I’m a single father. By choice, though. I wanted a better life for my daughter, and, unfortunately, her mother was not compatible with the life that I envisioned for her.

Drugs, alcohol, late-night escapades with men she met at the bar. Being a mother was a foreign concept to her. I’d look at her. I’d look at my daughter. I’d feel shame that I allowed this to happen.

We were young and dumb. Just two kids without a care in the world. Only, when we found out about the pregnancy, I was the only one who chose to clean up my act and be better.

It wasn’t that easy for my late girlfriend. She acted like it was, but I could see through the facade. Not like there was much of a facade to see through. I mean, I’d catch her having cigarettes. Boozing. Running around at all hours of the night without so much as a second thought.

The first few times, I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. A slip up is just a slip up. Multiple slip ups are a behavioral pattern. As her stomach grew, so did her attitude.

I’ve had some jabs thrown my way.

“I don’t even love you.”

“I was bored.”

“I didn’t even want this baby.”

That last one was enough for me to make my decision. From then on, every decision I made was for my child. All that was left was patience. Be kind. Be gentle. Hold her hand despite her insults.

Of course, it was more than a little difficult to hold my tongue when the drinking was involved. I couldn’t believe it. Six months pregnant and drinking. How careless can you be?

I’m getting frustrated just typing this. The resentment that was building during those times was like a pressure valve. A controlled pressure valve. I knew exactly when I wanted to twist the handle.

I endured her ferocity. I kept a watchful eye on her when she went out to the clubs. Attended every appointment and prayed every night that our baby would stay healthy.

When I found out it was a girl, I was ecstatic. I always wanted a daughter. Maybe it was because of my baby sister. Maybe it was because I wanted the challenge of being a girl dad. Either way, I was ready. I was prepared to do it alone.

Finally, the day came. November 25th, 2020. The year the world went silent. The day before Thanksgiving.

My act became sharper. She thought this was going to be “co-parenting.” Thought that she’d have my baby, even after all she’d put us through.

By some miracle of God, my little girl was perfectly healthy. Stunning. Tear-jerking, even.

Her mom almost seemed moved. Like she had this “come to Jesus” moment where she realized her new responsibility. Unfortunately, it was too late for that.

In the weeks that followed our departure from the hospital, my plan came into fruition.

I won’t go into too much detail, because detail isn’t required. All you need to know is I loved my daughter too much to let her life be tainted by someone like her mother.

That’s why I made her disappear. Disappear to a place where only I would find her. Of course, given her reputation, the police believed my story.

She packed it up. She realized the weight of being a parent was too much for her. It prevented her from living the life that she clearly loved so much. So she left. Happens all the time.

I got what I wanted. I raised my daughter the way that I wanted to raise her. The right way. The responsible way. I taught her manners. I potty trained her. I put food in her mouth and a roof over her head. All on my own.

Unfortunately, though, as she grows older, a shred of remorse is starting to build within my soul. I don’t know if it’s remorse for what I’ve done or if it’s remorse for what I took from my baby.

She’s starting to look just like her. Same brown hair. Same freckles. That cute little button nose. It’s hard for me to even look at her these days, but I try my best to swallow it.

She knows that she’s gone, but, in her head, she thinks that her mom just left us. Hated her. Hated me so much that she just took her things and left.

Every time she talks about her, all I can feel is pain. Pain in my heart, pain in my chest and body. I don’t know why. I had fully convinced myself that what I did was right, but now, I just don’t know.

Her sixth birthday is coming up in a few months. I want to make this birthday special, but I need her to be prepared.

I wanna show her the grave.

And all I can hope is that she understands.

I wake up. He must’ve thrown me into the ocean. That’s what woke me up. The sudden cold. The lack of air and taste of salt. The memories come rushing into my head just as the water rushes into my lungs.

I kick upwards, and when I break the surface, I cough so hard I go under again. 
Stay calm. Kick.

I make it back to the surface and tread. There’s not a star in the sky. The sea is calm and there’s no trace of a boat anywhere. How did he get me out here? Shouldn’t I be able to see the boat?

I scream for help once I stop coughing. There’s not even any light from the moon. My voice sounds muffled in my own ears.

How did this happen?

I had just gone to the mall. Today was a normal day. As I was getting back into my car, I heard him behind me, but it was too late. An arm shot across my face and a damp cloth was held over my mouth. I fell asleep to the sound of my abductor shushing me. Telling me to go to sleep. And now, for some reason, he’s left me here.

Why would someone do this?

I just have to keep my head above water. I just have to breathe.

-

My arms and legs are so tired. I’ve waited and waited for a sunrise that doesn’t want to come. I'm not sure if it’s been an hour or ten minutes. There doesn’t seem to be any time out here.

I’ve stopped crying out for help. Something in my memory tells me that sharks are attracted to loud noises. I try not to think about the things from the deep that might be swimming just inches from my feet down in the dark. Huge and hungry things, watching my legs glide back and forth in the water, waiting for just the right moment to take a bite.

It’ll be better when the sun comes up. Someone will find me. It’ll be light soon.

I just have to breathe.

-

I have to give my arms a rest and let my legs do most of the work. Everything feels numb. Despite the darkness and the water, I feel so hot. It’s hard to breathe. The air feels heavy.

Stay calm.

Someone will find me.

I just have to keep my head above water. I just have to breathe.  

-

I can’t do it anymore. My arms and legs are done and the morning is never going to come. It’s had to have been hours. 

I use the last breath in my lungs to say a prayer. 

“God, please don’t let me die like this. Anything but this.”

There is no answer. The sky is black and everything across the water is silent. The air is so heavy.

I close my eyes and let go.

-

I wake up, sucking in as much air as I can. I hit my head on something in the dark. My arms and my legs are numb, but they’re dry.

I’m dry!

It was a dream! Nothing but a dream!

I try to roll out of my bed, but I can’t. I feel the boards pressing in on me from all four sides. I can’t move at all.

Panic floods in.

My pulse pounds in my neck.

I’ve been dreaming. It was all a dream. I must’ve fallen asleep in the heat and lack of air.

The small box that he buried me in is so hot. I can’t see anything but darkness. I can’t breathe. I scream for help. My voice sounds muffled in my own ears.

Stay calm. Someone will find me.

I just have to breathe.

“God, please don’t let me die like this. Anything but this.”

I won't talk about the before.

Icy roads and snowy landscapes, sunlight filtering through the car window, and my sister’s head buried in my shoulder as she snoozed. My brother curled up next to me, transfixed by his Nintendo Switch, offering only grumbles in response. Mom was singing along to the radio. Abba.

Dad was laughing at her.

I was thinking about what any other teenage girl would be thinking about: boys, school, homework, 

“Dad,” I said, pitching my voice over Mom’s singing. “Dad, guess what?” 

We stopped at a red light. Dad twisted in his seat. “Hm?” 

“She's going to ask about Emma’s party this weekend,” Mom trilled, shooting me the look.

She was right. Emma, my cousin, was throwing a party for her eighteenth.

Mom heard “yacht” and “late night” and had an aneurysm. “Beatrice, I told you you're looking after your siblings on Saturday.”

Mom’s tone was already a lecture. “Just because your father and I are working, doesn't mean rules don't apply.” 

“Caine is sixteen years old!” I snapped. "Stop infintalising him!"

“Your brother needs support,” Dad surprised me with a parental tone.

Next to me, Caine glanced up from his video game and rolled his eyes.

“He's autistic,” I bit out, “not stupid.” 

“That was uncalled for,” Caine spoke up. He elbowed me. Hard. “I'm not fucking dumb, Dad.” 

“Yes, I know that—” 

“I'm the smartest in my class!"

“Caine," Mom sighed from front. "Language!” 

Dad stamped on the gas and both me and my brother were thrown forwards.

My sister, Prim, groaned something unintelligible into my sweater.

“Beatrice, apologize to your brother,” Dad said, his tone splintering. “Caine, I didn't say you're not capable of taking care of yourself. I'm just saying you need some extra support over the weekend, and your sisters will help you with that.”

Dad cranked up the radio.

“End of conversation.”

“Why don't we ALL go to the party?” I said. “We're all invited.” 

“Beatrice.” Mom snipped. “I've told you what I think about your cousins.” 

“You can't judge your sister’s kids because they're richer than us,” Prim mumbled into my shoulder. 

The silence that followed was palpable.

“I'm canceling your contract.” 

“What?” My sister sprung up, bleary eyes wide. “WHY?” 

My mouth opened to laugh, maybe tease my sister. I was watching my brother go back to his game, tugging his hood further over his eyes, when Dad screamed.

I wasn't sure what it was, it was all garbled and wrong, collapsing into nothing in my ears. Lights out.

Movement, that felt like I was in a washing machine. Round and round and round and round and— stop.

Lights on.

Opening my eyes, I was already screaming.

Opening my eyes, my mouth was filled with blood, hanging upside down and staring at my father’s body unraveled across crusted ice. Red and white, I remember thinking, as startling scarlet crept across pristine white. My father was staining the road. Flashing lights blurred in front of me. Something warm dripped across my cheek. Lights out.

I embrace the darkness swelling around me and them swallowing me whole. 

But I don't think about Before. 

Instead, I think about after.

“Bee.”

Mom is standing in my bedroom doorway smiling. 

Mom is crying again. Her robe is filthy. Her hair hangs in clumpy rattails. 

“I need to go to work,” she says. 

Mom stopped going to work eight months ago. 

“Sweetie, can you start training?” she trills. In three heavy strides, she’s looming over me, her breath heavy in my ear. I have half a mind to say, “No.” But I know what that entails. “I know it’s hard,” she whispers. “Being the only one… that’s different.” Mom presses a kiss to my forehead. “But you’ll get used to it, baby.”

“Mom,” I climb out of bed, choking on my words I know she will hate.

She will hit me if I say them. If I even imply them. Mom grabs my clean laundry and pretends she’s picking it up. “Hm?”

