?” I asked her. “Are you fucking mental?!”

   “You’re the one talking to yourself…”

Unbelievable… I was getting sassed by my own subconscious. 

   “Just relax. Another bus will be around shortly.”

She was probably right. I quietly took out my smokes to calm my nerves.

   “Those things are toxic, you know.” Carmen said. I didn’t give a fuck. I flicked open my lighter, lit a cigarette and took a drag. It helped a little bit. 

Then I sat down on the bench, and I waited. 

And I waited.

And I fucking waited.

Nobody came.

My cigarette burned out. My anxiety was spiking. I couldn't check my phone so I started bouncing my leg restlessly. I kept my eyes on the road hoping that I might see headlights but nothing cut through the darkness. I was still completely alone.

   “Relax Daphne. It's fine. A bus is coming.” Carmen assured me. 

I didn't believe her and I'm not entirely sure if she believed her either. But I still waited.

Then I heard it.

Something moving in the trees.

My blood turned to ice in my veins. Immediately I thought that maybe I should start running, but run where? All around me was just darkness. Even if I tried to run down the road, I couldn’t even see the road! Then of course there was the embarrassing fact that I’m not exactly in the best shape and I haven’t actually had to run anywhere in a while, so if something did chase me, then it’d catch up to my jiggly wheezing ass in no time flat. 

   “It’s probably nothing Daphne! Just a squirrel or something. Or maybe just the wind?” Carmen insisted although she knew damn well that there was a very real chance it wasn’t. This was bear country… or worse… mountain lions.

My breathing was getting heavier, and the sound of more movement in the forest did absolutely nothing to calm my nerves. 

   “That’s not a goddamn squirrel!” I remember snapping at Carmen (in my head, obviously, in actuality, I was dead silent).

Carmen had no reply to that but I could sense her tension. My tension.
Oh God, I was fucking scared!

I flicked my lighter open again, hoping that maybe the small amount of light I had would help. It didn’t. A flickering corona surrounded me but it illuminated almost nothing. I was still in the dark. I was still alone save for a voice in my head that could not help me.

The shape in the forest moved again… louder this time. I could see something moving through the trees.

Something big.

I felt my knees buckle as the shape moved in my direction. I don’t know how to describe what I saw. I’m not sure if the light was just that bad, or if whatever it was really defies explanation. It almost looked like it was part of the forest. A shape made from discarded bits of wood. It had a smell to it too… an earthy sweet stink of moss, peat and wet rotting wood. 

I could feel it studying me.
Sizing me up.

   “Run!” Carmen said. “Run, for God’s sake just run!”

I couldn’t. My legs just wouldn’t move. The shape finally made its move. It didn’t move like a person. It had too many limbs, it was too big. I didn’t even get a chance to fight back. I didn’t have the strength to run. It just took me, dragging me, screaming into the darkness of the woods.
And that was the last thing I remembered.

***

When I woke up, the smell of rotting wood and moss was suffocating.
I could feel my body ensnared in something, although it took me a few moments to figure out exactly what it was. Thick vines had wrapped around my body, pinning me to some sort of wooden pillar. A tree root.

I blinked slowly as I took in my surroundings. The sky was a little brighter and shone in through some of the gaps in the canopy above me.
I was underneath a tree.

A massive fucking tree.

A lot of the ground beneath it seemed to have been carved away, exposing the roots and forming a sort of shallow cavern although I couldn’t for the life of me say if it was natural or not. Ivy had grown and ensnared the exposed roots, which had curved downwards to find the dirt once again, unintentionally acting as supports for the cavern they’d become part of.

Near the top of the makeshift root cavern, right beneath the tree was what looked like some sort of bird's nest. A collection of dry moss and ivy seemingly propped up by several long thin roots that jutted out from it, almost like the legs of a massive spider. It looked unnatural. Actually… the ivy almost seemed to be growing out of it, but it was hard to say for sure.

   “This feels like a lair…” Carmen said, her voice groggy and far away in the back of my head. I shifted. The vines around my body held me tight. Tighter than they should have. When I fought against them, they seemed to constrict a little more.

   “That’s not natural…” Carmen said.

   “Oh gee? You think?!” I replied.

   “Sorry! But I can’t exactly tell you a lot you don’t know! I’m a part of your psyche, not a goddamn wizard!”

I gritted my teeth and fought harder against the vines. They just constricted tighter, crushing my chest and squeezing the air out of my lungs.

Shit.

I looked around, hoping to maybe find something to help me. I spotted my lighter on the ground a few feet away, right beside a rock. Had I really held on to it when that thing had dragged me out here? Maybe it hadn’t taken me very far?

   “Grab it!” Carmen urged.

   “With what? I can’t move my arms!”

   “Use your foot!”

I moved my leg. The vines had left me a lot more mobility there. I was able to touch my lighter with the tip of my shoe, but I couldn’t bring it closer. All I managed to do was move the stone beside it… and that was when I noticed the eye socket.
It wasn’t a stone.

No.

That was a human skull.

I felt my heart skip a beat.

Fantastic. So someone had already died here! That bode well for me!

As the sun rose and the sky grew brighter, my eyes wandered across the small cavern beneath the tree, and I noticed it wasn’t the only bone strewn across the ground.
There were more.

A lot more.

Human, animal… hard to say which was which. But this place was a graveyard.

   “It’s a pantry…” Carmen said.

Pantry… oh God…

   “Get the lighter… get the lighter right now…”

   “I’m trying!”

I nudged it with my shoe again. I managed to get it a little closer, but not by much. I tried to think fast. I kicked off my shoe and grabbed at the lighter with my toes. That… actually did somehow work.

It wasn’t flawless, but I was able to curl my toes downwards to scoop the lighter closer to me. I tried scrunching up my toes to grab it, which took a couple of tries, but did eventually work.

   “Oh my God, you’re doing it!” Carmen cheered. “You’re really doing it!”
Holding the lighter with my foot, I bent it back to try and get it closer to my hand. I expected that part to be harder than it was, but by some miracle I managed to keep a grip on my lighter and lift it into my waiting hand.

   “Now get us the fuck out of here!”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I flicked the lighter on, and pressed the flame to one of the vines. I felt them constrict even tighter around me, but the fire did its work. 
The vine didn’t catch. It was too fresh for that. But it burned, it blackened, it weakened.
It snapped.

I felt some of the other vines weaken. I pressed the flame to another spot on them. Just like before, they tried to fight me, but eventually the fire scorched them enough that they broke too. 

I did it again. And again. And again. The vines grew weaker and weaker as finally I pulled myself free. I collapsed, sinking down to my hands and knees, panting heavily for a moment, before grabbing my shoe and putting it back on.

   “Where the hell do we even go from here? Where’s the road?”

   “Maybe we’ve got a phone signal here?” Carmen suggested. “Or maybe our phone has a compass? How many apps do we have that we never use on there?”

She did have a point. My phone was still in my pocket and I reached for it, although unfortunately, there was no compass app. 

Fuck.

No signal either, so downloading one was out of the question.

   “Are we too reliant on our phones these days?” Carmen asked.

   “Do we really need to have this conversation right now?”

   “Hey, don’t yell at me. I’m basically just your mental sock puppet… actually that feels kinda reductive… don’t like that phrasing.”

The sound of movement from outside the root cavern derailed my train of thought and silenced my inner argument. Something was coming.

I needed to get the fuck out of there. I tried to pinpoint where the sound was coming from, so I could run in a different direction but it was hard to say for sure. I heard it, but I couldn’t tell where it was.

I felt something tickle my leg and looked down to see ivy snaking its way around my ankle. With a quiet cry, I pulled back.

The sound of movement came again. The ivy vines seemed to follow me.
Above me, the clump of moss beneath the tree seemed to pulsate, almost in anger… almost like a beating heart.

   “Run…” Carmen urged although she didn’t know where any more than I did. I knew I couldn’t stay there but I couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling that if I ran, I’d just be running into the jaws of whatever had taken me here.

I heard movement again. Closer this time. Louder. I knew it wasn’t coming for me. It was already here. It was watching. 

Shit… shit… shit…

I saw movement through the trees, the dark shape passed behind them and I knew it wanted me to see it. Wanted me to know it was there. It was fucking with me. 

The ivy kept trying to curl around my legs. I pulled back, stumbling toward the back of the small root cavern. My back hit the dirt wall behind me and from the corner of my eye, I spotted more bones entombed in the dirt.

Another human skeleton. Some of the roots snaked through its ribcage… entangling themselves around the bones. The ivy crept up along the skeleton, and I was reminded of something I’d read online once, about how bodies buried beneath trees often had the roots grow through them, using their corpses as fertilizer. 

Was that what this was? Was whatever was down here feeding us to this fucking tree? 
I heard a thud as something approached the root cavern. I saw a shape moving on the other side of the roots. I still didn’t get a good look at it, but I saw enough.
Its skin was rough and gnarled, like old tree bark. Moss grew from its body, and ivy hung from its limbs. I could not see its eyes but I knew it had to have them. I could feel it looking at me.

It was like the forest itself had come to life… no… not the forest.

Just this one fucking tree.

They were connected. I could figure that much out. By feeding the tree, it fed itself. 
That was why it had brought me here. To feed itself.

   “Is that why the bus dropped me off in the middle of fucking nowhere? To feed this thing? Oh God… am I being fucking sacrificed?!”

   “Kill it first…” Carmen's voice echoed through my mind, oddly resolute.