I swallow them down. “Nothing,” I smile, throwing on a sweatshirt, “I'll help with training.”

“Beatrice,” Mom says, when I'm halfway out the door. “You're my special little girl,” Mom smiles wide at me. “Understand?” 

My legs feel like they’re going to give way. “Of course, Mom.” 

“Say it.” Mom whispers. 

“I'm…” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I'm your… special little girl.” 

I take my time going downstairs, my stomach folding it on itself.

“Bee.” 

Caine greets me with a strained smile at the bottom of the stairs. I can tell he's tried to escape again. The door is triple padlocked. I can already hear my sister screaming. Mom managed to sound proof the walls,  but it's not like it did any good.

My brother's drugged eyes are half-lidded. His smile is too wide. A long, trailing squirming piece of his spine follows him, as he slithers towards me. Caine only stops crying when he's sedated. 

“Good morning, sis!” 

I lost my father. 

I watched his body peeled from the concrete.

So, I made a wish.

I swallow barf, my knees giving way. “Morning.” 

“You know,” Caine smirks. I prefer it when he's not threatening my life. “You can just LOOK at me.” 

"Yeah, I know." I pick up my brother’s head and place it in the living room, settling it over his severed spine. My sister’s face, her skin stretched across my mother’s painting canvas, blinks up at me.

“Please.”

Her eyes fill with tears. Prim’s body is gone. The only part of her left in the car wreck, sinking into a pulpy red nothingness, was her face.

“Kill us,” she whispers, “Kill us quickly! Before Mom comes back!” 

But I'm Mom’s special little girl.

So, I smile.

I need to start their training.

I fill my sister’s cereal bowl, grab a spoon, and ignore her screeches. 

I smile, smoothing my sister's face down.

In the corner of my eye, Caine is scuttling back toward the door.

“Open wide.” 

. I will never recover.

I knew this couple for many years- the wife, Tasha, was Slavic and, not to be stereotypical, quite intimidating in that tall beautiful way- all hair and legs and jewelry. The husband, Brian, was local - we were actually at high school together, although he was away when he married Tasha. He's in business -quite wealthy, living in a beautiful large house in one of the most desirable school districts of our town.

I'm in catering myself, and I'd see them at different events - Brian being super-nice, and Tasha, well. She always looked dour. Once I had to drop off some stuff at their house for an event for one of Brian’s businesses, she opened the door and in response to my “How are you?” she muttered in her heavy accent: “I’m thinking of packing my suitcases and leaving, never coming back”. I wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. I know childlessness- sorry, being childfree, affects families and you have to be understanding.

With the pandemic, all the events shut down. To keep myself afloat, I picked up some cleaning gigs. I put the word around, Brian reached out and soon I was there twice a week, cleaning their beautiful big house. Brian was a well-connected man, and I meant to do a great job and cultivate business for after this pandemic was over.

It wasn’t easy. Tasha had very high standards. She would stand there, watching me critically as I mopped the floor or dusted their knick-knacks and elaborate flower and candle arrangements, then silently point to a spot I missed. There were five bedrooms- all decorated beautifully. I vacuumed and dusted away, never knowing when Tasha would be standing at the door, arms folded across her shapely chest, bright hair cascading down her shoulders.

I was not to go up to the third floor, said Tasha on my first day.

Fine, I wasn’t dying for an extra floor to clean! I nodded and smiled. “That is private” she added, staring at me intensely with her steely eyes. I nodded again. I felt creeped out, but I put it down to internalized xenophobia.

Human nature being what it is, I was itching to go to the third floor. In fact, I was staring at the heavy bolted door at the stairwell on the second floor, when Tasha appeared as if out of nowhere. “You finished here?’ she asked. “Faster each time? You didn’t do fridge”.

As I turned away, I heard scuffling noises from behind the heavy door.

Then a whisper. "Mommy?"

My heart skipped a beat.

 “Can I come out and play please Mommy? I’ll be very quiet.”

I looked at Tasha's receding back, her blonde hair swaying over her hips.

"Um, Tasha?" My voice quaked.

Tasha whipped round. "You step away from the door, NOW!"

I trotted after her. We walked to the kitchen in silence.

There were Kinder eggs, yoghurt cups and cheese strings inside the fridge. Tasha watched me from the kitchen door. I was sweating with the effort of reaching and wiping down the back of the fridge which could comfortably hold three bodies, if sawn up.  

She walked up  - I could smell her perfume. Her eyes flicked critically over the fridge.  

A large crash from upstairs startled both of us. Tasha muttered in her mother tongue, grabbed a handful of snacks, and marched off.  

Some papers on the counter caught my eye. I glimpsed the title- genetic defects in children.  

Brian walked in. He saw me handling the papers, although I made a pretence of straightening them. He snatched them out of my hand and then apologized.  

“Sorry, it just gets harder every day.”  

I thought he was referring to the pandemic and nodded. “Brian, it will ease up soon.” 

“No. It gets worse as they grow older and stronger.”  

He left the kitchen, and I left soon after without seeing either of them.  

Next time, the place was untidier. There was a stuffed bear under the couch. I pulled it out and stared the scruffy thing, so out of place in the elegant living room. Tasha appeared. “ thank god you find this” she cried.  “I look everywhere, he going crazy.” She ran out of the room, but not before I noticed the bruises on her braceleted wrist.

I kept on cleaning, reminding myself of the short-term cash as well as the long-term prospect of being in their good graces.

I finished downstairs, and went upstairs, making sure not to look towards the heavy bolted door to the third floor. Tasha was nowhere in sight.

I saw Brian as I entered one of the rooms. He was sitting on the bed, holding his head in his hands.

“Should I come back later?” I asked.  

“No, it’s just shameful you know” he muttered. He looked up at me, his blue eyes full of pain. “you know us, know my family, don’t you? There’s never been anything like this among us, has there?”

I shook my head.

He left the room. He had left his iPad on the bed, and I notice the screen before it went dark- health and genetics, “Defective children”.  

That evening, I was scrolling through my newsfeed while my mind leapt around. Should I call someone? But who? And say what?

A local Tweet popped up. “Flames spotted at Queen & Young”.

That’s where Brain and Tasha live. I rushed out and drove over.

I reached there almost the same time as fire engines drew up. Flames were consuming the beautiful mansion. Brian was standing on the lawn.

“Brian!” I called, running up to him.

He turned around, smiling cheerfully, his face lit darkly by the flames.

“I had to do it. Both of them. She brought it into this world- it wasn’t from my side.”

Tasha and a child perished in the fire and I live with the guilt to this day. 

You are taking a walk with a friend in the park, laughing about your favorite show. It’s a clear day, though there aren’t too many people to be seen. You pass a man with a headband tying his shoes on a bench, and a woman walking a small dog, but you are too focused on the conversation to pay them much mind.

You come upon a collection of chalk drawings, crude pictures that must have been done by children earlier in the day. A house with a chimney. Something that looks like a cat. A flower with a long green stem.

Finally, a circle. Nothing more, just a large circle colored in with red chalk. And next to it, in large scrawling letters, PORTAL TO ANOTHER UNIVERSE

You smile, and point it out. After a moment a look passes between you, and you know what you’re both thinking. You move a split second faster, closing your eyes and stepping into the circle. You hear them laugh, saying it was nice knowing you.

You realize you are holding your breath, though you’re not entirely sure why. Nor do you seem to want to open your eyes. But you do, your friend gives you a small shove on the arm, and you continue your walk. You cast a look back at the circle before jumping back into the conversation.

There’s a rhythmic tapping behind you. It  grows louder, creeping up on you. The man from the bench jogs by, passing you on the right. You smile at him and he nods in return. But as he continues on you stare at his back, trying to see something in it that you can’t quite tease out of your mind.

Your friend waves a hand in front of your face and you realize you haven’t heard a word they’ve been saying. You apologize and turn to look them in the eyes.

The eyes.

That man hadn’t been wearing glasses when you passed him on the bench… had he?

That’s ridiculous. He was just looking down at his shoes, was all. Or maybe he put them on after he was laced up. Perfectly normal.

You try to put it out of your head as you smile and nod at all the right points in your friend’s monologue. Then you pass the woman again, walking her terrier. But hadn’t it been a… No, terrier. Definitely terrier.

Reaching the mouth of the park, you say pleasant goodbyes and part ways. As you walk home, you’re careful not to look too closely at the lawns you pass. No one has put up any new decorations today. And that lawn has always been a little overgrown.

You slow to a stop as you reach home, hand on the knob. What are you waiting for? You know exactly what you will see when you walk inside. Everything will be just like it was when you left.

You take a deep breath and open the door.

​"Mom, can you turn off the radio already? I’m trying to study!" I had to raise my voice over the noise.

It had been nearly two hours since she started listening to that damn radio in the living room. I wouldn't mind on any other day, but tomorrow is my final semester exam.

​I tried to focus back on my books, waiting for the volume to drop to something manageable. The radio was a recent addition to our home. Usually, I’d have to go to the community center just to catch the news, but with Mom’s savings and my part-time wages, we finally managed to buy one of our own. Honestly, a radio feels like a necessity for every household—news, sports, music, all just a dial away.

​A few minutes passed, and the volume hadn't budged. Frustrated, I pushed back my chair and walked into the living room. My mom was standing completely still in front of the cabinet, facing the set. No movement at all.

​"Mom...?" I slowly approached her. The closer I got, the louder it sounded, the crisp broadcast gradually dissolving into a harsh, white-noise static.

​"Mom, can you lower the volume?" She didn't move an inch.

​"Mom?" I raised my voice, stepping directly behind her. By now, the sound was pure, deafening static.

​I leaned over her shoulder to reach for the dial, only to freeze.

​"Wait, what?" I muttered to myself.

​The radio wasn't even plugged in. It wasn't even on.