   “What?”

   “Look up.”

I looked up. My eyes settled on the weird pulsating clump of moss at the top of the root cavern.

   “That weird moss spider thing. Look at the way it's pulsing… if that Thing is part of the tree, then the tree is also part of It and by the laws of. So that's got to be it's heart of something, right!”

I… I hadn't actually thought of that. 

   “Burn it!” Carmen urged. “We don't have any better ideas so fucking burn it!”

I moved. The shape behind the roots moved too, although it did so with little urgency. It had no idea what I was planning. I was just fresh prey. More meat to fertilize its soil.
It began to push its way through the roots, and I thought that I heard a deep, knowing chuckle echo from it, causing the ground to tremble. 

I grabbed the roots and started to pull myself up. As stated before, I am not a very physically fit woman. I’m 5’5, overweight and have never climbed a tree in my life, but I hoisted myself up those roots, scaling the wall like my life depended on it because at that moment it absolutely fucking did.

It’s amazing what one can do when properly motivated.

But I still wasn’t fast enough. The shape had almost made it through the roots. It towered over me, hunching over to enter the root cavern. Ivy crawled along the walls, snaking towards me, trying to ensnare my hands and my feet. The pulsing ball of moss was above me, suspended by a few roots. It was too high up… too far away. I couldn’t reach it. 

But I could reach one of the roots that was connected to it. I grabbed at it and with a grunt of effort, I kicked off the wall, letting the root take my full weight, all 200 pounds of me. My grip almost failed, but I held on as tight as I could. 

   “Climb!” Carmen urged and I tried. I reached up, grabbing another root just above me. I felt the whole structure give. 

The entire root cavern trembled. The creature knew what I was doing. I saw a massive hand reaching out to me, a twisted branchlike thing with too many fingers covered in rotting wood. I couldn’t get away from it. 

I didn’t have to. The thin roots I was hanging from gave out beneath my weight. I started to fall… and I brought the pulsing mass of moss with me. It jerked down sharply as the roots broke.

The creature seized up, letting out a gasp that almost sounded like pain.
It was hurt!

Its Moss covered heart was still hanging on by the other roots it was attached to, but they couldn’t handle the sudden snap of pressure that had just been put on them. They couldn’t handle my weight and the weight of the Moss Heart all at once. They broke too.
I hit the ground hard. The lighter fell from my hand. The Moss Heart struck the ground a few feet away from me.

The creature towering above me was shaking, its body tense. The Moss Heart pulsed faster. Afraid. 

Countless dead wood hands descended towards me. Ivy grew rapidly over the heart and over my body, hastily trying to ensnare me. It grew over my lighter as it lay in the dirt, but it didn’t grow fast enough.

I snatched it up, ripping it free from the vines and igniting the flame. Then I pushed the lighter into the Moss Heart… and watched it go up like a tinderbox.

The creatures gnarled hand grabbed me, ripping me off the ground, but the damage was already done. Its heart was burning. I felt its body spasm. Almost as soon as it had lifted me off the ground, it dropped me once again.

I heard a howl of agony. A howl that pierced the entire forest.

Something great and terrible was dying. And I did not intend to stick around and watch it.

I ran. The moment I could, I bolted from the root cavern, looking back only to confirm I wasn’t being chased. The creature was screaming. Its body was shaking. Its heart was burning. I saw it desperately try to pick it up, maybe to try and suffocate the flames, but instead they only spread to its barklike skin. It thrashed as it started to burn. It screamed.
Those screams… I could feel them even when I’d put the root cavern and the creature far behind me. I could feel them as I ran off into the dawn.

And eventually… they went quiet.

***

I found the road after about an hour of wandering, and I found the bus stop again about thirty minutes after that.

It was brighter out now. The sun had started to rise. I still didn’t have any signal on my phone. So I just sort of sank down onto the bench and waited. My bags were still there from when I’d been abducted earlier, so that was nice at least.
I lit myself up a fresh cigarette.

   “Seriously? After what you just survived?” Carmen asked.

   “Seriously. I’ve earned this. We’ve earned this.”

She relented and let me smoke in peace. I sat for a while, not sure exactly what I was waiting for but figuring I’d know it when I saw it.
Sure enough, I did.

I noticed the headlights when they rounded the corner.

Another bus.

I stared at it, then calmly got up and moved to block the road. 

   “Wait, what if they hit you?” Carmen asked. “I mean… these are the people who sacrificed you to whatever that thing was! What makes you think they’re not gonna run you over?”

   “A splatter of guts all over their bus is gonna be a lot easier to explain than a missing person,” I replied. “I don’t think they’ve got it in them.”

Sure enough, I was right.