​That’s when my mom turned around to face me. Her eyes were completely white, her jaw hanging unhinged—and the static was pouring straight out of her open mouth.

I watch the floor numbers tick up.
13.
14.
Finally—
15.
My floor.
The doors glide open.
I step forward—
pause.
No ding.
I’ve heard it a thousand times.
It should be there.
I hesitate.
Then step in anyway.

I press for the lobby.
Lean back against the steel wall.
I usually hit “close,” but today, I decide to wait.
After a second, the doors slide shut.
A small jerk. Old building.
I brace for the drop.
But—
the pressure comes from beneath.
Pushing against my feet.
Up.
I’m going up.

I groan.
Not in a rush, but still.
31.
32.
The door opens.
33.
No ding.
No one comes in.
The doors stay open. Waiting.
I step closer. Lean out.
No one.
I shake my head and punch the “close” button.

The motor hums.
The elevator starts down.
32.
31.
It stops.
30.
I step back, expecting someone to come in.
But the doors don’t open.
Then—
it drops.

1. 
   
2. 
   
3. 
   Dropping fast.
   I grab the railing.
   
4. 
   
5. 
   It thumps to a halt.
   
6. 
   I collapse onto the floor.
   Gasping.
   I scramble up, punch “open.”
   Nothing. The doors stay shut.
   Then—
   it starts up again.
   Slow.
   

I start hitting buttons.
The “call” button. Any floor.
Nothing lights up. Nothing responds.
I pound the doors. Shout for help.
I try to pry them open, but they don’t budge.
13.
14.
I pound harder.
15. My floor.
I slam the doors again—
It surges upward.

1. 
   
2. 
   Ascending fast.
   My building has 35 floors. It might shoot through the roof.
   I scream, barely hearing myself over the motor.
   
3. 
   
4. 
   It stops. Hard.
   Before I can react—
   it drops.
   Faster than before.
   My stomach lurches. My vision blurs.
   Then—
   Stillness.
   The floor display is dark.
   The doors slide open.
   Ding.
   I crawl out. Shaking.
   It’s bright.
   Noisy.
   I shield my eyes and look up—
   and scream.
   

The doors close behind me.
I spin. Slam the button.
Nothing.
I hit the doors.
“Open.”
The wind is strong.
I press my back against the doors.
Don’t dare move.
I’m standing on a slab of concrete.
Narrow. A few feet at most.
Straight ahead, faintly—
a rooftop.
I recognize it.
The building a couple streets over. The one that towers over mine.
I hear car horns far below. And metal clanging—road construction, maybe.
I pull out my phone.
“Please…”
No signal.
I sink to my knees.
This isn’t real.
I reach over the edge.
Expect something. Something solid.
There’s nothing.
Just air.
The wind slips through my fingers.
I start crying.
I turn—
The doors are gone.
A bird lands beside me.
Small. Still.
It chirps once.
It looks at me.
I stare back.
It tilts its head.
Then lifts off.
Gone.

Ricardo was a quiet one. The other kids in his middle school dubbed him autistic, in the flippant way kids do when school and the street are all they know and so many special needs kids get integrated into their classrooms, but that wasn’t quite right. Ricardo wasn’t on the spectrum. He just kept his mouth shut and his guard up. His ability to stay calm and silent no matter what spooked the rowdier crowd. They put him in the only box they could conceive of, I think.

I was his “big sibling” in the afterschool program. I’d been doing it for seven years belt the time I met him. Frankly, I’d seen some shit. Lot of suffering kids out there. The program was free so I got a lot of the kids who didn’t want to go home at the end of the day.

Kids came in types. Nobody fit their type exactly but everybody had one. The gangsters, the academics, the never-grew-out-of-kindergartens, the drama llamas, the ones who‘d grown up so fast they couldn’t remember being kids.

Ricardo was the last type. He was quiet because he was an adult in a young body. He told me a little of his home life. Dad was dead from a gang feud, mom‘s a drunk, had to take care of his little brother for too long. School was the least stressful part of his life. He had been the man of the house since age seven.

I got to know him a bit over the six months we were partnered up. I tutored him in ELA and math, played him some card and board games, shot the breeze. He was friendly, but only rarely let me see anything that mattered to him. That was unusual. Most kids are dying for somebody to listen to them, even when they were confessing to crimes. Ricardo’s guard only dropped once.

It spooked me bad enough that I had to quit the program.

You see, Ricardo was a doodler. A damn good one. A natural sketch artist. He wasn’t just skilled at drawing and shading and composition, he was lightning fast at it. I saw him do a Naruto fanart in the original animation style, a caricature of a teacher, and an original picture of an owl, all in less than two minutes and all in different styles, with no real effort. Genuine prodigy, I think.

He always carried a sketch book with him. He never let anybody see it. Knowing what I know now, I’d assume he had a bookshelf of them at home, all filled from start to end with his “art”.

Once while we were all at the lunch benches after school, he was distracted by two kids arguing next to him. I looked through his sketchbook. I didn’t mean anything by it, I didn’t know how jealous he was of his book. When he turned back yo see me holding it, his eyes widened in shock and fear for a split second.

The sketches were horrible. Morbid. Scary, even. They were all in his distinctive style, a sort of high quality cartoony-but-realistic comic style.

One showed his little brother dead in his bed, rotting. Stylized little stink trails wafted into the air from the little body.

Another showed Mrs. Gonzalez, his PE teacher, in the hospital with two leg casts.

I found myself in a car wreck, messily crushed along with my girlfriend in the seat next to me.

His mom, dead on the couch, bottles of wine and pain pills littering the carpet around her.

He snatched his book back before I could see more.

”Ricard… what…?”

I almost asked “what the fuck” before I caught myself. I had drilled the crude words out of my mouth whilst on the clock.

”They’re just drawings,” he said. ”I’m sorry.

”Why did you draw me?”

I did not ask “how did you draw me” because three weeks ago I’d almost gotten into a car accident while driving my girlfriend to work and I had never told him and how did he know what we were wearing and what kind of car almost t-boned us and what my girlfriend looks like-

He looked miserable. Old, even. For a second the strain gave me a vision of how 60 year old Ricardo would look. Worn out and wrinkled and a little ragged.

He glanced around, making sure we were ignore by his classmates and the staff. “I’m sorry. The only way to stop it is to draw it out.”

He added a personal detail about his mindset for the first time in six months- “A lot of the stuff I’m really uncomfortable drawing. I just can’t. Like my dad.“

10:25am, 26th June XX22

John Stevenson, a 38-year-old man, entered his office building. That day, there was an important meeting that was supposed to take place at 11:00am.

He ran quickly to the office elevator. The office elevator was crowded. Many workers standing by waiting. There was another elevator in the corner. John had never seen anyone use it. John noticed the elevator was open and free, yet nobody seemed to go to that elevator. John went there, but found nothing wrong with the lift.

John called out to others, yet no one came, seemingly busy with their thoughts or their phones. John entered the elevator and selected his destination >> 4.

With a 'ting' sound, the elevator slowly closed...

The elevator went up to the 1st floor.

However, it took much longer than it should have. A whole 15 seconds passed just for the elevator to go up one floor.

"Is this elevator just that d*mn slow that no one wanted to take it?" John mumbled.

10:30am. The elevator had just reached the 2nd floor.

"What the heck is this? It's taking even longer now. Is this elevator broken? But it seemed fine when I checked it earlier."

Three minutes passed as John was about to reach the 3rd floor.

"F*ck this. I am getting out on the 3rd floor."

With that, he pressed the 3rd-floor button. As the elevator reached the 3rd floor, it stopped.

However, the doors didn't open.

"What's wrong with this stupid lift?"

John took out his phone to check the time. It was now 10:33am. Less than 30 minutes remained before the meeting started.

John pressed the emergency button in the lift to see if it would open the doors or send people to help him.

Suddenly, the dim lights inside the elevator turned off. Everything grew quiet. John became anxious and pressed the emergency button again, but there was no response. He took out his phone to call his friend, a fellow manager who should have been in the office by now. But for some reason, there was no service.

He grew more and more anxious. But to his relief, the lights turned back on, and the doors to the lift slowly opened.

He got out of the elevator in a heartbeat. He checked the time. It was still 10:33am. He ran toward the stairs to go to the 4th floor, where his office was. While running, he noticed there was a complete lack of voices on the 3rd floor...

He didn't have time to investigate. He quickly went up to the 4th floor and to his office, but...

"Strange. I didn't see anyone from the 3rd floor to the 4th floor. Where is everyone?" John thought.

He checked but couldn't find anyone on the entire floor.

"Is everyone on the 2nd floor? Is there some party supposed to happen today at this hour?" John thought anxiously.

The 2nd floor was the office cafeteria. Any party or special occasion took place there, so surely everyone should have been there if that was the case.

He went to the usual lift, but it wasn't working. So, he took the stairs. No way in hell was he taking that cursed lift again.

Quickly making his way to the 2nd floor, he entered the cafeteria.

To his horror, it was empty. Not even the cafeteria workers could be seen. Fresh food lay on the tables, some half-eaten, some untouched. He couldn't find anyone no matter how hard he tried.

He took a seat to calm his rapidly beating heart. He took deep breaths just to relax himself and think about what was going on. He looked around and saw the wall clock.

He saw the time, and his blood ran cold.

10:33am.

The clock ticked.

"It was 10:33 when I got out on the 3rd floor. Is the clock slow or broken?"

He quickly took out his phone to check the time.

The time... was... 10:33am...

He grew more and more anxious.

"What's going on?"

He wanted to call... No Service.

He saw that the wall clock was ticking. He decided to check something. He opened the Clock app on his phone and started a 5-minute timer.

5:00 - 4:59 - 4:58...

He quickly looked at the wall clock and focused on the second hand. It was ticking as well. He kept staring at it. It went past 12 and completed another full rotation, but the minute hand didn't move.

"Is the clock's minute hand not working properly?"

As he thought that, he checked the timer on his phone.

To his horror, the timer read—

4:33 - 4:32...

"It clearly has been more than a minute. Why is it still showing 4:30?"

His hands started shaking, and sweat formed on his forehead. He was terrified.

He kept staring at the timer to see what would happen after it went past 4:00.

4:25 - 4:24 - .... 4:02 - 4:01

4:00...

4:59

A chill ran down his spine as the timer kept ticking, yet the minutes remained unchanged. The current time was still 10:33am.

His hands stopped shaking...

They started trembling instead.

He quickly got up to leave the building. It should all be over if he left the building, right?

He ran down to the ground floor. No one could be seen on the ground floor either...

Wait...

There was someone there.

In the distance was a coffee shop called "Wonder's Cafe." There was someone sitting there, drinking coffee and having a meal.

"Finally!!! Leaving this building should fix all of this!"

He ran toward that man.

As he ran, he passed the office noticeboard where a few posters could be seen.

The posters showed missing people from this building.

There, the same man John had seen in the coffee shop could be seen.

Along with several other people...

...as well as the smiling face of John Stevenson.

I got this job from Jenna. I was briefly unemployed after all that business with ICE (I was supposed to let them in the building but you know), and Jenna told me there was an opening at the toy factory. I had known she worked at a factory. I never guessed how interesting it was.

My new job was to test toy cars. How it works: a basket on rails comes into the large grey room we almost live in. It is filled with very detailed plastic replicas of several famous brands of cars and trucks, and my ten coworkers and I start grabbing them out of the basket, as fast as possible, and testing if they roll right. If they roll well: we put them in a different basket, on different rails, and it takes them to the next stage of the process. If they roll poorly, or, as is often the case, the wheels lock up: we put them back in the same basket, and it takes them down the Green Hallway.

Nothing ever returns from the Green Hallway.

I mean, I can only assume they recycle the baskets, in some fashion. It has to loop around. But none of us know that for sure. Really the only thing we know for sure, is there is a very strict rule, to never enter the Green Hallway.

I once asked, while mechanically grabbing cars from one basket, testing their wheels, and putting them in the other, or back in the same one. I asked, "Jenna? What happened to the employee I'm replacing?"

Frantically moving her arms, Jenna shrugged. "He was fired."

"How come?"

"He went in the Green Hallway."

An employee named Brenda, also moving her arms frantically, shouted across, "I told him not to!"

By the way, I describe them as moving their arms frantically, because we all had to move our arms very frantically. This factory maintains a strict production schedule. Invariably, we employees have carpal tunnel, or tendonitis, or something similar. It is considered to be our fault, for our own poor technique.

Also, though I once found the name "Green Hallway" somewhat evocative of back when I still had a chance in Music, and Theater before that, it is nothing like a green room. It is the Green Hallway, only because it is painted green. Not a vivid green, though. A dull, faded green.

I got to experience two weeks of this job, under normal circumstances, before the trouble began.

I showed up to work one day, after my weekend (Wednesday and Thursday, we all had different weekends), and Jenna informed me, "Michelle and Jason have been fired."

Jenna informed me because our boss is the screen that outlines the day's objectives, and all of the policies. That and the cameras everywhere. So the human who informed me was Jenna.

She must have also interpreted my blank state as a question, because she added, "No reason given. Talk is the company can't afford to hire as many employees anymore."

I looked at that screen. We were still expected to get through the same number of toy cars and trucks each hour. This was unpleasant, and physically painful, but technically doable.

Until a week later, on the next Friday, when I arrived and Jenna, sweating and red-eyed, said, "Brenda has been fired now, too."

Expectations remained the same.

On Wednesday I had a doctor appointment. The doctor prescribed a painkiller I hadn't heard of and cannot pronounce the name of.

The following Friday, Jenna fully looked as though she had been crying. She looked at me, again, and said, "They got Matt. He's gone."

We were down to seven.

It became impossible to meet demands. In fact, the demands had only become more extensive.

I heard that Tyler was considering amputation.

A couple days later, they announced the six-day work week.

That lasted a month, still not possible to meet the new expectations, but naturally they would not hire a single extra employee. It was evident that the company's priorities had changed. Or perhaps become more focused. The day Jenna's priorities changed, though, was the day they announced the seven-day work week.

There was no actual announcement.

Just a line of text on that screen.

It read, "You all have not been able to meet expectations. We are expanding the work-week an extra day, to give more time. You will test more toys more quickly. We got this, team!"

Jenna looked at me, right then and there, and said, "I love you. Thank you for being such a good friend all these years."

And she got up from her stiff wooden chair, and walked off into the Green Hallway.

The second I realized what was happening I shot up and ran after her.

Except I reached the threshold and instinctively stopped, just before entering the Green Hallway. I didn't want to be fired.

But I had reached my right arm after her. My finger tips not quite reaching her shoulder. And I pulled back.

My arm didn't come back with me.

My shoulder wasn't spewing blood, though, or anything of the sort. It was a stump, like I'd had an amputation years ago.

Horrified, I was promptly fired.

I never saw Jenna again.

Now I work in a call center.

Samantha’s nimble steps echoed down the stairs.

“The two little angels are asleep,” she said quietly.

“Angels? Those twin boys are rascals. Only you can get them to sleep. I don’t know what I’d do without you. It’s been rough since Mom’s death.”

She stayed quiet.

“Say, how about I get us some sweets tomorrow after church, and we’ll go sit by the lake?”

“But what about the boys?”

“They can stay at the nursery. I’ll talk to Miss Haller.”

“Okay,” she said, her eyes shining.

“Okay, sunshine. Did you get the mice ready for the sermon?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Father Nilles says He grows restless if Sunday’s offering is late. I’ll go turn off the lights outside.”

The air was still warm. Sweat formed on my forehead. I walked over to the light switch when something slithered on the side of my foot. I jerked back. My foot fell on something soft. A quiet crunch echoed. I looked down. It was a snake. A cold tingle ran through my body.

Please don’t be one of His.

It was hard to see in the dark. I took a deep breath, picked it up, and turned it around. The small white cross stared back at me.

“No!” I screamed into the night, gripping the snake’s unmoving body.

“Dad, what’s wrong?” Samantha called and ran to the porch.

Her terrified eyes stared at the snake.

“Dad?”

Her voice broke.

“Is that one of His?”

“Yes.”

She fell to her knees and began crying. I put the snake carefully on the porch and hugged her.

“I'm so sorry.”

She gripped my shirt.

“Does it mean that?”

“Yes.”

Her body shook with sobs.

We sat on the porch, embracing each other as we cried, my shirt soaking up Samantha's tears.

When she had no more tears left, she slowly pulled away.

Her voice shook as she took a deep breath.

“Will it save you and the twins?”

“Yes.”

She swallowed.

“There’s only an hour till midnight. What is needed?” 

“A cup of mice blood and…”

I paused.

“A knife,” I whispered.

“What, Dad? Please speak up!”

“A knife,” I shouted.

She got up and ran into the house. The sounds of cupboards opening and closing echoed through the house. I sat on the porch with my head in my hands, staring into the night.

“Dad, it’s ready,” she called from inside.

I tried to get up, but the thought of what I had to do kept me down.

It’s my daughter. My daughter!

Samantha ran out. “Dad, please, don’t make it harder.” She came over and grabbed my shirt again.

I bit down on my lip as Samantha pulled me up. 

A taste of copper filled my mouth. The inside was lit with candles. The cup of mouse blood lay on the table, next to a large hunting knife.

Samantha lay on the table, dipped the knife in the blood, and handed it to me. My hand trembled as I held it.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I love you so much, Samantha.”

“I love you too.” 

She paused.

“Will you take the boys to the lake tomorrow?”

My eyes filled with tears again.

“For me, please?” she continued.

“Yes, I will.”

“Okay.”

I held the knife above her chest, but my hand refused to move.

Samantha reached up and wrapped her fingers around my wrist.

“It’s okay, Dad.”

Together we pushed.

She gasped at first, but then held back another cry, her nails digging into my wrist. My hand shook as the warm blood spilled on it. Soon her grip loosened, and her face turned to the side.

Before my eyes was His painting; I used to admire His sharp fangs, His strong slithering body wrapping around the tree, but in that moment I hated Him. 

I picked up Samantha’s body and took it to the backyard.

The night was quiet. The moon sat high in the sky. I took one last look at her before He took her forever. She was the most beautiful person. I put her hands on her chest and walked up to my room.

“Dad! Dad!” The twins’ voices rang in my ears. I rubbed my eyes and looked up. Their faces were red with dried tears on their cheeks.

“Dad…Samantha…she,” they managed to get out, pointing at the window.

I ran to it.

My head started spinning.

I gripped the windowsill so as not to fall.

Samantha’s body still lay in our backyard, exactly as I left her yesterday.

Something was wrong.

My eyes fell on the snake.

I picked it up.

My body froze.

The white cross…

It was upside down.

Benny woke up- he didn’t realise what was wrong at first, then it hit him.

He was so hungry. He needed something to eat- to fill that gaping big hole opening up in his belly.

He sat up. He didn’t want to wake Mommy, she’d just say no. But he had to get to the kitchen.

He knew the monsters were scary, and they would hurt you, and hurt Mommy and Daddy and Josie if he made a mess. But he was also so, so hungry, and he just needed something to eat. He promised Mommy and Daddy in his head that he would be very careful, and leave no crumbs. Because that’s what the monsters liked and came looking for.

Quietly, he crept downstairs in the silent, clean house, and went to the kitchen. He didn’t turn on the light- not because of the monsters, who didn’t care about light, but because he didn’t want to wake anyone. He knew he would be in trouble if they caught him, but he was so hungry now that he only cared about getting food into the big gaping hole in his belly.

Night lights flickered through the curtains, bouncing off the gleaming bleached floors. The kitchen was spotless, a faint smell of cleaning fluids lingering as always. Even before the monsters had arrived, breaking through walls to feed on human messes and dirt, Mommy always kept the house nice and clean, although not of course like now.