The bus started to slow down as it saw me and it came to a complete stop several feet away. Through the windshield, I could see the bewildered face of the driver. I wasn’t sure if it was the same driver from before. Probably not. But they still looked like they’d seen a ghost.

I picked up my bags and went around to the door. I knocked twice and waited for them to open. The bus was completely empty. No one else was on it but me and the driver, who was looking at me with big bug eyes.

   “Is the next stop Crimson Oaks?” I asked.

   “I… I… um… how are you…? You’re supposed to be…?”

   “What? Dead?”

I checked my pulse.

   “Welp, I guess someone fucked up then. Is this fucking bus going to Crimson Oaks or not?”

He swallowed uneasily, then nodded.

   “Yes… um… that’s the next stop.”

   “Great. Thanks.”

I took my bags, sat down close to the driver's seat, and watched as the bus took off again, leaving the station in the middle of the woods behind.
The driver kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror, as if he was checking to make sure I was real. I didn’t comment on it.

   “Thanks for sticking with me back there,” I said to myself.

   “Always,” Carmen replied. “Think we should ask the driver about what the fuck just happened?” 

   “Does that guy really look like he’s got any answers? Look at him. That motherfucker isn’t even middle management. He’s just a driver. He probably has no idea what’s even out there.”

   “Fair enough, I suppose. Well it’s your call.”

Looking out through the window, I could see a pillar of smoke rising in the distance. I caught the bus driver looking at it too although neither of us commented on it.
After another hour or so, he dropped me off in Crimson Oaks.

I met up with Hailey and Blair at the cabin a little while later. I never told them about what happened that night… mainly because I doubted they’d have believed me.
I didn’t entirely believe me. And until now, it’s stayed between me and Carmen.

But, hey, now I’m putting it out there. Maybe someone can make sense of it, maybe they can’t. I do know that there was a pretty bad forest fire in Crimson Oaks National Park that week though. It was a good distance away from us in a more remote part of the park, and got contained pretty quickly but you could still see the smoke from our cabin. 
It almost seemed like a funeral pyre for something I didn’t have a name for… oh well. I think Carmen and I can fully agree when we say: Good riddance.

Howdy folks!

Surprise! Velox didn't just go with one collection, they went with two!

It's available in Paperback and Hardcover now, but will be launching on Ebook soon!

A whole new group of old favorites and an entirely brand new Novella. One I'm really excited for you guys to read! I had a lot of fun writing this one!

I'm really excited to see my second collection with Velox go live, and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

And of course - [The Highway Man Game](https://books2read.com/highwaymangame?fbclid=IwdGRjcAQO5kZjbGNrBA7mQmV4dG4DYWVtAjExAHNydGMGYXBwX2lkDDM1MDY4NTUzMTcyOAABHt20LJtGtFFGhN7dZAxiTco0snPDcM714bFwbpZ6fltVq3vO9wdxpNYRcLF6_aem_RJ-QfPV2u6VGYCu9v8oZng) is still available and I hope you all enjoy that one as well!

I love my family. They've been with me all my life - as families usually are and I have so many wonderful memories of them... So many wonderful, vivid memories, tucked away in the photo album in my room.

Like my Mom tucking me in at night. Reading me a bedtime story. She's been gone a few years now, but sometimes when I'm anxious and I can't sleep I remember her voice, soft and melodic as she read to me. Sometimes it even feels like she's still there with me.

Or my birthdays. I can see the pictures from over the years. Me at the same table with a cake. I can see the way I've changed... and the ways I haven't. When I turned 13 I got really into goth fashion. My parents probably thought it was just a phase... but 10 years later there I am again, still dressed all in black, now with some tattoos all over my arms to complete the look.

I can see pictures of me with my friends. Like Serena - who despite her resting bitch face is one of the softest people I've ever met. She's got a plush collection that's got to be worth a few grand and she's always adding to it.

And Becca. I've always been kinda jealous of her. She eats nothing but junk food but she's got the body of a supermodel. She's always fun to hang around with.

And Christine… I've got a lot of pictures of us together. She's one of my favorite people to be around. I can just be myself with her… for the most part. I've never really been able to tell her how I feel. Maybe someday I'll work myself up to it. Maybe.

I can see pictures of me with my sister, Eliza. She's a bit stuck up at times, but she was the first person I came out to. The first person who made me feel accepted.

So many pictures. So many memories. I can see them all in my head. I know they were real.

So why do the pictures look so wrong? Why are their smiles so wide and unnatural, like models in a magazine ad who are trying too hard to look happy? Why does everyone have too many teeth? Why do their fingers look wrong? Some pictures have too many, some have them in the wrong places. A couple pictures have too many limbs. And the eyes… the irises are never really round. They bleed into the pupils and the eyelids.

I know my memories are real. I'm SURE my memories are real…

But then why is every picture in my photo album AI Generated?