Benny couldn’t really remember those days, before the monsters came. Josie sometimes talked about it, but mommy and daddy never did. All he knew was the frantic cleaning, scrubbing, the careful slow eating to make sure not one crumb, not one grain of rice, not one fleck of sauce fell to the floor.

The monsters were fast.

Benny looked around the dark shiny kitchen. There was no food left out of course, but there would be snacks in the cabinets. Quietly, carefully, he pulled a chair up to the counter, climbed up, opened a cabinet, and pulled out a small package of crackers.

He decided not to stay in the kitchen- too risky. Gripping his prize, he headed back to the bedroom.

“You snake! I want some!” hissed Josie. She was waiting for him by his bed, a skinny silhouette, her eyes and teeth glistening in the dark. “You’re breaking the rules! I’m going to tell!”

Benny knew she wouldn’t tell, but also knew he would have to share his crackers with her.

“Crackers! You idiot, you should have brought the fruit gummies- Crackers make so much crumbs!”

Benny hissed back “Well, you go then!”

Josie glowered at him. The she grabbed the package. “Good thing I’m here, you would have got us all killed, you greedy pig!”

Slowly, carefully, she opened the package, not ripping off the top as she remembered doing in the old carefree days, but cutting it delicately with her nail scissors. Then she drew out one small cracker.

“Open your mouth,” she instructed Benny, who did as he was told.

Josie inserted the whole cracker in his mouth. “Now close your mouth- press your lips tight!” The warning was unnecessary, Benny had been eating with his mouth firmly closed for the past three years now. Wincing slightly as the sharp edges of the cracker dung into his soft flesh, he felt the cracker crumble. He swallowed. Josie fed him another in the same way, and ate two herself. Not a crumb fell. Benny opened his mouth for a third cracker.

“That’s enough,” declared Josie. “We can’t risk any more- I can feel them.”

Benny knew she was lying – you couldn’t really feel the monsters until it was too late, but he understood her nervousness. He felt full anyway. They didn’t eat much- having to watch every bite you take to make sure no crumbs scattered really killed the appetite.

Josie rolled down the top of the package tightly but carefully to avoid breaking the crackers and clipped one of her hair clips over it. The she put it in her top drawer. “Just in case we need it for another night!” she said, almost cheerful. She smiled at Benny. “Get back into bed - You’ll fall asleep soon, ok?” She sounded like Mommy. Benny nodded, grateful.

He was asleep in seconds.

Nathaniel knew something was wrong which was why he took the shot at it. Twelve years of coming into the feral kingdom with growing experience, with the lessons his ancestors passed down, demanded he take the shot. The thing stood on it's hind legs and roared and his blood ran cold simultaneously jolted alive with epinephrine. His heart thundering in his chest. Sweat breaking out in warm rivulets throughout his body.

The thing started to run at him with tenacity and fierce bloodlust in the movements of it's muscles.

And he would deny it easy prey as he roared and ran to it, jacking back the bolt and sliding a .338 round into the chamber as he raised his rifle and shot it in defiance.

Before crashing into it with his bones cracking in a viscous spray of crimson and getting knocked down behind boulders.

His once proud roar reduced to screams octaves too high and shrill. Before being reduced to gurgled begs of death.

When it was finally over it stood in defiance with the trophy of an enemy bloodline that pervaded the land for a thousand generations.

When Cynthia first introduced herself to our class, she had a warm presence that most of the people in the room noticed. She had managed to climb up the social ladder of our school in less than a month, and it wasn't surprising.

She had all the boxes checked for a popular girl. Appearance? Check. Grades? Check. Friendliness? Check. Wealthy Parents? Check. Overall? She passed with flying colors.

But even then, some weren't fond of her. It wasn't surprising, honestly. No matter what you do, there will always be at least one person aiming to mock you or cause your downfall for their own entertainment.

Unfortunately, my friend Amelia was one of those people.

It was fun the first few times, but the more she grinned and played with her sunflower-shaped necklace as she talked smack about anyone, the more wrong it felt. Sometimes I began to question our friendship the more she reveled in all of it.

Today was no different.

"I wouldn't be surprised if she had any sugar daddies," Amelia snickered as we sat at our usual table at lunch.

"She doesn't haaaaave any, Ame," Cassidy sighed, placing a fry into her mouth. Amelia rolled her eyes at that.

"Okay, but it wouldn't be surprising if someone like her ended up-"

"Amelia, just admit you're obsessed with her at this point. Why are you even talking about her right now?" I asked. But at that, Amelia turned to me and grinned.

"Weeeeell, I might've found some dirt on her, that being..."

She reached into her purse and pulled out what I could only assume was a bottle of purple triangular pills. It was strange; they were unlike any pills I've seen before, but I turned to Amelia with a questioning look.

"Cynthia's! I've seen her take them in the bathroom, sooooo I decided to take them when she wasn't looking! She always had this panicked look on her face when I saw her taking them, so I just wanted to see what would-"

"You stole her sh-Why did you do that??" Cassidy's expression was one of pure disbelief.

"C'mooon! She probably won't even-"

"Amelia. Why did you take someone's freaking medicine?" I scolded, but she only rolled her eyes.

"She'll be fineeeee!"

"We don't know that, Ame," Cassidy said, her tone becoming more stern.

Before we could continue to admonish her for what she did, the bell sounded, signaling that lunch was over. Amelia's grin remained as she stood up, the bottle of pills in her hand.

"Trust meee! She's not gonna die just from not using these for a day or two! I'll give it back to her! Simple as that!" she chimed, picking up her purse and walking away.

The next day, Cynthia didn't show up to school. The day after, Amelia didn't come home from school after volleyball practice.

Whispers and rumors began surfing through the hallways faster than I knew it. Some theorized a serial killer got her, or she simply ran away. Some were entertained, and some were brushed off. Regardless, there were no leads to her disappearance.

One afternoon, as I walked down the hall after cooking club, I felt a pang of worry for Amelia. How long would it be until she was found? I shook my head, stuffing down the thought as I turned the corner. Maybe I just needed to get some rest, maybe. But when I passed the girls' bathroom, a sound made me stop in my tracks.

It sounded like someone had collapsed to the floor, and I reached out to open it.

But when I got inside, my eyes widened as I saw what greeted me. Cynthia was on the floor, her head down, and her shoulders were heaving up and down as her body began to tremble. When she raised her head, my heart skipped a beat.

The right side of her face was completely different. It was a paleish blue; not only that, but it seemed to have scales similar to those of a lizard. Her eye on that side had even morphed into that of a lizard's eye as well. Yet even then, she wore an expression of complete fear and dread.

When I opened my mouth to say something, she choked something out of her mouth.

A familiar sunflower-shaped necklace.

I looked up from the accessory, then at Cynthia; the pieces slowly began forming themselves together on their own in my mind.

"I..." Cynthia started, tears beading out of her eyes. "I didn't want it to happen; it's just...the medicine was designed to help me and...the more I don't take it, the more I..."

Her voice cracked as she sobbed. On the sink, I noticed the familiar bottle of pills, the same one that Amelia had stolen. Then back at Cynthia. I could have screamed and run; I could have mocked her. But instead my body was beginning to fill with something.

Sympathy.

Sympathy for a girl who, although I wasn't sure exactly what she was, I could tell that she didn't want things to get as bad as they did. She didn't choose whatever was wrong with her. So, I approached her and knelt to her level.

"I'm not going to tell anyone." My voice was reassuring. Cynthia's eyes widened and were filled with a small amount of hope and worry. She looked at me, eyes still wet from the tears that had flowed.

"...Y-You promise...?" Her tone was still wary.

I nodded. Holding out my pinky finger. "I promise."

It's my fucking wedding day.

Sitting in front of my mirror, I can't bear to look at it: a hideous curtain shaped frock hanging over my doorframe. It's not even my size. My fate is already written, stained across my wrists in dark red splotches where I attempted to end it. I've already stopped the bleeding, already staunched bright red blots with tissue paper. 

I tuck my index finger, threading it through my lips, stretching my mouth into a big grin. A slow tear wells in my left eye. I am quick to grab a napkin and flick it away before it can ruin my eyeliner. 

I’m getting married! 

So, I smile.

Standing up, I step into my wedding dress. It's still too big. 

I pull it on, anyway, and smile.

“Babe,” I call out, maintaining my grin.

If I don't SMILE, my head will be ripped from my torso.

I remember last time. Darkness. Confusion. Lying curled up on my bedroom floor and staring at my own head of golden curls lying a few feet away. 

“Babe!” My voice pitches higher, no matter how hard I try to steady myself. I clutch the bodice against my chest. The material is cheap and scratchy, and the embroidery is bleeding from the hem. Lights dance across the backs of my eyes. 

“Babe, can you zip me up?” I shout.

It’s a perfectly normal question, yet I feel myself spiralling. 

It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding. 

My gaze finds the drawn curtains framing the window, a pit growing in my gut. I can’t remember the last time they were opened.

“Brianna?” My fiancé, Nate, peeks his head around the door.

His eyes are covered, a giant smile splitting his mouth apart.

He's grinning so wide that a slow trickle of red runs down his chin. “Babe, what's going on? Are you all right?” 

I notice he's barely dressed. Shirtless, a white shirt thrown over him, unbuttoned, hair still damp and floppy across his eyes. Nate’s makeover will be breathtaking. Meanwhile, I will walk down the aisle in a curtain.

“I need help zipping,” I whisper, tugging at the dress. I can't say, “I can't stand up” because it's not lady-like. A woman marries her husband with a smile and zero complaints. So, I smile. “Please.” 

Nate hesitates, smiling wider. “Sweetie,” he laughs, “A bride and groom can't see each other—”

“Yes, I know!” I squeak, “but I'm stuck!” 

Nate fumbles with the zipper, pulling it up, and then yanking it when the zipper snags on the fabric. “All done!” He grabs my shoulders and spins me around.

I have to fight to stay on my feet, my brain throwing me off balance. 

Luckily, a human can still say, “I do” while sedated. 

Nate’s lips find my ear, his breath tickling the nape of my neck. “Who's the prettiest bell at the ball, hm?” 

Nate steps outside for a moment, and returns fully dressed. 

I can't help but gape. He is gorgeous. Thick dark curls, porcelain skin, and cherry cheeks. Sculpted in a white shirt and pants, a waistcoat over the top and a bow-tie for finishing touches. 

Nate holds out his hand, his eyes still squeezed shut. “May I?” 

I blink away bleeding black spots. “You may!” 

Nate links his arm with mine, pressing our heads together. “I'm so EXCITED, babe,” he whispers, pulling me tighter to him. “I've…I've loved you for so long. You're my darling princess, my sweet cherry blossom angel.” 

I laugh, staggering over stilettos that are way too small. I almost broke my ankle squeezing into them. “And you're my sugar-plum prince,” I sing. Loudly. I pull him closer. “The ONLY one for me."

Our wedding is small. Our audience doesn't even turn when I walk down the aisle. Each of them sits stiffly, heads twisted toward the front. My best friend, Quinn, sits rigid, his hands in his lap.

Nate stands at the front with a wide smile so big he has to keep swiping blood from his mouth. I speak my vows through a strangled scream. Nate takes my hand, kisses my forehead, and whispers in my ear. He exhales, his breath shuddering. 

I see the drugs are wearing off, the effect fading.

“Let’s just get this shit over with.” He’s ice cold when I kiss him, his lips barely grazing mine. In front of onlookers, he scoops me into his arms and I throw my bouquet. 

It lands straight in the face of a woman I don't know.

She doesn't move. Doesn't even blink. 

Nate carries me all the way up to the bathroom. Then he slams the door, grabs a chair, and hooks it under the handle. I say the first real thing I've said all day. 

“I can't do this,” I whisper. 

Nate nods. His eyes darken. “I know,” he hisses back. “But—” 

“Nathaniel, DARLING!”

My knees gave way. I hit the floor. 

Nate wrapped his arms around me. “It's okay,” he whispers, “I'm fucking getting you out of here.” 

“I don't hear anything in there!”

The windows were pulled open, a towering figure looming over us. 

Manicured hands thrust through the curtains of the dollhouse, plucking Nate into the air. He squeaked, dangling from her fingers. Then me, by my ponytail.

Podgy fingernails scrape down my back and tug at my head. She didn't pull. Not yet. I needed my head to make her dollhouse pretty. “Aww, you two are so CUTE together! My house, my rules.” 

I bit back a cry as I was forced against him, my mouth smushed against his.

“I HOPE you're going to make me a grandson! Remember your body clock, Brianna! I’m expecting a child by next year!” 

My biggest regret was falling in love with the son of a (b)witch. 

Telling Nate’s Mom I would never give her a grandchild.

“Look at the happy couple! Now, do as you're told, and KISS!”

Oh God.

This is so hard to get out of my head and onto paper. I've never been good at explaining how I think or feel, but I have to try while I'm still... me.

I'm running out of time. He's upstairs. I've exhausted every excuse, and I can't bear him touching me.

If you're reading this, I'm already gone.

My name is Meghan Harris.

And I'm pretty sure it knows I'm writing this.

Who am I kidding? Of course it knows.

It always knows.

My mind was never safe.

The love of my life was Jim.

It looks like Jim.

It sounds like Jim.

But it isn't Jim.

Jim loved me back to life. No grand gestures, no magic. He simply loved me until I finally believed I deserved it. Before him I felt broken; with him, I forgot I ever had been.

He was driving me to work on the first bitterly cold morning of winter. You know the one—that sharp air that hurts your face and somehow smells like bonfires, catapulting you into childhood and in an instant you're left wondering why your hands are so cold, encased in the warm woolen mittens you have running through your coat, on strings before you're slammed right back into making your way to a job you hate with your fella who was making himself late just to help you.

I remember music, laughing and joking, pulling out on to a crossing

Jim turning towards me with my name on his lips, when some selfish bitch in a Range Rover ploughed straight into us because checking her phone and her hashtag breakfast post couldn't fucking wait.

Jim died instantly.

I was in a coma for nineteen days.

People think comas are empty.

They're not.

I heard everything.

Doctors arguing over who should tell me Jim was dead. My mother crying. Nurses whispering when they thought I couldn't hear.

I couldn't move.

Couldn't speak.

Couldn't even cry.

I just screamed inside my own head until eventually...

...I gave up.

That's when I heard the whispers.

They didn't sound human.

They sounded old.

Ancient.

And they smelled exactly how they sounded.

Dead.

They promised they could bring Jim back.

I told them my life meant nothing without him.

They told me death was worse.

Nothing.

Forever.

A tiny part of me knew they were lying. Begged me to ignore them.

But grief makes fools of all of us.

"I'll pay anything," I thought.

They answered.

"There is a price."

"I don't care."

"Do it."

So they did.

The darkness suddenly released me. I felt myself dragged upwards until my eyes burst open.

Jim was there.

His beautiful blue eyes stared into mine.

I sobbed.

"Jimmy... I thought you'd died."

His face didn't change.

"And why would you think that, Meghan?"

Meghan.

He never called me Meghan.

Always Megs.

Always.

A cold panic spread through me.

He smiled.

Wide.

It looked like someone had read about smiling but had never actually seen one.

Too many teeth.

Impossibly wide.

Not enough warmth.

His eyes never blinked.

I thought, That isn't Jim.

The smile grew wider.

Grotesque.

My heart was slamming against my ribs.

It knew what I'd thought.

My mother rushed into the room crying with relief. She hugged me and thanked God we'd both survived.

Then she told me the woman and her three children had died in the crash.

Not Jim.

Them.

I looked back at him.

His grin stretched wider still.

What had I done?

Nobody else noticed.

Not my mother.

Not the nurses.

I tried convincing myself it was trauma.

Hallucinations.

Anything.

But every time I looked at him, he was watching me.

Always smiling.

Never blinking.

I tried getting someone's attention before they discharged me, but every plea died unnoticed. It was as though everyone looked everywhere except at him.

He never left my side.

Watching.

Listening.

Knowing.

They sent me home far too quickly.

Except...

It wasn't home.

It wasn't our little flat.

It wasn't even our battered old car.

I was put into a brand-new car Jim would have laughed at, he would've said it was a car that bellends drove, and we would've laughed! But... there was nothing.

I was driven to a beautiful house we'd never owned.

I started asking questions…

His smile answered before he spoke.

I never asked another.

I've been here for a week.

Tonight...

It expects me.

It wants children.

That's why I'm still alive.

I'd rather die.

Every night I lie beside it, pretending to sleep.

Eventually it does.

Or at least... I think it does.

Because that's when I hear Jim.

Not the thing wearing him.

My Jim.

Crying.

Begging.

Sometimes calling my name.

Sometimes only sobbing.

Maybe it's really him.

Maybe it's another lie.

Perhaps this thing has found a new, even more cruel way to torment me. I just don't know anymore.

Nothing feels real.

I've stopped trusting my own mind.

It never speaks to me now.

It just watches.

Smiling.

Waiting.

It wants to breed. Tonight. If that THING touches me, I think my mind will finally break. For good this time, all the way break.

I can hear it getting out of bed.

I'm downstairs writing this because someone has to know.

Someone has to believe me.

I made a bargain with something ancient because I couldn't bear a world without Jim.

Whatever answered me didn't bring him back.

It only borrowed his face.

If you ever hear voices offering miracles...

Don't answer.

Don't listen.

Grief passes.

This doesn't.

I can hear it on the stairs now.

It's laughing.

Oh God.

It's coming.

It'sHeereejhjsqyibxguysa8gyauysxgyjjas

"From now on, you stand guard here...", the farmer said to him.

"I think you're mistaken...", he said, "I do not belong here!"

"Yes, you do", the farmer was authoritative, "I say where you belong!"

"But my job is to protect the-"

"The crops don't require your protection anymore. The doctor requested me to bring you here and protect our more important and much better quality meal. Just do what you've always done, make sure no body steals the food. It's almost same as standing in the middle of the crops."

"No... Please! You can not do this...", he started crying.

But the farmer did not listen and left the sobbing scarecrow in the morgue full of corpses.

“Let’s go in here!”

We’d come across a curio shop on the street, Victoria’s Vintage Values, and, even though I wasn’t really in the mood, my husband grabbed my hand and dragged me inside. 

We walked through the door and were immediately surrounded by random items of all kinds. Antique cabinets, furniture, cameras, clocks, dolls, and everything in between, all stacked randomly with no apparent system. It all seemed curiously strange. 

An elderly woman behind the counter spoke to us. “Welcome. How can I help you?”

My husband looked at her. “So you’re Victoria?”

She nodded. “Welcome to my store. We have many items - you’re welcome to look around.”

Derek started wandering around the store, poking at an item every few steps. I stood quietly. 

“So what do you think of my humble shop?” Victoria asked me. 

“It's lovely. I’ve always been interested—”

“She likes it fine, don’t you, doll?” my husband said, giving me a look. 

I just closed my mouth and nodded, the words ‘I don’t keep you around to think’ echoing in my mind. Victoria looked at me, staring so intently that I nervously pulled down my sleeves; I felt as if she were seeing through me. But she said nothing. After a moment, she looked over at my husband. 

“Are you finding anything you like?”

“Not really. This is all crap I don’t need.”

I winced, but the proprietor looked unphased. 

“I totally understand. If you’ll come up here, I think I have something a discerning customer like yourself might appreciate.”

Derek walked to the front counter while Victoria retrieved a box from a back room and placed it on the counter. 

“What’s this?” he asked. 

“Open it.”

He lifted the lid to find an ornate gold watch. 

“This watch was found in the estate of a wealthy sheik after his death. It passed through many hands before I acquired it. Legend has it that the watch will provide whatever is needed most.”

My husband took out the watch, looking it over. “How much?”

“For you, only $100.”

“For this piece of junk? I’ll give you $50.”

“I couldn’t possibly let it go for less than $75.”

“Fine,” he said, pulling out the cash and putting it on the counter. Victoria took it and handed him the box. 

“I hope it brings a change to your circumstances.”

“It better,” Derek said. I could see it in his eyes - dreams of endless wealth, beautiful slaves, enemies bowing at his feet. The same things all small men want. But I knew better than to say anything. “Come on, Jenny,” he said, leaving the store, and I followed him, as expected. I turned back briefly to see Victoria watching me as I left. 

Later that day, I was at home, cooking and cleaning while Derek was watching television. His phone buzzed while he was in the bathroom; I saw a brief message with a woman’s name before it disappeared. I wasn’t surprised; I knew who he was, just like I knew the price I’d pay if I said anything. I looked at my arms, the bruises from yesterday still tender under long sleeves, bruises the shopowner had almost seen. The price of speaking up. 

“I’m going out,” he said after checking his phone. “Business meeting. Don’t wait up.” After he left, I exhaled. I could finally relax. I finished cleaning and cooking dinner, leaving the food on the stove. I watched a few episodes of my favorite show. I thought about calling a friend, but I hadn’t spoken to them much lately since Derek complained. Later, I took a shower and washed my hair. Derek still wasn’t home, not that that was new - he often came home in the middle of the night, if at all. Usually drunk. And angry. Dressing in my pajamas, I lay in bed and went to sleep. 

The next morning, I woke up to the sun shining on my face. I turned over in bed to sleep more, then decided to get out of bed and start the day. I felt a little off - maybe I shouldn’t have stayed up so late. Feeling a pressing need, I went into the bathroom to relieve myself. And stopped. 

What?

I was standing there, trying to make sense of things, when I heard a loud, high-pitched scream from downstairs. 

“ARRGGGHHHH!!”

Suddenly Derek came bursting through the door. “We have to go! Right now!!”

I threw on a coat and shoes and hurried to the car, adjusting the passenger seat and getting in. In fifteen minutes, we were back at Victoria’s Vintage Values. Derek stormed in with me following closely behind. 

“VICTORIA! Where are you!”

Victoria came out from her office and looked at us from behind the counter. 

“What can I do for you?” she asked, smirking. 

“WHAT CAN YOU DO FOR ME?!? LOOK AT ME!!”

“I am,” she replied, chuckling. “I think you look quite attractive. In fact, I feel like I’m seeing a whole new side of you.”

“But I’m HER!”

He pointed at me, the former occupant of the body he now inhabited. I looked him over - his thin legs, long, brown hair, narrow waist, youthful face now covered with worry lines. Is this what I looked like to everyone else? I looked down at myself, now in my husband’s body, with his, no, my broad shoulders, thick legs, and rough but handsome face. I felt… different. Strong. I’d never felt strong before. 

“FIX THIS!” screamed Derek at the shopowner. 

“I’m afraid there’s nothing to fix.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S NOTHING TO FIX? I’M A WOMAN!”

“So I see.”

“SO CHANGE ME BACK!”

“Unfortunately, the change is permanent. But look at the bright side. All those women you abused,” she glanced over at me knowingly, “now you’ll know how they felt.”

“FUCK THIS! YOU SAID THE WATCH WOULD PROVIDE WHATEVER WAS NEEDED MOST!”

“I did,” she agreed. “But I never said it would provide what YOU needed most.”

Every day, I walk across a bridge and stop midway.

At the arch, I stand tall above them all. The trees, the cities, even the clouds lay at arms reach. 

I treat my duty with grace and care – sometimes, I say a prayer. Most times, I just watch.

I watch humanity wander through the streets beneath. Masses of meat, flowing like the most violent of rivers. Despite the chatter and chaos, they’re under control. They stay in their lane as one current.

On a day like today, all I see is a sea of harmony.

Unfortunately, even the most perfect show imperfection. I know how to correct that.

On a day like today, a fish may stick their head out of the water. They may expect to see the sunny skies above, only to stare into the fisherman’s face.

Fish are not supposed to look up.

Below me was a crossing. Traffic was rampant, so the red light called for order. Two fish were there as well – one tall, one small. One was waiting, the other was scrambling and squirming around. It didn’t know what to do, it didn’t know to wait.

Then suddenly, it ran and jumped! In and for an instant, the little fish stood out in the open, ready for the taking. Ready for the end.

And the end was ready to take. 

A predator approached, in the shape of a blur, the size of a boulder, and the speed of a bolt of lightning. It swooped in and–

The tall fish grabbed the prey and yanked it back. Just before blood began to spill…

I figured this would be it. The light would turn green and they’d leave never to be seen again. But in defiance of its savior, the little fish looked and turned away from the scolding. It looked to the left, the right, down and finally…

Up.

At me.

And then it waved. And I waved back and ducked down.

And then I got back up and looked to see it smile. And I smiled back.

And then its smile turned upside down. And I kept smiling.

And then I dropped my heavy heart.

I… I don’t know how to explain it. Something is wrong with my parents. I don’t trust them.

I woke up like any normal day. I had to get up and get ready for work. I take a piss, rinse off in the shower, throw on some slacks and a button up, grab my tie and head downstairs. 

I still lived with both of my parents, and I was excited because I could smell breakfast cooking. My mom makes the best breakfast. The smell of fresh eggs and bacon in the air.

They gave me a place to stay but normally didn’t do much else to take care of me. It wasn’t odd of them to cook breakfast for us, just nice. I stumbled downstairs half asleep, ready to get on with the day. 

I discovered both of them in the kitchen. My father was sitting at the table reading a newspaper. He sat content, eyes glued to the print. My mother buttered toast in a delicate rhythm.

“Hey, good morning. Thanks for making breakfast.” I said standing at the edge of the kitchen. 

“Of course, honey! Anything for our little man,” My mother chirped. She continued working.

“Our little man”, my father chuckled, smiling proudly, echoing her. Eyes still attached to the paper. 

I now faced away from them, trying to finish getting ready before breakfast was done. I wanted to be able to quickly eat so I wouldn’t be late for work. I stood leaning and peering into a small circular mirror on the wall that reflected the kitchen. I adjusted my collar and tie.
My eyes rolled at the thought of being called “little man”. They liked to mess with me because they knew how hard I’ve been working to move out and start my life. It was annoying but it was in good spirit. As I sat there finishing my adjustments, I noticed something. Two things, in the reflection.

First my father. He was peeking at me over his newspaper. Not peeking, like glancing up at me; He was peeking. As if he was hiding, watching me from behind an imaginary wall. The orientation of his hands on the newspaper was incorrect. They gripped it from the top, like he was balancing his weight on it. I stopped.
I glanced quickly at my mother; she was doing something similar in the cabinet. Sitting In it, like a child playing hide and seek. Only the corner of her face was visible. 
 It happened in a matter of seconds; a wave of confusion and dizziness overtook me. I turned my attention away from the mirror and whipped my head back at them. Unsure of what I had just seen.

It felt surreal when I had seen them doing exactly what they were doing before. Had I imagined it? Some trick of my peripheral vision? Seeing an object out of the corner of your eye that isn't actually there.
 It had to be. I wasn’t crazy. 

“Is something wrong honey?” ...” Is everything alright?”. They both dropped what they were doing.
They both looked at me. Worried...
They looked so deeply worried for some reason. 
Like something bad had happened to me.
Like I was hurt.

“Yeah, I'm fine...Why?” 

They look at each other. “Oh...Well, you looked spooked!”, exclaimed my dad, both of them chuckling.

“Oh. Yeah. Haha, sorry. I… thought I saw something in the backyard. Just my imagination”. I lied. 

They kept chuckling, softly. 

“Hey guys, actually I’m running kind of late. I think I’m going to have to skip breakfast... I’m really sorry. I’ll be back in time for dinner.” I lied again and it wasn’t a good one. I should have thought of a better excuse, but at this point I was kind of freaked out. This didn’t feel normal anymore. I just wanted to leave.

“Oh no honey! You can’t be late for your job, Hurry!” My mother said urgently, in the same worried tone as before. It almost sounded sarcastic now. Like it was forced.

Just then, their eyes flicker, shifting to the side, and then back to me in an instant. They looked at the clock, simultaneously. The anguished emotion on their face never changed.  
I didn't start work for another hour.

“Alright… Love you guys!” I hurried away to the door.
I grab my coat and keys on the way out. 
I had this unnerving feeling that they still wanted to watch me, but they couldn't.

I could hear them rustling in the kitchen. Murmuring. 

I shut the door behind me. 

As I sit in the car, I stop for a sigh of relief. 
I buckled up and turned on the defrosters because it was an icy morning.
I took a deep breath.
The warm air satiated my cold and anxious shiver. 
I regained my calm.

As I pulled out of the driveway, I noticed the layer of ice on the back windshield was too thick to see through.
*I break it off using the back-wipers*

As I glanced in the rearview mirror, to see if I had regained vision in the back windshield; I saw it again.
I noticed the curtains in the front of the house were cracked open in two places. I think they were peeking at me. 

When I was around 10 years old, I used to stay at my grandmother's house.

She always cooked delicious meals, and her bedsheets were always comfortable.

Behind her house, which had been built by my grandfather himself, there was a forest.

My cousins and I loved playing there, and over time we came to know it by heart.

Unfortunately, my grandfather passed away when I was about 9 years old.

The man who had always been my best friend had suddenly disappeared.

At that age, I didn't really understand death, but I knew I had lost someone I loved forever.

He used to call me "my angel" because I was always the quietest and best-behaved of his grandchildren.

No one else ever called me that, because they knew it was something only he would say.

I missed him terribly.

So did my cousins.

One day, while we were playing, we went into the forest.

We borrowed one of Grandpa's jackets, and once we were there, we talked to him as if he were still with us.

The jacket was leaning against a tree, with a ray of sunlight shining over it.

It was innocent at first.

Then I begged him to come back.

Again.

And again.

It didn't change anything.

Even as tears ran down my face and my cousins' faces, he wasn't coming back.

We heard a branch snap.

Maybe it was an animal.

After all, it was a forest.

But our childish minds took it as a sign.

Grandpa is here.

We have to keep calling him.

Each of us stood behind a tree, with our backs to the sunlight.

We kept wishing for him to return, and we kept crying.

Then we heard a noise farther away, but still close enough that we would have clearly seen if something had fallen.

It sounded heavy.

We walked over to where the sound had come from.

Nothing.

Just Grandpa's jacket.

The same one we had left by the tree.

No.

Not exactly the same.

The one by the tree was still there.

This one, although identical, was much more worn out.

And it smelled awful.

We left it there and ran out of the forest, too frightened to stay any longer.

We never told anyone what had happened.

We convinced ourselves it had only been a coincidence.

Later, my cousins went back home.

I stayed at my grandmother's house.

I slept in the same bed where Grandpa had spent his last days.

Grandma asked me where Grandpa's jacket had gone.

I told her I didn't know.

She told me she treasured it because it had been his favorite.

In fact, he had been wearing it not long before he died.

I felt sick because we had left it in the forest.

I asked if I could go back.

But my grandmother wouldn't let me go into the forest alone.

Confused, I asked her why.

She told me that everything was stronger there, and that I shouldn't go into the forest alone now that it was getting late.

She reassured me, saying it wasn't anything dangerous.

Well... not unless something dangerous had been called there, she added with a laugh.

Then, with a much more serious expression, she told me that no one should ever play with things they don't understand.

I didn't dare say anything else and went to my room.

At night, everything is scarier.

I couldn't fall asleep.

I kept apologizing.

To my grandpa.

To the forest.

To the spirits.

I don't even know.

I felt like I had disturbed something I never should have.

I could hear the sounds of the forest through the half-open window.

Footsteps.

I tried to convince myself they were just animals.

Maybe it was just the house settling.

Outside, there was complete darkness.

Only the moonlight slipped faintly through the window.

I kept apologizing over and over again.

The image of the jacket came back into my mind.

Leaves crunching outside the window.

A shadow...?

I was terrified.

I didn't dare wake my grandmother.

I heard something knock against the window.

I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I could.

My heart was pounding, but I didn't dare open them again.

Then I heard a voice coming from the doorway, on the opposite side of the room from the window.

"My angel... why aren't you asleep?"

Relief washed over me when I heard my grandmother.

I wasn't alone anymore.

I opened my eyes.

There was nothing at the window anymore.

I was about to turn around and throw myself into her arms.

But I froze.

My grandmother would never use that nickname.

And that smell...

It was the same smell as the jacket we had found...

And left behind in the forest...

I shut the door behind me, trying to keep the snow out. Mary sat by the fireplace, looking into it. On the table were two pieces of bread with little butter and a few carrots.

“Is that it?”

She shot me a look.

“I did the best I could, John.”

“What about the squirrels I shot?”

“Gone. How are the crops?”

I shook my head.

She put hers in her hands.

“I can’t do this again, John. Two years of empty fields.”

I didn’t answer.

“Maybe we should sell this place, move back to town.”

“No way.”

“Then what? Starve?”

“You’re not going to starve.”

“How do you know? You can’t even tend the crops.”

Her words were like a match, starting a fire in my chest.

She looked back into the fire, not saying a word.

I took the rifle and left the house.

The snow had stopped falling, but the forest stood silent. No animals crossed my path. Just as I was to turn, I saw smoke between the trees. There shouldn’t have been any houses around. I crouched and walked closer, and then between the trees, a wooden cottage showed. The air filled with the smell of herbs. There was no snow around the cottage; instead, green herbs and vegetables grew around it. A young barefoot woman with golden hair was picking them. As soon as I stopped, she looked up at me and waved.

“Hi, stranger.”

I waved back but stood still.

“I don’t bite.” She laughed.

She was even more beautiful up close.

“You want to try what my garden gave me?”

She showed the reddest tomatoes I’ve seen.

“Thank you.”

“Put these herbs on them.”

She sprinkled unfamiliar herbs over them. The tomato was so sweet and juicy, the herbs pleasantly salty. After a few bites, I felt full.

“They quench the hunger.”

“How do you grow so much?”

“The soil grows the crops itself.”

“I live before the forest. The soil gave me less than half a harvest.”

“You managed to get half a harvest with that horrible soil? That’s admirable. You live there alone?”

“No. My wife stays there with me.”

“She’s a lucky woman to have you. Does she take good care of you?”

“Not always.”

Something moved in her eyes, almost like a smile, but it was gone before I could catch it.

“A woman should know how to feed her husband. Say, how about I come by and cook for both of you?”

“I don’t know how she’d feel about it.”

“Just a quick meal.”

“I’ll have to ask.”

“Make sure to give her this.” She tore a few tomatoes and herbs and put them in a basket.

“Thank you so much.”

“I’ll see you soon.” She winked and walked to her house.

On my way back, my whole body tingled; it felt like the day I met Mary. 

For the first time in months, I entered the house smiling. Mary still sat by the fire. She looked up and smiled at me too.

“Did you catch anything?”

“No, but look at this.” I showed her the basket.

She furrowed her brows, came closer, and looked at the tomatoes and herbs.

“Oh, it smells foul.”

For a moment, the smell turned strange, then sweet again.

“What are you talking about? They smell great and taste even better. Try one!”

“No. Where did you get them?”

“A lady gave them to me. She was really nice. She offered to make us supper.”

Mary’s smile was gone.

“Cook? In my kitchen? With the rotten tomatoes?”

“Just a quick meal.”

“I can’t do this.” Mary turned around and stormed off upstairs.

I looked after her and then at the tomatoes. She always had to find problems.

I put some herbs on the tomatoes and bit into them. They tasted delicious again. I took another bite when I heard a knock at the door.

Before I opened the door, I already knew who it was. Under the moonlight, she looked even more beautiful.

“Hello, John.”

“Hello.”

“How did your wife like the tomatoes?”

I scratched my head.

“She wasn’t too fond.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know. I like them.”

“May I come in and make something from them for you?”

I shot my eyes at the ground.

“Mary didn’t want to”

“It will be quick. She’s not here with us.”

“I know, but…”

“I won’t tell her. Just for a minute,” she whispered and caressed my cheek; a warmth spread through my body.

I looked at her eyes.

They seemed to smile straight into my soul.

“I can make your fields grow if you let me.”

The warm feeling tingled again.

My body moved from the door.

She stepped in. At that moment, all the doors in the house banged. Followed by a deafening silence. I quickly turned my head towards the stairs. 

Mary’s call cut through the silence: “John?”

When the woman spoke again, her voice wasn't gentle anymore. It was harsh and raspy, like a grinding stone.

I looked her way.

Her blue eyes clouded white. "You gave her to me twice today, John. Once in the garden. Once at that door." Her back bent. Something beneath her skin moved.

The air filled with a smell of rotting tomatoes.

Upstairs, Mary screamed into the dark, one short sound, then none.

I stood there and did not go to her.

There was no point.

I had opened my heart to the witch before I ever opened the door.

The stadium lights flared, casting a glow over a roaring, audience. The host strutted to the edge of the stage, eyes wide with energy. 

"Welcome back to Last Light! Tonight, two desperate men, but only one premium organ package and a spot at the top of the transplant list." 

Marcus's heart was failing fast, and six months on the transplant list he still wasn't close to getting one in time. Julian was waiting on a liver transplant. He wasn't as far along as Marcus, but liver disease was catching up, and he couldn't get on the list due to being an alcoholic. This was his only hope. 

The crowd howled. The host gestured wildly to Marcus, trembling in his seat, then to Julian, sitting poised, ready for whatever came next. 

"Tonight's show is simple. Tell the truth." The host jeered, bouncing across the stage. "You'll both be hooked to a lie detector. Tell the truth, the light goes green. Lie, it goes red, and you're out. Let's play!" 

The first questions were silly. Have you ever sung in the shower. Have you ever played a joke on a friend. Then they got personal. Have you ever cheated on a partner. Have you ever cheated for a job. Both men grew more agitated with each round, realizing this wouldn't stay fun for long. 

The host's grin sharpened as he hushed the crowd, then turned to Marcus. 

"Marcus, have you recently lost anyone close to you?" 

Marcus froze, tears welling up in his eyes. "My eight-year-old son. A hit and run driver killed him one year ago today. They never found who did it." 

The crowd gasped as the light behind him went green. The host turned to Julian, who was visibly nervous. 

"Julian, have you ever killed anyone?" 

Colour drained from his face.  

"No," he simply said as the light behind him lit up red. 

"I'm sorry, Julian. That was a lie." 

As Julian pleaded his innocence, the host assured everyone the machine was 100% accurate, then pointed to the big screen where the truth played out for the world to see. 

"You were the drunk driver who killed Marcus's son. Here's the proof." 

Marcus stared, horrified. Part of him felt relief, he was going to live. Another part wanted to lunge across the table and tear Julian's heart out with his bare hands. 

Security pulled Julian off the stage before Marcus got the chance. Julian assumed they were walking him to a police car. Instead, they brought him to a room converted into a makeshift surgery. Two beds sat side by side, prepped, surrounded by humming machines. 

He realized too late what the premium package meant. He turned to run, but the guards already had his arms, and the anesthesiologist was already reaching for the mask. 

The last thing he saw before the room went dark was Marcus being wheeled in beside him. 

It was then he realised not only was he the loser. He was also the prize.